“Yes without a moment of hesitation. She lived with us for a year. Then she went back east for two years. Then she came back and lived with my parents for another six months after I got married. It wasn’t easy having her. At times I was mad at my parents for agreeing to take her in, even though I had asked. Sometimes I felt like my space was invaded. But I was never sorry I had asked. And my parents did it because they’re wonderful people and probably, being Holocaust survivors, knew what it was like to be lost.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“Strangely enough, I don’t know. We lost contact. Her name was Julia Slocum. She wasn’t even Jewish. I had met her at an art class after school when we were like twelve. We became fast friends because she was goofy and smart and always laughing. It must have been very hard on her, but she never let it show.”

“Your parents rock.”

“They do rock.” Rina paused. “I do know that she got married and had kids of her own. I know nothing beyond that and I guess I was never curious enough to pursue something more. It was a relationship for that time. My parents felt morally obligated to help and help they did.”

“I know where this is leading.”

She took his hand. “You did the right thing by getting involved.” She paused. “Now on to the problem at hand. What do you want to do with the boy?”

“Right back at you, darlin’. What do you want to do?”

“There are two solutions—a short-run quick fix and a long-run, more permanent resolution. The short one is that we keep him here and hope his situation takes care of itself—that his mother or father or both show up and take him home.”

“Sounds okay. How much time passes before short-run quick fix becomes a long-run problem?”

“I’d say a month.”

“And if we’re still in the same position after a month?”

“Then I’d say at least wait until the school year ends. And then we reevaluate.”

“It’ll be a little late in the game to kick him out by then.”

“So obviously we’re not going to kick him out. But there may be other possibilities. I bet he has money. Maybe he could become legally emancipated.”

“Not at fourteen.”

“No, not at fourteen. More like sixteen or seventeen. If he wanted to live in a place of his own, like his dad did, he could do that. Or he could live part-time with his aunt and part-time with us. I don’t know what the solution would be. We may not even get that far. Could be he’ll hate it here and take off for parts unknown. Let’s ride it out for a while and see what happens.”