Once Upon a Sunset

by Tif Marcelo

  Ninoy Aquino International Airport was a bustle of people, and she followed signs to immigration and the baggage claim area. At baggage claim, familiar passengers milled as the baggage turnstile beeped and started, and one by one the bags jostled down onto the main conveyer.

  Growing up, Diana had not traveled extensively. Short road trips had been more her mother’s and her grandmother’s speed, on the Greyhound to New York City, on trains for two trips to Disney. Granny had been wary of planes; she had a fear of heights, a tendency to shy away from being too far from home, though the two women thought it was worth it to witness Diana’s glee at seeing her favorite movie characters come alive. As an adult, she’d done plane trips to conferences within the United States, weekend getaways with Carlo that didn’t take them away from work for too long. So the airport itself was overwhelming. But the people—Diana could not resist staring at the Filipinos around her.

  Her cheeks heated at the thought, at how foolish it sounded even in her head. She couldn’t help it—she looked for the similarities between her and the woman next to her, who was about a decade younger. The idea that there were people not just of her race but potentially of her lineage—previously completely unknown—swirled in her head. What was the probability that some of these people around her waiting for their own baggage shared her DNA? She had never thought once of the possibility before, and now, the opportunities seemed limitless.

  The phone, which she had turned on before disembarking the plane, now rang. The number was unfamiliar, but she answered it.

  “Ate Diana?” the voice said.

  Ate. Older sister. It gave her pause, this word. This assumption. “Colette?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Are … are you here?”

  “I am. I’m waiting for my baggage now.”

  “What are you wearing? For when you come out? I will be looking for you, with a sign.” Her speech was easy, as if Diana weren’t a stranger. It relaxed her a tad, and she let out a breath.

  “I’m wearing cropped jeans and a blue shirt with red poppies.”

  “Okay. See you soon. I can’t wait!”

  “Um … me, too!” Diana said, caught up in Colette’s enthusiasm, but it was quickly replaced by panic. They had messaged each other almost nonstop before Diana left DC, and their correspondence mimicked hers and Sam’s: without pretense. Still, her mother’s warning flashed in her mind. The person she was messaging could’ve been anyone.

  “This is fine. We’re fine. Deep breath, Diana.” Except that the thumps and scrapes of luggage and balikbayan boxes being pulled from the conveyer belt became a cacophony. Doubts came back in a full tidal wave: What if these people were not who they said they were? What if this was all a lie, too? What if they were murderers?

  She texted her mother and Sam in a group text, as promised.

  I just landed. Colette is here to pick me up.

  Here is my location.

  Sam’s answer came quickly.

  Got it.

  Remember that you can walk away. Follow your instincts.

  * * *

  Baggage claim and customs were each a relatively painless process. But when she walked to the arrival lobby and toward the meet-up area outside the double doors of the air-conditioned airport, Diana was hit with a fight-or-flight reaction. Despite the dark night, the heat was suffocating, confusing to her body, which had, a little more than a day prior, left the cool DC springtime behind. The air was sticky and stifling, and her lungs tightened as she breathed in the smell of motor oil and gasoline from the bumper-to-bumper curbside traffic.

  She spotted the sign to the meet-and-greet area. Across the pedestrian parking and down the ramp she went, following the sound of voices until they became a roar. Other passengers disappeared into the mass of people on the other side of the barrier. People were holding signs, some calling for their families and friends, others in uniforms ushering people and their luggage into cabs and cars. It was a total overload of Diana’s senses.

  Then, out of the waves of sound, she heard her name like a hummingbird’s trill. And then she heard it again: “Diana!”

  She jerked to the right and walked to the edge of the sidewalk. The air whooshed as cabs and cars sped by. She willed her eyes to cooperate despite feeling discombobulated, then she saw it, a bobbing sign with her last name in big block letters. GALLAGHER-CARY.

  Then she heaved a breath, urging her legs to carry her as her heart whirled in anticipation.

  A figure came around the corner of a group of people: a woman who looked a decade younger than Diana with a shoulder-length bob and long bangs, and a smile that exuded confidence. The sign was in her hand. “Oh my God. Gallagher-Cary?”

  “Yes?” Diana asked more to herself than to the woman as she scoured her face for familiarity. Did she look like the picture from her Facebook photo? And sure enough, slowly, her brain puzzled together the similarities.

  “Yay!” Colette leaned in and threw her arms around Diana, who hesitated at the forward gesture. She wasn’t in the habit of just hugging anyone, family or not. “Ate Diana, it’s so nice to meet you. Oh my God. I see some of my mom in you. It’s weird and cool at the same time.” The woman pulled back and canvassed her face, smile widening.

  “And you’re …” Diana faltered, surprised at the belly poking her. “You’re having a baby!”

  “I am!” Her hands flew to her belly. “I’m seven months tomorrow, in fact!” She cleared her throat. “Oh, and ate means ‘older sister.’ ”

  “I know what that means, and some common Tagalog terms. Some words. I have nurse friends who are … and my mom knew some phrases, and then of course Rosetta Stone.” Diana stumbled through her explanation, apologetic.

  “The family speaks English, and I’ll help, Ate.” Colette smiled. “Anyway, I have a car for us. Let’s get you home.” She took Diana’s bag automatically. “Follow me.”

  “Actually, I’ve rented a car. I can go get it and follow you,” Diana said.

  With that Colette threw her head back and barked a laugh, then simmered down to a giggle. “Have you ever driven here, in Manila?”

  “No, but I’ve driven in busy cities before.”

  “It’s not the same, trust me. Also, you’re tired. Better just ride with me.” She was already walking away with her bag, leaving Diana to follow like a lost puppy who had just found its mother.

  “Wait.” Diana halted in her tracks. “May I … can I see some ID?” She felt silly asking for it, as if it was a true fail-safe.

  “Of course. Silly me.” Colette dug through her bag and pulled out a black wallet, from which slid a Republic of the Philippines driver’s license from a card slot. And sure enough, it said Colette Cruz Macaraeg. “Shall we go?” Colette asked brightly.

  “Okay.” Diana relented. Colette was nice enough, but it all felt so sudden. When they reached a luxury car parked at a curb, a man who had been leaning his back against it stood and scooped up Diana’s bag, stuffing it into the trunk.

  “You’re really coming in at the best time of day. Besides it being a little cooler, you get to see Manila Bay at its best, at night,” Colette said, getting into the car, and Diana followed suit.

  As they got on the road, Colette took charge of the conversation. She asked Diana basic questions about her flight, the travel she had planned. Nothing too difficult to answer, thank goodness, because Diana was trying to take the skyline in, and how different it felt being with this cheerful woman who was supposed to be her blood relative. But it hadn’t sunk in yet.

  She was also gawking at the audacious drivers around her who were sometimes ignoring traffic rules and lines on the road.

  “This is Manila Bay, Ate Diana,” Colette said, pointing to the left. The bay’s water glistened in the distance, broken up by the outline of the winding road that seemingly drove out into the water, and the sway of palm trees. “And Las Cruces is coming up.”

  The car slowed, then took a right into a curved driveway among the towering b
uildings that lit up the night sky. LAS CRUCES HOTEL was etched into marble at the entrance. Guests in beautiful cocktail dresses entered and exited the front doors, reminding Diana that she had not brushed her teeth in almost twenty-four hours. She ran her fingers through her hair, pressed them under her eyes, swollen from her lack sleep. She must look like a zombie.

  “There is a wedding planned this weekend, and we have most of the large party staying here and starting their celebrations early, but we placed you on the twenty-fourth floor to get away from the noise—I hope that will be fine. It even has a balcony. We can meet up tomorrow, if you’d like, but I know you might want to get settled and look around, so I’ll keep that open, okay? I do have a meeting set up the next day for an early lunch, when we will do the DNA test and make our plans.”

  “Do we … do I get to meet Flora?” Diana’s voice cracked.

  “Yes, though not here. It will be at Sunset Corner—”

  “Sunset Corner?” Diana asked, flashing on her grandfather’s letters.

  “Yes, our home in Forbes Park in Makati. Lola Flora is too old to get around, and we’ll have to make sure that she’s well enough to see you. I hope you don’t mind that that part isn’t set yet. I figured we should get the DNA test done here, where it’s easiest, and then make the call.”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Diana agreed. “One thing at a time.”

  The door next to Colette was pulled open by the valet. The sound of traffic filtered into the car. “Oh, and here, your key.” She fanned out two hotel key cards and handed her one. “I hoped in the last minute that Tita Margo would come, so I reserved one of our suites in both of your names. But I’ll go ahead and bring this extra key to the desk since you don’t need to check in. You’re family, after all.” She smiled.

  I’m family.

  The thought gave Diana pause until Colette motioned her out with a hand. She then chased the clatter of Colette’s footsteps up through the double doors.

  She was met with a grand marble entryway with an open view upward to skylights. To her left and right, baggage handlers assisted customers, and a long bar was the centerpiece of the reception area, with uniformed concierges huddled over maps and brochures with guests.

  “You can call for room service or the front desk for anything,” Colette said over her shoulder, waving a hand. “Just in case you’re hungry in the middle of the night, they can deliver food at all hours. Or you can simply come down to Tipanan. It’s our bar, which is open till about two a.m. They serve food there, too.”

  The floors switched to flagstone, and a canopy of real palm trees draped over them, changing the vibe from cold and lavish to cozy and comfortable. Just beyond it were three alcoves, all with signs labeled with different floors.

  “Here you go. For floors twenty through forty.” Colette looked down at her hand, to her lit-up phone. She gave it a concerned look as she pressed the elevator button.

  “Oh, and bring your travel itinerary when we meet? We just want to make sure you’re getting a good deal, you know? Your trip is quite short, and I want to—” Distracted, she looked at her phone again. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Work calls, and I have to leave you for now.”

  “This is more than perfect,” Diana said. “I’ll get settled. I have your number. I’ll text if I have any questions.”

  “Great!” She nodded to the bellhop behind them, then kissed Diana on the cheek, and just before the elevator doors shut, said, “See you soon, Ate.”

  Upstairs, Diana gasped at her expansive and modern suite with two king beds and windows that overlooked Roxas Boulevard and the Manila Baywalk. She picked up the amenities binder and ran a finger over the embossed logo on the leather front. Las Cruces. Cruz. Antonio’s last name.

  She was related to this, too.

  Diana picked the leftmost king bed and perched on it with a heavy feeling in her chest. The gung ho adrenaline that had coursed through her earlier was now but a trickle. She felt the way a pregnant woman looked after being admitted for labor, when realization settled in about how much work was yet to be done.

  It was about to get serious.

  New Guinea

  August 14, 1944

  My dearest Leora,

  Now that we have been in country for a while I can tell you that New Guinea is unlike what I imagined it would be. I thought it would be desolate. I thought that the people would be harsh and cold. But I was wrong, so wrong.

  How beautiful and lush this little country is! Flowering trees, tall green grass, and swaying palm trees occupy the island. The insects are loud and boisterous. The people are friendly and helpful. I wonder how they feel about all us outsiders on their land, foreign people fighting other foreign people. I wish we all didn’t have to be here, to step on their grounds. This entire island is their home, understand? There are no doors, no windows, no real fences to mark property because this entire island is theirs. At times, I feel like a trespasser.

  I can’t really say more about what our plans are, what our mission is while we’re here, or these parts will be censored, or my letter may not make it to you altogether. But I’ll say this: we are on the move, and I’m sorry I’ve been scarce in my writing.

  I have seen a lot in the weeks we’ve been here. Some not so good, but I try not to dwell on it. This is war. We are here to fight.

  But you needn’t worry. I am with my brothers. Not brothers by blood, true, but brothers at arms. Months ago, I didn’t know they existed, but now I can’t imagine life without them. It’s much like how I feel about you. Just as the scent of cigarette smoke reminds me of the nights we snuck out to meet at the dance hall, the inside packed with people smoking and dancing, my brothers are like the other parts of my brain. We work together well. Many times, I don’t even have to look to know who is on my left and who is on my right.

  In your last letter, you asked me about them, so I will tell you.

  Raul hails from Louisiana. He was a farmer. He has a wife and a son, and reminds me of my father as a younger man. He is very serious, though he talks in his sleep. We all give him a hard time about it, that one day we’ll write down what he’s saying.

  Ernie is from Illinois and a lawyer. Yes, a lawyer, sponsored by a Jewish family. He’s older, almost forty years old. He eats everyone’s leftovers, but he’s also adept at spotting the right plants we can cook to enhance our supplies. He’s very smart and has picked up some of the language of the native people, which is helpful because they are like our eyes and ears.

  Ferdinand is from Seattle. He worked in the fish canneries. He is the best shot out of all of us. I know that must scare you, but his eyesight is a godsend. He can spot anything moving in the trees, including the wild animals. Beyond the enemy, sinta ko, we also have to watch out for beasts because we are prey!

  And finally, Ignacio, who is more brave than I have given him credit for. He might be the smallest, but he is fierce and loyal. He offers his food, his bed, to anyone who needs it. He is calm when there are too many decisions to make.

  I hope one day you will meet them all.

  Your letters are my comfort. Today, I received four! I had to put them in order to read them. I welcome them with open arms.

  I admit I’m a bit of a braggart. I think I got the most letters out of anyone in the squad today. I hope you don’t mind, sweetheart, but I read one aloud this evening. Not the personal parts, of course, but the everyday news from town. My buddies miss home. Or what they thought of as home. It’s funny how home can hold both happy thoughts and sad memories. That even if they had experienced the worst in America, what they remember are the good things.

  Your letter helped them, too. Your descriptions of our world: the trees, the grass, the blue of the sky. It helps the men, because some have received no letters at all.

  Not to say that we aren’t looking forward. Ignacio continues to promise me a home-cooked meal when we make it to the Philippines. I’ve taken it upon myself to watch over him. In the last two weeks
, he seems to need help in everything. Please don’t mention him in your next correspondence to me. I wouldn’t want him to know I was writing about him. Please, just keep us in your prayers!

  I must run.

  Iniibig kita,

  Antonio

  Chapter Thirteen

  Margo stared intently at Diana’s message on the phone screen while the rest of the world erupted around her in applause. Seated on a padded chair on the balcony of their B and B, just steps from the French Quarter, she lifted her eyes to a group of partiers who seemed to be heading out for their first round of festivities. And yet, she didn’t feel part of the chipper environment, knowing her daughter was now spending time with this Colette Macaraeg.

  “If you don’t eat your beignet, I will.” Roberta, typing with one hand, gestured with the other at the plate in between them, piled generously with the fritters and covered with a mountain of powdered sugar. (Thank goodness Margo’d chosen a white crocheted dress, the powdered sugar was a mess.) The cherry on top: two paper cups of café au lait next to the treats. Margo had gone out to grab them while Roberta tended to the comments of yesterday’s review of the Hop-On Hop-Off bus tour. This snack would be their last before they packed up and headed to their next destination: Los Angeles, California.

  “I’m sorry. Diana just landed, and I’m worried about her,” Margo said sheepishly, though that was only the surface of it.

  “How is she doing?” Roberta lifted her eyes to her.

  “So far, so good.” She smiled in an attempt to exude optimism, but all she felt was unsettled.

  “Where is she staying?”

  “Las Cruces Hotel, this posh high-rise right by Manila Bay. Apparently, the family owns it.”

  “Ah,” Roberta said.

  “Anyway, this looks so good. Yum.” Margo willed the conversation to move forward by sliding one onto her plate. She knew she had been holding back since arriving a day and a half ago. They were in New Orleans, for God’s sake, she needed to get with it. She’d wanted to come here since she was a child. This was a photographer’s dream, with the city’s multitude of cultural textures. From voodoo to superstition to the religious undertones to the party-town aspects, the loyalty of its residents, and the fervor of tourists. Since arriving, she had gone overboard snapping pictures for her account, but she just wasn’t feeling the joy in the process.