This time Madeline was sure she heard a car coming down the dirt path to the resort. She wished Simonetta were there with her. She wanted someone else to witness his arrival, to ensure she acted appropriately. What did she say to the boy who would soon stand before her, depending on her absolutely? These days of phone calls and preparations, even securing an immigration lawyer—it was all, as Mr. Channar had said, paperwork; none of it prepared Madeline for this moment. How could she ever catch up on eight years of life? What was his favorite color? What foods did he like? What was his favorite subject at school? Did he like music? Movies? Television? Sports? Was he allergic to anything? What would he call Madeline? This was a question she’d been struggling with for days. She wanted to respect the mother he’d had, his relationship with her, which could obviously never be replaced; at the same time, it was important to establish intimacy. She didn’t know what he’d called his own mother, and she wasn’t about to ask, but she kept coming back to Mama Maddy, thinking he could one day decide whether or not to drop the second half. God forbid he would decide to drop the first half. And there was his name to discuss as well. She’d spent two days trying to get it right and had only just managed. She hated to think of him enduring a lifetime of people getting it wrong. It was his choice, but she had an idea. And her own mother? What would she say? More important, though, was her brother, Eddie. She hoped he would embrace the role of uncle. Madeline could certainly use the support.
The most terrifying realization was that her own nervousness would be nothing in the face of this boy’s. And it would be up to Madeline to assuage his fears about what was to come. She needed to find a sense of calm for his sake. It took her back to the day she left home for college. A part of her couldn’t wait to leave, but there had been Eddie to consider. He was still so young—he must have been about nine then—and she knew what she was abandoning him to. He’d hardly spoken a word since the week before, when Madeline told him she would be leaving. She’d received her acceptance letter months earlier but hadn’t said anything to anyone about it. She warned him not to tell a soul, not even their mother, and wondered if it would take the tuition bill coming for her mother to notice Madeline had even left. Eddie never said the words, but they were emanating from his small soul, clenched in his quivering throat, spilling like tears from his puffy eyes; he was begging her with every silent fiber: Don’t leave me.
But what choice did she have? She’d cared for him since she realized she had to. Since the days when their mother started disappearing and Madeline came to understand that waiting for her, or even learning where she was going, would do nothing to help her brother eat, get ready for school, do his homework, feel looked after. She’d sacrificed much of her own childhood—gladly, most of the time—but she never should have had to. She knew it was time to start a life of her own. And she needed to show Eddie that it was possible to leave, to eventually break free. Of course, she first had to prove it to herself.
She’d called him to come and say good-bye. He had slunk into the hall, not looking up at her, as she handed him her backpack to take down the stairs. Her suitcase was so heavy, but she hadn’t wanted to leave anything behind. She let it thud down the stairs, one at a time. In the entryway, she’d turned for a final glimpse into their house. She hadn’t actually expected their mother to be present for this send-off, even though Madeline had told her in the end that she was going and when. She’d done this for Eddie’s sake, so he wouldn’t be left alone. Her mother would have been sleeping off the night before if she was home at all. But then Madeline had heard something in the kitchen, and she went to look, as if her mother might have been there waiting with a batch of send-off cookies. Of course it was Ana, the housekeeper who occasionally helped care for Eddie, but Madeline hated getting her hopes up in that moment, which would haunt her for years. She was leaving her brother to endure their mother alone. She’d tried to stay strong for him as well. “Cheer up,” she’d said. “Maybe you can visit me in New York.” He was resisting the urge to cry. She tousled his hair and pulled his forehead to her lips, as Grandma June had done so many times, comforting Madeline when she was a little girl. “It’s not forever, Eddie. It’s just for now.” Then she lifted her pinkie. He’d just stared at it. “Take my pinkie in yours,” she said, and he gripped it with his whole hand, making her laugh, despite his tears. She wiggled it free and hooked her finger around his. “Pinkie promise?” she asked. “You have to say it, too.” And he did.
How she’d cried for him in the taxi. Out of that house, that life, she finally had air to breathe. She heaved and sobbed all the way to the airport. And now she was tearing up again, her vision cloudy but her gaze locked on the entrance to the resort. The gate opened, and she was abruptly pulled to standing, as though the boy, entering with his cowlick and his little backpack, had thrown an invisible lasso around her. And now she was being pulled to him, into an embrace. She didn’t have to say anything, she realized, and what a relief.