My dad’s lips twitch, then gape. I hold my breath while awaiting his response, grateful for the temporary relief from the greasy nursing home odor clogging my sinuses.

  “Excuse me,” a young man interrupts from the doorway.

  Swiping my wrist over my damp eyes, I turn to him. “What do you need?” I demand, embarrassed to be interrupted when I’m most vulnerable.

  The male nurse, likely 19 or 20, appears unfazed by my curt reply when he smiles. “The nurse’s station received a call from someone inquiring about your father’s status. We thought you’d like to speak with them since you’re here.”

  Laughter sticks to my throat. Other than Rocco, who’s tethered to my dad’s lawn, who would care enough to check in? A bill collector? “Who is it?”

  “He says he’s Frank’s father, so I suppose that would make him your grandfather.”

  I release a sharp cackle. “Impossible. His dad died before I was born.”

  The nurse’s gaze flickers down the hallway as he shifts his weight and tugs at the neckline of his blue scrubs. “Umm, I don’t know what to say. That’s what I was told.”

  “Let me speak to him,” I decide with an impatient sigh.

  The nurse enters the room and lifts the corded phone’s receiver on the nightstand beside the bed. After punching a few buttons, he hands the receiver to me before slipping back into the hallway.

  “May I ask who’s calling?” I say into the receiver.

  “This is Roger Kelly,” a reedy voice answers. “Frank is my son. Who’s this?”

  My gut sloshes with unease. The man sounds quite elderly. What reason would he have to lie about being family? It’s not like my parents had a large estate that would garner attention from scammers. Then again, who knows what else they may have lied about?

  “I’m a friend of the family,” I tell him.

  “A what?” he yells back.

  “A family friend,” I repeat in a much louder voice. “Where are you calling from, Mr. Kelly?”

  “Sunshine Manor in Baltimore. But don’t let the name fool you—it’s not so sunny today.”

  “How long have you lived there?”

  “In this place? A couple’a decades by now, I suppose.” He lets out a friendly chuckle. “But I’ve lived in Baltimore for ninety-four years, if you can believe it. My entire life. I was born during the Great Depression, grew up in Federal Hill. I was in the Korean War for a year before I returned home to marry my high school sweetheart. We raised our three boys in a row house just down the street from where I grew up. After my wife passed away, I was forced to move here. It was too much to keep up on my own. Those steep stairs didn’t do me any favors, either.”

  For once, I’m happy to let an elderly person ramble on. My parents never spoke of my grandparents, so this information, if it’s to be believed, is all new to me. The only reason I was aware my dad had brothers was because I took a call from one of them shortly after Diane had died. He said he had gone to a lot of trouble to track my parents down and simply wanted to know the details of his sister-in-law’s funeral arrangements. My dad had taken the phone away before I could get more information from my alleged uncle.

  “When did you last see Frank?”

  “Oh, that was a long, long time ago. He and Diane only returned a few times after they moved out of Baltimore. They never brought my granddaughter back to see me or her uncles after they left here. They always had some kind of outlandish excuse. Claimed flying from Washington to Maryland was too much for a girl her age.”

  “Washington?” I choke out. “As in the state?”

  “That’s where they told us they went, but my oldest boy later learned they were in Iowa after Diane died. They wouldn’t even let us speak with my granddaughter on the telephone. She was a precious little thing. I haven’t seen her since she was a little peanut—maybe five or six years old. Back then, they invited me and my other sons’ families over every Sunday night for dinner since we all lived in the same neighborhood.”

  Baltimore is a helluva long way from Arizona, I think, while glaring at the feeble man who pretended for decades to be my birth father. Since the nurse came into the room, his mouth has remained shut. Whether or not he’d been attempting to speak earlier, a hint of something in his gaze makes me wonder if he’s comprehending my side of the conversation.

  “When Diane and Frank left with my sweet Josephine, it gutted me. I prayed forever that they’d let me see her again. After a while, I made peace with the fact that it’d never happen, so I started begging Diane to at least send me pictures. She finally gave in when Jo was a little older. Poor thing never looked too happy.” His voice cracks with emotion when he says, “From that point on, I began to pray that she was alright.”

  Even if the man on the telephone isn’t my biological grandfather, I can’t help feeling sorry for him. It’s one of the few revelations I’ve learned in the past 24 hours that makes sense, considering the kind of people who raised me.

  “I have reason to believe Diane and Frank didn’t let you see your granddaughter because they were hiding something significant from you and the rest of your family,” I tell him.

  “I suspect that may have been the case as well.”

  Excitement rushes through my body. What does he know? Rehashing everything I’ve learned over the telephone feels unusually cruel. Someone Roger’s age might not survive the shock. I grab my phone and open my favorite travel app. “If I came to Baltimore, would you mind if I stopped by for a visit?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BEFORE

  Rocco

  Jo’s parents think they’ve “trained” her well enough that she will stay home when told.

  Now that she’s turned eleven, they leave her home alone all the time. Like, a lot. Whenever I see her mom’s car leave their driveway, I head back to the hole in the fence and wait for Jo to tell me how long she thinks her mom will be gone. If it’s more than a half hour, Jo lets me in through her front door, or she comes over to my house. Ever since her mom took a part-time job at the University’s cafeteria, there are days when she’s gone for five or more hours at a time. On those summer days, Jo and I like to go somewhere fun. She loves to ride on the front of my ten-speed bike when we decide to head somewhere far away.

  Whenever we hang out at places like Hickory Park for ice cream or Great Plains for pizza (Jo’s favorite), we tell people we’re brother and sister. No one really knows me in town unless they recognize me from busing tables at Bella’s, Tita’s restaurant, which doesn’t happen often. Sometimes, we grab lunch at Bella’s when Nonna cooks, and she’ll make us a free meal.

  Since Papá started managing the sporting goods store, he has no idea what I’m doing all day and doesn’t seem to care. Nonna has grown to love Jo enough that my secret is safe with her. But Papá’s become strict in the past couple of years, so I have to finish my chores before I take Jo anywhere. If I either forget or don’t do something the way he expects, I get a major ass-chewing when he comes home. He loves to tell me I’m “a pussy” and lets me know the military wouldn’t take me if I applied.

  When hanging out with Jo away from home, I sometimes forget all about our stressful situations at home. It feels like we’re normal kids, especially when my friend Chris comes along. He’s cool with Jo even though she’s two years younger than us, so I’ve started inviting him along more often. Sometimes Chris calls us “The Three Amigos” because he’s really into that movie with Steve Martin, Chevy Chase, and Martin Short.

  I dream of the day we can take Jo to see a movie at The Ranch drive-in theater. She’s never seen a movie besides the ones that sometimes air on basic cable. I wish her mom would take a night job so we could somehow make it happen.

  One afternoon in mid-August, when it’s like, 110 degrees out, I give Jo a ride on my bike to meet Chris at Hickory Park for ice cream. Jo always orders the mint chocolate malt, and I get the banana split. I swear Chris never orders the same thing twice. Working for Tita has been great because I can afford to spoil Jo when we’re together.

  “Guess what?” Jo asks us, a mustache of mint ice cream smeared across her upper lip. “Diane says I get to go to middle school next year.”

  “Who’s Diane?” Chris asks.

  “Her mom,” I say before grinning at Jo. “For real?”

  Wiping her bare arm over her mouth, she nods excitedly. “She says I’m finally caught up to other kids my age.”

  With my mouth hanging open, I drop my spoon. I can’t believe they’re finally going to let her leave the house. At least without having to sneak out. “Jo, that’s awesome! You’ll get to go to school with us!” When I remember Chris and I only have one year left at the middle school, I roll my shoulders forward. “I mean, for a little while, anyway.”

  The way Jo’s bright smile rounds her cheeks, she looks even younger than usual. “She said I get to ride the bus and everything.”

  “Middle school girls can be really mean,” Chris tells her with a mouthful of his butterscotch and chocolate malt. “You’re probably better off staying at home.”

  While he’s busy digging his spoon around in his ice cream, Jo and I exchange a look. Chris doesn’t know the whole story about Jo. He doesn’t know she’d never been to a single restaurant or store in town until this summer. Her parents only let her leave to visit the doctor and dentist. I have to give her credit for how cool she’s been about everything. I’m the only one who notices how she secretly gets excited about our adventures.

  “We can keep an eye on her,” I tell Chris. “We won’t let anyone pick on her. Besides, she’s cooler than most girls. I bet the mean girls will leave her alone.”

  “You think so?” Jo asks, sitting a little taller.

  “I’ll make sure of it,” I promise.

  I suddenly feel a strong need to protect her from everything she’s about to experience for the first time. There’s so much she won’t understand about the way middle school works. If a girl has ever bullied her, she probably wouldn’t have remembered.

  I only have a couple of weeks to make sure she’s ready.

  A couple of days later, Nonna decides it’s time to take me shopping for new school supplies and clothes since I grew a few inches after finishing 7th grade and my jeans have become embarrassingly short. Jo doesn’t understand this tradition and says her mom bought everything she’ll need. I cringe at the news, wondering what kind of things her weirdo mom has picked out. Jo could get teased if she shows up for school with the wrong type of folders and stuff. Worse yet, I have a terrible feeling everything Jo wears is from a second-hand store. That alone will make her an easy target for older girls.

  When I tell Nonna my worries, she explains that Papá has sent along a set amount for everything I’ll need. She tells me I can spend the money however I’d like, and she won’t tell if I spend some of it on Jo.

  “Wait and see how it goes,” she says on the bus ride to the North Grand Mall. “You could bring her other things for her to wear when she gets on the bus. You will soon be a waiter at Bella’s and have more money of your own.”

  With that plan in place, I use most of the money from Papá for the things I need and $30 on a pink sweater I see on a high school girl working at The Limited. I figure I can throw it in my backpack on the first day of school, just in case.

  Before long, the days and nights become way cooler with the arrival of September. I’m way more worried than Jo on the first day of school, scared I’ve forgotten to prepare her for something important. She doesn’t seem at all fazed when I find her waiting on the curb outside of their house that morning. With her curly dark hair left down around her shoulders, acid-washed jeans, sneakers, and a long-sleeved t-shirt, she doesn’t look too bad. At least I don’t think there’s anything unusual that will get her noticed. I’m surprised to see her mom even bought her a decent backpack that doesn’t look used.

  Since her parents don’t know we’ve become friends—or at least I don’t think they know—I wait in front of my house until the bus arrives. By the time I move in front of her to climb the bus steps, I can feel the excitement vibrating from her. That and I think she’s shivering from the morning chill.

  “Don’t you have a coat?” I ask over my shoulder.

  She replies with a wordless shrug. I choose an open bench in the middle and slide over to the window to make room for Jo. Even though I warned her not to stare at anyone, I can tell she’s eager to take a good at the other kids sitting around us. She’s unusually stiff when she sits next to me, and I can tell she’s constantly glancing out the corners of her eyes.

  “Relax,” I whisper to her, unzipping my backpack. “You’re doing great. I have a present for you.”

  “For real?” She sounds just like me. I probably ask her that ten times every day.

  “Just…don’t freak out.”

  I hand her the bag with the pink sweater inside. When she pulls it out and unfolds it, her lips shake, and she blinks her eyes like a hundred times.

  “Don’t cry,” I whisper. “Be cool.”

  “But the tag is still on it,” she whispers. “I’ve never owned anything brand-new.”

  “I saw an older girl wearing it at the mall, figured it’d look good on you, too. Plus, it’ll keep you warm.”

  “No one has ever been as nice to me as you, Roc.” She quickly wipes a hand over her eyes before leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Thank you.”

  My face burns when she backs away. I’m too flustered to speak.

  As she slips on the sweater and throws me one of her biggest smiles, I vow I’ll do anything to protect her.

  The eighth graders have a different recess period than sixth graders, but there are a handful of minutes when the two overlap. Chris and I run outside when the bell rings, eager to find Jo and ask her how her day has gone so far.

  “Start that way, and I’ll meet you back here,” I tell him, pointing to the far end of the yard where students stand around in small groups. I weave through the kids nearby, not looking at any faces. Jo’s sweater should be bright enough that she’ll be easy to find. A few minutes pass before Chris and I meet in the middle.

  “You didn’t see her either?” I ask with a heavy feeling in my gut.

  Chris shrugs. “Maybe she didn’t come outside.”

  “The monitor doesn’t let anyone inside.”

  “Unless they have to use the bathroom,” he reminds me.

  I search the yard for one of the teachers watching over us. Once I find her, I ask if I can run inside to use the bathroom. She looks annoyed but gives me permission.

  I sprint inside, stopping at the nearest girl’s bathroom and calling Jo’s name through the doorway. “It’s me, Roc,” I add.

  There’s a sniffle, then, “What do you want?” Her voice is impatient and thick.

  “Why aren’t you outside? Is everything okay?”

  “Don’t come in here!” she cries.

  Screw that, I decide as I enter the room. She’s clearly upset.

  “Where are you?” I demand, bending to look beneath the dozen sets of stalls. I spot her sneakers in one and head over to knock on it. “What’s wrong? Why are you in here?” I pause, waiting for her to open the door. “Come on, open up. I’ll crawl under the door if I have to.”

  Finally, I hear the latch swivel and the door opens a crack. “Don’t be mad,” she begs. “After they ruined it, I waited until I got in here to cry.”

  The muscles in my stomach harden. “What’s ruined?”

  “The sweater you bought me.” She releases a tight whine before bursting into tears. “I’m so sorry, Roc! I tried acting cool like you said, but they called me a baby and said I’d never fit in! One of them had a scissors and⁠—”

  A growl rips through my throat when I push on the door and find her huddled in the corner, the ruined sweater clutched inside her hands. It’s been cut to shreds.

  “Who did it?” I demand, trying to keep my cool. I don’t want her to think I’m mad at her. I also don’t know how I’ll stop myself from totally blowing up and going crazy on the jerk responsible. It’s a weird sensation—one I’ve never felt until now.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t want to tell you. He was really mean. He’ll just be mean to you, too.”

  “Let me worry about that.” I enter the stall to put my arm around her. “What’s his name, Jo?”

  Tears drip down to her sneakers when she lowers her chin. “One of the girls told him to stop…she called him Marcus. I think he’s a seventh grader.”

  I know exactly who she’s talking about. Marcus Tanner is a total clown. He’s always doing something stupid to get attention. “Don’t worry about the sweater…it wasn’t that expensive,” I say, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and handing it to her. “Wash your face with cold water and wait a minute to leave. Don’t let anyone see you upset. Especially not Marcus. You’re way stronger than other girls at this school. Hold your ground and let them know you can’t be messed with. If he messes with you again, punch him like I taught you to get the message across.”

  As soon as she starts drying her face, I leave her to search for Marcus.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PRESENT DAY

  Josephine

  With a flight booked to Baltimore/Washington International Airport, I reluctantly head back to Rocco’s house. Before I lift my hand to knock, the door swings open and he appears with a smug grin. It’s a little easier to resist his charm when he’s fully dressed. In a pair of running shorts and a tank top advertising “Gym 22”—what I assume to be the gym he co-owns—paired with the perspiration dotting his forehead and glistening down his neck, it seems I’ve interrupted his workout.

  “I figured you couldn’t stay away for very long,” he teases, flashing blindly white teeth behind a wide smile.

  My eyes roll to the cloudless sky above us. “I need to ask for a favor.”

  His cocky expression evaporates. “Don’t tell me you’re already leaving.”