“I’ll let the building flood before I miss it,” he vowed.
He was watching her in the rearview mirror, so he caught the way her brow knit. “Well, maybe don’t do that. I’m just Lollipop Guilder Number Four. I only have the one line.”
He hated that an eleven-year-old knew where their household priorities had to lie. Knew that his second job as their building’s on-site super was the only way they could afford the rent. Knew that flooded apartments had to take precedent over school plays.
Hell, he hated that their priorities had to line up like that to begin with. They had never been rich when Mom and Dad were alive, but things were a lot tighter now.
“Already done, kiddo. Dani’s gonna work from home tomorrow so she can be on call as backup in case any building nonsense crops up.”
“Don’t call me kiddo.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror again, and this time he liked what he saw. She was trying to tamp down a smile as she lodged her objection. He relaxed a little. They were okay. For another day, anyway.
“Okay, kiddo”—he stressed the endearment—“today you and Max are in for a treat. We are going to . . .” He rolled his tongue and drummed on the steering wheel. He was trying to irritate her now. He was still her brother, after all. Normalcy was important. Routines created stability. And Gabby needed to believe that there was a purpose to their little drive-arounds other than trying to, like, ensure her long-term emotional well-being.
He turned on the singsong, lecture-y tone she purported to hate. “And here we are! The United Nations Headquarters, designed in 1952 by Oscar Niemeyer, one of the pioneers of modern architecture. So like I said, you are in for an exciting time. And you, too, Max. Get ready, my friends.”
At hearing his name, Max started barking. Or yapping, because what Max did could not properly be called a bark.
“See? Max appreciates my genius even if no one else does.”
Gabby snorted. But she was openly smiling now.
He had beat back the forces of chaos for a little longer.
When the applause broke out, Marie almost started crying.
Which was not rational. There would have been many more logical instances in which to cry today. Perhaps before she gave a speech at the General Assembly of the United Nations? When she’d been standing up there looking at all the dignitaries and translators—a literal subset of the entire world—she’d felt like she was floating outside her actual body and therefore would have to call in absent to the speech she’d been practicing for so long. Would have to call her father and tell him he had been right. That she had been foolish to try to tack this speech on to the New York visit.
But, no, somehow, as she’d made her way up to the podium and looked out at that sea of faces and been sure that she was about to float away—sail up past the murals on the side walls and up and over the press gallery—she’d managed to get a hold of herself. Reach up and anchor some small shred of her being, like capturing the string of a runaway helium balloon just before it floated away forever, open her mouth, and talk.
Once she’d gotten going, it had actually been fine. She knew this material. She cared about this material. She was giving a speech about the ongoing European refugee crisis. She owed those people her best. And she was fairly certain she had delivered.
But, oh, afterward, the relief. It was all-encompassing. Like when you woke from a nightmare and it was still playing in your head, but then there was that glorious tipping point when enough of reality—your bed, the outline of your armoire—kicked in and triggered that wonderful notion: it was just a dream.
Or, less dramatically, like the feeling she used to get as a girl after she was done with her weekly dancing lesson. Six days of freedom until she had to do it again! Or like that one time Monsieur Lavoie went away for the summer and they decided to give her three months off instead of replacing him.
The startling liberation of a heavy responsibility suddenly lifted.
It made her giddy even as she wanted to weep with relief.
She had done it, her father’s naysaying be damned.
But, as she navigated a crowd of well-wishers after the session was over, both the giddiness and the relief faded. Because she wasn’t