Frieda:…are you, Noam?

Noam: I can’t tell you that. I can’t see you again. I want to say good-bye.

A lot of static.

Frieda: (desperate): Noam, don’t hang up, don’t hang up. I love you. I want you to know that I love you.

Noam: (crying): I love you too, Bubbe.

Frieda: Noam, no matter what you’ve done, I don’t care what you’ve done. I love you. We love you. We want you back here. We don’t care…(crying)…we’ll help you. No matter what you’ve done.

Background voice (low, guttural): Thirty more seconds.

Noam: (still crying): I can’t talk much longer. In case the phone is tapped.

Frieda: It isn’t tapped, I swear, Noam. I swear on the Chumash.

Background voice: Twenty.

Bad static.

Noam:…Abba and Eema, I love them too.

Frieda: Noam, come home to us. Please.

More static.

Noam (pause): I can’t come home.

Frieda: (more crying): Yes, you can. I love you, darling. I don’t care what…(crying)…just come home.

Noam: Don’t cry, Bubbe. Please, don’t cry.

Background voice: Ten.

A giant rumble, drowning out the voice. Then Decker heard Noam’s voice but he couldn’t make out the words.

Frieda:…come home. We all love you so much.

Background voice: Five.

Static.

Noam: I gotta go now. Slachli—Please forgive me. Please do that. Ask everyone to forgive me. I love you all.

The line went dead. Frieda came back on the phone, her voice so soft, Decker had to ask her to speak up. She cleared her throat and said, “I…I couldn’t think of what to say other than I love you.”

There was so much pain in her voice—in her grandson’s as well. Noam might be big for his age, but his voice was still tuned to a child’s timbre. A soft, adolescent lament so full of despair. It was gut-wrenching to hear him speak.

Decker said, “You did what you could.”

“You don’t know where he is?”

“As of five hours ago, he was in Los Angeles,” Decker said. “He may still be, I don’t know.”

“He’s in bigger trouble than the last time?”

“Yes, he is.” Decker sighed. “Mrs. Levine…”

Again, he paused. Mrs. Levine? Well, what else should he call her? Sure as hell she wasn’t Mom. “Mrs. Levine, I want you to play me the tape again. I was listening to the conversation and there were some background noises I was tuning out. Now I’m going to tune them in.”

“Certainly,” Frieda said.

She rewound the tape and pushed the button. Again, Decker was struck by how young Noam sounded, how despondent he was. He wondered whether suicide was one of the boy’s options and listened carefully, his ears trying to hear beyond the static.