when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Nadine Morgan,” said Krispin. He cleared his throat. “Here,” he said, handing Nadine a manila envelope. “This is a copy of Jason’s journal. He wrote so well, you’ll see, even when he was very young. Maybe he would have been a reporter, too.”
“Thank you,” Nadine said.
“This is a tough trip for my wife,” said Krispin. “It’s tough for both of us. But Jason…” His clear, blue eyes teared up. “He wouldn’t have wanted her to…I’m sorry.”
“Please,” said Nadine, “go on.”
“I can still remember her,” said Krispin. “The way she was…before…”
Nadine nodded, the words forming an opening paragraph in her mind. She willed Krispin to continue.
“I hope this trip helps her,” he said. He took a breath and stood. “I hope you can write something. Something wonderful.”
“I’ll do my best, I promise,” said Nadine, holding Jason’s journal tightly. “Jason,” she said. “He was a remarkable person.”
“You knew him?”
“No,” said Nadine. “No, I just…I’ve read about him.”
Krispin looked long at Nadine. “We’re staying at the Hotel Victoria,” he said. “Come and talk to me. I want—” He looked away, out the window, at the clouds. “I want Jason to be remembered. I want this pain to amount to something.”
“Of course,” said Nadine.
Krispin nodded briskly. He patted the envelope on Nadine’s tray table and went back to his seat.
O n the twenty-one-hour flight to Johannesburg, jammed between a Liberian mother and her infant and a woman with a ruddy complexion, Nadine pulled out the envelope Krispin had given her and opened it. Krispin had made color copies of his son’s journal, as well as everything from his birth certificate to his “Good Attitude Award” at Camp Becket in the Berkshires.
Nadine had to bite back tears as she took note of particularly moving information: Jason’s dreams, his love of musical theater. She rubbed her eyes, thinking that the painkillers must be affecting her. She prided herself on never getting her emotions mixed up with her work. Sure, this boy had grown up near Nadine, but she hadn’t known him. He was simply, she reminded herself, the subject of an article. Nadine forced herself to turn the pages.
She closed Jason’s journal and took a melatonin tablet. Though the Liberian baby screamed every half an hour or so, Nadine slept for a while, and then watched three movies in a row. By the time they reached Accra, Ghana, Nadine had a splitting headache and her joints throbbed. In the tiny bathroom, she took some Demerol. She ran a damp paper towel over her face as the plane refueled and stewardesses sprayed the walkways with aerosol cans. The floral-scented antibacterial made Nadine’s headache worse.
By the bathroom, two men in camouflage pants discussed their upcoming hunt. “I’m taking a lion
down,
” said one.
“Stewardess cut off my scotch,” said the other.
“I’m taking a lion
down,
” said the other. “Well,” he said, seeing Nadine, “what have we here?”
She pushed past him and sighed: ten hours until Johannesburg.
Seventeen
NANTUCKET TO STARDOM MY PERSONAL JOURNAL
Today I was discovered. For my whole life, I’ve dreamed and hoped it would happen, and then it did, right after the dress rehearsal of the sixth-grade musical,
Guys and Dolls.
I rocked “Sue Me” and even Mr. Mancussi said, “Good enunciation, pal.” I slid across the floor like it was ice and I was in the Ice Capades. I threw my heart into my arm movements. I even tried to be passionate about my kiss with Louisa Jelly (who totally needs to work on her enunciation. The only song she rocks is “Adelaide’s Lament,” because she’s
supposed
to have a cold in that one). By the end of the show I was gross and sweaty but I felt good because I knew I had done my best.
I do not like taking showers in the nasty Nantucket Elementary gym, so I was still
“Nadine Morgan,” said Krispin. He cleared his throat. “Here,” he said, handing Nadine a manila envelope. “This is a copy of Jason’s journal. He wrote so well, you’ll see, even when he was very young. Maybe he would have been a reporter, too.”
“Thank you,” Nadine said.
“This is a tough trip for my wife,” said Krispin. “It’s tough for both of us. But Jason…” His clear, blue eyes teared up. “He wouldn’t have wanted her to…I’m sorry.”
“Please,” said Nadine, “go on.”
“I can still remember her,” said Krispin. “The way she was…before…”
Nadine nodded, the words forming an opening paragraph in her mind. She willed Krispin to continue.
“I hope this trip helps her,” he said. He took a breath and stood. “I hope you can write something. Something wonderful.”
“I’ll do my best, I promise,” said Nadine, holding Jason’s journal tightly. “Jason,” she said. “He was a remarkable person.”
“You knew him?”
“No,” said Nadine. “No, I just…I’ve read about him.”
Krispin looked long at Nadine. “We’re staying at the Hotel Victoria,” he said. “Come and talk to me. I want—” He looked away, out the window, at the clouds. “I want Jason to be remembered. I want this pain to amount to something.”
“Of course,” said Nadine.
Krispin nodded briskly. He patted the envelope on Nadine’s tray table and went back to his seat.
O n the twenty-one-hour flight to Johannesburg, jammed between a Liberian mother and her infant and a woman with a ruddy complexion, Nadine pulled out the envelope Krispin had given her and opened it. Krispin had made color copies of his son’s journal, as well as everything from his birth certificate to his “Good Attitude Award” at Camp Becket in the Berkshires.
Nadine had to bite back tears as she took note of particularly moving information: Jason’s dreams, his love of musical theater. She rubbed her eyes, thinking that the painkillers must be affecting her. She prided herself on never getting her emotions mixed up with her work. Sure, this boy had grown up near Nadine, but she hadn’t known him. He was simply, she reminded herself, the subject of an article. Nadine forced herself to turn the pages.
She closed Jason’s journal and took a melatonin tablet. Though the Liberian baby screamed every half an hour or so, Nadine slept for a while, and then watched three movies in a row. By the time they reached Accra, Ghana, Nadine had a splitting headache and her joints throbbed. In the tiny bathroom, she took some Demerol. She ran a damp paper towel over her face as the plane refueled and stewardesses sprayed the walkways with aerosol cans. The floral-scented antibacterial made Nadine’s headache worse.
By the bathroom, two men in camouflage pants discussed their upcoming hunt. “I’m taking a lion
down,
” said one.
“Stewardess cut off my scotch,” said the other.
“I’m taking a lion
down,
” said the other. “Well,” he said, seeing Nadine, “what have we here?”
She pushed past him and sighed: ten hours until Johannesburg.
Seventeen
NANTUCKET TO STARDOM MY PERSONAL JOURNAL
Today I was discovered. For my whole life, I’ve dreamed and hoped it would happen, and then it did, right after the dress rehearsal of the sixth-grade musical,
Guys and Dolls.
I rocked “Sue Me” and even Mr. Mancussi said, “Good enunciation, pal.” I slid across the floor like it was ice and I was in the Ice Capades. I threw my heart into my arm movements. I even tried to be passionate about my kiss with Louisa Jelly (who totally needs to work on her enunciation. The only song she rocks is “Adelaide’s Lament,” because she’s
supposed
to have a cold in that one). By the end of the show I was gross and sweaty but I felt good because I knew I had done my best.
I do not like taking showers in the nasty Nantucket Elementary gym, so I was still
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