“I think Yudi’s past chances, isn’t he?” Chana says reasonably. “You have a blind spot for this boy, Naftali”
Naftali drives with a single-minded focus that he’s never had before. The world seems to blur around him, all of it coming down to a single point of vision — straight ahead, back to Ohr Gershon. Back to whatever Yudi is about to do.
He calls Chana instinctively, grasping for something to hold onto beyond the sick sensation in his stomach. “I’m going to be late today,” he says. “Yudi never got onto the afternoon bus.”
Chana sounds distracted. There are children fighting in the background, and Naftali can hear the oven beeping. “Do you think he ran away?” she asks.
“No.” Naftali had wondered about that earlier, but he’s sure now. “He wouldn’t have gone through a whole day of school if he were planning to run away.” And there’s no point, if it’s about being missed, because his parents are traveling again. Yudi has no shortage of independence.
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