One Speck of Truth

by Caela Carter

  I spend the day trying to Skype Julia. It’s always tough with the time difference, but I’m not going to school so I can try the entire day. At home it’s the first day of fall break. I know she’ll pick up eventually.

  It’s been too long since we talked.

  And the last time we did, I told her a lie. I told her I’d found my dad dead and buried. I told her he was humble and responsible and all sorts of other things I wanted him to be.

  I don’t want to tell her the truth. I sort of want her to keep thinking of my dad as this humble superstar buried under the earth. But I know if I let Julia think that, I maybe will also let all my friends think that. And then maybe I’ll let my own kids think that.

  I have to start telling the truth now.

  But all day long Skype rings and rings. Julia never answers.

  I go down to avó’s apartment when Leonor gets home from school. I play piano with avó for a little while, then I sit on her couch with my cousin and I tell her what my mom told me. It feels weird to talk like this, loudly and openly, in front of avó. But I don’t want to sneak around and hide things anymore. I think avó can see how sad I am, how much of my story was stolen from me.

  Of course this is an easy way to practice honesty considering avó doesn’t speak English. Still. Leonor says “Tio Jorge” enough that I know she has some sense of what we’re talking about.

  “He didn’t want me,” I say. “That’s the end of it. That’s why he disappeared. Twice.”

  Leonor thinks for a minute. She taps her fingers along the bumps on the braid on the back of her head. “But that doesn’t explain why he disappeared from everyone,” she says.

  Suddenly avó is next to me, her hand on mine. “É por isso que sempre serei tão grato à tua mãe,” she says. I try hard to make my brain work fast enough to translate but she’s already speaking again. “Olha o quão bonita és. Quão amável e inteligente e maravilhosa.”

  “What?” I say to Leonor.

  I only know a few of the words.

  Mãe = mother

  Porquê = why

  Olha = look

  “She says she’s grateful to your mom,” Leonor says.

  “My mom?” I say, shocked. I figured avó and Leonor would hate my mom.

  “She says you turned out beautiful and kind and smart and wonderful.”

  My cheeks burn. I look at my grandmother. Her face is red behind her wrinkles. She really sees all of that in me? In my mom?

  “Tell her my mom never told me. Tell her my mom lied.”

  Leonor says something in Portuguese and avó squeezes my hands and looks into my eyes and says something back.

  “She says of course your mother isn’t perfect. No one is. She says being a mother is hard, the hardest thing, and that your mom had to figure it out so young. Of course she made some mistakes. But that you turned out to be such a smart and thoughtful and talented and lovely girl, and we’re so grateful to have you. She says your mother was doing the best she could in an impossible situation and she certainly did better than Jorge. Jorge never ever told avó your mom was in touch. Not until your mom finally reached out a few months ago.”

  Avó squeezes my hands again. I look between Leonor and avó. Once. Twice. Again.

  “Avó’s right too,” Leonor says. “Someone else would have maybe never taken you here to meet us. Then where would we be?”

  I can’t imagine it. A few months ago I didn’t know so much family could ever exist. Now I can’t imagine life without them.

  When I go home that night, I’m certain I’ll have a message from Julia. But no. Nothing. Did she find out I lied to her? Is she mad at me?

  I try to pay attention in school the next day, but it’s nearly impossible. Tomorrow is a school holiday and in two days I’ll be meeting the rest of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. And maybe my dad will come back. Both Mom and avó warned me that he may not actually show up. I know he doesn’t have a great track record for that sort of thing . . . showing up. But if I do see him, I know I’ll be able to ask the questions I have to ask. I’ll be able to demand the answers. Finally.

  When I get home, Mom is in her room speaking English for once. That’s strange but I don’t bother to think about it. Instead I dive across my too-low double bed and grab my tablet. I click Skype.

  Just seeing Julia’s icon on the screen makes my tongue tickle with everything I have to tell her.

  But she doesn’t pick up.

  She has to be home today. It’s fall break at home.

  Pick up, pick up, pick up, I beg her across the ocean.

  I try again.

  No answer.

  She’s mad at me.

  I wonder if she’ll ever forgive me.

  Is this how she finally disappears?

  I remember what I told her last time. How I looked right at her through the screen and told her a lie. I did the same thing my mother had done to me for years. I even told her the exact same lie. I can’t be that person. I have to fix it. Now.

  She’s mad at me and she should be. It’s all my fault.

  I picture her face filling the screen. I imagine the way she’ll say “Alma!” like my name is even better than “hello.”

  I’ll manifest her into my tablet.

  I click the icon again. It rings. And then “Alma!”

  Except her face isn’t on the screen. The tablet is still ringing. And the voice is coming from behind me.

  I turn, tears already in my eyes. And there she is, all five feet of her standing in the doorway to my bedroom.

  Not mad at me.

  Not disappeared.

  She’s here. She’s here.

  “Alma!” she says again. “Happy fall break!”

  “Ju—” I try to say her name back but I can’t get the word out of my mouth. Instead I rush at her. She rushes back at me and we hug so hard we fall over onto the bed.

  Before we’re even done hugging, I say it. “I didn’t tell you the truth. I need to tell you something.”

  But then two grown-ups are laughing at us. We look up.

  My mom.

  And next to her . . . someone else who could have disappeared.

  Someone else who didn’t.

  Adam.

  The sight of him is blinding, like staring right into the sun. I swallow three times quickly so I don’t start crying.

  “Hi, Alma-bear,” he says.

  Something shifts in my heart as I hug all three of them over and over. Something loosens just a little. A tiny inroad opens again.

  We’re all out to dinner at the restaurant Mom and I went to one of the first nights we were here. Julia sits on one side of me, Mom on the other. Adam is at the head of the table next to Julia, avó sits next to Mom. Leonor sits across from us.

  I still have the lie I told climbing up my throat. I’m desperate to get Julia alone. I can’t explain it in front of all these people.

  But Julia and I cannot stop giggling. Nothing is funny. It’s not a funny-giggle. It’s just the joy of her next to me bubbling up in my lungs and jumping through my throat. The adults all seem annoyed by it but I’m checking on Leonor out of the corner of my eye and she’s smiling. I hope she knows Julia and I aren’t trying to leave her out. There are just no words to explain why we’re giggling.

  “So you aren’t angry with me?” Julia asks when the food comes.

  “Angry with you?” I say. How could I possibly be angry?

  “I know you don’t like secrets,” Julia says. It’s loud enough for my mom to hear. But I think I’m done worrying what she thinks. I don’t care if she’s listening.

  “This isn’t a secret!” I say. “It’s a surprise!”

  “What’s the difference?” Julia asks.

  “A secret is forever. Someone is never supposed to find out. A surprise is temporary.”

  “Goodness, that’s true!” Leonor says.

  “Wait a minute,” I say, turning to Mom and avó. “What about everyone else?”

  “
Who else?” Mom asks.

  “All the aunts and uncles and cousins that are supposed to come on Saturday. I thought this was family weekend.”

  “It is,” Mom says. “Look around. This is your family right here.”

  I do, and in a way she’s right. Except for Nanny and PopPop, I think all the people who care the most about me are sitting around this table.

  Mom keeps talking. “Everyone is still coming Saturday,” she says. “But when Adam called me to let me know some of what’s been going on with you, he asked if maybe he could come and visit. He didn’t want you to forget that there have always been, and will always be, people who love you. And he was right, so of course I said he should come right away. And then we thought it might be even better if he brought Julia with him.”

  “Uncle Adam convinced my mom to let me spend fall break here with you!” Julia says.

  “Julia and Adam can be with you when you meet your entire family. And me of course. So you have some support if you get overwhelmed or sad,” Mom says.

  Adam smiles.

  My mouth drops open. I’m so shocked she said that. She knows I might get sad. And it would be OK if I do.

  “But . . . But I’m supposed to be in trouble,” I say.

  Mom nods. “You are,” she says. “I’m still incredibly disappointed that you snuck out and spent so many days with me not knowing where you were. I have to think about how I can trust you again now. But also, sometimes children need love more than punishment.” Mom looks at Adam. “We figured this was one of those times.”

  I stare at her. I think about all the lies she told me. I think about all the hours I spent searching graveyards for a man who was alive on the other side of the world. I think about all the questions she refused to answer. I’m still in trouble and I’m also still mad at her. But maybe I can do that too. I can choose love over anger. Just for tonight.

  By the time dinner is over, Julia is yawning. She’s barely finished with one yawn before the next one starts. Adam puts his arm around Julia for the walk home and I think Julia might fall asleep standing up.

  “Jet lag,” Adam says over her head. Then he reaches over and pulls me into her other side. It’s a weird feeling, being this close to him for the first time in months. He smells different now that he doesn’t live in our old house. He smells like sunscreen and fresh rain. He feels different too.

  “So, kiddo, how are you liking Portugal?” he asks. Adam always asked me questions.

  “It’s beautiful but . . . it’s been hard,” I say. The truth. I tell the truth from now on.

  Adam squeezes my shoulders. “I know, baby. You’ve been so strong.”

  Julia manages to lift her head for a second to peek at me. Soon we will be alone in my room and I can tell her the truth about Jorge.

  But I don’t get to tell her. Julia falls into my bed and is asleep within one minute of us getting back to our tiny apartment.

  I curl up in bed next to my best friend. And I say a little prayer that she’ll wake up early so that I can tell her everything.

  Julia’s shaking me awake before the sun is up. Mom is snoring lightly on the other side of the wall. Adam is asleep on the couch in the kitchen. Still I put on music softly so that if they did wake up they wouldn’t be able to hear us.

  And then we sit side by side on top of my unmade bed, our pj-ed legs kicked out in front of us.

  I say, “I want to tell you about my dad. Is that OK now?”

  Julia hops up so that she’s sitting on her feet. “Did you find out more about him?” she asks. “Will you take me to see his grave today? I know I complained about spending so much time in graveyards but now I’d really like to see it.”

  “Julia . . . I’m so sorry. I lied to you. I lied because my mom lied and her mom lied and I have to figure out a way to stop lying after spending the first twelve years of my life living in lies.”

  Julia tilts her head. “Huh?”

  “He doesn’t have a grave.”

  Julia’s eyes go wide. “My mom was right?” she whispers.

  I freeze. “What do you mean?”

  “My mom always said she thinks maybe he’s still alive. Maybe that’s why there are so many secrets.”

  “So your mom didn’t know?” I say.

  “Well, she thought maybe,” Julia says.

  “No, I mean . . . I mean . . . Your mom didn’t just not tell me. She couldn’t. She didn’t know.”

  “Not tell you what, Alma? That your father’s alive? She wouldn’t do that. No good person would do that.”

  I swallow. I guess that makes Mom and Adam not-good people.

  Julia tries to recover for a minute. “I mean . . . not good people, but. You know what I mean. Like. My mom. She would have told you.”

  “I know,” I say.

  Julia is quiet a second, then bouncing again. “Wait!” she says. “We’re missing the important part. He’s alive? How did you find out? Have you met him?”

  I raise one eyebrow and nod. Then I tell her the whole story. I end with the part where he was teaching me guitar chords.

  “So . . .” Julia whispers. “Do I get to meet him?”

  I take a deep breath. I realize I still haven’t told her the whole story. I’ve made him seem fun with all the video games and guitars. Telling the truth is harder than I thought.

  “Maybe,” I say. “Mom says he said he’d be at the family reunion thing tomorrow . . . But when I saw him last, he told me that was all he had to give me. A month of hanging out in a graveyard. He said that was all he had to offer.”

  “Oh, Alma,” Julia says.

  She reaches to put her arms around me but I scoot backward. I feel sort of icky, like all the not-good people in my life are piled onto my skin like dirt.

  “Guess I ended up with three not-good parents,” I say.

  “Hold on,” Julia says. Then she gets up and walks out of the room.

  I’m left on the bed with my mouth hanging open, dumbfounded.

  But Julia’s back quickly. “I was just making sure your mom was still sleeping,” she says. She walks over to her suitcase and pulls something out. “I have to show you something.”

  She puts a purple folder, one like we’d use at school, on the bed. When she flips it open, I just see a bunch of documents and typed paper. Most is in English, but there are some Korean characters too.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  Julia’s voice is the quietest it could possibly be. “My adoption papers,” she says.

  “Your mom doesn’t know you have these?”

  She shakes her head. “I guess my mom isn’t always a good person either,” she says. “I mean, she is to you. Because she understands your family. She gets that you miss your dad. You’re supposed to. But me . . . I think I’m not supposed to even want to see these.”

  “That’s messed up, Jules,” I say. “She had all this stuff and she kept it from you?”

  Julia shrugs. “She said she’d tell me when I’m in high school. But I thought I might explode by then. It’s still not enough, really. I figured out the orphanage I was in. I looked it up online but all I could find really was a Google Earth photo. I want to know what it was like over there. What I was doing. You know?”

  I scoot closer to her and put my arm around her, but she shrugs it off. I understand.

  “I want to know what it looked like when I looked out the window. I want to know what I ate and what songs I learned to sing. I want to be able to read this.” She points to a paragraph on her papers written in Korean.

  “But I’m like not supposed to care about this, you know? I mean, I ended up with great parents. I should just be happy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you!” I say.

  Julia shudders. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Like, is she alive?”

  “Julia,” I say. “That’s normal.”

  “Does she think about me? Is she safe? Does she have other kids? Does she still talk t
o my dad? Do they ever talk about me?”

  Julia is distressed but with each of her questions the weight on my shoulders gets lighter and lighter.

  “I never knew you had so many questions,” I say.

  “It’s like I’m made of questions,” Julia says. “It’s like all I am is questions.”

  I smile at her. “That’s why we’re best friends. It’s the same for me too.”

  She smiles back at me, a little bit of friendship peeking through her sadness. I love how that can happen when you have a best friend. “But you have answers now.”

  “Exactly,” I say, smiling. “Which means I have more time to try to find some for you.”

  “We don’t have to,” Julia says. “I’m supposed to be grate—”

  “Julia!” I interrupt her. “You know what? I should be grateful too. My mom gave up an entire life to raise me the right way. And she did so many things right. I always had clothes and food and piano lessons and soccer games and help with homework . . . But . . . I still missed my dad.”

  Julia nods.

  “I think you can be grateful, but you shouldn’t have to be. You’re supposed to have a family. Every kid deserves one. And no matter how you feel, you can still miss your mom.”

  Julia thinks for a minute. “Maybe you’re right,” she says.

  “Open the folder again.”

  Julia lowers her eyebrows. “Are you sure? Don’t we need to do things today? Like to get ready for your family and everything?”

  “No,” I say. “That will be hard enough tomorrow. Julia, today this is about you.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Will He Show Up?

  LATER THAT DAY, MOM SENDS JULIA into the shower and calls me into her room. After spending the morning poring over Julia’s papers and attempting to Google Translate all the Korean, we still haven’t found out that much.

  Julia is going to have to talk to her parents about it.

  I’m going to have to give her a lesson in the truth.

  Mom spreads photo albums on her bed. They are old and dusty and I’m pretty sure they came from avó’s apartment.