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Back Any Way the Wind Blows Save as PDF
Chapters (100)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. EPILOGUE
  96. AGATHA
  97. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  98. Also by Rainbow Rowell
  99. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  100. Newsletter Sign-up

“I’m still camping out in the family room. I think you’d like this house better than the one in Hampshire. It isn’t haunted, for one. And the lighting is better.

You could come sleep on the sofa with me, if you like. My father is in such a state, I don’t think he’d notice.

There’s not actually *room* for you on the sofa, but there’s no room for me either. I wouldn’t be any less comfortable with you here. And I think you’d like the twins. All they do is eat jam and butter sandwiches and throw things at each other. It takes me back to our first year at Watford.

I wish I’d brought a change of clothes with me, but I never expected to stay this long. I’m still not certain how long I should stay. I’d thought ‘until Daphne comes home.’ But what if Daphne isn’t coming home?

I’m not raising my father’s ill-advised second family.

(If I *were* raising them, we’d have a stern talk about screen time.)

I’m half asleep, can you tell?

You could come down, if you like. You don’t even have to text. Just show up on my door, caked with mud. Coat open. Snow in your hair.

It’s June, isn’t it?

Good night, Snow.”

“Mordelia walks from room to room, video-chatting with Normals. She says her mother is in London, taking classes, which seems unlikely. I’ve never known Daphne to be studious. Or to have any interest in a career.

Maybe she’s having a midlife crisis? (I’d be in constant crisis if I were married to someone like my father. He refuses to have a conversation about anything that’s actually happening!)

Anyway, I can hardly interrogate Mordelia. She’s 8.”

“Is this about America, Snow?”

“It’s going to be all right.”

“I change nappies now. And by that, I don’t mean that I know how to change nappies; I already knew how. What I mean is, it’s all I do. Daphne could have at least housetrained this child before she abandoned him.”

“This isn’t like Daphne.”

“All right, I’ve interrogated Mordelia.”

“I think I need your help with this, Simon.”

“Good morning.”

“Good night.”

“Good morning.”

“I miss you.”

“I don’t need a phone to talk to myself.

I’ll tell you more when I get back to London.”

10

PENELOPE

I used to think I was always right.

I was wrong …

About that.

Which really makes me wonder what else I was wrong about. I mean, if you’re wrong about almost always being right, anything is possible. Maybe you’re almost always wrong. Maybe I am, I mean.

It’s like I’m a detective who’s been solving cases for nineteen years with flawed methodology, and now I’ve had to reopen every one.