2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As Yael exited the meeting, sunlight chased away the dark, and she checked the time on her cell. Five o'clock. Between going to Malkah Enterprises, strolling through Central Park, and attending the meeting, she'd lost an entire afternoon. She stood on the corner and battled over whether she was going to dart across town to meet Wendy and her boyfriend for dinner as originally planned. It'd be nice to spend an evening laughing and catching up, so she strode towards a waiting cab. A fire truck sped by, the shrill sirens halting her progress, and the firefighter popped back into her thoughts.
All these years, he had stayed with her. Even when she hit rock bottom, it was his voice telling her it would be okay, just as he had during that nightmarish hour. She never thanked him, never had a chance to. Not many people understood the trauma she had gone through. He would. Did he experience the same recurring night terrors? Shaking hands when a plane passed too closely overhead? The therapists assigned to her in rehab had barely scratched the surface of what she dealt with on a daily basis. She stood apart from other people with a wall of dust and falling buildings closing her off—post-traumatic stress syndrome—four words that didn't come close to describing her lasting mental scars.
Stop dwelling on that, Yael chided herself. She slid into the yellow sedan and told the driver, "Spice, in the Village, please."
Gnawing guilt almost had her telling him Miriam's address instead. Tomorrow, she vowed. Tonight she wanted to be with her friend, the only one who'd been there for her through everything. Although she'd done it a million times before, she needed to thank Wendy face to face, especially here, in New York, not fragile and broken following another rehab stint.
After paying the driver, Yael strode in and spotted Wendy at the bar, cozying up to a gorgeous Italian man. He had a strong jaw, the kind that begged to be kissed, but her friend was too busy laughing as she played with his hair.
A split-second hesitation tripped her up. They looked so happy, untainted, and as Yael caught a glimpse of herself in the glass, the gauntness that still accented the lines of her face filled her with self-doubt. True, Wendy had seen her worse, but Yael wished her wrists weren't as frail as a bird's or that her collarbone had filled in a little more. Her friend turned her head, her already blissful expression brightening as they made eye contact, and Yael's stomach rolled with nerves. She hadn't realized how huge a moment this was, reuniting with the person who had never failed with her stubborn desire to bring Yael back from the edge. Drawing in a steadying breath, Yael lifted her hand and waved.
"Babe!" Wendy strutted over, her exotic beauty demanding the attention of those she passed, and hugged Yael. When Wendy pulled away, tears glistened on her lashes. "How are you?"
"Fine." Yael caught her friend's pointed look. "Okay, maybe not so fine, but we can talk about it later."
"I'm sorry your homecoming has to be under such shitty circumstances, but I won't lie. I'm happy to have you and don't plan on letting you go for a while. Not without a fight." Wendy studied her. "You look good, really good." She embraced her tightly again. "Come meet my man."
