“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 simply 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?