Where was Noam now? Ezra wondered. At this very moment, where was his son? He prayed that the boy was unharmed. Salty rills ran down his cheeks, feeling like liquid fire. He didn’t think he had any more tears left, but here they were again.

Breina came back in the bedroom. “The sterling’s still in the breakfront.”

Ezra brushed his cheeks, whispered, “In all the confusion, you probably left the pearls at Eema’s house.”

“No,” Breina said. “I didn’t wear them yesterday—”

“Breina, I don’t care about your necklace right now.”

“Do you think I do?” Breina shouted. “Do you think I care about it?”

“So why are you going on and on about it—”

“I’m not going on and on—”

“Just drop it!” Ezra said.

“Okay!” Breina said. “Okay! It’s dropped! Happy?”

Ezra buried his face in his hands, lifted his head a moment later. “Let’s not fight.”

Breina’s lower lip trembled. She leaned against the wall and exploded into deep sobs. Ezra sighed, rose from the bed, and walked over to his wife. He put his hand on her shoulder; she turned and fell against his chest. He held her for a minute, patting her back as she cried against his undershirt, letting her wring out her grief. When she seemed to have quieted, he pulled away, saying he had to get ready for shul. Breina nodded, said she might as well dress also.

She thought about her second son, always a difficult child. A premature baby, he was colicky and a poor sleeper. As he grew, he became willful and restless.

There were times she felt immense sadness for him, his loneliness was so palpable. She’d reach out and hug him, wrap him in the cocoon of a mother’s arms. Noam would respond, embrace her back with such ferocity she could hear her bones crunch. But then he’d pull away, retreat into his shell or lash out and act like a wild animal.

She would try to talk to him, get him to tell her what was on his mind. Again he’d act silly, ask her childish questions.

How do we know Hashem is all around if we can’t see Him?

Questions like these she expected out of the mouth of a four-year-old, not from a teenager. He seemed to be making fun of her. But she took him seriously and told him to ask his rebbe. Of course, he never did.

So unlike Aaron—the model child.

How could two brothers be so different?

Then she thought of Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau.

She went inside the walk-in closet, closed the door, took off her robe, and slipped on her dress. Quickly, she zipped it up and fitted her wig atop her head. When she reopened the closet door, Ezra was sitting on the bed, putting on his socks.

“Ez?”

“What?”

“Do you think Noam took the pearls?”