Beneath Wandering Stars Read Online Free PDF

looking down on a table covered in paper instead of placemats. He’s either planning a very detailed battle strategy for a ten-hour game of Axis & Allies, or he decided to get up early and print out every map he could find of the
Camino de Santiago
.
    Seriously, am I the only person in this house holding it together without resorting to some sort of delusion or manic behavior? I peer into the living room where Matteo watches SpongeBob dubbed in German—which is as horrifying as it sounds, but part of his normal morning routine at least.
    “You really intend to go through with this?” I clear a spot among the paper and set down the pancakes. When Seth first revealed Lucas’s request, Dad had been hard to read, but he’s never one to make whimsical, spur-of-the-moment decisions. “How long does the walk take?”
    Dad points to a detailed map of the pilgrimage route, his finger trailing a thin red line that hugs the top of Spain before breaking into a dozen tributaries into the heart of Europe after the French border. “The most traditional route, the
Camino Francés
, starts here in the Pyrenees mountains. It takes five or six weeks to reach Santiago, depending on your pace.”
    “Five or six
weeks
?” I was all for fulfilling Lucas’s request at first, but now that I’ve slept, I’m thinking like a sane person. What if something life-altering happens while we’re gone? “There’s no way we can leave Lucas for that long.”
    “I know,
mija
. I didn’t plan on leaving your brother’s bedside for a day, let alone a month.” Dad looks out the window, focusing his gaze on the red glass hummingbird feeder that hangs from our balcony. “But then last night I had a dream.”
    Oh God, here we go.
    “Lucas was a little boy, fast asleep inside a giant scallop shell—the symbol of the
Camino de Santiago
.” Dad’s eyes glisten with liquid crazy, which is how my father tends to look whenever he’s feeling enthusiastic about something. “It’s a sign,
mija
.”
    I don’t want to hear another word about signs, omens, or secret messages hidden in Homeric epics. “How is walking across Spain supposed to help Lucas? Don’t tell me you’re actually hoping for a miracle.”
    If he is, my father is way more superstitious than I ever imagined, and I have years of therapy to look forward to when his mission fails. “Lucas wants us to visit Santiago, but why do we need to walk all the way there? Can’t we just take a plane or train like normal people? Then we’d be back at his bedside in no time.”
    Dad shakes his head like my mere suggestion is sacrilege. “It’s supposed to be a pilgrimage. In the Middle Ages, penitents walked this route barefoot.
Escucha mija,
let me tell you a little story about the
real
world . . . .”
    Ladies and gentlemen, enter one of my father’s “you narcissistic American youth with your constant selfies have no idea what it’s like to suffer” diatribes.
    “Do you know
why
I had to quit Mexico’s national team after only one season?”
    “Because when
abuelo
died, you had to support your mother and five siblings all by yourself,” I recite, knowing by heart the story of how Dad gave up soccer and enlisted in the U.S. Army as a path to American citizenship.
    “That’s right. And because I caught a rare infection that put me in the hospital and could have left me lame. Your
abuela
traveled all the way from our village in Oaxaca to the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City to pray for my healing. So yes, I believe in the power of pilgrimages.”
    Time to try another tactic. I want to do what Lucas asked, I really do. But I also want to make sure my father realizes what we would be giving up, even if I can’t say the words
but
Lucas might die while we’re gone
out loud because that might make them real.
    So I choose an easy scapegoat instead: the public education system. “Have you forgotten that I’m graduating in two months? How can I miss that much school? How