“Really?”
“He told me in passing that he’d testify that I wasn’t a lifelong spinster.”
“And what about the femalerabbi?
“I met with the counselor, that’s what they called her. After answering a few intimate questions, she approved the wedding for between January 29 and February 3. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll go back to her and tell her I’m late.”
“Lily, you’d lie?”
“If I have no choice, I won’t tell the truth. That’s not lying!”
“And the hall, the dates?”
“My father’s checking about a hall.”
“I hope this doesn’t blow up on us…”
“My man, I think it’s reasonable. My father suggests we do the ceremony before the party, with only family present. He doesn’t want what he calls our ‘snatched’ wedding exposed.”
“Whatever you and your parents decide, we’ll go with.” It was the first time she called me “my man” and I liked it.
“Do you have guest lists?”
“I got to about 80 on our side. I guess together we’ll reach 150–160. If your parents object, we’ll invite only the close family.”
“Someone’s coming. I have to free up the phone. I miss you.”
“Me too. Kisses.”
“Kisses.”
“The wedding is on February 3, at the Ramat-Aviv Hotel,” she told me a few days later.
“You worked it out with my parents?”
“Of course. They’re very happy. Thechuppah’sat 8:30 p.m. The rabbi doesn’t care about themikvehbusiness. I hope it’ll be okay.”
“You sound a little hesitant. Did something happen?”
“Yes. How are you able to read me from afar?”
“What happened?”
“The wound on my leg opened again, and I’ve been in bed since yesterday morning.”
“And now?”
“It’s okay, no discharge. Looks like the bed rest is helping.”
“You’re sure the wound’s the main thing?”
“No.”
“So what is it, my Lily?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“Tell me.”
