Don't Kiss the Bride

She lets out a laugh that sounds a bit maniacal. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. But ta-da, here I am.”

Where did she come from? And where has she been? “A-are you alright?” I ask awkwardly. What do you say to someone who’s been missing for years and then suddenly resurfaces in your kitchen?

“I’m great. I just need to see my brother.” She continues to eat the chicken, and I let her now that I know she’s not some crazy ex-girlfriend touching my man’s meat.

Something about her seems very off to me, though. The way she’s sniffling and rubbing her arms is strange, and her attitude gives me the impression she’s hiding something. She doesn’t seem scared or overly happy, but she could be sick or suffering severe mental or physical trauma. Even though her eyes slightly resemble Jude’s, I have no proof she’s really his sister. This woman could’ve seen the missing posters that are still plastered around town and is now pretending to be Erin Lucketti. She could have dyed her hair to look like her.

I edge toward the doorway. “I’m going to go get my phone and call him. I’ll be right back.” Unease settles like a rock in my gut as I go upstairs to the bathroom where I left my phone.

I never call Jude when he’s working, but I don’t think I have a choice this time.

“What’s up?” he says when he answers.

I peek down the hall to make sure she hasn’t followed me. “I think you need to come home. There’s a girl in the kitchen who says she’s your sister.”

The line goes totally silent.

“Jude?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” The excitement in his voice makes my heart squeeze. “Don’t let her leave.”

Chapter 33

Jude

I tell my prospective clients I have a family emergency and bolt out of their house like my ass is on fire.

Now I’m on my third cigarette as I fight traffic to get home. My mind is so blown my hands are shaking.

Erin is home.

She’s not dead.

My little sister is back.

She’s home.

Suddenly, it’s like a curtain lifts, and my brain is a tsunami of plans. Since Skylar’s in Erin’s room and the other bedroom is being used for storage, I can convert the den into a bedroom suite and turn the hall closet into a bathroom so Erin will have her own space. It shouldn’t take me long to do that, and when Skylar moves out, I’ll let Erin decide if she wants her old room back, or she can stay in the new room. Until then, I’ll let her have my room and I’ll sleep on the couch. This weekend I’ll have Uncle Al and Aunt Suzy over for a family dinner, just like we used to have when we were kids. Maybe Skylar and Erin will become friends. It would be good for Skylar to have a new friend in her life with all the shit she’s been going through. I think Skylar would be great for Erin, too.

Finally, finally, I’ll be able to sleep at night without worrying about all the unknowns of what happened to Erin. I can stop having nightmares that my little sister is rotting in a ditch somewhere or being tortured. I can’t remember what it’s like to sleep through the entire night and not wake up feeling lost and sick with questions.

I want to call Skylar back and tell her to put my sister on the phone. I need to hear her voice to know she’s really alive, but I don’t want to do that over a damn cell phone.

Just a few more minutes and I’ll be there.

When I pull up to my house, there’s a beat-up van in the driveway with Florida plates.

Has she been in Florida all this time?

I park my truck crookedly in the driveway and rush into the house, blindly yelling my sister’s name. I find her in the kitchen with Skylar.

“Erin!” I pull her into a bear hug, squeezing her tight against me. I meet Skylar’s eyes over Erin’s shoulder, and I can’t understand why she’s not smiling, why she looks so sullen. This is the happiest day of my fucking life, and the person I’m closest to looks like someone just died.

As I hug my sister, I realize she’s stiff; her arms hang at her sides, her head turned away.

It’s too soon. I acted on crazy impulse. It’s been a long time, and I’m sure she’s not ready for hugs yet.

I let her go, and she backs up a step. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I feel like I’m dreaming.” I take a deep breath. There’s so much I want to know I can’t even get my head together. “Are you okay?” I scan her from head to toe, looking for signs of trauma or a clue as to what happened to her. “Are you hurt?”