Hello, Again (Book 2)

Runaway - Part 2

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.