Luca kept talking. “I wanted to know, Freddo, if you’ve been thinking about your mom a lot lately too?”

I gulped down a lump in my throat and pressed my fingernails painfully into my palms as Luca went on.

“That’s why I wanted us to have a little talk today.” He glanced quickly at me and then back to the road. “I know you had a scare the other week when Anika wasn’t feeling too well—we all did! And when you saw my patrol car . . . but you did the same thing today when you saw me at the gate.” He paused, and then a little quieter he said, “You were expecting the worst, I think?”

My mouth felt dry, and I opened it just to close it again. I didn’t know what to say.

“Freddo, it’s okay. You can talk to me—about anything! But especially if you’ve been remembering what happened with your mom, and scared it could . . .”

There was so much I wanted to say. I wanted Luca to know that I missed her, but I was worried I was forgetting her, and maybe that made me a bad daughter. I wanted to say that sometimes trying to remember her was like following a map without a compass: you’re bound to get lost.

Instead I was quiet for a long time and finally Luca sighed again. “We need to get better,” he said. “Better at talking to one another and being honest with each other. Don’t we?”

He looked over at me, and I forced myself to nod and to swallow down all the things I hadn’t said.

He adjusted his hands on the steering wheel, seemed to grip it a little tighter. “Something kind of big is going to happen around here over the next few months, and it’s my job to help out with it. So I’m going to be busier than normal, and I need you to step up and take on more responsibilities.”

“You mean, because of the refugees who are coming?”

Luca was silent for a long time, then he huffed out a breath and said, “How on earth do you know about that?”

I turned a little toward him, as much as my seat belt would let me. “Don’t be mad, but I heard you and Anika talking the other night. . . .”

“You were eavesdropping?”

I looked down at the hem of my school shirt and started pleating it nervously. “I’m sorry—but you were just saying how I could talk to you about anything! And . . .” I looked up at him again and shrugged. “I want to talk about this.”

Luca glanced at me. “I don’t appreciate you sneaking like that, Winifred. You won’t do it again, is that clear?”

I nodded once.