Chapter 7 - The Boy Who Grew Up
Two weeks later, Nico agreed to meet me in a private room at a community center. Meera waited nearby, ready to take me home if I needed her.
The door opened, and a young man with dark hair stepped inside. He was taller than our father had been. His face was unfamiliar, but his eyes weren't.
“Anna?”
My voice vanished.
He gave a nervous laugh.
“I don't know what I'm supposed to say.”
“Neither do I.”
We stood several feet apart until he asked, “Would it be all right if I hugged you?”
I nodded.
For a moment, I held the little brother I remembered and the grown man I was meeting for the first time.
He told me about his schooling, his work, and the family who had raised him. I told him about our mother's cooking and the way she sang while folding clothes.
“Did she look for me?” he asked.
“She would have searched every road in Pennsylvania if she'd known you were alive.”
He cried then. So did I.
But reunion didn't erase the grief. We had lost birthdays, graduations, scraped knees, ordinary arguments, and fifteen years of knowing each other.
Before leaving, Nico asked why the truth had surfaced now.
“Because people are searching for something Mom protected,” I said.
He was quiet for a long time.
“Grace gave me a box of things from before the fire,” he finally said. “There's a little wooden picture frame inside. I've had it since I was a kid.”
My pulse quickened.
“What does it look like?”
He described a brass strip across the back.
May you like
The frame stolen from my apartment was not the only one Mom had repaired.
She had made a matching frame for Nico, and he had kept it all along.
