Page 14 of His Passerotta

I answer and put the phone to my ear. “Hey, are you okay?” I ask. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Where are you?”

“La Divina. I put my phone down in a locker and forgot to grab it before I left today.”

“You’re there now?”

“Yeah. About to leave.”

“Oh… Was someone there to let you in?” he asks, no condemnation in his voice. He doesn’t sound disapproving, just curious. He isn’t the only one with a history of being a heathen.

“Nope. It was an easy pick.”

“Really?” he asks, still curious. “No cameras either?”

I glance around, confident the darkness coupled with my oversized sweatshirt shields me enough even if they’re there. If there’s audio—which there never is—it’s still easy for me to explain why I’m here. I’ve found people only get real worked up if you steal shit. Go figure.

“Nah, I don’t think so. Not at the back, at least.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, hey, are you home? I’m thinking about stopping for late night pancakes. We could have a little celebratory food, after all, if you’re free?” I shut the locker and lean my back against it.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. I’m going to be gone for a few days.”

“What?” My lips pull down. “Where are you going?”

“Just … gone. Don’t worry about it.”

Don’t worry about it.

He’s hiding from someone.

“Corey,” I sigh. “What did you?—”

“I’m gonna ditch this phone, but I’ll call you in a few days. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be out of touch so you don’t go filing a missing person report.”

“That was once. Two years ago when you were still a minor and my responsibility.”

“You put the cops on my radar,” he complains. He’s never going to let that go.

My frown deepens, but I refrain from pulling out my big sister lecture, reminding myself Corey is an adult. As if he’d ever let me forget.

I’ll never not worry about him.

“All right, well thanks for letting me know.”

“Love you, B.”

My heart pangs. “Love you too. Be safe.”

The line disconnects, and my posture falls while I put my phone in my pocket. I’m one foot toward the exit when a voice draws my attention to the door leading into the restaurant. Now that I look closely, it’s cracked.

Someone else is here.

I take a couple quick steps toward the exit before pausing again.

It’s midnight. The restaurant closed at nine.

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