It was not the image I had in mind of their meeting—of handshakes and kind words—but at least before he left, Moy said he would think about living with us again, if Papa stopped treating him like a child.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 23

I met Immacula’s mother this afternoon. I stopped by Immacula’s apartment to pick up a book she wanted to lend me for the weekend, when we found her mother standing outside, waiting for the school bus to bring Immacula’s sisters home.

Immacula’s mother is much livelier than I expected, much more jovial than Immacula, her white professional home attendant frock reminding me of Tante Rose’s nursing uniform.

When Immacula introduced us, her mother leaned down for me to kiss her cheek. After I kissed her, she kept her head down so Immacula could kiss her as well. There is awkwardness between her and Immacula, like two strangers who are just getting to know each other.

LATER

Franck came by to remind us that the three-bedroom apartment upstairs will be free at the end of the month. Even though we knew this was coming, we have been waiting anxiously for Franck’s official announcement to begin packing.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 24

The people upstairs are moving. I can hear the sound of furniture being moved. Soon the apartment will be ours.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 25

The new apartment is now empty. We went up to look at it this evening. It is bigger, of course, with larger windows to bring in more light. It is also a little quieter because we are two stories above the ground.

Papa immediately began to scrape the walls to prepare them for repainting. Manman and I swept the floors and scrubbed the bathroom and the kitchen, gathering every speck of dust from the old residents and throwing them away.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 26

I received another letter from Thérèse, still with no return address. She said she might not write again because she cannot afford the postage.

Thérèse was still living and working in the home of the vetiver businessman. She was able to go to school some nights, a class run by foreign missionaries.

I sensed that she wanted to make things sound much better than they were. Just as I might have exaggerated my misfortunes had I gotten another chance to write to her. Perhaps she envied me, and frankly, I felt grateful not to be in her place.

With the newly packed boxes piled up all around me, I sat in my room for a long time with Thérèse’s letter pressed against my heart.