Words of Wisdom
The cabin shuddered. Wind screamed through pine branches, hurling rain against windows like handfuls of gravel. One moment—kitchen light casting Emily Parker’s shadow across worn floorboards. The next—nothing. Blackness. She dove beneath her quilt, pulling it over her head until only her nose poked out. Her fingers clutched the fabric, knuckles bloodless.
“Two,” she whispered, her breath hot against the cotton. Lightning flashed—transformed Grandpa’s fishing trophy into a lurking beast. “Three.” Thunder crashed, rattling the glass collection on the mantel. “Five.” Her toes curled, uncurled, curled again. “Seven.” Another flash—shadows leaped across walls. “Eleven.” The old sofa creaked as she pressed herself deeper into its cushions. “Thirteen—” Her voice caught on a sob. “—seventeen, nineteen…”
“Twenty-one?”
Emily glanced up as a beam of soft light cut through the darkness, gently illuminating the face of her grandfather. Her small six-year-old frame shuddered as she shook her head.
“Twenty-three. Twenty-one isn’t a prime.”
“Oho, so you’re right.” Ted Parker eased himself down next to her. Another gust of wind rattled the windows hard, sending a splatter of heavy rain against the glass. Emily whimpered and huddled close, leaning against his arm.
“Tw—twenty-nine… thirty-one…”
“Thirty-seven?”
Emily glanced up at him with a weak smile, then looked back out the window into the raging storm outside. “Grandpa, will the lights come back on?”
“I’ve got something much better than those boring old lights.” Ted reached into his pocket, pulling out a small brass nightlight vaguely in the shape of a telescope. “I’d been meaning to give it to you before you went home, but I think this is as good a time as any.”
Emily took it in her hands, studying it before quickly finding the switch, turning on its dim light. She hugged it to her, closing her eyes as she leaned against him once more.
“I wanted to see the stars tonight.”
“Oh? Anything in particular?”
“Cassiopeia and Andromeda, there and there.” She pointed to spots lower on the western horizon. “Aaand Pegasus, there.” She pointed slightly higher. Her shoulders slumped. “But the dumb storm’s hiding them all.”
Ted smiled gently, watching the small light in her hands cast star-like patterns across her face. “Stars don’t shine forever, Em.”
She nodded. “I know,” she whispered softly.
“But while they do, they give everything they have. That’s why we see their light, years and years later. Not because they tried to last forever—but because they kept shining as brightly as they could for as long as they could.”
Emily glanced back up at his face, crystal blue eyes reflecting the dim light. She thought long and hard before a smile slowly crept over her face. Ted mussed the top of the quilt and slipped his arm around her shoulder.
Forty-one, forty-three, and forty-seven could wait. She had everything she needed right here.
* * *
Emerald City, Washington. May 12, 2003.
Maya Santos’s bedroom in the Santos estate’s north wing lay quiet in the evening shadow, moonlight filtering through gauzy curtains. Portuguese proverbs in elegant calligraphy hung opposite posters of grinning American cartoon characters. Her immaculate white desk held two pencil cups—one with Brazilian flag colors, one with American—neither overlapping. Six-year-old Maya had arranged everything with unchildlike precision—Brazilian picture books stood on one bookshelf, American fairy tales on another, neither collection quite touching. Even her toys maintained invisible borders: carnival-bright parrots and jaguars to the left, teddy bears in sports jerseys to the right. The room felt like an embassy—technically one space, silently divided.
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Maya sat cross-legged on her bed with a forced smile plastered on her face, surrounded by scattered photos from a school event. She reached for one, picking it up and squinting at it through red-rimmed eyes, tears slowly tracking down her cheeks. A light rapping on her doorframe sent Maya sitting bolt upright.
?Maya? May I come in?? A gentle voice called out.
?Oh, Grandmother! I’m just organizing my pictures!? Maya called out with artificial brightness, immediately switching to Portuguese. She wiped at her eyes while quickly trying to scoop the messy stack of unsorted photos into something passing for organized.
—Grandmother—Luiza appeared in the doorway like visiting royalty. Her silver-streaked hair swept up in an elegant knot, secured with a wooden pin Maya knew held a tiny hidden knife—“A lady is always prepared,” she’d once whispered. Her dress combined traditional Brazilian embroidery with modern cuts, indigo fabric flowing as she moved. Gold bangles—one for each decade of her life—clinked softly at her wrists. When Vovó entered a room, even Maya’s father stood straighter. Her eyes, shaped exactly like Maya’s own, missed nothing—especially not tear tracks on her granddaughter’s cheeks. Those eyes had stared down corporate titans, but for Maya, they held only warmth.
“Oh, .”
Maya’s smile disintegrated in an instant. Three words was all it took. Her shoulders slumped, and she choked back a sob. “Abby said I talk too Latina for the American girls.” She sniffed. “But Catalina says I’m ”—neither fish nor meat—“too American to be Brazilian.”
?Who told these children they could decide who you are?? Vovó Luiza sat beside Maya on the bed, gently brushing tears from her cheek. ?Did they consult me? Did they ask your father? No? Then they speak without authority, ? She switched to English, cupping Maya’s face in her hand. “Only you have the map to your own heart, my beautiful Maya.”
Vovó glanced toward the window where stars had pierced the darkening sky. “I think tonight is perfect for stargazing, don’t you?” She stood, extending her hand. “. I want to show you something that might help.”
Maya took her hand and followed her out of the room. The worn wooden steps leading to the rarely used roof access door creaked with each footstep. When Vovó opened the door, the crisp night air chilled Maya’s tear-heated cheeks. A row of airplanes slowly made their march northward to Seattle’s airport. Despite the distant gleam of the core of Emerald City, the sky was clear, and the stars twinkled above.
Vovó led Maya to a stone bench and sat down.
?If we were in S?o Paulo, I would show you Cruzeiro do Sul.? She sighed. “But American astronomers call it ‘Crux.’ Boring, no?” Her eyes scanned the sky, before she nodded, and pointed. “There. That’s Libra. The scales of justice. Do you see?”
Maya nodded, eyes focusing on the flickering stars.
“She’s quite a beauty, isn’t she? Just like ” Vovó laughed musically even as Maya’s cheeks reddened. ?But you see? She is one constellation, but many stars. How many do you see in her??
?Um… four??
?Ah, but she hides a secret. That one is a double star.? She pointed to Alpha Librae. ?Very sneaky, no? But from here, we see her as one star. And all part of our beautiful Libra.?
Maya squinted, but as hard as she could try, there was only one point of light.
?Brazilian stargazers, American stargazers. They call these stars and constellations different names, but they are the same bright ladies of the sky. And do you want to know something else??
Maya nodded rapidly. Vovó pulled out a small, clear crystal from a pocket, along with a tiny flashlight—Vovó was prepared for anything!
?The light our ladies shine, she has her own secret. Look.? She held the prism over the bench and turned on the flashlight. A rainbow lit the smooth stone.
Maya’s eyes widened.
?She has many lights inside her. All of them precious. All of them make her who she is. One light, with many faces.? Vovó’s voice softened. ?You will have to wear many faces. Sometimes you will be American or Brazilian. Sometimes you will be like your papa, head full of numbers and risk assessments, or you will be like your mama. But you will always be you, Always keep the real Maya with you, even if you sometimes have to shine a different light.?
Maya’s lip quivered. She threw her arms around Vovó Luiza, feeling her grandmother’s arms slip gently around her. She sniffled softly, but the tension flooded out of her shoulders.
?You keep the prism, okay, ? Vovó smiled. “He’ll be a powerful friend, and give you support when Vovó can’t be there for you.”