Grandpa trailed off. It was like my cheeks were superglued up, thinking about the trip. We were going to England—me, Mom, Dad, Jaime, Grandpa, and (since this was my present) Madeline! Our first stop would be Surrey, to meet Oliver and his family and give all of Anna’s stuff to its rightful owner. I especially couldn’t wait to hang out with Regina; she and I had been messaging back and forth like crazy. After that, we were going to spend a whole week in London. My mom even bought tickets to a match at Wimbledon. Just three, for herself, Madeline, and me. I wanted to see Luxembourg too, and to get some tortellini in Italy, but Mom and Dad said they don’t have the vacation time or the money to go on an entire European tour. That’s okay. Maybe Jaime can ask for that for his bar mitzvah. I’ve got a few years to convince him.
“Okay,” Grandpa said. “Go back to your friend.”
I gave him a kiss, grabbed Madeline’s gift bag, and ran back to the hammock. The outside lights flicked on, one after another, as I ran past.
“Ta-da,” I said, holding up the bag.
Madeline shifted as gracefully as possible in the hammock, until her legs hung over the edge. I lay down carefully beside her so that my legs dangled too. I reached inside and pulled out a small box. “Chinese checkers!” I announced.
“Travel size,” she pointed out. “So we can bring it to England.”
“Oh my God,” I said, “that’s perfect.”
“There’s more.”
I reached back in the bag and pulled out a thick book with a soft fabric cover and a long red ribbon to mark the pages. A blank journal.
“So you can record your own story,” Madeline explained, “whether you decide to find your birth family someday or not.”
I didn’t think it was possible for my grin to get any bigger, but I was wrong. “Thank you,” I said. “This is awesome. And if I do look for them, I’ll be sure to give you an exclusive interview for your radio show.”
“Really?” Madeline asked, excited. “I mean, only if you want to.” She tapped my new journal with her knuckle. “Just make sure you tie up all the loose ends,” she joked. “You don’t want to upset your great-granddaughter and her best friend.”
My eyes widened at the thought. Me, old, with a great-granddaughter of my own. Would she be anything like me, look anything like me? Would I hand down a Torah to her on the day of her bat mitzvah? Would she have a bat mitzvah? Maybe she or her friend would be adopted too. Who knows. It’s such a long way away.
I hugged the journal and stared up at the darkening sky. A few stars were just starting to appear. Those were far away too. But they were brilliant just the same.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m often asked if my characters are based on real people. Imani, Anna, and everyone else in this book are fictional, but I couldn’t have created them without the help of many, many real people who shared their own stories and experiences with me.
Imani would not exist if it weren’t for my first friend and lifelong companion at Jewish holiday dinners, Larisa Mannino. Her openness and honesty brought Imani to life, along with input from Mariel Phillips and Roberta Gore. I’m also endlessly grateful to Sarah Hannah Gómez, Chelsea Lemon-Fetzer, Kaila Neipris-Gross, and Barbara Gross, sensitivity readers extraordinaire. Anything that rings true about Imani and Jaime is thanks to the people listed here. Anything that doesn’t is my fault alone.
Anna would not be from Luxembourg if I hadn’t had the incredible fortune of befriending Jennifer Breithoff and Christine Hansen. They both answered countless questions, and Jennifer put her amazing language skills to work reviewing Anna’s broken English. Amanda Ashe reviewed Anna’s English as well, while Reese Ashe kept me sane and sharp. Most importantly, thank you to my grandparents, Joan and Marty Baron and Terry and Lee Weissman, for sharing their stories about growing up in New York City, working in the fur business, and saving hot dogs for later. As with Imani’s story, anything I got right about Anna and the 1940s is due in large part to their help. Mistakes are my own.
Thank you to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum and all the survivors who volunteer their time to speak with visitors, especially the survivors who spoke with me: Henry Greenbaum, Marcel Hodak, and Martin Weiss. Among the many books I found useful, I must acknowledge A Dimanche Prochain: A Memoir of Survival in World War II France by Jacqueline Mendels Birn and Surviving the Nazi Occupation of Luxembourg: A Young Woman’s WWII Memoir by Marguerite Thill-Somin-Nicholson.
Elisabeth Dahl, Shawn K. Stout, Laura Amy Schlitz, Erin Hagar, and Stacy Davidowitz provided early and incisive feedback, not to mention invaluable encouragement. Anne Bartholomew provided reassuring pep talks and much-needed comic relief. Flip Brophy, Holly Hilliard, and Nell Pearce helped this book find a home—and what a home! I could not have dreamed up a more dedicated, perceptive, thoughtful, and supportive editor than Dana Chidiac. We most definitely would have been friends in middle school. Thank you to everyone at Dial for embracing this book and getting it ready for readers, especially Lauri Hornik and Namrata Tripathi, Regina Castillo, and Jenny Kelly. I couldn’t be happier with the beautiful cover with art by Olaf Hajek, designed by Tony Sahara and Kristin Boyle.
Finally, much love to all the Weissmans, Barons, Rudnicks, and Roches, especially Grant, Karina, and Lev. Imani and Anna lucked out with their families, but not more than I did with mine.
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The Length of a String Page 22
