Benny put down the phone and returned to his Gemara. Tziporah got back to her clicking and tapping, but she had clearly been listening to every word

Benny handed two 100-shekel bills to the taxi driver, accepted his change, and slid out of the car. Meir followed.

The driver popped open the trunk. Benny pulled out the black suitcase.

“Come, let’s go upstairs,” he said.

Meir followed him up.

“Hi, Tziporah,” Benny said softly as he let himself into the apartment. “You remember Meir, right?”

Tziporah came to greet them. She was wearing a tichel and looked tired, but she smiled in welcome.

“Come in,” she said to Meir, who stood awkwardly just inside the door. “Do you need a drink? There are drinks in the fridge and cups on the counter. Make yourself at home and take whatever you need. Benny will show you the spare bedroom.”

Meir ducked his head. “Thanks so much, Rebbetzin,” he said.

Benny showed him down the hall — it wasn’t too far — and realized that Tziporah had removed her computer monitor and keyboard from the desk. Smart, she’d need them tomorrow while Meir was here.

“Good night,” Meir said. “Thanks for everything.” He closed the door.

Benny grabbed the suitcase and quietly opened the door to the kids’ room. They were all sleeping soundly. He hesitated for a second, then stowed the contraband under Momo’s crib, next to the containers where Tziporah stored the out-of-season clothing.

He closed the door and returned to the living room. He knew he had to talk to Tziporah, explain what was going on. He took a deep breath. “Tziporah—”

“I’m going to sleep now,” she said abruptly. “Regular work day tomorrow.”

The tension was suddenly back between them, forbidding, impermeable.

“Good night,” Benny retreated. “Thank you for being so flexible, so generous.”

She left the room without a word.