“Of course,” Decker answered. It was still too early to predict the outcome. “They haven’t any idea of where she might be?”

“We’ve tried everyone—all her friends, all the public-school kids, teachers, rabbi, homeless shelters near the area where the crime happened. The Quinton Police have done a door-to-door search.” He blew out air. “When I talk about it like this, it just seems so… so bad.”

“It hasn’t been that long, Jon. She may turn up on her own.”

“I certainly pray that’s the case.”

“Anything that I can do?” Rina offered.

“No, Rina, thanks so much.” He tapped the steering wheel again. Decker realized it was his brother’s nervous habit. They drove without speaking until the crenellated Manhattan skyline popped into distant view.

Rina was staring out the window.

Jonathan said, “You haven’t been here since September eleventh?”

“No.”

“I know,” Jonathan said. “Even now I find it strange. Every once in a while, I’ll look up, expecting to see the towers.”

Rina shook her head. “It’ll be so good to see my boys.”

“My mother told me you’re staying with the Lazaruses for Shabbat,” Jonathan said. “They’re deliriously happy about seeing everyone. It’s wonderful that you’ve remained in contact with them.”

“They’re my sons’ grandparents,” Decker said.

“You’d be surprised at the pettiness I see, Akiva. Pastoral counseling is sometimes a misnomer for refereeing.”

“I can believe that,” Decker said. “The Lazaruses are nice people. I’m sure they get a lump in their throat every time they see me with Rina.”

“Actually, they adore you,” Jonathan said. “I think they’ve co-opted you as one of their own. At least that’s what my mother tells me.” He tapped the wheel and cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t be so possessive. My mother is your mother, too.”

They exited the highway somewhere in the middle part of town. The main avenues were still clear, so traveling was doable. But Decker knew that within an hour, the streets would be clogged with mean-looking vehicular metal that would make him wish he were battling rush-hour traffic in L.A. At least back home, the city was car friendly. New York streets had been built for buggies, not for delivery trucks and their drivers who felt it was their God-given right to double-park even if it meant jamming up the roadways. And the street addresses never corresponded to anything. It was impossible to find a location unless you knew it was there to begin with. To Decker, an excursion through Manhattan was akin to one big scavenger hunt.

He sat back and looked out the window, thinking about Jon’s words: “My mother is your mother, too.”

“You know, it’s funny, Jon. I think of you as my half brother. And the others—your brothers and sisters—I feel related to them as well. But your mother… who is as much my mother as yours… I haven’t made the connection yet. I probably never will.”

Jonathan nodded. “I can understand that. There is this small issue called my father.”