KATHERINE

The sun hadn't quite made up its mind if it was going to be out or not, and right now, even in my wool cardigan, I felt chilly. Mom shuffled along beside me. It was good that she decided to get out of the house with me this morning. After how shaken she'd been last night, how she'd clammed up entirely after Erland dropped the casserole dish, it was good to get her out of the house at all. And no phone calls about Gramps. At least we could have some semblance of peace.

We were waiting on the street corner, the red hand telling us to wait as cars came by, when I heard my name. A flash of pink darted across my vision before thin arms wrapped around my middle so tight I couldn't gasp for breath.

"Grace!" I almost fell back in surprise at the force of strength in her little body, now shaking. "What's the matter?"

Her face, red, turned up to me, her cheeks streaked with tears. "Don't let them take me!" She begged. "Please, I don't want to go!"

My mind spun, but her panic forced me to remain calm. "Tell me slowly, who's after you?" My gaze jumped to the crowd forming around us, but not one of the wide-eyed passerby seemed to reach out for Grace. I started inching back away from the curb toward the corner of the back. The crowd parted around us like moths around the lamp.

"I—I want to stay here, with you," she sobbed. "Don't make me go back to Ohio."

I frowned. "I thought you were with your dad." Ice flooded my veins. "Did something happen?" I untangled her arms from around me, crouching down to inspect her face, her neck, for any dark marks. She shook her head, pulling back with ragged sobs.

"She'll send me back to that stupid camp, I just know it—"

A deeper voice, distinctly male, cut over the crowd: "Grace!"

Grace froze, face white. She started stepping backwards, looking for all the world like a caged bird about to take flight. Mom, who had shooed away the passerby, was returning now from the corner.

"Grace!" The voice came up suddenly a few yards away, and I spotted its owner. A tall, broad-shouldered teen in a university sweatshirt, hair dark and eyes bright like Grace. Relief flooded his features when he spotted the girl. "What's gotten into you?"

A gasp shot my gaze to Mom, who had a hand clasped to her heart as if she was seeing a ghost. "Jonathan—"

"Go away, Andrew," Grace snapped, swiping the tears from her face with her pink sweatshirt, "I'm not going home." She spun as if to run, but I grasped her wrist firmly, but gently. She stilled.

I glanced up at Andrew, who approached us now with a slow apprehension in his step. He looked like Grace, and no doubt he might've been her father if it wasn't for his youthful stride and stature. Brother, then.

As Andrew drew nearer, Grace struggled against my grip. Mom frowned, looking down at Grace, then at me, and seemed lost to the depths of her mind.

"You know what," I said, standing, though my grip didn't loosen, "let's talk somewhere more private." I glanced at the crowd of people waiting to cross the street eyeing us curiously. "I think we'll be able to understand what's going on better then."

Andrew studied me for a moment, then nodded grimly. "Grace." He extended a hand, but she didn't take it, instead twisting in my grip to entwine her fingers with mine. I gave him an awkward grimace and started back toward the cafe.

When we entered, the lunch rush had cleared and the hidden corner booth was open. We settled in, Mom and I on one side, Grace and Andrew on the other. Grace, seeming to have collected herself somewhat, inspected the grain of the wood table.

"Now," I said, "I want to understand what's the problem here. Grace—"I looked at her directly. "—let's start with you. I understood, from what you told Victoria, that you were here with your dad from Ohio. Is that true?"

Grace kept her gaze glued to the table, silent and sullen.

After a tense silence, Andrew sighed. "No." He rubbed the dark stubble growing along his jaw. "There's more to that story." Grace's attention shot to her brother in a fierce glare, but he went on anyway, almost savoring his words as he spoke. "The first part is, I guess, that Grace is your half-sister."

The breath fled my lungs. I stared at the girl across the table from me. At the declaration, she met my gaze, and I wondered if I could see a glimpse of my own eyes within the young face.

My mind whirled now, and I almost didn't catch Mom's quiet response.

"Grace is the one that brought Jonathan's letter I showed you yesterday. He'd kept it all these years."

Andrew scowled at Mom's words. "Not on purpose."

"Does—does he know about me?" The words were sparks on my tongue, like electricity, and I sat, on edge, eyes jumping from face to face in front of me. Andrew's scowl darkened, and it was Grace who shook her head at last.

"I wanted to get to know you first," she said quietly. "Figured you'd be nicer than Mom."

I felt my cheeks go hot, but before I could answer, Andrew cut in. "That's not fair, Grace. She's busy, and stressed, and your antics don't help."

"I don't even know what antics are!" Grace glared at her brother. "If only she'd listen—"

"Not here." Andrew almost growled, and that seemed enough for Grace to drop the topic. He turned his gaze to me. "She came here to meet you, and I enrolled her in the school, set her up in a motel—" he grimaced at Mom's gasp, but went on "—it was either that or send her back to reformatory school. Grace was right about one thing: Mom is going to lose her lid."

"Rightly so." Mom said shakily.

I looked at Andrew, and tried to formulate my question, any question, but I couldn't string words together. I know I should probably ask for more information, but all I could think of was the fact that Jonathan Greenfield—my father—didn't know about me. A surge of relief and sorrow swept through me. When Mom showed me the yellowed paper yesterday, her letter, and said it had gone unanswered, I thought he'd heard of her pregnancy, of me, and left. But it wasn't like that at all.

"I want to know more about him," I said. My voice cut over the silence that hung, and it seemed impossibly loud. "Jonathan. My father."

Andrew's expression hardened, and even Grace's lips turned down.

"I—I don't have to meet him," I said. "I just want to hear more about him, get to know him.... Through you. Andrew, I know you have to go and take Grace back, but can you wait for a few days?"

Surprise arched across Andrew's features. Grace's face lit up and she clung to her brother's arm. "Please, Andrew? Oh, pretty please!"

"After this," I swallowed, throat dry, "I can pay for your tickets back to Ohio, or a flight back to your university for you. You can figure it out from there, but your family doesn't have to hear about me." I gave Andrew a meaningful look. "It hurts me to say it, but I know what it's like to have your family blown apart by a secret." And Gramps was only an example of how vindictive someone could be. Maybe Grace's mother wouldn't get angry like that, but it wouldn't be the same for them anymore, and God knows how much I longed for a normal relationship with my grandfather after seeing how Erland was so cherished.

"Just think about it. I'll get us some coffees." With that, I stood and went to the counter. A glance back told me that Andrew wasn't about to move, and Mom had even started talking to him somewhat, though whether to convine him to stay or go, I couldn't tell. By the hesitant look on her face, probably the latter.

At the counter, I was greeted by a confused Victoria. She threw sideways glances at the booth. "Is everything okay?" She asked, voice low. "I saw Grace run by, asking for you—my manager wants me to ask if you need to call CPS."

My breath caught. "Oh, God, no. It's not like that."

Relief sagged Victoria's shoulders, and it seemed her sea-green eyes brightened, though her expression remained serious. "What's going on, Katherine? Do you need help?"

"Grace is going back home," I answered. "But everything's fine. Hopefully you can get a babysitter soon enough." I shot her a wry grin.

Victoria sighed. "Don't think so," she said. "Nick and I are trying to save for a house. But we are going to have to figure something out soon. What do you want for your order? I think Camille wants you back there."

I gave my order and Mom's. We had dropped our coffees when Grace ran up to us on the street. I also ordered a hot chocolate for Grace. Victoria told me she'd bring it to the table, so I went back to the group.

"Well, I've thought about it," said Andrew, "and we can stay for a few days. Just until Monday, but give me the receipts," he said, "I'll be paying you back after this."

I started to protest that he really didn't have to, but he raised a hand to silence me. "That's my condition, or I won't take it. I know you've got that publishing business, so you're probably loaded, but we don't want any of that. No one can say that the Greenfields were after your stash."

That was fair enough, and I found that I respected him for it. "Deal?" I held out my hand.

He took it. "Deal."