One of them has a black background, and each word is written across it in various bright colors. It says:IT’S OKAY NOT TO KNOW. IT’S NOT OKAY NOT TO CARE.
I stare at that one for a long time.
“Have you ever read Harry Potter?” I ask Caleb, interrupting him as he stumbles through a line about the witching hour. He glances up at me, confused.
“No, but I’ve seen some of the movies.”
“So you know that Harry’s an orphan too,” I say, and he nods warily. “But when you think of him, what’s the first word that comes to mind?”
“Wizard?” he asks, sounding just like Leo once did.
“Right. What else?”
“Quidditch player?” He pauses for a second to think. “Gryffindor?”
“Exactly. Harry was an orphan, but he was those other things too. Just like you’re a lot of other things.”
Caleb doesn’t seem quite convinced. “Like what?”
“Well,” I say, tapping my fingers against the cover of the book, “you’re a reader.” Then I point at his blue T-shirt. “And a Cubs fan.”
He gives me a shy smile. “Yeah.”
“What else do you want be?”
“A fireman,” he says without hesitating. “Or a pig owner.”
I laugh. “Both very good things.”
“What about you?”
“Well, I’m a niece,” I tell him. “And a cousin. And a best friend.”
And a daughter,I think, and for once the word doesn’t make me wonder whether that’s actually true, whether you can still be a daughter without having parents. Instead it makes me think about what Aunt Sofia said that morning at Northwestern.
Instead it makes my heart feel very full.
“A tutor,” I add with a smile, cuffing Caleb lightly on the arm; then I point to the open book. “And a reader.”
He nods. “What else?”
I hesitate, because I’m already out of words and the list seems alarmingly short. I realize I don’t know the answer to this question any better now than I did when I was nine, and there’s something a little disappointing about that.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I’m still working on it.”
As we walk out of the library an hour later, Miriam, the librarian at the front desk, waves us over. She pulls a plain white box with a blue bow from behind the counter and peers down at Caleb. “This is for you.”
He tips his head back, his eyes huge. “Me?”
“Who’s it—” I start to ask, but Miriam just winks at me as Caleb tears the top off and lets out a shout. Inside there’s a bundle of pink fur: a stuffed pig.
He hugs it fiercely to his chest. “Just like Wilbur.”
“Just like Wilbur,” I repeat as I scan the lobby. “Who dropped it off?”
“Some guy,” Miriam says, still smiling at Caleb. “Isn’t there a card?”
I check the box again, then shake my head. “No card.”
