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“And it isn’t that simple, huh?”
“Being here is weird. Way more emotional than I anticipated. And the food’s strange. I don’t speak Portuguese, but everyone seems to assume I do. I just feel...off-kilter. Uncertain. A little lost, I guess.” I grunt in frustration. “I—I wish I’d asked him more questions when he was alive. Why did he leave Brazil? Why did he change his name? Why didn’t we ever visit?”
“You never seemed very interested, honey.”
“Did dad say that?” It crushes me to think that it may have hurt my dad that I didn’t show more interest in his heritage. “Did he think I didn’t care about Brazil?”
“No. Nothing like that. I’m just making an observation. You never asked much about Brazil, and he was fine with that.Morethan fine. He didn’t like talking about it.” My mom’s silent for a moment before speaking again. “I know that his mother passed away when he was a teenager. He left soon after.”
I blink at the ceiling in shock, then sit up straight, trying to process this new information.
“H-His mother died when he was a teen? Of what? How? He never mentioned his family. Did he—I mean, he told you that?”
“Mm-hm. He never knew his father, but his mother died when he was sixteen. He left two years later, after he’d saved enough to move to Brasilia. And eventually, from there, to New York.”
My head is spinning. It’s a sudden bounty of information and I don’t know what part to focus on first.
“How did she die?”
“Heart failure.”
“Mom!”
“What?”
“Isn’t this something he should have told me?”
“He didn’t like remembering it, let alone talking about it. It made him emotional.”
“The reason my father left his home and never went back is something that should have been shared with me!”
“He didn’t want to live in the past. And he didn’t want you to be frightened.”
Heart failure.Goosebumps pop up on my forearms. “Jesus, Mom! Do I have areasonto be frightened?”
“No! No, no, no. I promise,” she says. “We had you tested. You don’t have cardiomyopathy. Nor did he.”
“But his mother did?”
“Apparently, yes.” She’s quiet after admitting this, but I sense she has something to add. “You’re using bug spray, right? And taking the anti-malaria medication?”
“Yes! Of course.”
“Have you called Don Spiegel about your dad’s foundation, yet?”
“I didn’t think it was a priority.”
“I think you should check in...get involved. Your father didn’t talk about it much, I know, but he loved it. After you and me, it was his passion, that foundation.”
“Yeah, but it’s really small, right? Like a pet project? They don’t have that much money under advisement,” I say, dismissing her suggestion to get more involved. “I’ve been concentrating on the business end of things, like dad would’ve wanted.”
“And you’re so good at that, honey, but—”
“Mom, can we get back to my grandmother’s death and my father’s immigration? What else do you know?”
“Honestly, honey, not much. His mother was in her mid-thirties when she died of heart failure. He never mentioned any other family. No grandparents. No brothers or sisters.” She pauses. “You should call Don Spiegel about the foundation when you get a chance. In fact, why don’t I introduce you over email to get the ball rolling?”
“Mom, please! I don’t want to talk about the foundation! I want to know about—”
