Mom handled the diary like it was made of eggshells. She even asked Dad if he’d brought any rubber gloves home from the lab—she seriously thought her fingerprints would destroy the paper or something—but Dad and I convinced her that that wasn’t necessary.
“This thing made it across the ocean,” I told her, “and lasted seventy-five years on Grandma Anna’s shelf. It’s pretty solid.”
Jaime, on the other hand, flipped through it with all the care he gave the Lands’ End catalog when Mom decided he needed new shirts.
“It’s not indestructible,” I said, taking it back. “Sheesh, Jaime.”
“It’s technically mine too,” he said. “Grandma Anna left her books to all of her great-grandchildren.”
“Yeah, but you said you didn’t care about the books in her room.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Dad said. “You sound like Mom and her siblings fighting over Grandma’s silver.”
Mom shot him a look, but he returned it with one of his own, and she backed down, since he was right.
“The point,” I said, “is that this isn’t any of ours. Or it’s all of ours. I don’t know. If anything, it’s Grandpa Fred and Aunt Janet’s.”
“Imani’s right,” Mom said. She picked up the phone and dialed Grandpa Fred.
Five minutes later, we were all huddled in front of the computer, waiting for Grandpa Fred to Skype. The picture of the four of us filled the screen in the meantime, and I noticed how dark my skin looked next to my parents’ and Jaime’s. I see it every time the four of us are together, even reflected in a store window. It’s a split-second reminder, in case I forgot: Oh right. You’re adopted. Did anyone else in my family ever have that reaction?
The image of us four shrank and moved to the corner, replaced by Grandpa Fred. It was the first time I’d seen him since Grandma Anna’s apartment, and he looked better, or was at least trying to look better. The rough stubble that had formed during shiva was shaved, and he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. But some sadness still lingered. I could see it in the dark crescents under his eyes, which were only made darker in the shadow of his desk light. My heartbeat sped, not knowing if what he was about to learn would make things better or worse.
“Imani, my love,” he said. “I hear you have something to show me.”
I don’t know what he was expecting—probably a tennis trophy or an amateur magic trick—but I know it wasn’t what I held up. “I was going through Grandma Anna’s books, and I found this,” I told him. (All technically true. If he asked when this was, I’d be honest, but if he chose to think I found it while going through her books today, that was fine too.)
He moved his face close to his computer screen, giving us a close-up of his wrinkled brow and remaining hairs. “What is that?”
My mom started to sniffle. I glanced at the image of us in the corner of the screen and saw that she was dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
“It’s Grandma Anna’s diary,” I said. “From 1941.”
He bolted upright, like an acting student asked to demonstrate surprise.
“She wrote it when she was twelve,” I continued, “and she first came to America.” I opened it and held it up to the webcam so he could see the handwriting, maybe even read some of the words.
Grandpa gave a low whistle. “It’s real?” he asked.
I pulled the diary away from the camera and nodded.
“Have you read it?”
I nodded again. “Some of it. I’m up to the beginning of October. She’s really into the World Series.”
“Wait,” Jaime said. “Did you say 1941? Was it the 1941 World Series?”
I looked at him with surprise. “Yeah, why?”
Jaime’s mouth dropped open. “No way. The subway series where Mickey Owen dropped the ball and Tommy Henrich hit a home run and the Dodgers lost?”
All our faces, from both parts of the screen, stared at Jaime with disbelief. “How’d you know that?” I asked.
“How do you not know that? That’s a classic series! I can’t believe Grandma Anna was there.”
“She wasn’t there,” I said, still in shock about my brother’s knowledge of baseball history. “She listened to it on the radio with her friend Freddy.”
Now it was Grandpa’s turn to get excited. “Freddy!” he said. He rubbed his hands over his face and looked directly into the camera. “Freddy?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m named for a Freddy!” he explained. “She always said he was her first friend when she came to America.”
My jaw dropped. “That’s Freddy! Her first friend. The same Freddy! He’s in here!” Wait till I tell Madeline! We weren’t completely off base. There was a connection between Freddy and my grandpa Fred. “Freddy seems really cool,” I told him.
“My namesake,” Grandpa said proudly. “He died in the Korean War.”
No. Freddy—Freddy!—was going to die. Was there anyone Anna wasn’t destined to lose? “Soon?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“I mean, like, was Freddy young when he died? When was the Korean War?”
I could see Grandpa thinking.
“Late 1940s?” my dad guessed. “Early 1950s?”
“Something like that,” Grandpa agreed. “Freddy was pretty young. Probably twenty or so.”
That didn’t seem too young to me. At least Anna would have Freddy for another eight or nine years before he died. No chance she’d have to deal with that in the course of this diary, anyway.
“Imani’s researching Luxembourg for her Holocaust project,” Mom told Grandpa. “Since she found the diary and all.”
Grandpa smiled, but I could see the sadness creeping back into his face. He was probably thinking of Grandma Anna. The diary was bringing her to life for me, but this was Grandpa’s mom. He must have wished she were still alive for real.
“It doesn’t seem like it should really belong to me,” I said to Grandpa, hoping to get this over with before he started to cry. “Do you want me to mail it to you?”
Grandpa shook his head. “Grandma left all her books to you.”
“To both of us,” Jaime corrected, sticking his face right in front of the camera. “I want to read the part about the World Series.”
“To both of you,” Grandpa said with a chuckle. “Isabel too. That means it’s yours.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He didn’t look sure, but he still said, “Yes.”
That settled that, but it wasn’t like I was suddenly feeling fine about the whole thing the way I’d hoped. I swallowed and reminded myself of my plan. Now’s the time to bring it up, I thought, just to test the water.
“I would love to see the diary, though,” Grandpa said, “if you’re willing to lend it to me.”
“Of course!” I said.
“Okay. But take your time reading. I’ll wait my turn. And don’t put it in the mail! It’s way too valuable.”
“Right,” my mom said. As if she would’ve let me mail it anyway. If Grandpa wanted it right away, she probably would have driven it to Florida herself. I could see it now: Mom at the wheel with the diary buckled into the passenger seat, locked in some sort of waterproof, crash-proof, tamper-proof case. Maybe she’d have rented an armored car.
“Grandpa?” I said, my armpits getting sweaty as I tiptoed toward my carefully crafted words. You’re probably worrying for nothing, I told myself. Remember how easygoing Mom was about looking up your name.
“Yes?” Grandpa asked.
“Did you know Grandma Anna had a twin?”
He looked surprised but not shocked. “Yes,” he replied. “But I don’t know much about her. My mom didn’t like to talk about her past. She changed the subject whenever I tried to ask.”
Sounds familiar, I thought.
“It must’ve been painful for her,” Mom said, “to remember.”
“So,” I said, my eyes on Grandpa and my heart beating in rapid thumps, “you’ve always wondered about where she came from?”
“Yeah,” Grandpa said. “I’ve always wanted to know more.” He smiled, even as he looked sadder.
Here I go! “I’ve always wanted to know more about my birth parents too.” I forced the words out quickly, before I could take them back. And as nervous as I still was, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit triumphant. Because, there. I’d done it. It was just a tiny step—a dip of a toe in a deep, dark lake. But I’d done it! Now what?
Grandpa looked lost in his memories, but I could see my mom flinch in the corner of the screen. She and my dad looked at each other. My words hung there like an airborne disease, with no one knowing whether or not to panic.
“Great seeing you, Fred,” my dad said finally. “We’ll keep the diary safe until you visit.”
“Thank you, sir.” Grandpa gave a small salute. “And thank you, Imani.”
“Love you, Dad,” my mom said. Her smile was fake, and her voice was empty, and my stomach tightened into a pit. Mom leaned over me and clicked to end the call. Then she straightened up and sniffed. I barely glanced at her, but I could tell her eyes were filling with tears.
“Mom—” I started. I didn’t know what I was going to say, so I guess it was okay that she cut me off.
“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
Jaime, trying to pretend a bomb hadn’t just gone off, asked my dad if he wanted to play catch. Dad’s eyes flicked to me for a second, then, decidedly, to Jaime. “Let me put on a sweatshirt.” He jogged up the steps, and I followed behind him, my legs like lead. Dad closed the door of his room, but I knew he was comforting Mom, and I’m pretty sure she was crying. Their words were muffled, but I think I heard her say something about not being prepared.
I sat down, heavily, on the top step and pressed my palms into my eyes. This was nothing like when Mom caught me looking up my name. How could I even think that it’d be the same?
“Imani,” Jaime said nervously. “You made Mom cry.”
“Everything makes Mom cry,” I said, lifting my head and hoping my eye roll would mask my guilt.
“That’s mean.”
“But it’s true.” I was just making this better and better.
He stared at my face for a second, like he was trying to figure out if he knew who I was. He was probably wondering what kind of nasty, evil genes my birth parents had given me, and feeling confident his DNA came from a nicer set of people. People who knew all about the 1941 World Series. Then, looking like he might cry himself, he shook his head and went to his room to get his baseball mitt.
I lingered on the landing, debating knocking on my parents’ closed door. Then I heard the bathwater start running. Mom was making herself officially unavailable.
Dad came out in a sweatshirt. “Your mother . . .” he said, trailing off in such a way that I thought, for a crazy few seconds, that he was about to say something about my birth mother. But no. He was talking about Mom. “Just give her some time, Imani,” he said. Then he jogged downstairs and out the door.
Some time? I thought. Like, she’ll be better in the morning? Or should I wait another twelve years? My stomach turned over as I stared at the bedroom door. She’d probably stay in there all night, trying to set the world record for longest bath. Anything to avoid talking to her ungrateful daughter about her past.
So much for testing the water. If Mom got this upset when I dipped a toe, what would she do when I landed a cannonball?
Sunday, 12 October 1941
Belle,
What a day! I was “out of sorts” all week . . . furious about the uncles, nervous about starting school soon, worrying about you. . . . I told Freddy I needed a clear head, and he said (this is funny), “You need a ride on the Cyclone. That will whip your head around so much, all your thoughts will get Hoovered through your ears and go flying into outer space.”
In an odd way, that sounded appealing. So . . . we went to Coney Island today! “We” was Freddy and me, and Milton and Enid, and Hannah and Max. And the most impossible thing: Uncles Egg and Onion came too! (Coney Island is free if you don’t ride or buy anything, but still, can you believe it?) We all put on nice clothes (well, not Freddy) and rode the subway to the end of the line. Freddy talked and talked about every ride and game and food and in what order best to do them.
There were so many wonderful, truly happy moments today that I could barely list them all, but I will tell some:
Hannah wagered a nickel that her Steeplechase horse would win Max’s horse, and it did!
Eating a hot dog and fries from Nathan’s. Uncle Egg said that it tasted terrible, and that it was too small. Freddy slurped the ketchup off first again, then ate the bun. He put the dog in his pocket for later of course . . . but he lost it on the parachute jump!
The uncles rode the Human Roulette Wheel! Uncle Egg’s hat fell off while spinning, and Uncle Onion tried to catch it but instead landed on top of it and flattened it like a pancake!
We all took for a photo postcard. It was Hannah’s idea. We could have weared silly costumes, but Max wouldn’t hear of it (a relief because I didn’t want the costumes either). The 8 of us stood together, even the uncles, and the photo was ready in just 10 minutes. Hannah said I could keep the postcard to remember the day. I can’t stop looking at it and seeing myself with this people of 8. It makes me happy and sad at the same time. Before I left home, I did not know that feeling was possible.
The very last thing we did was ride the Cyclone.
I needed the whole day to find my courage, and I almost didn’t, but Freddy said, “You want your mind erased, remember?” So yes, I rode my first roller coaster!
ZOWEE, what a rush! Erase my mind indeed! We whipped around those curves like the track was on fire. It was so fast, so bumpy, it shook my bones. Freddy was next to me, and he pulled my hands up into the sky. I see now why you and Greta like the fast rides. Yes, the climb up is horrid . . . so long and slow . . . and then the car turns around a curve, and you see the dive coming and fear you aren’t brave enough, but it’s too late to get off. Then, ready or not, you start to drop. And my, does it feel good to scream.