The Butterfly's Daughter
Mary Alice Monroe
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Mary Alice Monroe, New York Times bestselling author of the Lowcountry Summer trilogy, once again touches hearts with her lyrical, poignant, and moving novel The Butterfly’s Daughter!
Every year, the monarch butterflies—las mariposas—fly more than two thousand miles on fragile wings to return to their winter home in Mexico. Now Luz Avila makes that same perilous journey south as she honors a vow to her beloved abuela—the grandmother who raised her—to return her ashes to her ancestral village. As Luz departs Milwaukee in a ramshackle old VW Bug, she finds her heart opened by a series of seemingly random encounters with remarkable women. In San Antonio, however, a startling revelation awaits: a reunion with a woman from her past. Together, the two cross into Mexico to await the returning monarchs in the little village Abuela called home, but they are also crossing a border that separates past from present . . . and truth from lies.
sound of his voice her heart squeezed. “Yeah. I miss you.” “I miss you, too. It’s weird not having you here.” He sounded sleepy. She imagined that he’d eaten some takeout dinner and was lying in bed, like she was. He lived in a modest apartment in a brick two-flat in the city. It was a typical guy’s place with sparse metal and wood furniture collected from home and garage sales, a bicycle parked against a wall beside other athletic equipment, and a kitchen filled with mugs for coffee. She’d
you being a pretty girl and all. Just make sure your paperwork is in order, get your car insured, and stick to the main roads. You’ll be fine.” Luz felt better getting encouragement from someone who’d actually driven the trip. Billy looked off at the tree draped with monarchs. “I’ve been chasing butterflies for ten years and one thing I’ve learned is that what we call coincidence is more expected than unexpected. Many scientists and theologians believe that everything that occurs can be related
a few wedges of cheese, jars of fancy jams, select condiments in the rack on the door, and Pyrex bowls with neatly written labels on the lids that showed the date. Luz felt an unexplainable desire for an organized fridge just like that one day. “The granola sounds great, thanks. And maybe some berries. Please?” Luz added, remembering her manners. Then, feeling a throbbing in her skull, she asked, “Do you have any coffee?” Margaret scrunched up her nose in distaste as she carried milk and cereal
when he saw the dipstick. “You girls should be glad your engine didn’t seize solid,” he said. “What kind of oil do you think you need, and what kind do they got in there?” “Sully says we need . . . well, here,” Luz said, handing the paper to the man. Wayne looked at the list, nodding in that way men did that told everyone they understood the situation perfectly. “See, oil has different viscosity,” Wayne began, speaking slow like he was speaking to children. Mentally challenged children. “Never
dead inside and immune to the slings and arrows of people who did not matter to her. She simply dragged the mop across the floor again in a monotonous pattern. When she was finished she hoisted her bucket, heavy with dirty water. She grimaced as she lugged it down the hall to the custodial closet, where she dumped the dirty water, panting with effort. Mariposa put her hand to her lower back and rubbed the sore spot. She was only forty years old but she had aches like an old woman. Then again,