Here I Am Read Online Free Page B

could open. But I can’t. I want to reach across the distance, and I want to be reached. But I can’t.
    “I’m sorry about this morning,” he said. “I wanted you to have the whole day.”
    “You’re not the one who wrote those words.”
    “Neither is Sam.”
    “Jacob.”
    “What?”
    “It cannot, it will not, be the case that one of us believes him and one doesn’t.”
    “So believe him.”
    “He clearly did it.”
    “Believe him anyway. We’re his parents.”
    “That’s right. And we need to teach him that actions have consequences.”
    “Believing him is more important,” Jacob said, the conversation happening too quickly for him to catch up to his own meaning. Why was he choosing this battle?
    “No,” Julia said, “loving him is more important. And on the other side of punishment, he’ll know that our love, which requires causing him pain every now and then, is the ultimate consequence.”
    Jacob opened Julia’s car door for her and said, “To be continued.”
    “Yes, to be continued. But I need you to tell me we’re on the same page here.”
    “That I don’t believe him?”
    “That whatever you believe, you’re going to help me make clear that we are disappointed, and that he has to apologize.”
    Jacob hated this. He hated Julia for forcing him to betray Sam, and he hated himself for not standing up to her. If there had been any hatred left, it would have been for Sam.
    “OK,” he said.
    “Yes?”
    “Yes.”
    “Thank you,” she said, getting into the car. “To be continued tonight.”
    “OK,” he said, shutting the door. “And take as long as you want today.”
    “What if as long as I want doesn’t fit in a day?”
    “And I have that HBO meeting.”
    “What meeting?”
    “But not until seven. I mentioned it. You probably would’ve come back by then, anyway.”
    “We’ll never know.”
    “It’s annoying that it’s on a weekend, but it’ll only be an hour or two.”
    “That’s fine.”
    He gave her arm a squeeze and said, “Take what’s left.”
    “What?”
    “The day.”
    —
    The drive home was silent, save for NPR, whose omnipresence took on the character of silence. Jacob glanced at Sam in the rearview mirror.
    “I went and done ate a can of your tuna fish, Ms. Daisy.”
    “Are you having a stroke or something?”
    “Movie reference. And might’ve been salmon.”
    He knew he shouldn’t let Sam use his iPad in the backseat, but the poor kid had been through enough that morning. A little self-soothing seemed fair. And it deferred the conversation that he didn’t feel like having right then, or ever.
    Jacob had planned on preparing an elaborate brunch, but when the call from Rabbi Singer came at nine fifteen, he asked his parents, Irv and Deborah, to come over early to watch Max and Benjy. Now there would be no ricotta-stuffed brioche french toast. There would be no lentil salad, no shaved brussels sprout salad. There would be calories.
    “Two pieces of rye with creamy peanut butter, cut diagonally,” Jacob said, handing a plate to Benjy.
    Max intercepted the food: “That’s actually mine.”
    “Right,” Jacob said, handing a bowl to Benjy, “because
you
have Honey Nut Cheerios with a splash of rice milk.”
    Max examined Benjy’s bowl: “Those are plain Cheerios with honey on them.”
    “Yes.”
    “So why did you lie to him?”
    “Thanks, Max.”
    “And I said
toasted
, not
immolated
.”
    “
Imlated?”
Benjy asked.
    “Destroyed by fire,” Deborah said.
    “What’s with Camus?” Irv asked.
    “Leave him alone,” Jacob said.
    “Hey, Maxy,” Irv said, pulling his grandson into him, “someone once told me about the most incredible zoo…”
    “Where’s Sam?” Deborah asked.
    “Lying is bad,” Benjy said.
    Max let out a laugh.
    “Good one,” Irv said. “Right?”
    “He got into a little trouble at Hebrew school this morning and is doing time up in his room.” And to Benjy: “I didn’t lie.”
    Max peered into Benjy’s bowl