Yitzchok just stared at me, his hand on the doorknob. “Are you crazy?” he whispered
“Come into the kitchen,” Mama said, and we followed her dumbly, sitting down in the chairs she guided us to. Mama busied herself by the stove while I calmed down and stopped crying. I looked over at Yitzchok, embarrassed, but his face was white and he looked just as upset as I was. (True, he wasn’t crying, but he also wasn’t in his own house.)
“Here,” Mama said finally, pushing a cup of tea into each of our hands.
The tea was warm and steamy and even though we were hot and sweaty from our run, it was comforting. The room was silent, save for the sounds of sipping and the clatter of our spoons against our cups.
“What happened, Dovid?” Mama finally asked.
I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her. Mama couldn’t know. Ever.
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