Page 12

“Fine,” I growled and stormed off the field. My hand was shaking and I couldn’t make sense of what the hell had come over me. Why did I care what Frankie Fiero thought?

I closed my eyes. He was wrong anyway. Way off base. I’d never thought of Indy like that.

Okay. Maybe I had once or twice, but I’d been a horny teenage boy. I’d get an enormous boner if I so much as glanced at a girl’s bare legs. Back then, I was a menace to bedsheets and collected wads of Kleenex like they were going out of style. And Indy had this one teeny yellow bikini that made her body look bangin’ . . .

I squeezed my eyes shut against the unwanted image. Anyway, she was my best friend’s sister and two years younger; it’s not like I would have acted on it.

Frankie had been right about one thing though. Diana no longer had her older brother, and that was my fault. And if Josh were here, there was no way he’d approve of his sister dating a guy like Frankie.

I stared up at the clear blue sky, the ghostly form of the half-full moon. Goddammit, Josh, was this some sort of sign?

I sat there listening. Sometimes I imagined his voice. And then realized that I’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. An ache hit me in the gut. And I let it wash over me until I knew what I had to do.

Indy needed someone to look out for her and today that would have to be me.

***

When we were kids, Josh and I used to take advantage of Indy’s sweet tooth to get out of doing chores or to get her to cover up for us when we were up to no good sneaking off to parties, getting into the liquor cabinet, or taking Mr. Russo’s old Corvette for a joy ride. I was counting on that sweet tooth to convince her to forgive me—not for everything, there weren’t enough sweets in the world for that—but at least for my shitty reaction the other night.

Back home, I showered and then pulled up Liv’s recipe for chocolate tahini cookies on my phone. I threw the ingredients in a bowl. And while I waited for my cookies to bake, I did what I’d avoided for the past eight years: I googled Indy.

There she was on the list of Berkeley doctoral students that linked to a news article. According to the article, she’d been chosen as part of the team to study a Proto-Etruscan archaeological site near Treviso.

I couldn’t help but smile as I read through her bio and saw how far she’d come. She was really doing it, making her dream come true. Next to her bio was a photo of her squinting against the setting sun. She looked so much more grown up—like a woman—and it hit me hard all the years that separated us. Tearing my eyes away from her photo, I searched her brief bio for the exact location of the dig but no luck.

Ah well, I’d just have to drive around until I found it. After boxing up my peace offering, I got behind the wheel of Francine, the car that had accompanied me everywhere over the past decade, from Colorado Springs to California (where she lived during my first mission to Afghanistan), to Korea, back to Virginia, and now here in Italy. I’d just gotten her serviced before my trip to France, and I had to say, for an older lady, she was still looking pretty good. She’d belonged to my dad and was my last link to him, so I took care of her.

I steered toward the highway and reached for a cookie. It’s not easy to find an archaeological dig site. It’s not like they advertise them in the local newspaper or have billboards with an arrow and shovel pointing the way to long-lost little sisters. I drove around for more than an hour, getting hungrier by the moment. Four cookies later I finally found it.

I don’t know what I had expected to find when I pulled up—an enormous hole, maybe. But this was just a couple of plywood portable buildings and a grass-covered mound in the center where a few people in khakis and T-shirts were milling around. I searched the crowd and spotted a flash of vibrant auburn hair half up in a ponytail. How had I not recognized her last night? I knew that hair anywhere, had watched it turn from copper to the deeper autumn red of a fallen leaf. I remember studying it in the sun and marveling at all the shades it contained—gold, russet, some strands so dark red they looked nearly black.

She disappeared around the side of the building and I followed her, finding her leaning against the white siding of the portable building, her eyes hidden under the brim of her well-worn Rockies baseball cap. Josh had given her that cap for her fourteenth birthday. A fist-sized ball of sadness rolled around my insides. Ignoring it, I took a deep breath and stepped toward her.

“Indy . . .” Two startled brown eyes met mine. Her mouth formed an O of surprise and then quickly flattened into a thin line.

“What are you doing here?” she said accusingly. Suddenly, I didn’t know how to answer. I could tell her I was here to ask her forgiveness or to play the role of big brother and keep her from making a massive mistake with fuckboy Frankie. And while both of those things were true, it wasn’t the whole truth. And I realized it standing there. I’d just wanted—no needed—to see her. To see her living and breathing in front of me, to count the freckles on her nose, to know that she was fine, no, more than fine, that she was safe and thriving. To relive just for an instant that feeling I had whenever I was with her—that I was right where I was supposed to be.

But that feeling was gone because I’d ruined everything. And now here we were staring at each other like perfect strangers.

“I . . . uh. I don’t know.” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.

She stiffened and stood up straighter, her expression hardening. “So this is just another chance run-in? How fortunate for me.”

“No. Not chance. I looked you up online.” I moved closer. Close enough to see the streak of dirt on her right cheek. I had to check myself before reaching over to swipe at it with my thumb. My whole body hummed with the need to touch her—my stomach clenched in what I could only describe as equal parts terror and elation. The same feeling I got when I flew for the first time, not sure if I’d fuck it all up and go barreling to the ground or fly off toward the stars. “You’ve done well for yourself, Diana. I’m impressed.”

Instead of softening at my last words, she stiffened even more. I could feel the anger rolling off her—years of being attuned to her apparently had left me able to read her still—she was a dormant volcano threatening to wake up. I felt like the poor saps in Pompeii must have felt just before Vesuvius blew. Indy had a temper; I’d witnessed it before but had never been on the receiving end.

“Well, maybe if you’d kept in touch, you wouldn’t have been so surprised about that.” She crossed her slender arms over her stomach, thrusting one jean-clad hip out, and continued to glare at me beneath the rim of her baseball cap.

This wasn’t a discussion I was ready to have yet. Hell, I never wanted to have it. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior and then—I don’t know—fly away again. Far away, so I didn’t have to stand in front of her, knowing full well it should be Josh standing here and not me. But how could I tell her that?

“Okay, you’re right to be mad, Indy . . .”

“Don’t call me that.” Her lips tightened and turned white. “You’ve lost the privilege of such familiarity. I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Those last words stung.

I had no idea who I was anymore either. I’d been lost for a long time. Thrown off my axis since Josh’s accident. But I liked to think that the kid I was back then was essentially who I still was at heart.