The Things a Brother Knows Read Online Free Page A

really learn nothing?
    Then I give up. I should just be glad they’re talking instead of pretending like Mom does. I can tell by the pitch of their voices that they know Boaz is not just catching up on sleep. That he isn’t going to open up his bedroom door, give a big stretch, rub his eyes and then snap to, like a bear in striped pajamas from an old black-and-white cartoon.
    When Boaz finally does come downstairs we all stop and stare. It’s just what I told myself I wouldn’t do, but none of us can help it. Mom fills the silence.
    “Bo, honey, do you want a drink? A slice of cheese? A carrot stick?”
    She reaches out and rubs his shaved head like he’s a little boy.
    His T-shirt hugs his chiseled chest. The tendons in his neck mean business. He hasn’t lost any touch of the desert sun on his empty face.
    He walks over to Dov, sticking out his hand. They shake like buddies meeting in a bar after work.
    We sit around the table.
    Mom takes a sip of her wine. “We’re so blessed.”
    Dov rolls his eyes. After Boaz left, Mom started going to synagogue almost every Saturday morning. It used to be she went only on the High Holidays, dragging Boaz and me along, but now Mom is Temple Beth Torah’s most reliable attendee. She’d go Friday nights too if she could, but that would get in the way of family dinners, and there’s no way Abba would stand for eating potluck style in the synagogue social hall.
    Dov starts a rant about the economy. The price of chocolate bars at the Stop & Shop has gone up twice in the past six months. Not that Dov even eats chocolate, but he notices these things, and this is his proof that the economy is on the fast track to hell.
    Mom used to call Boaz the Human Hoover, and he’s living up to his old name. It’s good to see him eating like that again, even if it’s only because he’s been starving himself for days. And it’s easy to explain away his silence when his mouth is full of food.
    He approaches his plate with absolute concentration.Dividing the chicken from the vegetables from the potatoes. He eats them separately, and completely. He leaves nothing behind.
    “Boaz.
Nu?
” Abba says because he can’t help himself. He can’t let it be enough that Boaz is sitting at the table, that he’s eating, that he’s finally come downstairs.
    Boaz looks up from his plate and meets Abba’s eyes but doesn’t say a thing.
    “What’s next, son?”
    Silence. Only the sound of forks clinking china.
    Finally Boaz shrugs. “Back to sleep.”
    He stands and takes his plate into the kitchen. Mom shoots Abba a
why can’t you lay off him
look. Like if Abba had just let Dov rattle on about his chocolate bars all night, everything would be right with the world.
    He comes back into the dining room, wiping his hands on his jeans.
    “Well,” he says. “Good night.”
    It’s seven-thirty.
    He turns to leave.
    “Bo, honey,” Mom pleads. “Sit awhile. I’ll get you a cup of tea. Some nice, hot tea.”
    He shakes his head, then walks slowly over to her and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before going back upstairs. She beams, electrified.
    I’m pretty sure it means nothing. It’s what we always do before going to bed. It’s a reflex. It doesn’t mean Boaz is anywhere closer to acting like himself.
    Nobody says anything for a long time.
    Maybe I should be sitting here thinking about Boaz. But I’m not. I’m plotting how to make my exit.
    I’m supposed to be going to a party at Chad Post’s house. I worry about how it looks going off to a party when my brother has just returned from the desert, but I also worry about Zim and Pearl killing me if I bail.
    And anyway, if I stayed in tonight, Boaz wouldn’t come out of his room. So what’s the difference?
    It’s not like we ever spent our Friday nights hanging out.
    We weren’t like those brothers who confide in each other, or seek out each other’s approval, or commiserate about their parents. We weren’t even like those brothers who