Pap rakes leaves in the front yard while I sit on the front step and watch. He looks completely comfortable in jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt, as if he weren’t used to wearing a uniform bedecked with medals.
“This is great fun, Fritzi,” he says to me. “You should try it. Invigorating. Moves the muscles, and how wonderful to see an accomplishment in a neat pile of leaves.”
“I wouldn’t want to take the pleasure from you,” I say and take a sip from my can of soda. “Besides, we only have one rake.”
“An obvious oversight on my part,” Pap says. He puts down the rake and comes to sit next to me.
A car pulls up to the curb, and Georgie gets out, waving goodbye to the boy who’s dropping her off.
“Who was it this time?” Pap asks.
Georgie grins. “That was Patrick. It’s always Patrick these days.”
“This week,” Pap teases her.
Georgie just tosses her hair and heads inside. She seems to be getting over the loss of Prince Etienne. I wish I could move on quite so easily.
“I miss home,” I say.
“I do too,” Pap says, putting his hand on my knee. “But I kind of like not having the responsibility for a whole kingdom. It’s nice just to have to worry about little things like raking the yard.”
I smile. I suppose if Pap can put a positive spin on our new life, I can too.
The house we’re renting is on the other side of the school, in a neighborhood of similar houses. It’s got a front yard with a white picket fence, something I’ve been assured is very American. There is a backyard with a flower garden. Inside, we each have our own bedroom again, and although the house isn’t large, there is room to spread out.
“It’s not so bad,” I acknowledge.
“You’re making friends,” he says, as Jasmine comes into view on her bike.
She stops in front of the house. “Hello, Mr. Moore,” she says to Pap. He insists that’s what people should call him here, even though it’s very strange to my ears. “Want to ride bikes?” she asks me.
“Sure,” I say and head to the garage for the bike that Pap bought me last week.
“Don’t forget your helmet,” Pap calls after me.
I roll my eyes in Jasmine’s direction so she will know I think he’s terribly overprotective, but I put the helmet on anyway and ride off down the street with her.
This house will never be our palace. America will never be Colsteinburg. But what is it they say, home is where the heart is? I’d say, home is where the family is. My family is here, and that makes it home.
And in my heart, I’ll always be a princess.