Page 35 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“Hey, little bro,” I say, plastering a forced smile on my face. “What’s going on?”

“I’m going away for a while,” he says, his voice quiet. He won’t meet my eyes.

“Good idea to get things planned out ahead of time,” I say, keeping my tone agreeable. “You’ve still got some time before spring break, and you know how busy travel gets then.”

“That’s not what I mean, Emily.” He puts a shirt in the suitcase then goes back to the dresser for some socks. “I can’t go to prison, Em. I just can’t. And this is putting you and mom in just an awful place.”

“Oh. Okay, then.”

Holy crap. He’s serious. He’s seriously intending to go on the run.

“Where are you planning to go?” I ask.

“I was thinking about Canada, maybe. Or Mexico,” he says, stopping the packing and grabbing both of my hands in his. “I mean, that’s what they do in the movies, right?”

At this statement, my eyebrows climb so far up my forehead that I’m afraid they might just leave my face entirely. Francis Junior stops me before I say anything, though.

“I’m only kidding, Em. I know this isn’t a movie. I have some ideas, but I don’t think I should tell you what they are, though. I don’t want you to have to lie. That’s what Mom said.”

A gasp from the hallway tells me that Margaret followed me upstairs.

“Right,” I say. “Right. That makesperfectsense.”

My words are reasonable, and someone who doesn’t know me would think they were completely sincere.

Francis Junior is my brother. He knows me. His eyes narrow as he tries to figure out where the trap is.

“I’m going to assume your mother is going with you, then. She’ll need to go on the run, too. But where are you planning for me to live when you set out on your new life as a fugitive from the law?”

“I… I’m not following? I don’t understand the question.” He finally looks me dead in the eyes. “Wouldn’t you just live here? I mean, it’s your house.”

“You’re my brother,” I tell him. “I love you, okay? I believe that you’re innocent. I want this whole thing to work out for you. I want the absolute best for you. Do you understand that?”

“Uh, yes? I guess so?”

“You’re eighteen. Legally, you’re an adult. Legally, you and you alone are responsible for your own actions. Do you understand that? Do youreallyunderstand what that means?”

“I think so.”

“It means that telling peoplethat’s what Mom saidisn’t going to get you out of anything.”

I flash a glance back over my shoulder, and Margaret looks utterly shocked at my words. Good. Her mouth opens and closes like a landed fish trying to breathe air for the first time.

“It means that, no matter how sheltered your childhood was, you have got to stand on your own two feet and face this. It’s going to be hard, and there will be people there to help you, but you can’t run away from it.”

“I still- what does any of that have to do with whereyouwill live?”

“Do you understand how bail works, Francis?” I ask, as sweetly as I can.

“Mom paid the bail. I got out of jail,” he says with a shrug. “No big deal. But this is still your house.”

“No, baby brother, it’s not,” I say. “Every bit of it that I didn’t have to mortgage to pay the taxes, I had to sign over as security for your bail.”

My brother looks at me, uncomprehending. He still didn’t get it.

“I’m sorry about this,” I say, pulling my hands free of his and patting him on the cheek. “But you need a crash course in reality.”

There’s enough of an age difference that we never wrestled as kids; never did any sort of rough play together. He doesn’t have any idea what’s coming. But his mother does: Margaret gasps when she sees my hand move backwards; when she recognizes what the set of my shoulders means. She grabs for my wrist, but too late. The full-armed slap lashes across my half-brother’s cheek, and I put every last ounce of my strength into it.

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