She went back to the office the following day. It was a busy period, like always, and she was looking for excuses to leave early. She made plans to go out with the head of human resources, a short, chipper girl, three years younger than her. She felt it was a great opportunity to prove to herself that she could make new friends. But after an hour, during which the head of human resources insisted they rank the five hottest men in the office, Tamara felt their relationship had run its course. When she got home, she shared on Facebook Ehud Banai’s song about the thirty-year-old boy. She felt that the songs she shared offered the world some insight into her existential state. She never got a single like for the songs she shared, and perhaps that was the reason she shared them so often. Then she went over her WhatsApp contact list, hoping to find some forgotten loved one. When she reached the letter M, she saw Michael’s face. She clicked on the photo and zoomed in. He was holding a beer bottle and staring into the camera with a serious expression, looking tougher than in real life. She thought to herself that maybe that’s what he meant by stretching the lie.

The green dot appeared by his name. She forwarded him his Facebook photo with the German sign and added: “Funny status, I just don’t understand how you made it to Germany so quickly …”

He called not a moment later. “I gather you saw the photo,” he said.

She didn’t reply.

“Listen, it’s a funny story, but …” His voice was swallowed by the loud background noise.

“Where are you?”

Dodging the question, he carried on with his confused monologue. She focused on the background noise, picking up on a mechanical voice blaring over loudspeakers: “Special offer, three Cokes for ten shekels!”

“You’re still in Israel,” she determined, surprised by her own conclusion.

He was quiet for a few moments before asking, “What do you want?”

“An explanation.”

“I can’t give you one over the phone.”

“Then let’s meet,” she replied. She thought she may have taken it a step too far, but decided to wait for his reaction.

“Hadera Stream?” he suggested.

She agreed, but not before feigning hesitation.

6.

THE FOLLOWING DAY at four, she excused herself from the office and drove to Hadera in the beat-up Subaru Leone she had bought two years ago from a redheaded fellow who lived on a settlement in the West Bank. The three chimneys from the power plant loomed large as she parked, then took the stairs down to the stream. Michael was already there, standing with his hands in the pockets of his gray wool coat. She quietly crept up behind him as he gazed out at the water. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he turned around.

“I’ll explain everything,” he said.