I clambered out of bed, changed into my school uniform, and searched the bungalow for my parents. Every day, I’d awoken to the low-pitched call of the black seashell Dad had found for Mom on their first date she kept it buried in her hair, pinning up her long locks, and plucked it out only for our daily drills.īut this morning dawned unannounced. I remember knowing something was wrong when Helios’s rays-and not Mom’s whistle-roused me.
There are dozens of memories that still haunt me, but that one always shoves its way to the surface first, submerging all other thoughts with its power. WHEN I THINK OF MOM, I think of the day she abandoned us. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Razorbill, an Imprint of Penguin Random HouseĬopyright © 2015 Penguin Random House LLC
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