by Tif Marcelo
“The internet.” She heaved a breath. “What happened?”
“I went against policy and accepted a patient that I shouldn’t have. It caused a little bit of havoc on the floor, and then social media …”
“Social media did its magic.” Her mother frowned.
Diana shrugged it off, laughed lightly. There wasn’t any need to put her mom into a panic. “But it’s all good. Every business goes through this, and it just so happens that I’m in the crosshairs, but Aziza and I chatted, and there’s no worries.”
“So you haven’t been fired?”
“No, but I’m taking some time off, to let the dust settle.”
“And your preoccupation with our history, your need to do all this right now, has nothing to do with the dust that’s unsettled at work?”
She frowned at the implication. “Yes, okay, that’s why I’m a little on edge. But I want to go to the Philippines right now because I have time, which, yes, is due to this fiasco. What I don’t understand is why you don’t seem to see the importance of this. This is a big deal. Why won’t you come with me?”
“Because I don’t want to. Period. End of story. If this is all true, and that’s a big if, I trust my mother’s reasons for keeping this away from me. I trust that she made a decision to protect me, to protect you. I was an advocate for her wishes up to the moment she passed, and if she didn’t want me to know something, I have to believe her reason for it was good.”
Diana was dumbfounded. She had been sure that her mother would come on board after seeing the pictures, that she, too, would have been swept up in this mission to piece together the missing part of their lives. In elementary and middle school, Diana had hated that part of the curriculum where she had to chart her family tree. While others drew branches, her tree was as sparse as an eastern redbud during the wintertime.
But they were at a standstill. It was clear in her mother’s expression: Margo wasn’t going to budge, choosing her nebulous three-quarter-life crisis trip over something that could change their entire lives, over solving a mystery seventy-five years in the making.
Diana guessed she was going to do as she had always done: she would take charge.
“Then I guess you and I will go our separate ways in a few days,” Diana declared.
New Guinea
June 2, 1944
My dearest Leora,
I received a letter from you today! I held it up to my nose, and I swear I could smell the scent of your skin. I read your words over and over again last night. I tucked it under my pillow, a comfort as I slept, and I have folded it carefully to keep with me at all times. You’re a good-luck charm, and I’ll tell you why.
You are now reading a letter from a promoted corporal. It’s true! One of the corporals fell ill, and the lieutenant saw that I am a quick learner and I’ve been helping other soldiers. This is just the first step for us, sinta ko. Ignacio (you remember my mentioning him—he had the bunk below me on the ship) jokes that I will be a sergeant major when I return. I pretend to laugh about it, but what if it could be true? Can you imagine me with a sergeant major’s rank? That would really be something.
How is everything at home? Your letter mentioned the unrest among the farmers. Some of the soldiers have received similar letters. There is talk of future protests.
We’ve talked about my feelings on the matter, and you and I agree workers have a right to demand better pay, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t worry about you. I want to protect you. I know you don’t like me saying so. You have the strength of a soldier, but with us apart and unmarried, I just pray you stay safe.
I hate to ask anything of you, but will you speak to my father? Will you remind him that I will return? He has not written me back, not even at Camp Beale, where mail came in regularly. He is upset, I know. While he gave his blessing, he wished for me to stay, to fight the fight there, for equality, for rights.
If you can, please remind him that I love him. He has to understand that I am doing this for him and for our cause. For the home of our birth and for the home of our adulthood. It’s twofold, you see. I believe that. Going back to the past, to the homeland, even if I don’t remember it well, will make me a better person, a better man. I will return to you with a stature no one can deny, and I will be worthy of you.
I must go. Tonight I will dream of you.
As always, iniibig kita,
Antonio
Chapter Ten
Margo milled around Diana’s office doorway. She was technically packing and had a small stack of shirts in her arms fresh from the laundry to place in her suitcase, but when she heard her daughter click on the mouse, her curiosity distracted her from the task at hand.
Diana had been on the computer on and off for the last couple of days, sleuthing. She’d received a list of social media profiles from the investigator’s report that might belong to the family members of Flora Reyes Cruz, and true to her stubborn nature, she was going through the list one by one.
“Ma, I can hear you and your fuzzy slippers back there. Your hair must be standing on end from static,” Diana said, not turning.
How her daughter could tease her at a time like this, Margo couldn’t understand. Margo had been on edge since Diana’s declaration that she would be leaving for the Philippines, with or without her. Now, none of Margo’s plans were on her mind. Instead, she was worried about her daughter’s itinerary, the speed with which she’d bought her ticket, and her spreadsheet of places to visit despite not having a contact in Manila besides her travel agent.
That is, unless her current efforts turned up a contact for a Cruz family relative.
Which would make that relative Margo’s relative, too.
Margo’s heart rate doubled.
Oh God, Margo could have relatives.
And Flora Reyes was alive.
Alive.
Margo shook her head as an avalanche of thoughts cascaded around her. Flora Reyes might be the woman who had seen her father last. This might be the woman who had been married to her father. The woman who had kept her father from her. And her daughter was going to confront her.
“Can you?” Margo said now, curiosity peeking around a corner of her mind. “Can you reread the PI’s letter?”
Diana turned, the note in her hand. “Sure. ‘Enclosed are the following items that connect Flora Reyes to Antonio Cruz: a marriage certificate to Flora Reyes, a newspaper clipping connecting the couple with a mention of their family members, and possible Facebook profiles of their granddaughter, their next of kin. Enclosed is a potential business address in the name of the family. While a trusted partner in the Philippines has provided this information, I suggest making contact and conducting a DNA test for proof of relationship. As discussed, I will wait for further instructions on how to proceed.’ ”
“So he’s not really sure, then?” Margo said, with a spark of hope in her chest. Her life would go back to the way it was if this all weren’t true.
“Ma.” Diana looked up. “This is them. I can feel it.”
“But we aren’t sure,” she said, forcefully now. “Because if this is true … if these people are …”
Diana stood, guiding Margo into the chair while taking the clothes from her arms, and turned her so she faced the table of pictures. The ribbon cutting photo, the photo of Antonio and Flora, a close-up graduation photo of Flora, and of a third woman Diana’s age, with a bright smile and Diana’s eyes. The first time Margo looked at these pictures, she’d casually flipped through them, but now, she examined them intently.
“It’s not too late, Ma. You can change your ticket.”
“No.” Though Margo wouldn’t be able to put this out of her mind forever, she couldn’t back out on her friends. And she refused to subject herself to this … this alternate reality. She’d lived her life in the moment, and that was what she was going to continue to do, not grasp at this potential scam. She turned to her daughter. “Diana, what if … what if this is all a lie? A lie made up
by your private investigator, and no one’s waiting for you on the other side. What if it’s a … what do you call it? A catfish?”
She smiled. “I thought of that. I didn’t tell the PI that I was going to the Philippines. And, I could say the same of you: you might be on a wild-goose chase with your wayward friends. It’s the same kind of risk, isn’t it? We’re going to places we’ve never been before.” Under her breath she said, “Though I still think you should come with me.”
“Hello?” A low voice echoed from the hallway. “Dr. Cary? Mrs. Cary?” Lenny, their contractor, materialized in the doorway holding a rusty pipe. His presence no longer surprised Margo. Despite his weathered appearance, he was the epitome of honest and jolly, not to mention another person to chat with during the day while Diana worked.
“That’s not a good sign,” Margo said.
“Not horrible, but not good, either.” He grinned, accentuating the folds on his dusty face. He lifted up the pipe. “We found this behind the wall in your master bathroom. It’s looking bad, and I suggest we replace it.”
Diana sighed. “Well, we don’t have a choice, do we? Can you text me a quote?”
“Will do. Expect it in a bit. Sorry. It’s these—”
“I know … old houses.”
“Right.” He nodded and turned out of their sight.
As his footsteps quieted, Margo was struck with another thought. “Diana, isn’t this too much? The time off, the private investigator, this trip? You have student loans, your mortgage to think of, and now the pipes need replacing.”
“You don’t need to worry about it. I’ve made everything work before, haven’t I?” she said bluntly.
The implication shredded Margo’s motherhood card, a reminder that, yes, in fact, Diana had paid her own way. As a photographer, Margo had made just enough to live, to rent out the downstairs flat of a town house in Old Town, to give Diana the basic necessities of life, but everything else? The clothing Diana had wanted, her varsity jacket, her college applications, not to mention college itself, and medical school—Diana had done it on her own. It had all worked out in the end, with the two of them achieving exactly what they wanted in life, but Diana was right—Margo didn’t have the say-so to worry, to double-check on her financially.
Diana pointed to her laptop screen, snapping Margo out of her thoughts. “Besides, there’s no way I’m backing out now. I’ve found a relative, and her name is Colette Cruz Macaraeg.”
* * *
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Oh, ah … yes.” Margo looked up from her phone’s screen, which had gone dark, to see Cameron sitting next to her, a carry-on bag between them. The rideshare van to the airport rumbled through the street—they were a mile from Reagan airport, where they were meeting Roberta—and she had just posted the picture of herself and Cameron loading the car up with their luggage. She had started to scroll through her notifications when her mind had wandered, far enough away to be noticeable.
A gray eyebrow rose, and his blue eyes gleamed. “Uh-huh. I don’t believe you. Here I am chatting my butt off about our exciting trip, and your mind’s a million miles away.”
She couldn’t deny it. She was caught, so she updated him on Diana’s plans, of the foolishness of her wanting to fly across the world to meet complete strangers. Margo couldn’t get her daughter’s face, or how detached their goodbyes had been, out of her memory. They had hugged (though stiffly) and said their requisite I love yous. There hadn’t been any outward hard feelings, but right now, it felt like the first day she’d dropped Diana off at day care, like she was missing an appendage. “I just wish she had listened to me.”
“About the safety of traveling alone?”
“About everything! About moving too quickly. She and that Colette, who is supposed to be my niece. My niece, the daughter of my already deceased half sister named Marilou. Can you even imagine that, Cam? A sister!” Words tumbled out of her mouth and Margo was keenly aware she wasn’t making any sense. “That is to say if that was truly Colette and not some phony person. Anyway, she and Diana were in communication most of the night. How I know this is because Diana kept walking from her bedroom to the kitchen and back, typing away at her phone. But my God, if the PI is right, and if they are, in fact, cousins by blood, then that puts a new spin on everything, right?”
“More than a spin. That’s a tornado-force wind, Margo.” Concern flashed in his eyes. “So what are you doing here? Why aren’t you traveling with her? Don’t you want to go, too?”
“No,” she said softly. And then in a louder voice: “No! Of course not. I think this is a mistake. Even if they are really family, they’re still strangers—we don’t know what they might want or think. My family is Diana. My family is you and Roberta. My family was my mother. Of what importance are these strangers in my life?”
Cameron turned in his seat and leveled her with a stare. “You meeting new family doesn’t negate the family you have, you know that, right? Nothing would be lost. But I get it. It’s scary as hell.”
“I’m not scared. I’m hesitant; I’m dubious. Besides, this trip has been the light at the end of the tunnel that kept me going last year. I’ve wanted to be able to breathe, and now I’ll finally get to. Is that horrible? Does that make me an ungrateful daughter?”
“No. No, it certainly doesn’t make you ungrateful.” Cameron took her hand. He didn’t do it often, and Margo was surprised at how soft his was. Both their hands were wrinkled, with the occasional spot, and she relaxed into his touch, as simple and gentle as it was.
“Margo, you’ve been through a lot. You loved your mother, and it was this love that made it hard to take care of her in the end, but you did it anyway. You do need to breathe. You shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to take care of yourself. And I support whatever you want to do. We’re all in this together.” He squeezed her hand. “We’d miss you, anyway. Our TALWAC with Cameron YouTube channel name won’t work without Thelma. Anyway, it already has hundreds of subscribers.”
“You think I’m Thelma?”
“You’re changing the subject.” He handed Margo his phone, and sure enough, below their first video, shot by Roberta after their last coffee date, was a series of comments. “I think this idea of ours has legs. Heck, it has wings. And I think it may fly.” He gave her a side-eye. “But yeah, if I had to choose. Thelma.”
“Wow. You might be right,” Margo said, ignoring the blush creeping up her neck as she scrolled through the encouraging comments, recognizing handles from her Instagram followers. In real time, the subscriber count increased before her eyes.
But as they disembarked curbside at Reagan airport and walked the short distance to the airline terminal to pick up their boarding passes, Margo wondered: What would Leora do? Would her mother have left for this trip knowing Diana was going to the Philippines? Would she, too, have given Diana leeway to do what her heart desired, despite the threat of danger, physical or emotional, that loomed on the horizon?
The answer came to her quickly.
Yes. Yes, Leora would have, because she’d allowed Margo this same leeway in her young life. Leora had taken the reins of motherhood whenever Margo needed the time to breathe, to create and capture moments. Despite not having a partner, Margo had the unconditional support of her mother. Leora had known that the faster she let Margo go, to catch the wind’s draft, the faster she would come home.
Right now, though, Margo didn’t feel like she was flying with the current. Instead, every step felt like she was up against it.
part three Twilight
Find a part of yourself hidden in the twilight.
—Fennel Hudson
New Guinea
June 28, 1944
My Dearest Leora,
I miss you. I’m worried that you aren’t getting all my letters and V-mail. You haven’t responded to some of the questions I asked in some letters. I, however, spoke to my sergeant, and he said that letters can turn up in the wrong order. I hope that’s s
imply the case.
How are Mrs. Lawley and the shop? Sometimes I imagine you at work behind the treadle machine, working on a beautiful dress, like the first time I saw you. You were a sight. You were biting your lower lip as you worked the fabric through the Singer. You looked so determined, and I knew then that I wanted to meet you.
We have a few months here in New Guinea. Then some of us will stay, and the rest will go to the Philippines. I admit, my darling, that I’m nervous to go back to the Philippines. Will I get to visit my old home? Who of my neighbors are still there? Will they recognize me? Am I too much of a stranger now, older, wearing another country’s uniform? Will they treat me like a traitor or a hero? Am I a traitor or a hero?
There are rumors that when we land in the Philippines, there won’t be much downtime. That the country is crawling with the Japanese and my people are under duress. I don’t know what this means, Leora, or what it entails, though some of the soldiers look to me for advice. But who am I to give them guidance? Though many of them are young, they are not naive. None of these soldiers from America come from a life of luxury. Their hands are torn from fieldwork, faces hardened by the sun. They aren’t innocent, by any means.
And yet, I still feel protective. Me and them, we are all in between—in between two countries where we have endured hardship, even hate.
I apologize for this dreary letter. Take heart, my joy is the sunset that looks close enough to touch, where it feels like the sun is setting all around me. Above, around, and seemingly below as it reflects off the water.
Again, no matter what happens there with the protests, Leora, you must keep yourself safe. I know you. You will want to defend me, defend my father. You have a good heart, always seeing the best in people. But you can’t take part in it. Keep to Mrs. Lawley, to the shop, and I will return to you soon.
I can hear you cluck in disapproval at my attempt to tell you what to do. I know well enough that Leora Gallagher will do exactly what she wants. And I love her for it.
