23. To America

Chapter twenty-three

To America

Paris, Madame Angelina's hotel. Two weeks later

"Are you ready? Is everything packed?" I ask Rebecca.

"Yes, Mom," she smiles at me. I'm not used to having her with me again, and I occasionally ask her questions, just to hear her answer. It's also hard for me to get used to the fact that she's already nine. She's grown so much.

"Did you also pack the book with you?"

"Mom, I'm too old for this book. It's for girls who believe in hunters in the forest," she replies, smiling. Sometimes, I think she calls me ‘Mom' just to hear me reply.

I walk over to the window, lean on the windowsill, and light my last cigarette in this room. I went through so many lifetimes of hope and despair, and hope again, in this small room. I don't regret leaving it, but I will miss Angelina.

"Mom, are things going to be better for us in America?" Rebecca asks me .

"The Americans are good people. They set us free. I'm sure we'll have a good life in America," I answer and continue to look out the window at the city's rooftops. "We also have two weeks on a ship. We've never sailed before. We'll have a new beginning," I need a fresh start from everything we've both been through here.

"And what about Dad? Will he be joining us in America?"

"What about Dad? Dad might join us in America after a while, maybe not. Rebecca, I don't know. So many things have changed."

He moved to a different hotel, and Rebecca met him twice. He wanted us to talk and get back together, but I'm not sure anymore. Maybe he'll go back to Madrid, to conduct his business there.

I look outside the window for the last time, at the rooftops that have accompanied my thoughts and fears for so long. We must go downstairs and say goodbye to Angelina. Then we'll take a bus to Cherbourg, and board a ship to America, to the port of New York City.

"Mom, are you coming?" Rebecca grabs her suitcase and opens the door.

"Yes, I'm coming," I put out the cigarette, grab my suitcase, look at the room for the last time, and close the door behind me. "Let's go down."

Our steps are noisy against the wooden stairs as we both go down them, holding on to our suitcases. Rebecca hurries ahead of me, and when I'm about to get to the bottom of the stairs, I hear her yelling, "The good hunter with the glasses," and the sounds of her feet running on the hardwood floor, and I stop and hold onto the railing. I feel dizzy .

I stand up and take a breath, trying to calm myself. I fix my short hair with my fingers and try to get it in line. I'm ashamed it's still so short. I haven't been to a hairdresser since I arrived in Paris either. I didn't think it was necessary. I then take a deep breath, and step by step, go down the stairs, afraid that I'll stumble from the excitement, until I reach the lobby and watch the man Rebecca's hugging.

He is no longer wearing the blue uniform of the Paris police but is now wearing a brown suit. And he's thinner than I remembered him. His brown hair hardly had time to grow either. But he has Windsor Glasses with a delicate gold frame. He looks up at me and smiles, and I tremble with excitement.