Page 141 of The Wrong Brother

The little grocery store smells of fresh bread, cinnamon, and coffee. It’s cozy enough that I immediately forget the cold outside, wandering toward the produce while Frank becomes unexpectedly invested in comparing jars of imported olives.

“Who would have thought?” He calls, holding up a jar that is too blurry for me to understand if it’s impressive or not. But he tucks it into his shopping basket, either ignoring or not noticing the look from the store owner.

I shake my head, laughing as I pull apples from a display. My phone buzzes.

It fumbles across my fingertips, almost taking a dive to the tiled floor, as I pull it out. Rus?

Three bars. Then the notifications begin flooding in.

Voicemails, missed calls, text messages. Before I can process any of them, my phone rings again. The name on the screen flashes up:

Matty.

“Oh, no.”

Frank appears at my side, a package of lox and fresh herbs now joining the jarred olives.

“Everything all right?”

“It’s my sister.”

His eyes search my face, probably taking in just how complicated this moment is even though he doesn’t know anything about my past. I’m sure at some point, Rus must’ve told him about my plans to start over somewhere. Which he can probably guess means my relationship with my family is strained.

“Answer it.”

I hesitate only a second before swiping across the screen.

“Hi, Matty.”

“Emma!”

I instinctively hold the phone away from my ear.

“‘Hi?’! That’s all you have to say? Where the hell have you been, Emma? Mom and Dad are worried?—”

Several shoppers glance in my direction. I duck into the end of the aisle, lowering my voice. Frank lingers somewhere close, but gives me some privacy.

“I’m alive.”

“I can see that because you finally answered your phone!”

I close my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Your vacation ended almost two weeks ago, and wehaven’t heard from you.”

“I just extended it a bit. And where I’ve been, I don’t have service.”

“You didn’t think you should let anyone know that you were disappearing somewhere with no service? Mom and Dad have been freaking out.”

I frown. Because while, yes, I did have quite a few missed calls, most were from Matilda.

“They’ve called twice,” I tell her, voice flat. Already this conversation is going down the same path it always does. “That’s... not exactly a campaign.”

Frank quietly cozies up beside me, pretending to compare pasta sauces while very obviously listening.

“I’ve been worried sick,” Matty continues. “Mom is convinced you’re lying dead in a ditch somewhere, Dad keeps pretending everything’s fine, and I wasthis closeto hiring a private investigator.”

Oh God.