Scurrying down to the subway, I hesitated. The last place I wanted to go was our empty apartment. I wasn’t prepared, now, to confront the suspicious soreness in my chest, yet I needed to distract my mind from running wild with fatalistic scenarios. I decided to stay on the Lexington line until Grand Central, where I transferred to the Broadway, drawn back to the place I hadn’t called home in decades.Climbing up from the subway, the heat rose with every step I took. Starting up the steep block, I lifted my head and looked around. The apartment buildings across the street seemed unfamiliar. How many years had it been, I wondered, since I’d last come to the Orphaned Hebrews Home?The stone wall rose above my head. There was a break in it where steps led up to the yard. I reached for the gate, hoping it would swing open, but my hand groped at nothing. The gate had been removed. Only the iron hinges were still there, embedded in limestone, a relic of times past when they’d locked us in at night.
