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Back The Year the Maps Changed Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Map
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. Acknowledgments
  74. About the Author
  75. About the Publisher

“I know that!” I practically screamed, and Luca’s eyes widened in shock. I looked out my window. It was still only afternoon, but while everything had been sunny and beautiful before, now it all looked too bright and terrible.

“I’m disappointed in you, Winifred. Because I know you can be better and kinder than you were today,” Luca said, and I felt my eyes begin to sting, “and because we’re a family now, and you’re going to be a big sister.”

I laughed a little at that, but not because it was funny. “Sam is not my brother.”

“I’m not talking about Sam.” Luca was staring at me. “That’s what today was about. We wanted to tell you together—you and Sam—that you’re both going to be . . .” He faltered, and then the words just came tumbling out. “We’re going to have a baby, Anika and I.”

No.

No, no, no, no.

“Winifred? Do you hear what I’m telling you?”

I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t want to know.

“Winifred?”

I unbuckled my seat belt, reached for the handle, and flung the door open. I ran inside, past where Anika and Sam were sitting at the kitchen counter, and not stopping when I heard Luca calling to me. I ran down the hall to my room and slammed the door.

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4

RRC and an Album of Memories

I apologized to Sam that same afternoon, and then about a hundred more times—but it was into next week and he still wouldn’t talk to me. He had to wear his old, babyish pair of glasses with light-blue frames that pinched the bridge of his nose. Every time I saw them, I felt my shame pinching too.

In the last week of school holidays I went to visit Pop at the RRC—the Rye Rehabilitation Center—which was two towns away on the 787 Sorrento to Safety Beach bus.

I can’t really remember it, but Pop used to live with us in the big house when it was just me, him, and Mom. But then Luca came when I was three, and Pop had an apartment built out back—a little boxy house with a brown roof, cream walls, and a ramp out the front. Inside it had a tiny kitchenette, living room, bedroom, and bathroom.

I once asked Pop why he didn’t live with us in the big house. He said, “A castle can only have one king,” and I still don’t really know what that means. And I never even thought to ask why he didn’t have his own house someplace else. I could never imagine him not being with us.

But then late last year it really happened.