westward

Prospect Greens, with its colorful orchards and grand, empty mansions, hugged the coastline tightly.

When Clarke, my mom, is too busy to watch me very closely, I sneak off to explore.

Most places around here smelled like fresh-cut grass, peonies, and apples. I saw grown-ups in fancy clothes relaxing on their porches, and moms and grandmoms taking care of gardens. Kids like me—but with sun-bleached hair, scraped knees, and missing teeth—bounced on trampolines or dived into pools. Yet, it was all so quiet even with so many people around.

My brother hated these yuppie neighborhoods. He thought the people here were boring compared to the ones we knew in Cairo or Caracas. But Jade hated most things. He'd come into my room and just whine and whine. When he wasn't bothering me, he'd hang out at the beach with Clarke.

I was the only one who liked Prospect Greens. I enjoyed sitting on the porch with the ladies, pretending to play with dolls but actually listening to all the juicy gossip. Stories about the Johnsons and the Atkinsons and the Mathers family. Young and old. Happy and sad. It was like piecing together an old puzzle. At church, I'd say, "Hello, Miss Mathers, how are you today?" and smile like I didn’t understand her secrets. But it was hard to imagine living here forever.

When Jade and I were five, I found a child's atlas under a mattress in a hostel. It was a few days before we went to our home in Gambia—a big place on a farm where lots of people lived—mostly women and kids. Our other house in Bermuda was nice and quiet, looked after by a lady who didn't mind us being there. But I liked Gambia better because it was bigger, and I was never alone.

My dad probably kept our housekeeper, Vera, in Bermuda because he thought she could tutor us. But I learned more from Vera watching her have fun at the beach or dance in the backyard. If I learned any Spanish or Catalan from her, it was probably just the bad words she said when she was mad. But our big brother, Messiah, was always good at learning languages. I wonder if he still knows them all now. I wonder if he can reteach me, once we meet again.

My dad had other people besides Vera look after our houses. My favorite was Ahmad Sayed. He was like a duke, with his fancy clothes and red hair. He'd mark my atlas for me whenever he visited us in Gambia. I would wait until he finished consulting with Messiah. Then, he’d gather me and Jade in a circle and go over the map. By the time I was eight, I'd been to thirty countries. When I was ten, I'd been to a hundred. Then Ahmad died. I'm not sure what happened to him, but my dad helped me fill in the last few spots on the map. As a treat, he let me pick where we'd go next. I chose Tibet.

Now, Jade and I are twelve. Our dad is gone. Our older brother is gone. And we're stuck at our mom's big house by the sea in North Carolina, just us and our memories, certain our father will return to us. It’s only a matter of when, and what we will do when the day comes.