Free The World Without You by Joshua Henkin

He’s exhibiting what appears to be a willed calm.
    Lily trains her gaze on her four nephews, whom she hasn’t seen since Leo’s funeral. One by one, she takes them in a hug, and now she steps back, looking at Ari, the baby. Except he’s not a baby anymore. “My God.”
    “What?” says Noelle.
    “He looks so much like Leo.”
    “You think?”
    “It’s like I’ve been transported back thirty years.” Saying this, and looking at her nephew, Lily feels her throat constrict. It makes her soften for an instant, even toward Noelle. “Well, you made it.” She touches her sister on the sleeve. “Welcome home.”
    “Thanks,” Noelle says, and for an instant she seems less guarded, too.
    “How was your flight?” Lily asks.
    “It was long,” Dov says.
    “Twelve hours long,” says Yoni.
    “It felt more like twenty-four,” Akiva says, looking at his brothers in exasperation. Lily remembers this about him, the way, in his siblings’ presence, he assumes the pose of an adult.
    “Come here,” Lily says. “Let me have a look at you.” And now she’s crouching before her nephews in the middle of the terminal, two on one side, two on the other, her arms draped over them. “You probably don’t even remember me.”
    “Of course we remember you,” Akiva says. He elbows his brother in the ribs, who elbows another brother, and soon they’re all nodding, one after the other, like dominoes that have been toppled.
    They’re all blue-eyed and pale-faced, with delicate features: little Aryan Israelis, Lily thinks. What would the Nazis have made of this? Akiva, especially, is curious-seeming, as if absorbing some signal the world is sending out. Yoni, the second oldest, is slightly darker-complected, though he, too, has eyes the blue of quartz. All four of them look like they spend time in the sun; they appear remarkably healthy next to the other travelers wheeling their luggage into Wendy’s and Krispy Kreme and T.G.I. Friday’s and Sbarro. “So this is what the army does to you. It makes you handsome.”
    “Hush, you,” Noelle says. “The army, thank God, is years away.”
    “Seriously,” Lily says. “You could put these kids in commercials.”
    “Okay,” Noelle says. “That’s enough.” But she says it gently, and Lily can tell she’s secretly pleased.
    “What happened to Clarissa?” Amram asks. “Weren’t you supposed to meet up with her?”
    “She didn’t show,” Lily says.
    “What do you mean she didn’t show?”
    Lily shrugs. “She left me a message saying she’ll meet us at the house. Luckily, I brought the van.” Most of the time the van sits in the parking lot at Malcolm’s restaurant. He uses it to go on runs to the farmer’s market and the liquor wholesaler. But he won’t need it over the holiday, so Lily has commandeered it; she figures if she can’t bring Malcolm himself, she might as well bring his van. Still, she says, they’ll need to rent a car, too.
    Dov, meanwhile, has spotted someone eating an Auntie Anne’s Pretzel. He wants one, he announces. He wants a bagel as well and, while he’s at it, a slice of pizza, all of which requests his younger brother reminds him can’t be fulfilled because the food isn’t kosher.
    “Nothing in this country is kosher,” Dov says forlornly.
    “There are kosher restaurants in America,” Akiva says.
    “Not as many as in Israel,” says Yoni.
    “Let’s get going,” Noelle says. “It’s two and a half hours to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.”
    Amram has a suitcase in each hand and a duffel slung over his shoulder. The two older boys are wheeling suitcases themselves, which leaves the last suitcase and the car seats to Lily and Noelle, sister beside sister moving through the airport toward the rental car counter where they’ll divide forces, as Lily has suggested. Lily will take Noelle, the two older boys, and most of the luggage, and the two younger boys and the rest of the bags will go with Amram.
    Noelle puts down the