Mom and Dad were visiting a friend who was in the hospital. At home it was just Nonny, me, and baby Cecilia.
Only a couple of days before Thomas’s contract was up and he and Nonny and Cecilia would fly back to his parents’ house in Chicago, and he would start looking for another job.
Lots of people had complimented my display at school. Ms. Trepky gave me extra credit, even though she said I didn’t need it, and Ms. Lopez said she was very proud. I was proud, too. Winning in my division was wonderful, and I tried my best to only be grateful. But I still had that thought in my head wishing I could have done more for Nonny. Done everything that she deserved.
Had I proved anything to that Inside Mirror version of myself, or had I not?
I was out in the front room working on math homework (blech). I heard Cecilia cry. She had this low, bleating cry almost like a lamb, which somehow made it even more heartbreaking. When after a few minutes she hadn’t stopped crying, I hurried down the hall to the bedroom.
Nonny never got mad when I woke her up from naps, so I wasn’t worried about peeking my head through the door. Nonny wasn’t asleep. She was pacing over by the window, bouncing Cecilia up and down in her arms. Cecilia’s fists were clenched and her mouth was open in that wail that tugged your heart around like a dog on a leash. Nonny had baggy eyes and major bedhead.
“Everything okay?” I said. I knew it wasn’t, but I didn’t know what else to say.
Even Nonny’s voice seemed stretched. “I just finished feeding her and I’ve burped her and everything. She doesn’t want to stop crying, let alone sleep.”
So I walked over with my arms out and before Nonny could protest too much, took the baby out of her arms, being careful to support Cecilia’s little head like Mom had shown me. I’d had enough practice that even walking around with the baby in my arms didn’t scare me anymore.
“I got it,” I said. “You sleep.”
“That’s sweet, Lib, but…”
“No,” I said. I tried to gesture at the bed with my head. “Sleep.”
Nonny sat on the bed, but didn’t lie down.
Cecilia gave a hiccup in my arms. “Nonny?” I said.
She looked at me, hand in her hair, Silent Question on her face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t win,” I said. “I tried really hard.”
“Win?” she said.
“The Smithsonian contest. I mean, I won the division, but the grand prize was twenty-five thousand dollars, and that could have been for rent or a house or … Thomas could have come home.”
Nonny stared at me. Her hair was messy, but her eyes were bright. I bounced baby Cecilia a couple of times.
“That’s what you…,” Nonny said, then stopped.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t enough,” I said.
Nonny patted the bed next to her. “Come sit,” she said.
I brought Cecilia over, still holding her high and bouncy, and sat next to Nonny on the bed.
“Libby,” Nonny said. “I’m going to say something and I want you to listen, okay?”
I nodded. I thought of another Hard Reading Word: apprehensive.
“There’s really only one thing I want for my daughter. The ways Thomas and I figure out how to take care of our family—and we will—don’t matter. I know I’ve … I’ve been anxious and stressed about money and job stuff, but we’re going to figure it out. But you know what does matter? What I want more than anything for my daughter to have in her life?”
Nonny put her hand on the bed so her arm was around me, and took Cecilia’s fingers in her other hand.
“I want,” she said, “for my daughter to have someone brave to look up to. Braver than I could ever be. Someone so selfless they don’t even realize it. Money has nothing to do with what I care about, as long as my daughter grows up to be like you.”
That’s when something inside me multiplied, expansive and warm, a quiet supernova. I held Cecilia tight to me, and leaned in to Nonny. The three of us sat that way for a long moment in Silent Closeness.
I’d been wrong before. Defending the eagerly defenseless didn’t mean that nobody got hurt, or that you didn’t get hurt. Because hurt was just there, part of the grass and the trees and the clouds and the burning stars. What defending meant was taking in the wounded when the hurt did happen, never budging, never wavering no matter what. Being a constant, bright North Star in a twisting, swirling sky. The scars and bruises given or taken were just part of the star chart.
And nobody was luckier—nobody had brighter, warmer, more glowing North Stars of their very own—than me.
“I’m going to miss you,” I said.
“Desperately ditto,” Nonny said. “We’ll video chat all the time.”
Cecilia’s wails started again and I bounced her up and down. I put a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Can I … can I help right now?”
Nonny’s shoulders slumped, tired. “Yes, please,” she said. “Thank you, thank you.”
“Okay, one second.”
I laid baby Cecilia on the bed and as her wails ramped up, dashed out to the front room and grabbed a book. When I came back, Nonny was lying next to the baby, stroking her head like she was trying to smooth Cecilia with calm.
I lay down next to them and blew raspberries on Cecilia’s belly, which distracted her enough that her wailing volumed down to occasional meeps. Then I held the book over Cecilia’s face. She liked the bright cover.
I opened to the first page.
“‘This little piggy went to market,’” I read.
I took Cecilia’s tiny fingers in mine. “Hmm,” I said, “yours actually aren’t very piglike yet, are they? Especially for a baby. Your piggies are still small. They’re actually called phalanges. And the part right here below your knuckles are your metacarpals.”
When I looked at her face, she was staring at me. Those big, brown, gold-flecked eyes were wide. The doctors had said she was doing well, but it was those gold flecks that really told me she was going to be okay. Girls with gold in their eyes were here to do important things.
She wrapped her hand around my finger. I read a few more pages of our book. Then baby Cecilia yawned, and then I yawned. Nonny’s eyes were already closed, and she was breathing deep. When I finished the book baby Cecilia’s eyes were closed, too. I watched her stomach rise slowly, and fall. Rise and fall. I laid my head next to hers and closed my eyes.