Chapter 2
Pane
“When are you coming hoooooome?” my little sister whines through the SUV’s Bluetooth. “Greta made me practice piano for half an hour yesterday, and it was tooooorrrturrrre!”
I chuckle, envisioning ten-year-old Natalie throwing herself on her bed and burying her face in the pillows.
“She tortured you?” I feign shock at the horror of piano lessons. “Did your hands fall off? No, let me guess—your fingers dropped onto the keys and you couldn’t reattach them no matter how much superglue you used.”
She cracks up into a fit of giggles. “Paaane! Don’t be silly! Nothing fell off. My hands still hurt, and I think they’re going to hurt foreverrrr.”
I tsk. “It’s no good having hurt hands. Maybe you should stop using them. Don’t eat—no more ice cream cones, lollipops, tacos.”
Beside me in the passenger seat, my brother, Stone, plays up a huge sigh. “It’s not that bad, Nat. You should’ve been around when Pane and I were little.”
“That’s right.” I tap the steering wheel for emphasis. “Nanny Edith was worse than Greta by miles.”
There’s a pause that suggests she’s sitting up now, curious. “How?”
“Well, first,” I explain, “she was at least a thousand years old.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Oh yeah.” Stone grins. “And she was so wrinkled that we were convinced she was a mummy come back to life.”
She laughs. “Stop it.”
My sister’s giggle makes me smile. “Stone’s telling the truth. You don’t know how good you’ve got it with Greta. Just play the piano when she asks, and everything will be fine.”
My little sister falls silent for a moment as she considers this. “When are you coming back?”
I exchange a glance with Stone. We don’t actually know, so this is a best guess. “Today, maybe? Probably later. I’ll have to catch a flight.”
“Can we have ice cream?” she asks, her voice lifting in excitement. “When you get home?”
“Absolutely. All the ice cream you want. But remember, you’ve got to mind Greta.”
“Okaaaaay.” I can tell she doesn’t want to, but I know she will. “I promise.”
“Pinkie swear?”
“Pinkie swear.”
“Love you, Natalie.”
“Love you.”
“Hey.” Stone slaps a hand to his heart. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“No, you’rehot dogs,” she teases, knowing full well that my twin hates them.
“Yeah, yeah, I know you love me,” he grumbles playfully. “See you soon.”
“Bye!”
“Bye,” I tell her before hanging up the call and settling back into the driver’s seat. Green hills roll past as I maneuver us down the two-lane road. “So, we’re in Georgia,” I murmur.
“We sure are,” my brother confirms. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I was this deep in the South.”
