Beneath Wandering Stars Read Online Free PDF Page A

that if he wasn’t able to walk to Santiago with you two for any reason, then he wanted me to go in his place.”

Chapter 4
    Why are there so many stupid magazines in the ICU waiting area? Does anyone actually think celebrity gossip and “Ten Tips for Losing Winter Weight” is going to provide a drop of comfort?
    I study the latest cover of
Outdoor Life
magazine, featuring a glossy photo of an isolated tent in a desert lit up by stars. There was nothing Lucas loved more than the sky. Starry skies, stormy skies, sunset skies—he was always looking out and staring up.
    Speaking of staring, Seth is daring me to speak first. He’s on the other side of the waiting room, slouched down in the orange chair with his legs splayed open like he’s watching the big game on TV. Just gawking. He hasn’t said a word since he told us about my brother’s request. He’s waiting to see how I react, so the best way to stick it to him is to not react at all.
    “Is your copy of the
Iliad
highlighted?” I ask, sending a jagged crack down our icy wall of silence.
    “‘Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen, but his country’s cause,’” Seth recites. “Makes for easy rereading. He chose all my favorite lines.”
    What a showoff.
    “So you think Lucas is the one who highlighted it?”
    “Who else?” Seth gives me that look again. The one that makes me feel like I’m either the most naive person he’s ever met, or I’m nuts. “Lucas said every soldier should keep the
Iliad
beneath his pillow at all times. I figured he was passing along his own copy.”
    I doubt that was all Lucas was up to, but I’m not about to tell Seth I received a similar gift
in the mail a few short hours ago. Not yet. There’s something about Seth’s cool, casual attitude towards everything that I don’t entirely trust.
    My dad, who’s retrieved my mother and little brother, pokes his head into waiting room. “Ready to go? I’ll pull the car around. Matteo is exhausted.”
    I fix my gaze on Seth. “Me too. Some people suck all the energy out of the room.”
    He’s not the only one who can play “let’s see what gets a reaction.”
    Seth almost smiles. Almost. “Sleep well, kiddo.”
    How is it possible that even his good night
sounds like a dare?
    “And then get yourself some decent hiking boots. We’ve got a long way to walk.”
    • • •
    Just to prove to Seth that I can, I do sleep well. And long. The smell of Mom’s blueberry pancakes, served with the Michigan maple syrup her uncle taps and ships to us overseas, is what finally wakes me. My heavy eyes focus on the crumpled soccer uniform at the foot of my bed. It goes without saying that I will not be making my game this morning. So much for being team captain.
    “Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom says as I enter the kitchen. Her cheerful voice is fake, but well-meaning. She turns from the stove where her round cakes are sizzling and hands me a wooden spoon, covered in what looks like purple plaster. “Pancake batter?”
    “Thanks.” I stick the entire spoon in my mouth. Mom’s looking much better after a good night’s sleep, so I dare to ask, “Heard anything from the hospital?”
    “Not yet.” She flips a slightly overdone cake. “
Scheize
. Pardon my French. Or German, rather.” Mom sighs and shakes her head. “I was going for a perfectly golden dozen.”
    Despite this minor setback, Mom’s optimism does not falter. She pours another round of batter onto the skillet before looking at me, a fierce fire in her eyes. “He’s going to wake up, Gabriela. Believe me. Mothers can sense these things.”
    I nod and take another lick of blueberry paste. I wish I had Mom’s confidence—or knack for denial—but military life has left me a cynic as of late. Or maybe I’m just a realist. I don’t want to burst her bubble, so I carry the plate of hot pancakes into the dining room.
    Dad stands there in his PT running shorts with both hands on his hips,