"I got most of my friends to donate coats to the clothing drive," Jude announced when he finished cutting Baby James's meat loaf into bite-sized pieces.

I wasn't surprised. Some people in Rose Crest tried to claim that Jude's goodness was just an act, but he really was that kind of person. I mean, who else would give up the freedom of senior year to do independent study at the parish three afternoons a week? Or fail to make the varsity hockey team with all his friends because he wasn't willing to be aggressive enough. Sometimes it was hard being his younger sister, but it was nearly impossible not to love Jude. I hated the thought of what my news might do to him.

"That's great," Dad said to Jude.

"Yeah." He grinned. "Yesterday, I told everyone I was donating a coat and encouraged them to help out."

"Which coat are you giving away?" Mom asked. "The red one."

"Your North Face? But that one's practically like new."

"Because I've barely worn it in the last three years. It seems selfish to keep it in my closet when someone else could use it."

"Jude's right," Dad said. "We need good-quality clothing. It's not even Thanksgiving yet, and they're already predicting another record-breaking winter."

"Yes!" Charity cheered. Mom grumbled. She never did understand why Minnesotans rooted for record-breaking cold.

I was moving my mashed potatoes around my plate with my fork when Dad turned to me and asked the question I was so not looking forward to. "You've been particularly quiet this evening, Grace. How was your day?"

I put down my fork. The hunk of meat loaf in my mouth felt like Styrofoam when I swallowed.

"I saw Daniel today."

Mom glanced up from trying to prevent James from chucking his food across the table. The look that said, We don't mention that name in our house, passed over her eyes. We discussed just about everything around our kitchen table: death, teen pregnancy, politics, and even religious injustice in the Sudan--but there was one topic we never talked about anymore: Daniel.

Dad wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Grace and

Jude, I could use both of you at the parish tomorrow afternoon. We've had a great response to the charity drive. I can't even get into my office, it's packed so full of canned corn." He gave a slight chuckle.

I cleared my throat. "I talked to him."

Dad's laugh strangled off, almost like he was choking.

"Whoa," Charity said, her fork paused halfway to her mouth. "Way to go with the revelations, Grace."

Jude slid back his chair. "May I be excused?" he asked, and put his napkin on the table. He didn't wait for a response and walked out of the kitchen.

I glanced at Mom. Now look what you did, her eyes seemed to say.

"Peas!" James shouted. He threw a handful of them at my face.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, and left the table.

LATER

I found Jude sitting on the front porch, wrapped in the blue afghan from the couch. His breath made white puffs in front of his face.

"It's freezing, Jude. Come inside."

"I'm fine."

I knew that he wasn't. Few things ever upset Jude. He didn't like the way some girls at school would say cruel stuff and then try to pass it off as "just kidding." He hated it when people used the Lord's name in vain,

and he absolutely couldn't tolerate anyone who claimed the Wild would never win the Stanley Cup. But Jude didn't scream or yell when he was mad. He got real quiet and folded into himself. I rubbed my arms for warmth and sat next to him on the steps. "I'm sorry I spoke to Daniel. I didn't mean to make you mad."

Jude massaged the parallel scars that scraped across the back of his left hand. It was something he did a lot. I wondered if he was even conscious of it. "I'm not mad," he finally said. "I'm worried."

"About Daniel?"

"About you." Jude looked into my eyes. We had the same Roman nose and dark brown hair, but the resemblance in our violet eyes always felt a bit eerie--especially now, when I saw how much pain was reflected in his gaze. "I know the way you feel about him. ..."

"Felt. That was more than three years ago. I was just a kid then."

"You're still a child."

I wanted to say something snide, like So are you, because he was barely a year older than me. But I knew he wasn't trying to be mean when he said it. I just wished Jude would realize that I was nearly seventeen; I'd been dating and driving for almost a year.

Cold air seeped through my thin cotton sweater. I was about to go inside when Jude took my hand in his.

"Gracie, will you promise me something?"

"What?"

"If you see Daniel again, promise me you won't talk to him?" "But--"

"Listen to me," he said. "Daniel is dangerous. He isn't the person he used to be. You have to promise to stay away from him."

I twisted my fingers in the yarn of the blanket.

"I'm serious, Grace. You have to promise."

"Okay, fine. I will."

Jude squeezed my hand and looked off into the distance. It seemed like he was staring a million miles away, but I knew his gaze rested on the weathered walnut tree--the one I'd been trying to draw in art class--that separated our yard from the neighbor's. I wondered if he was thinking about that night, three years ago, when he last saw Daniel--the last time any of us saw him.

"What happened?" I whispered. It had been a long time since I'd had the nerve to ask that question. My family acted like it was nothing. But nothing wasn't bad enough to explain why Charity and I were sent away to our grandparents for three weeks. Families don't stop talking about something that was nothing. Nothing didn't explain the thin white scar--like the ones on his hand---above my brother's left eye.

"You're not supposed to say bad things about the dead," Jude mumbled. I shook my head. "Daniel isn't dead."

"He is to me." Jude's face was blank. I'd never heard him talk like that before. I sucked in a breath of frigid air and stared at him, wishing I could read the thoughts behind his stony eyes. "You know you can tell me anything?"

"No, Gracie. I really can't."

His words stung. I pulled my hand out of his grasp. I didn't know how else to respond. Jude stood up. "Leave it alone," he said softly as he draped the afghan around my shoulders. He went up the steps, and I heard the screen door click shut. The television's blue light flickered through the front window.