TALI

I’m just cutting through the park on my street on the way back from dropping the kids off when Laykie calls. Strange.

“Laykie? Are you nuts? It’s like one thirty a.m. over there!”

“Hi Tali, yeah, kinda late. Had a long, busy day. And a wedding. Knew I’d catch you now!”

I make some calculations. Optician appointment in an hour, drop off my sheitel for wash-and-set, the stuff I’d planned for my morning off. I can spare thirty minutes for a friend I speak to once in a blue moon.

“What do I need catching for, you’re the one who’s busy busy busy. How’s the young couple?”

I head toward Katzefet. When’s the last time I treated myself to a milkshake?

Her young couple is fine, adorable. We chat about nothing and everything because talking to Laykie is an old, comforting activity even if our conversations have gaps of six months or more — but as I place my credit card on the reader, I’m feeling something else. Laykie’s swallowing a lot, her sentences a little choppy. Like she used to get when she was psyching herself up before a test, or when she was caught breaking a rule.

Which, like, never used to happen unless someone like me put her up to it.

I walk back toward the park and find a shady spot to sit. Best way to hear if anything is really going on with Laykie is to let her talk it all out until she gets to the point.

“So… Tali? Uh. You remember Naomi Davies?”

I swallow too much milkshake and brain freeze.

“Aaaaaahhhh.”

“Tali?”

Splutter.

“Just a sec, Laykie.” I cough for a second or two and wish I had my water bottle with me. “Sorry. Drink went the wrong way,” I tell her. “Yeah, I remember Naomi Davies.”

The line goes quiet and I’m not sure what the story is, but I’m getting a vibe. I’m not going to like whatever it is Laykie’s going to unload on me. Either we hash it out now, or I push it off with some Very Good Excuses. I look at my watch again and make more calculations.

Let’s get it over with now.

“Laykie? What about Naomi?” Don’t start with an old raking-over-the-coals hair-shirt-penance thing.

“Her mother passed away last week, did you know?”

“Oh wow, no. Had no idea. Who told you?”

“My mother was at the levayah.”

I find a garbage can and chuck the almost-full milkshake inside.

“Nice that she kept up.”

More silence. This is ridiculous.

“Tali. Naomi’s going to be evicted from the private home she’s been living in for the last fifteen years.”

Maybe I should be feeling something other than the prickle of impatience that’s traveling up my arms and legs and making me march back through the park and up the street like I have somewhere to go.

“That’s awful,” I say, and even though we’ve been living apart for so many years, and even though Laykie isn’t even in my group of closest friends anymore, even though I’m a whole different person than the one I used to be  all those years ago, I know exactly what she’s going to say next.

“It’s more than awful, Tali. We have to do something!”

Is it because we’re so far away from each other that we end up falling into the same patterns that we always did? Or is it the comforting familiarity of old friendships, an old and warm armchair to fall into?

“Do what, Laykie?” I’m power walking now, heart thumping.

“We have to take some kind of responsibility, no? We can’t let Naomi just… go to some state-run treife place because no one can pay anymore!”

When Laykie gets like this I never know how to explain myself so that she’ll hear me out. Maybe I’m not such a whole different person than I used to be, I don’t know.

“I’m sure there are people who can take care of this, Lay.”

“I don’t know why you would even say that, Tali. Who? The old uncle somewhere out in Kansas or whatever? Maybe… maybe we can fix something. Something, you know… because, you know.”

I can actually feel the blood rush in my ears. Breathe, Tali.

“Laykie, do me a favor. We were kids, okay? We didn’t even do anything!”

“We did, Tali. You know we did.”

“We did nothing. We were young, we were being stupid, and it’s not our fault!”

The guy jogging past me shoots a look. I’m yelling in the street, this isn’t normal. I really need my water bottle.

“Laykie, listen. We’re talking, what? Twenty, twenty-five years ago. You have to let go of it, it’s not healthy. If that would have been your… ” what’s her teen’s name again? “…Shaindy, you would have told her, ‘it’s okay, mistakes happen.’”

“My kids have nothing to do with this. Naomi needs our help, and yes, it was our fault. Mistakes happen? Yes they do. And we need to take responsibility for the consequences.”

This conversation is going nowhere. I turn back onto my street; if I don’t hurry I’m going to miss my appointment.

“Sorry, Laykie,” I say, anger ebbing. In its stead a futility slows me, making my limbs suddenly heavy. “I really think you need to look at this differently. It was so long ago. We didn’t mean to….”

“I can’t believe you don’t want to take responsibility, Tali.” I’m six, ten, fifteen, and Laykie’s angry at me. That voice. You can do better than that.

But this time I’m not going to.

Mrs. Davies was a nervous kind of lady in the best of times. Now she was just a wreck, standing at the front door, fluttering around Naomi.

“Are you sure she’ll be okay, girls? Don’t forget, Naomi’s not used to late nights, are you sweetie?”

Naomi’s smile was bright and unaffected under her round green glasses as she clutched a Hello Kitty tote.

“Goin’a sleep ovah, Mommy.” We couldn’t always understand what she was saying but we got the gist of what Naomi wanted most of the time.

“And you call the minute you want to come home, sweetie, yes? Even at midnight,” she said, turning to us. “Any trouble and I’ll be right there, you hear?”

We all but rolled our eyes at each other as Mrs. Davies hovered and fretted until she knew she had to leave.

“Heyyy Naomi! Put your bag here! Look what we have!”

Tali had gone all out — matching hoodies, teddy bears with our names stitched on them, fluffy slippers. For Naomi too, of course.

We showed her where to put her tote, where the bathroom was, which bed would be hers. We asked her if she wanted to call her mother. She didn’t.

See? We thought of her, did everything right.

Until it all went wrong.

ADINA

My life is such a merry-go-round that I barely register missed phone calls unless it’s someone I know. Who uses the phone nowadays, anyway? Send me a text, a WhatsApp, a voice note.

So the number ending 993 doesn’t mean much until I notice it for the fourth or maybe fifth time in one week. It’s slow season in the store and all I’m doing is wiping the glass counter with Windex, so I answer.

“Hi, is this Adina?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“It’s Laykie Grossberg. Schneider?”

“Oh, hi, Laykie! Wow, it’s been years. Where do you live nowadays?”

“In Lakewood, actually. I hear you’re in Passaic?”

I start on the mirrors.

“Oooh seriously? I had no idea you moved back from Israel, that’s so close! We should totally get together some time.”

“It has been years, so crazy! I’ve been back for over ten years, I think. Yeah we should get together!”

Awkward silence. We used to be so close, Laykie and I, well, with Tali too. But on the rare occasions when I think back to those days, I was the weak link. Laykie the A student, Tali the social butterfly-cum-trouble-maker who managed to get away with everything. And me, good old Adina. Worked hard for good marks, did okay in extracurricular activities.

“So, uh, what do you do these days?”

I look at the gleaming counter, the beautiful displays, and smile.

“I design and sell custom jewelry. And baruch Hashem, house full of kids, you know.”

“Wow, that sounds… so nice!”

Okay, this is weird.

“Anything I can help you with, Laykie? It’s quiet time now in my store, but just in case someone comes by…?”

“Sure, sure — want me to call back some other time?”

I look inside the hand mirror I’m polishing. Make a face. Does she need shidduch information for someone? Who might we have in common?

“No, it’s fine, I’m sure we have a few minutes…?” I make the end sound like a question. Laykie sometimes had this prevaricating thing when she was uncertain, I’m remembering now.

“So. Um. Remember Naomi Davies?”

I put the mirror down. The Windex. The cloth.

“Naomi Davies. Remind me?”

“The Down syndrome girl our age who we sometimes hung out with? Like, took out on Shabbos and Sundays?”

I pull open a drawer of earrings and lay them out one by one. As if I’m presenting them to someone.

“Hmm. Maybe something rings a bell? Why?”

“You don’t… remember? She joined that last sleepover we did before we all went to seminary?”

Jewelry is an art. Makeup is an art. Colors, metals, face shapes, height. These are the things I became good at once I became my own person. Once I was no longer a part of the Three Musketeers. How silly we once were.

“It’s all so long ago. So much happened since then. Was there something…?”

“Come on, Adina. You remember….”

I look at the time. No one will come into the store so near to closing, I may as well lock everything away.

“Vaguely,” I offer. “What about her?”

“Naomi’s mother passed away recently. And the private home she’s in can’t keep her anymore because there’s no one to pay for it, so she’s going to have to be moved to a state-run home.”

This is the feeling I once knew well: Tali with a harebrained plan for some kind of prank, Laykie frowning, her quick brain weighing the pros and cons. Me going along with whatever they decided.

“And you’re calling me because…?”

“Well, you know. What happened that night. Maybe we can kind of, I don’t know. Help out? Fundraise? Get askanim on board?”

I nestle the earrings gently back in their padded beds and lock them away.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Laykie.”

“You… don’t? The sleepover?”

Flick off the spotlights. Look around the tiny, chic, pretty store that’s mine, that Plain Jane Adina made happen.

“I don’t,” I say. “Hope you figure it all out. I’m going to close up here, so nice speaking! We’ll be in touch!”

993. 993. I save it under her name, so that I’ll know who it is just in case she calls again.

The food was great, the games were over-the-top hilarious. Adina had made these watermelon ices, red and green with black flecks. Kiwi, maybe? They were the coolest — ha ha, coolest! — and we fell down laughing.

Naomi didn’t want any, but that was fine. She was happy with a soda can we offered her. Straw included.

What time was it, we’d lost track. We were dancing to Avraham Fried’s “Chazak” — hop, hop, twirl, singing as loud as we dared, a-ad bi’as go’el oy-yoy-yoy-yoy-yoyyyy CHAZAK! Until we collapsed in giggles.

Who saw the Purim box first? Laykie, maybe, it was her house after all. Tali, looking for more fun? Not likely Adina, but we were all pretty hyper that night.

A purple wig, a clown’s nose. “Naomi, you wanna get dressed up?”

But she was fading by then, clearly not used to late nights and teen craziness, eyelids and smile drooping slightly. Proudly wearing the hoodie and slippers, clutching the teddy. She seemed happy enough to watch us from under her cover.

We put a funny hat next to her anyway, just to make sure she felt included.

Tali had a cape, a crown. “King Achashveirooooooosh made a great feeeeeast,” she warbled in a kindergarten voice.

Everything was totally out-of-control hysterical.

So who knows exactly what happened next? Anyone?

Laykie kneeling on the floor wearing a tiara. Tali sashaying up and down, cape billowing behind her. Adina with massive shoes that squeaked.

“Ooooh, great King.” That was Laykie. “I cannot arise! I am stuck to the floor!” A piteous expression. “Please, O Mighty King!”

“I shall not assist, oh no! Thou shalt stay on that floor forever!”

And then what happened, some of it so clear, some of it a haze of horror.

Naomi pushing her covers to the side, standing up. “I help you.”

Laykie on the floor, hand out. Tali, Adina? What were they doing?

It happened so slowly, too fast.

This is what we know:

Naomi stood over Laykie.

Naomi grasped her hand.

Naomi pulled.

The arm came off.

LAYKIE

I haven’t been sleeping well, and it’s starting to show. Simchah wants to know if everything’s okay, I’ve been so restless. Nights are the worst; instead of him creeping out to neitz while I slumber on, I’m up before his alarm clock. What can I say, how to explain? Once you open a basement door, there’s no telling what you’ll find down there, what kind of debris has accumulated over the years.

I was sure Tali and Adina, like me, keep that awful night on a secret reel in their minds. Play it before Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur. Ashamnu, Bagadnu. When on vacation, seeing a group of special needs adults on a field trip. What does she look like now? When hearing of a former classmate’s seventh birth, a Downie. Could have been me. When davening under a child’s chuppah, all the challenges you hope they never have to face.

I sit at my computer and wonder. Am I overreacting? Making the monster larger in my mind than it ever has to be? Is Tali just being her old flippant, don’t-take-life-so-seriously self?  Adina’s defense mechanism, it never happened — is that the way to go?

Karnei Ohr, Passaic, looks like a boutique hotel I wouldn’t mind booking into. Chas v’shalom, but I mean the decor. I zoom in on the pictures. Beautiful. I copy-paste the email address into an open window, type and delete, type and delete.

This won’t work. They’re not going to give out private details to some anonymous busybody. I’m going to have to sleuth.

I have to start with Miriam Shein, if that’s where Mommy got all her Davies-related information. If she knows about Karnei Ohr, she’ll know everything else.

Sometimes yenta neighbors come in very useful, only I don’t know what information I’m going to have to feed her as compensation.

As it turns out, a lot. Who our mechutanim are (no clue if they’re related to that Rosenwasser, sorry), how many kids I have, seven or eight? (seven, kein ayin hara), isn’t it nice that my little-turned-big brother has so many dates (he does?), even nicer that my sister Temmi comes so often for Shabbos (she does?), and seriously… why doesn’t the CIA recruit this woman?

But this is what I get in exchange:

Susan Davies’s brother lives in Missouri, not Kansas. He’s elderly and completely uninterested in his niece. At the time Susan passed away, there were three months paid, up till the end of the year, for Naomi’s care. Susan did try to arrange to cover extra time at the home for Naomi, but was unsuccessful. Susan knew what would eventually happen to Naomi, which caused her great anguish. There’s a community liaison involved, a guy called Schwartz, who was trying to get hold of the guy who owns the home, runs it? Someone Bluestein, would I want his number?

As I’m jotting all of this down, because I am definitely not yenta material, Miriam prattles on with all her connections and who’s related to whom and in what year they built their house.

“So I’m thinking maybe you know this Bluestein, made it big in the assisted living facility business? Multi-millionaire. His son married a Katzenberg from down the block, a girl your age. Dina, maybe? No, no, it’s Adina — wasn’t she your friend, Laykie?”

Of course we screamed.

Laykie screamed because everyone was screaming, even though she knew it was just a fake hand from the Purim box. Tali screamed because even though she could see what it was now, a quivering rubbery thing dangling from Naomi’s hand, it was too creepy. Adina screamed from the pure shock of it.

But Naomi.

Naomi stood there, shoving the arm back at Laykie, these raw sounds coming out her mouth. Not screams. Guttural moans like a wounded animal. Uuuh. Uuuuuuhhhhhh.

And then she turned and stumbled up the stairs. Uuuuhhhh. Uuuuhhhhhhhhh.

Which of us stopped screaming first?

“Naomi,” one of us called. “Come back! It’s not real!”

But she wouldn’t be stopped, uuuuhhhhh, and we were pulling off the wigs and crowns and shoes, stuffing everything back in the box, smoothing hair down someone go and get her!

Lights on in the kitchen, we dashed through the hallway, losing fuzzy slippers in the process. Laykie’s father pounding down the stairs.

The front door wide open.

TALI

I’m reading Laykie’s email for the third time. The first time, I couldn’t even get to the end and deleted it.

A couple of hours later I told myself to pull myself together, we’re really not in high school any more, and retrieved it from the trash. I skimmed it because I knew what it said, more or less.

Hi Tali how are you blah blah I still think I’m right blah blah we need to do something blah blah this is what we can do — I starred it and closed Gmail.

Now that I’ve walked around with random words and sharp retorts on my mind and tongue for a day or two, I decide to sit and read it again with a clear mind.

Laykie, clearly being as Laykie as she ever was, hasn’t given up on her martyrdom mission. Why did I ever think this would just go away?

And everything has to be so complicated. Life hasn’t mellowed her? Like even a bit?

Hi Tali.

I know we think differently about whatever happened that night, with Naomi. I don’t know about you, but thinking of her, in whatever state she is in now, being sent away from the place she has always known and felt comfortable in, breaks my heart.

I’m not asking for your money, Tali, or even your apologies.

I do think there’s something you can do that I can’t.

Adina’s father-in-law is the director of the home Naomi is in. Or owns it, I’m not sure. I did try to speak to her before I knew about this, but Adina can’t/won’t listen to me. Now I think she blocked my number, won’t answer calls or anything.

Please, Tali. Talk to her?

Attaching her contact details.

Please.

She’s got to be kidding me.

Kidding.

Me talk to Adina, seriously. Like, I don’t think I’ve spoken to her since she got married.

We drifted apart so fast when we went to seminary, all the years we had spent together slowly fading, losing sharpness and vibrance until they seemed like old sepia-toned photographs of great-grandparents.

I went to Israel and worked hard. I partied a lot, too, away from the people who had always anchored me, flying high, drifting on the wind. But that was mostly in the beginning, until the words of my rebbeim and teachers crept into my mind, my heart. And as much as I had loved Laykie and Adina, I knew that I had found my place without them.

Because of or in spite of, who knew?

And when I got home after the year was up, the Three Musketeers were no more.

Should I really call Adina? She was the one who cried the most when Laykie and I left. She was the one who let go first.

I don’t even know where she lives.

Suppertime, bath time, bedtime. Last minute snacks and drinks and another diaper change. Grrr. Laykie. Naomi. Get out of my brain.

We couldn’t see Naomi. The street was quiet — at least there were no cars.

Laykie’s mother joined us at the open front door, hastily tying her belt, straightening her tichel.

“What happened, girls?”

It was like we’d discussed it all, agreed on what we were going to say.

No idea, we told her. Naomi just got up and ran away.

“You were screaming?”

We… were trying to call her back.

Laykie’s father ran back up the path. Lights blazed from the Davies’s house across the street, the front door open now, Mrs. Davies stumbling down the steps, tottering after him.

“Where’s Naomi?” She grabbed one of us. “What happened?”

By now we were trembling. Laykie white, Tali quieter than anyone had ever seen her, Adina crying.

We… don’t know what happened. No! She was fine!

Mr. Davies, grim. Naomi wasn’t in her bed, not in the kitchen, the dining room.

We pulled on clothes, socks, shoes. Fanned out in all directions.

“NAOMI. NAOMIIII NAOMI! Come to Mommy!”

Tali found her just as Mr. Davies was dialing 911. Under a patchwork blanket in the hammock strung between two pear trees in the Davies’s back garden.

Her mother, sobbing, oh Naomi, what happened?

All of us hanging back, hearts in our throats. Terrified to hear the truth.

Naomi, blind behind the lights shining onto her glasses, arms pinned to her sides.

Mute.

ADINA

I’m just deliberating between the silver or black heels, getting ready for Chaim’s vort. Our Chaim!

So when it’s a call from Israel, probably one of my cousins, of course I answer, joy bubbling forth.

“Hiiiii! Who’s this? Sheva? Miri? Can you believe it??”

“Adina?” comes a tentative voice.

I stop short, a silver strap hooked over my fingers.

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“It’s… Tali. Is this a bad time?”

“Tali? Tali who? I’m sorry, I’m just a little upside-down right now, my son just got engaged… one second. Tali Braun?”

“Yes. Oh mazel tov, Adina, that’s so exciting! Bad timing, huh. I’ll call back next week.”

I don’t know what makes me put down the shoe, walk around to the window seat.

“Actually, I think I have a few minutes, Tali.”

I’m not letting other people’s issues ruin my simchah, that’s for sure.

“No really, Adina. We’ve waited what, twenty-something years? We can wait till next week.”

No such thing as random. She’s not calling for a sudden ooooh, fun to catch up conversation.

“No, I said it’s fine. What can I help you with, Tali?”

She sounds off-kilter, which is funny. So she stayed in Israel, interesting. I haven’t thought about her in years.

“I. Yeah, so I got an email from Laykie….”

“You’re in touch with Laykie?”

“Not regularly. Like birthdays and simchahs — like when her daughter got married, so we catch up for a couple of hours, know what I mean?”

“I guess so. And she sent you an email?”

“Yeah. Uh, after she tried to talk to me.”

Hah, so I’m not the only one who doesn’t like exhumed messes. I make what I hope is an encouraging sound, like I want to hear more, while what I’m really doing is wearing two different shoes and turning right and left opposite the mirror. Silver? Black?

“So you know what she wants, right?”

“Tell me.” Why should I make it easy for her? Tali can talk a hind leg off a donkey, even Mrs. Taylor said that, way back in second grade. I could probably give her a lesson or two in talking front legs off at this point, but something deep down wants to see what happens if I don’t.

“Naomi Davies. She’s in a private home right now, about to be evicted to a state-run, non-kosher facility.”

“Let’s say I know who you’re talking about, Tali. What does it have to do with me?”

Black. Silver. The silence stretches.

“Because you can do something that I can’t.”

“Really? What makes you think so?”

Shlomo walks in, a tie in each of his hands. He holds them out with a quizzical expression. Silver? Black?

I stick out my mismatched feet, grin, and gesture to the phone.

“So what did you think I could do?”

“Your father-in-law, Adina. Director of Karnei Ohr? Owner? That’s where Naomi’s going to be evicted from by the end of the year.”

Oh. Karnei Ohr. That’s just around the corner, how… weird is that.

But I don’t want to think about this right now, so I look at Shlomo’s ties. Best to focus on wardrobe dilemmas when your son is getting engaged.

“I have to go, Tali. I’ll think about it.”

Maybe it’s because Shlomo and I are both laughing so hard at our silver and black predicament, maybe it’s because happiness does color things brighter, maybe it’s because I’m really not the Adina I once was, the weakest link… when we stop laughing and settle on the silver, I ask Shlomo about Naomi.

We still stayed over at Laykie’s that night — it didn’t make sense to wake up Tali’s and Adina’s families at that crazy hour.

We didn’t speak, though, just crawled under the covers and pretended to sleep. Pretended that Naomi’s crumpled blanket and Hello Kitty bag in the corner didn’t scare us more than our darkest childhood monsters.

And then it was the last week before our flights, shopping and labels and suitcases. Paperwork and more shopping and last-minute goodbyes, hugs and air kisses and tears and tissues. We’ll keep in touch, promise!!! Best Friends Forever!

It was as if that night had never happened.

Maybe if we wouldn’t talk about it, we could somehow erase it.

We were busy, after all. New friends, new lives.

Selective amnesia? Collective amnesia?

Naomi never spoke again.

LAYKIE

I don’t like long drives when I’m alone in the car. Is an hour twenty minutes from Lakewood a long drive?

Contemporary beat-heavy dance songs. Slow kumzitz songs.

Nothing works.

Even Waze is better than the silence. One of the kids must have messed with the voice settings, and the guy announcing directions sounds like he’s growling at me.

Why am I even doing this?

I try for a shiur. Podcasts, news bites. Tzaddik v’ra lo, teshuvah.

I give in to my reel, the reel that’s been playing in my mind for so long. Maybe this is the way I get to stop it.

I drive past Newark, the roar of incoming aircraft filling the car.

Because that’s just the way I am.

Karnei Ohr’s entrance is as beautiful as the pictures show, except the trees are now bare, and muted shrubbery has replaced the bright flowers.

I’m buzzed inside and walk toward the front desk, a chic receptionist checking my license against an internal guest list.

“This way, Mrs. Grossberg,” she says, leading me through a modern hallway with recessed lighting and discreetly placed handrails. I can see corner guards, and extra-large handles placed low down on the doors, but other than that, this is a boutique hotel.

There are hearts all over door 17. Pink and blue and green and red.

I lift my hand twice and drop it. Stare at the glitter and puff paint. I can still turn around and go home.

Come on, Laykie.

From behind me, “Mrs. Grossberg?” I jump a little and turn around. Why am I feeling spooked, there’s no reason for it.

It’s someone else, another sleek staff member.

“Yes?”

“I thought you might want company when you go in to see Naomi.”

I’m looking right at a pair of huge brown eyes that I once knew so well.

“Adina?”

“Laykie.”

Same eyes, totally different look. The look that makes you smooth your sheitel back and pray that your eyeliner is on straight.

“My husband got special permission for me to sit in on the board meeting this morning. I wasn’t sure what time it would finish, and whether I’d still get to see you afterward. We just wrapped up, and I saw that you signed in, so… here I am.”

Different tone. Adina-not-Adina. It throws me off a little, and I put my hand against the wall to center myself. A quarter of a century on, are we adult versions of who we once were? Or new creations over an old template, impossible to recognize?

“That’s… amazing. That they let you sit in. And what’s the verdict?”

Same smile, that’s for sure.

“It’s a lot of bureaucracy, this whole complicated situation with insurance, legal guardianship, state laws… but bottom line? Naomi will stay.”

I don’t expect the tears to come. And even though I’m not sure Adina does hugs any more, I don’t ask any questions.

Adina’s the one who pushes the buzzer and Laykie holds her phone with Tali on the screen.

We don’t know what to expect as the door opens slowly to reveal a short woman with a gray bob.

Laykie speaks first.

“Naomi? Can we visit you?”

There are three women in the living area. One on an armchair, two on chairs. And another woman watching carefully from far, far away.

“Hi Naomi. My name is Laykie. Laykie Gro — Schneider. We just came… to say hi.”

Naomi blinks and turns to Adina.

“I’m Adina.” She points to Laykie who lifts up her phone. “That’s Tali, she lives in Israel.”

The silence is stifling, awful, as Naomi stands up, walks into her bedroom and closes the door.

Laykie and Adina look at each other. Tali asks what’s happening, she can’t see anything, her voice metallic, crackling, too loud.

To leave? To stay? To call someone?

“I think we should leave,” Laykie whispers. “What do you think?”

We wait another moment or two, and Adina slips her handbag onto her shoulder.

Naomi reappears.

Her smile, as it breaks through, is the most wondrous thing. So wide and beatific that her eyes all but disappear as she holds something out to us all.

It’s an old and scruffy teddy bear, NAOMI stitched right across the middle. 

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1033)