30 DECEMBER 1960

Be there at seven thirty!” Mima shouted into the pay phone above the ruckus around them. People arguing, people crying, people arguing because they were crying. Jackie leaned into her, desperate not to join the crowd, desperate for the last moment of comfort from her mother.

Mima slowly lowered the receiver from her ear and returned it to the cradle. “I think they heard.”

Jackie said nothing as Mima hugged her close with an arm over her shoulders. Whether they heard and understood didn’t make a difference. In a few hours, she would still get on a plane for the first time in her life, even if Victoria’s family wasn’t there on the other end to receive her. Nothing would change the fact that Jackie was leaving Cuba for good, and none of her immediate family members were joining her.

Two months ago, when she’d seen Victoria’s family off, the promise of return had still lingered in everyone’s mind. Pipo himself still swore that everything would blow over. Maybe because Jackie was a pessimist, or a realist, her heart told her that this was it. There would be no coming back.

And unless Mima got her hands on a forged passport, Jackie would never see any of her family again.

The others preparing to depart, and those they left behind, seemed to know it too. No amount of arguing or crying would change that. The military presence at the airport had intensified since Jackie’s last time there. More armed soldiers to make sure no one without permission left the island.

Jackie’s new passport and visa, courtesy of the secret operation Alto had mentioned, scratched her hip in the internal pocket Pancha had sewn into her shorts. Even the idea of sneaking out of the country right under the government’s nose like a covert spy didn’t improve her mood. Life wasn’t like movies and radio plays. So much more was at stake.

Last night, she and Pipo had thrown a baseball to each other in the courtyard. The light coming from their two kitchens, the only two residences surrounding the courtyard that remained inhabited, made it just possible to see the flying sphere.

“I know your mother blames me for a lot of things. We both think we’re right when it comes to politics. Believe me when I say I know this will blow over.” Pipo pitched a fastball. “But I agree it’s not safe for you to stay here in the meantime.”

The ball smacked deep into Jackie’s mitt. That was the closest he would come to saying he loved her. She returned his affection with a curveball. “I want you to be safe too.”

Pipo turned the ball in his mitt as if studying the seams in the dim light. “Don’t you worry about me. I grew up without two pesos to rub together. I know how to work and do my job. I get along with most people, and I’m not stupid enough to discuss politics in public.”

Pipo casually tossed the ball. It landed in Jackie’s mitt without any effort. She believed that he got along with most people—how else would he have courted Mima when they came from such different social classes? But she didn’t trust that he would be safe. That any of the family she left behind would be.

“If it turns out this doesn’t blow over, will you try to get a forged passport?” She switched hands and pitched the ball back left-handed. She knew Mima was trying to get one, but after the disappearance of Alto’s guy Coco, people were apparently more hesitant to go into that criminal line of business.

Pipo laughed bitterly. “You know how much plata those things cost, especially now on the black market? At least a hundred and fifty for a good one, and if it looks fake, the U.S. embassy won’t even bother granting you a visa. Which I guess is better than if the officers at the airport suspect anything and send you on a one-way ticket to jail. I wouldn’t waste the money.”

The ball sailed past Jackie’s head. If she had lifted her arm, it would have been an easy catch. She’d have to hope that if Mima did get her hands on a fake passport, it would be a pristine replica. She couldn’t worry about the alternative.

Gone also was the fantasy of her parents getting back together. No matter how much their family had, and how much more Mima received from Papalfonso’s inheritance, Pipo always worried about money and costs. And if the government wouldn’t issue passports to capable adults, and Pipo wouldn’t pay for a fake one—especially if he refused to admit he needed one—that also meant she definitely wouldn’t see her father again.

Sigh. Never again see her family. This by far had to be the worst day of her life.

She wished Pipo were here now at the airport. It was easier to be brave around him. Except he hadn’t been able to get time off work, now that the company had been taken over by the government. They’d said their goodbyes at the house that morning, but it felt like it had happened years ago, and to someone else. The strong and spunky Jackie of the past was just that—someone else. Now someone hollow and deflated stood in her shoes.

“You have your dime, right?” Mima asked as they walked back to the chairs where Mamalara waited with Clark and Pancha. She had asked this question three times already.

Jackie scrunched her toes against the circular piece of metal inside her sock, the safest place she could think of for the small coin. No longer were they allowed to leave with five dollars a person like Victoria’s family had. Now they could only take the ten cents it cost to use the pay phone upon arrival. Jackie couldn’t lose it; she had no way of knowing how much Victoria’s family had heard of Mima’s phone call. She didn’t know if she would end up sleeping at the Miami airport if no one came for her.

They joined the older women and slowly walked to la pecera, the glass-enclosed area surrounding the boarding gate. Officers had already checked Jackie’s ticket and passport; they’d already searched her bag to make sure she carried only her allocated two changes of clothes, nothing else. When Victoria’s family had left, the family had entered la pecera quickly because there was still the chance that Tío Ernesto wouldn’t have been allowed to leave.

Jackie knew she herself wouldn’t face any obstacles to leave. Fate worked in disappointing ways.

Near the entrance, the family entourage stopped and Mima enveloped her in a full embrace. With their same height and same dark blond hair, they rested their two heads against each other as they let the tears fall.

“You’ve lost weight.” Mima held Jackie out at arm’s length. “You haven’t been eating enough.”

Jackie shook her head. “I’ve eaten plenty. It’s all the time I’ve been spending on the squash court.” She raised the sleeve of her shirt to show her bulging bicep. Pancha had had to open the armhole and adjust the sleeves of her two changes of clothes to compensate for her bigger shoulders and arms.

“My strong, beautiful girl.” Mima kissed Jackie. “Don’t let my sister tell you otherwise. You know she’ll think your arms are—”

“Most unladylike,” Jackie answered with a bitter laugh. “Trust me, I know what to keep secret around Tía.”

Two armed guards marched by in unison. Though they stared straight ahead, they gave the impression of having a full 360-degree range of vision.

Jackie’s eyes shifted to Mamalara, who rocked Clark against her chest, trying to get him to sleep, and lowered her voice. “She’s the one not eating enough. She’s giving me half of her portions.”

It wasn’t just baby formula that was getting hard to find. Stores received limited stock, and only those people willing to spend hours in a food line left with their groceries.

“I know mi’ja, but what can I do? She’s so stubborn,” Mima said.

“Just because I’m old doesn’t mean my hearing is gone,” Mamalara scolded them in a low voice to avoid disturbing Clark. “I’ve spent my whole life feeding my family, and no lack of food is going to stop me now.”

“I’ll wake up early to get to the food lines, niña; no one is going to starve,” Pancha said, and Jackie breathed a bit easier. The women of her family, whether related by blood or by history, always took care of one another.

And there was the fact that with her gone, there would be one less mouth to feed.

Jackie wiped her face with her shoulder. God, how she’d miss them.

Two white-clad nuns, each with a gleaming gold crucifix around her neck, shepherded a handful of children like lost lambs. They’d be the ones chaperoning Jackie.

But not yet. Jackie wasn’t ready.

Three more guards walked by. These three gave the pretense of being casual, except their heads continuously turned to survey the crowd. Their gaze, however, didn’t even pass by the nuns. Not even Communist soldiers, it seemed, dared suspect a servant of God of suspicious behavior.

Jackie draped an arm around her mother’s shoulder and whispered in her ear. “If you borrow a nun’s habit, maybe we can get you out of here too.”

Mima’s laugh echoed through the crowded airport, causing everyone in the vicinity to turn and stare at her. No one had laughed in this airport in a long time. Mamalara edged closer to hear the joke, rocking baby Clark.

“I think impersonating a nun would get me more time in hell than obtaining a forged passport,” Mima said with her arms around Jackie again. To an outsider, it’d look like they were still crying with their heads together. “But if the opportunity arises, I’ll definitely take it. You know how much I want to leave with you.”

Jackie nodded.

One of the nuns broke away from her fold and approached them in that ethereal walk all nuns seemed to have. “Jacqueline Romero del Mar? It is time.”

Once again Mima squeezed Jackie in a tight hug and covered her face with kisses. Then Mamalara transferred Clark over to his mother to fully embrace Jackie too.

“Do you have your lunch?” Mamalara teased. Just like Mima with the dime, she’d asked that multiple times.

“Sí.” Rice with a runny fried egg—the last egg from last week’s groceries—garbanzo beans, dried mango slices, and galletas de María they’d discovered by raiding the kitchen’s secret hiding places. It was thanks to how well their family stocked the cupboards that they weren’t solely depending on what the stores carried.

She then went to hug Pancha. The old seamstress didn’t hide her tears. “I’ll make sure that your pipo is well taken care of and fed too. Don’t you worry.”

“And the cat?” Jackie sniffed. “I promised Victoria.”

“¡Qué vá! That tom will outlive us all.” But Jackie knew Pancha had adopted the cat into her heart like she had the rest of them.

Jackie kissed her baby brother, who stirred but didn’t wake up. She’d miss his first words, his first steps, maybe his whole life. Would he remember her? Would this program to get children out of Cuba still be operational when he was old enough to be sent to Russia? She’d always said she’d be the one to teach him how to pitch a baseball.

“Jacqueline, hurry up,” the nun said.

Jackie swallowed her feelings, picked up her small suitcase with her two changes of clothes, and waved at her family.

“We’ll see you again soon, mi amor,” Mima called out. “You’ll see.”

Around her neck, a nun placed a string holding a cardboard baggage label with her name, date of birth, and Victoria’s mother’s name as the pickup contact. Next to her, younger children whimpered and sniffed. As soon as she and five other children were admitted into la pecera, she crumpled into a ball. A pitiful sound like the cry of a harpooned whale emitted from deep in her gut.

Not that she cared who heard. She—tough, strong Jackie, who rarely cried—didn’t care two hoots. She’d probably never see these strangers, these fellow Cubans again. Never see…

She lifted her head to search past the crowds trapped inside the glass walls to the people waiting beyond the barrier. If Mima and Mamalara were still out there, she couldn’t tell. Two other children gripped her hands; she couldn’t move closer to the glass to check. Maybe that was for the best. If her family had already left, she didn’t want to know; if they were still there, it would be that much harder to leave them. How could leaving possibly be for her own good?

She hung her head lower, sobbing harder. She loved Mima for being an optimist, confident that she would get that forged passport to be able to leave. But that didn’t change the reality. Jackie wasn’t coming back; she’d probably never see her family again.

Damn Fidel Castro for ruining everyone’s life, she thought.