There was a murmur about the room. I watched for a moment as people began to file out past the police. I nodded to Alli and we joined the slow-moving exodus. We stepped out in the hallway, which was lined on either side with display cases of menorahs, shofars, and other Judaica, and then we eventually found ourselves outside the building.
The May Sunday night air was cool, and compared to the close confines in the social hall, it was liberating. We stood with the synagogue behind us, looking out onto Seven Mile Lane, a main suburban street, but of modest size. As invigorating as the air was, though, when we emerged from the synagogue, it felt as if we were stepping into a crime scene. Police cars with their blue lights flashing were parked almost bumper-to-bumper along the curb in front of us. A uniformed officer wearing an orange reflective vest was standing in the middle of the intersection, directing traffic. I was half expecting to hear the distinctive squawk of police radio, but the cops had lapel walkie-talkies.
Out on the sidewalk there was already quite a crowd. Not only had all the dinner guests emptied into the public area in front of the synagogue, but there were several groups of local residents there as well. Even the opposite street corners were filled. Ahead of us on each corner was a mixture of old and young gawkers, neighbors probably, brought out by the light and sound show that accompanied the police. There were elderly couples in bathrobes, men and women in warm-up suits, and kids on bicycles. I looked up into the night sky. The helicopter was nowhere to be seen; no reason to hang around once the dignitary and his would-be assassin were gone.
Alli tugged on my arm, wanting to head to my car. She began to lead the way to the right, through the crush of people. I found myself looking across the street to the bystanders. On the far corner, behind a young couple holding up an infant, was a group of kids...teenagers, I’d guess. They were standing close together, alternately looking at the crowd — us — and shifting their feet. A few had cigarettes dangling from their lips. One boy was on crutches. The crutches caught my attention; they were the aluminum type and glinted in the artificial white light of the synagogue flood lights.
As we continued to move to the parking lot, someone was approaching us from the right. It was the slightly chubby adult student I spotted earlier while I was talking to the Shin Bet agent. I had prayed that he wouldn’t come over to me in front of the Israeli and he hadn’t.
“Yo, Sensei!” the student called. God, he was loud.
“Hi, Lenny.” Alli and I stopped walking.
“So, what d’you think? Exciting, huh. What were you doing?...Helping out the Israelis, right?”
I looked at Alli and shared a smile with her. “That’s it, Lenny, you know me.”
“Good. They need help these days. They should go to you.” He paused. “Well, that’s all I wanted to say. Gotta go. See you Wednesday night.”
“So long.”
As I watched him move toward the adjacent parking lot on the right, another figure caught my attention. David Amit was standing at the edge of the crowd, near the curb in front of us, surrounded by his men. They were still scanning the group. All were looking about; all but Amit. He wasn’t interested in the mass of people. He was looking at me.
A black sedan pulled to the curb. The Israelis, without exchanging any words, got in, and quickly pulled away. After the car turned a corner, I let my gaze drift back to the kids across the street. While some of the bystanders were beginning to head off, they hadn’t moved. They were still huddled on the opposite street corner, taking in all the action.
Alli tugged on my sleeve once again and we made our way to my dark red Jeep. Thanks to the fact I had previously backed into my space, we were able to pull right out. I cut off a middle-aged tuxedoed man in a black Lexus and then headed out. We drove toward downtown.
Alli lived down in Federal Hill, a historic area of town just beyond the Inner Harbor. To get there we headed south on I-83.
The drive went quickly — at this time late Sunday night there wasn’t much traffic on the highway — and for a long stretch, we rode in silence. Then as the lights of downtown bloomed ahead of us, Alli spoke up. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“Well, while you’re mending bodies and manipulating joints and muscles, I’ll be battling a class of middle schoolers.”
She looked at me, confused.
“I’m subbing. 7th Grade American History.”
“And you enjoy that?” she asked smiling, slightly sarcastic.
“Don’t you know I’m bent.”
“Uh huh, that’s what I like about you.”
“Not the average, young professional medical-type that you’re used to.”
“Definitely not.” She reached over and put her left hand on my thigh.
I looked at her for a moment. What was I doing? Did she have any idea that what I did to the waiter tonight was because I had to and partly because I enjoyed causing him pain?
Maybe I needed some therapy. Well, she was a physical therapist.
Alli lived on Montgomery Street, a sleepy, tree-lined cobblestoned road one block from Federal Hill Park. Years ago the city had bought many of the Federal-style row houses because they had fallen into disrepair, and then provided incentives for new owners to fix them. The results were impressive. The buildings had been renovated, keeping within the original styles of the masonry, moldings, shutters, and more. The houses had regained their aura of an earlier — much earlier — time.
I found a parking-for-residents-only spot across from her house and pulled in. I hung a guest parking pass from my rear-view mirror and then stepped out. Alli met me at the curb. She took my hand and we walked over to her doorstep.
“So, you’re a hero.” She turned and suddenly seemed very close.
I looked into her sky blue eyes. They were clear and vibrant. Mine were probably bloodshot from fatigue.
A young couple walked past us, arm-in-arm. I could hear them talking about the Afghani restaurant they must’ve just visited.
Alli was still looking at me.
I smiled, thinking about what happened tonight. “We all do what we can.”
“It was very brave of you.” She was getting even closer.
“You’re pretty brave yourself, going out with me.”
“Mmm.”
I kissed her. Softly at first, slowly...enjoying her lips on mine.
Okay, I wasn’t that tired. Still, how smart was this? Two months ago, there’d have been no qualms. I probably would have pinned her to the door.
I needed to go home. That was the smart thing to do.
But her lips were great. I moved over to the side of her neck.
She smelled amazing. Alli wore just a hint of perfume, but her own scent wouldn’t let me go.
Her arms went around me and I placed mine around her. My right arm — and I didn’t ask it to — slowly glided down to the small of her back.
Another moment went by. She was too young for me. I knew that. Energetic, exciting, but too young. She was in school —graduate school — but still school, and I was on the other side of life.
“Come inside,” she breathed into my ear.
“I would love to, but...I can’t.”
I pulled away from the embrace, ever-so-slightly. I kissed her again, very softly.
She looked at me.
“I really would love to,” I repeated, “but I’m old and I have things to do for tomorrow.”
She