“That letter that you got a while back, can we look at it?” he asks. “Maybe there’s a clue in there”
The days blur past.
Sometimes it feels like I’ve been in this twilight zone forever, a never-ending black tunnel of not knowing, nerves-stretched-taut waiting, waiting for news.
Other times it feels like it’s been no time at all, like I’m frozen in a time warp, still sitting at Bubby’s dining room table that first night when the news broke: that my family is missing, while civil war rages in India.
But according to my calendar, it’s been exactly three days. No more and no less.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door, then another, more insistent. It can only be Yaakov; Bubby and Zeidy are trying to give me space. I’ve been up here all afternoon, just sitting, just being, in agonized aloneness. There’s nothing anyone can say or do to make it better.
Create a free account to keep reading.
