where the heart is

The car rumbled quietly through the verdant, overgrown jungles of the South Loucari, and its two passengers had run out of conversation topics.

Albanes sat quietly in the car, her hands folded neatly, and watched as the rice paddies transitioned into sparse woods transitioned into deep jungle. Juno had said that his home was in a fairly remote part of the South Loucari, but before now Albanes had little idea of what the South Loucari even looked like. It was all surprising, and all so very green. She marveled at everything like a baby first seeing the world- the low, flat houses with rain gutters built into the side walls and sprigs of ficus pinned to the doors; the herons stabbing at the creekwater for fresh fish alongside human spearfishers; the vast landscape and impossibly large sky. Albanes had spent all of her short life, up to this moment, in a valley town. A sky without mountains seemed like something out of a dream- too big, to ever truly see.

This was the last leg of a very long journey. They had taken her from the medical shelter (the shelter where the last of her brothers was put under a blanket before being put into the earth), to a foster family, to another temporary shelter. They had sent her to meetings. They had signed papers with her name on it. They had told her what to expect in the life she was about to enter (would she ever feel like the old life was over?). They had put her on a bus, then a train, then a ferry, and now, finally, in a private car. A private car on her way to her new home (her new life), with Juno.

He sat opposite her, his eyes closed, his cane folded gently on his lap. He was technically her cousin- third cousin twice removed or something like that, but it was always a jumble of words when Albanes heard it. More importantly, he was the only one left. The closest living relative. “He’s in the South Loucari,” Mr. Cassidy, the social worker, had said in a meeting with the authorities, before Juno had arrived, “and he’s not the closest by relation, but by far he’s the best fit. She’ll grow up in a supportive environment. A big house, lots of siblings, lots of parental guidance.”

His name was Yeonaixho, but he said Albanes could call him ‘Juno’. He said that he wasn’t there to replace the family she had lost, but to take care of her and offer her a new family. He did not look like her- not in the way her brothers had looked like her- but there was a kindness to his face, a softness to his smile. He was a long, tall man- Albanes had not known someone could be so tall- with fair, blonde-yellow hair that peaked out in loose fringe from beneath his knitted cap. He worked his hands gently around the cane- grip, ungrip, grip, ungrip- but hadn’t said anything to her in a while.

“Mr. Juno?” Albanes asked, carefully, as the car passed through a patch of especially dark wood, “How much longer until we get there?”

“Let me check,” Juno said, and turned slightly to ask a question to the driver through the tiny window that separated the passenger compartment to the driver’s. Then, he turned right back and faced Albanes again, his pale blue gaze never quite meeting hers. “Mayin says in about forty-five minutes.”

“Okay.” Albanes was good at keeping time. That’s what they used to say about her. Her mother would often have her watch the baking or the laundry and she would have to know how long an hour was, how long half an hour was, and what burning smelled like. (Her mother was gone now, too.)

Forty-five more minutes, and her new life would begin.

(Was her old life over?)

Mr. Cassidy and Juno - though mostly Mr. Cassidy, as Juno was no good at writing and no good with photos- had made a photo album for Albanes. (Actually, they had made two. One was filled with all the photos they could find of her old life. Brothers and Mothers and Fathers now cold in the dirt. Places she could not go back to for risk of further contamination. Scraps of their handwriting and a tape of a holiday home video they had found, made when she was only three, so she wouldn’t forget their voices. Albanes did not want to open it). It contained everything she needed to know about her new life. Pictures of her new house. A map showing where she lived now. A certificate that told her where she would go to school, a letter from Mr. Cassidy and his phone number (“If you ever need anything, Albanes, you can call me.”), stubs from the tickets of the train and the ferry she had taken to get here (her additions), and pictures of the family. Juno’s family. Her new family.

There was a big full-spread photo of them, all seven of them, arranged neatly in a way families never were except for photos. The only face she recognized was Juno’s, but the rest were labeled. Jymaiyri Sovran. Nathan. Zora. Nora. Minerva. And one more, not featured in the family photo but so young and so small she had a picture all to herself. Little Baby Eliana, only a few weeks old. They had delayed Albanes’s arrival at the home til the baby was born, Mr. Cassidy had said. It would be better to wait until it was a little less chaotic.

Chaotic. Albanes mouthed, feeling out the word on her tongue. It seemed that was all things had been for her, lately.

Albanes did not know if she should look at the scenery racing by, or the photo album in her lap. Which would give her a better image of her future? Which would tell her what to expect. What she knew (and she knew so little, honestly), was that whatever it was, she was not sure she was ready for it.