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It probably worked, at least for them.
I’d put on a sage long-sleeved dress with gray leggings underneath, which was just the right mix of flowy and flaredto create an illusion of the curves I didn’t have, with a chunky, spiced-pumpkin sort of orange scarf keeping my pale neck and collarbones warm from the fall chill.
The slouchy hat matched, but the ankle-boots were a light tan that didn’t fit the rest and I hadn’t had time to put any earrings in, let alone add bracelets or a necklace.
I’d had to tie my hair, still wet enough to look brown more than copper, into a messy braid, and I’d had to try to do my eyeliner on the bus.
If I’d had a few more minutes to put it all together I would have been able to make it cute, and to most people it would probably still be passable, but it felt painfully incomplete to me.
I paused and forced myself to take a breath.
I didn’t want my family to worry, and besides, it was all going to turn around soon. I just had to bear it a little longer and then I wouldn’t have to force a little extra cheer onto my face.
“Mom?” I called again. “Mama, I’m here.”
My stomach sunk when no one answered me.
“Mom? Pietro?” I started down the hall towards the dining room as the frenetic energy that carried me in flatlined into something heavy in my gut.
I tried to shake it off. Sure, something unusual was happening, but that didn’t mean I had to teeter down the hallway with my heart pounding like I was in some horror film.
I should check my phone—maybe they had just gone to get something from the grocery store last minute and I just hadn’t seen the text?—
Then mom rounded the corner, eyes distant and a letter clutched in her hands. Instantly I knew that something waswrong.
“Mom?” I gasped, hurrying towards her with my hands out. It looked like she would pass out and I knew if she did I’d have to catch her, although I didn’t know how, given that I was the definition of a stick and couldn’t lift more than ten pounds on a good day. But wasn’t that what adrenaline was supposed to do? Make people stronger when they were scared?
I grasped mom by the shoulders, looking up at her. Her eyes met mine and the first sob broke free.
“Oh, Mama,” I whispered, walking her back so she could sit at the dining table.
Immediately, I felt tears burn my own eyes; my mom was an emotional woman but she rarely ever cried in front of us.
The last time was the day dad died. She’d soldiered through the funeral planning and the wake with the people bringingcasseroles with dry eyes, sagging like the world was heavy and she was exhausted, but never breaking into sobs.
To see her now, hyperventilating with this scrap of paper clutched tight to her chest, made me feel overwhelmed and helpless—and scared down to my soul.
Pietro wasn’t there, and I feared the worst.
“Mom?” I asked, a sob building in my throat. “Mama, please, what’s…” She shook her head and held out the letter. All it said was:
Dear Mom and Mary—I’m sorry, but I’m going somewhere dangerous and I can’t take you with me. I’m not in trouble, but there’s something I have to do. Mom, I found out but I don’t blame you for keeping it secret. If everything goes well, I’ll be back in a while, but I’m begging you not to call the police. The people I’m with cannot know who I am, and if the police come looking for me, I’ll lose the advantage of anonymity. I know this is scary for you, but the best way to keep me safe is not to tell anyone I’m in danger. If everything goes according to plan, which I really think it will, then I’ll come back to you. I promise. Stay safe, and stay out of downtown. -Pietro
I stared at the words, reading them over and over like they would suddenly say something that made sense to me.
All I was catching was Pietro, danger, might not come back—it spun around in my head senselessly.
Sure, we hadn’t heard from him for a few days, and we’d thought that was kind of weird since we were a very tight knit family, but this terrifying, cryptic message couldn’t be real, could it?
I mean, Pietro could be a total annoyance, but he was never a troublemaker. He’d dodged some classes but never failed any, and he’d thrown some punches but never the first.
He was smart and funny and personable, and he was my big brother.
No, it couldn’t be real. Pietro was fine.
This was a prank, or a joke, or he was filming from around the corner while snickering, or something.
He’d pop out with a big grin, and then see us crying and apologize, saying he didn’t think we were going to take it so badly. He’d comfort us like he had after dad’s death, he’d hug me like he did after my first college boyfriend broke my heart, and I’d smack his chest and yell at him and be so, so glad he was there.
