He said it in such a tone that Diana’s heart softened, not only for Joshua, but for Antonio.
No. She couldn’t let that happen.
She followed him into the galley kitchen. It was simple and clean, though missing a refrigerator. Running a hand along the countertop, she found it free of dust. “Someone’s still cleaning it?”
“I don’t want this house going to disrepair. There’s more.”
The floorboard creaked as they entered the narrow hallway, into the first bedroom to the right, where a window greeted them. A desk looked outward onto the view of the back of the property, and farther away was a hint of a cement fence.
“This was his favorite spot, because it faces west. He even had the ground ahead leveled so he could have an unencumbered view, or as best as he could get with the next house being so close.”
“Of course. The sunset.”
“It was his thing,” he said.
“Their thing,” she corrected. “Leora and Antonio’s.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“Lola Flora told us when we were little that Lolo had gone through a lot in the war. There were some things that we knew we couldn’t ask or talk about. As this house was being built, we just accepted it—that’s what we do, you know, in our culture. We accept the truth of our elders, sometimes without question. Even when this place was upside down with workers because he had to have this house built, no one dared to ask him why. And I have a feeling Lola Flora didn’t ask, either. There was always a bit of distance between them. They didn’t even sleep in the same bed. Then again, that was old-school, right?” He grinned, then opened the drawers.
“When he died, he left me in charge of this house, among other things. Until then, no one had access to this home except the maids. Lola Flora didn’t step foot in this place—she was getting too old, and by then, I think, you get to a point in a marriage when you just accept things for what they are. But who am I to say—I’ve never been married.” He shrugged. “I decided to finally go through the contents of this house recently. At first, it felt like I was intruding. You might not be able to tell, but every part of this place is my lolo. I can feel him in here.” He pulled out an attaché case, rectangular and leather with a three-dial combination lock. He presented it to Diana. “I’ve been working on this combination lock for a while now and was just short of having it cut open when you reached out to my sister. I’m sure this is what Lola Flora wanted me to show you. I guess she thinks you might be able to open it.”
Diana accepted the briefcase. Her fingers tingled at the cool leather, and she gasped when goose bumps trailed up her arm. Her gut was telling her that the truth she wanted lived in this case. She examined the lock, thumbed the dial. “No, but my mother might.”
Leyte, Philippines
January 28, 1945
My dearest Leora,
The Philippines is as beautiful as I remember. Everything is familiar and strange all at once. It’s like I’m reliving life. The smell of food cooking over charcoal and wood, the way the wind feels against my cheek, warm and wet—it’s sublime. Today, Ignacio and I dared each other to climb a coconut tree. The young boys in the barrio are experts here. They shimmy to the top without even a rope around their bodies, gripping tightly around the trunk. They are adept in cutting coconuts down with one fell machete swoop. They make it look so easy and exhibit such a freedom, despite the war around them. I envy them sometimes.
Anyway, I barely got a quarter of the way up, even with a rope tied around me and the trunk. The tree wasn’t tall in comparison to the rest, but I didn’t have the right technique, or maybe I’m not as strong as I think I am. Ignacio and the kids had a laugh, because he got up to the top without a problem though couldn’t quite get a coconut down without effort.
I laughed along with them, but inside, I wondered: How could I not get up there? Why couldn’t I? In the moment, I felt like I didn’t belong.
Well, it’s nothing that didn’t pass quickly. When I drank the coconut water, it was all better. One day, when all this is over, and we’re together, I’ll have a coconut cut down and you can drink its juice, and we can crack it open and peel the coconut meat from the fruit itself. There is nothing like it.
Maybe it’s because of my old memories coming back from when I was a child, or the fact that we are again on solid ground, but the island is a sight to see. The sky is blue despite the rubble on the ground. The water is warm and inviting, and there are so many Filipinos. Men and women and children. Some frightened, others upset, but there is also happiness. The people—my people—are resilient and joyful. Despite the destruction of this war, I am greeted with open arms. I’m treated like family even if I’m wearing an American soldier’s uniform. I’m one of the good guys, but am I really? These people have seen worse times, and I, in this uniform, am part of that, too.
It’s all so confusing.
It’s even more confusing because I feel like I’ve lost my center, you. Our letters tethered me, and whenever I got lonely, all I simply had to do was to close my eyes.
When you told me you were with child, this tether became a rope. It kept me alive, Leora. Ignacio has been helping me count the days. You should give birth to our baby soon. Will I know when I become a father? Will it be a boy or a girl? Will the child look like me, have my dark skin? And will he or she have your eyes?
During the loneliest nights, I have succumbed to doubt, that maybe you don’t believe that we can make a family. That it’s too hard. Maybe you believe the world isn’t ready for a Pinoy and a white woman to be together. That I will only be a hindrance in your and our baby’s life.
But I haven’t given up. I still have faith.
Please write me.
Iniibig kita,
Antonio
Chapter Twenty-One
Margo listened as Diana’s and Joshua’s footsteps faded into the background, then said to Flora, “I don’t usually feel the need to send my daughter away if there’s something serious to talk about.”
“Yes, but they will bring back something important. And I need to talk to you, alone.” She coughed.
Edna shot to her feet, and concern flashed onto her face. “Manang, are you okay? Let’s put you in bed to rest. It’s been a long day.”
Flora waved a hand though her breathing had become slightly labored.
“You’re so stubborn sometimes, Lola. Tito Junior said not to push it,” Colette added, now at the edge of her seat. “I’m texting him now.” She took out her phone and thumbed the screen.
“Anak, one doesn’t get to one hundred years old without being a little stubborn. I am old. I am allowed to be sick. Something has got to kill me.”
“COPD is not a joke.” Edna frowned.
“You have COPD?” Margo scooted closer.
“It’s nothing. A tinge of it started earlier this year,” Flora answered.
Edna rolled her eyes. “A tinge, heh.”
Margo agreed with the sentiment. “COPD is serious.…”
Flora clucked. “I’m taking my medicine, anak, and I have my heart and lungs listened to whenever any of these children call the doctor. Right now, I have something to say, something about your father and me.”