All Fall Down

“A few live on the embassy grounds. But most reside in the city. We are the face of the United States here in Adria. We do important work for an important cause. And now, Grace, you’re one of us!”

“I know,” I tell her, but she just talks on like it’s all news to me. Like I didn’t spend every summer of my life here up until three years ago.

“Some of the people who work here have children about your age,” Ms. Chancellor is saying. “I suspect you are going to make some great friends here, Grace.”

“Yay.”

If Ms. Chancellor hears my sarcasm, she ignores it.

“We also have about forty Adrian citizens who work with us. Not for us. Never for us.” She adds the last part a little under her breath.

When we reach the end of the hall, I see a big round window with a cozy seat nestled into the alcove beneath it. Heavy velvet draperies hang on either side, ready to block the world away. Light ripples through the wavy glass, and I feel myself stop and stare.

In the distance, I can hear a woman counting.

“Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.”

A child laughs.

There are footsteps on the stairs.

“Ready or not, here I come!” the woman yells, and the laughter grows louder.

“Gracie!” The woman’s voice echoes through the hall. “Gracie, where are you?”

“Grace?” The voice is louder — closer. It cuts through the fog that fills my mind. “Grace,” Ms. Chancellor says, and I shudder as I remember where I am. When I am.

“Grace,” she tries again. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “They work with us. Never for us. I’ve got it.”

She eyes me, not sure if she should be worried or annoyed. “What I was saying after that is that security is our top priority here. Adria is a very friendly post, but we live in a dangerous world. That’s why security protocols are not optional. We do not prop open doors. We do not give out access codes. And we never, ever jump off of walls.”

She removes her glasses and stares at me with eyes the same chestnut color as her hair, and I know she’s not messing around.

“While you are in this building, you are on American soil. This is your country. This is your home. But step outside these walls and you are a visitor in Adria — a visitor with a very important job. Grace, I need to know that you understand me.”

“Sure,” I say, because I have heard this all before. I have done this all before. I have ignored this all before.

“We must respect our host country and we must respect our neighbors.” She lowers her voice again and grows more serious. More intent. This is a woman who means business as she warns me, “Sometimes the walls that stand between us and our neighbors are all that stand between our country and war.”

“I understand. Don’t worry. I am not going to cause any trouble.”

And at that moment I mean it. I really, really do. Ms. Chancellor must see it in my eyes, because she reaches out. But as soon as her fingers touch my shoulder, I feel a shock and jerk away. I’m almost certain I smell smoke.

“Grace?” Ms. Chancellor’s voice is too soft — too distant. “Grace, do you know why your grandfather asked you to come live with him?”

“Because my dad’s unit is being deployed to the Middle East and war zones aren’t as kid-friendly as they used to be?”

“No. You’re here because your grandfather has worked in Adria for nearly half a century. He married a woman from here. He raised his family here. This was your mother’s home, Grace. It is your home. And your grandfather wants you to know it and love it as he does. He has always wanted you here.”

“Okay.” I do not ask how — if Grandpa loves me so much — it’s possible that I haven’t laid eyes on him since before my mother died.

Ms. Chancellor smiles at me. She thinks we’ve just bonded. I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s wrong.

I’m here because there’s no place else for me to go.

CHAPTER TWO

Ms. Chancellor thinks the room at the end of the hall is mine.

I am so paralyzed by her mistake I don’t even know how to tell her that she’s wrong. So I just stand perfectly still, watching the lights flicker and buzz when she flips them on. It’s like the room is having trouble waking up from its long slumber. It hasn’t been used in years, after all.

Three years.

The electrical outlets all look funny and, in the attached bathroom, there is one spout for hot water and another one for cold. These are the things that remind me where I am — how far I have traveled. This isn’t just another relocation from one army base to another. This time I am deep in enemy territory, and I am on my own.

Ms. Chancellor opens the window and lets the cool breeze fill the room. It smells like the sea.

“Now, I know we’ve arranged for the majority of your things to be shipped over, but — Oh, good, someone brought your luggage up.” She motions to the big rolling suitcase and duffle bag that sit beside the bed. “You should have plenty of time to unpack before dinner. Would you like some help?”

She stops and watches me for a moment. Eventually, though, the silence is too much and she blurts, “So? What do you think?” She smiles too brightly; I feel like there’s too much riding on whatever answer I’m being asked to give. “Do you like it?”

Someone has put fresh flowers on the desk, and I reach out to touch them. I eye the white lace curtains and the big queen bed with the twirly, twisty frame and soft-pink canopy. It is every little girl’s dream room. Too bad I’m not a little girl.

Too bad I’m not my mo —

“I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” I say too quickly. “I’m always in the yellow room.” I point in the direction of the smaller bedroom three doors down. “That’s my room.”

“Well, your grandfather and I thought that you’d be more comfortable in this room. Since you’ll be staying with us longer this time. It’s larger, see? And, of course, it has its own bathroom, and —”

“This is my mom’s room,” I say. As if she doesn’t know. As if it isn’t obvious.

The signs are everywhere, from the ballerina-topped jewelry box on the dresser to the stuffed animals in the window seat. Every summer of my childhood, my mother made a pilgrimage back to a room that never changed. She grew up, but it did not. When I was a kid, I thought it felt like a time machine. Now it feels like a shrine.