His Voice

The apartment layout is familiar; the Chaitons live on the floor below hers. Michal notices the window in their living room with the same view of what she thinks of as “her tree.”

Her twins like to climb onto the back of the couch and press their sticky hands and faces against the glass.

Tonight, as she’d headed for the door on her way to the Chaitons, they were at the window in their matching racing-car pajamas. “Yehuda. Laizer,” she’d called. “Mommy’s going bye-bye.”

Yehuda had opened and closed his small fists, and said, “Bye-bye.”