“Wait!” My lungs burned as I tried to keep up with Bradley, whose pace doubled my own. It was no use. He’d either have to slow down or shout back directions to wherever it was we were going. I was about to lose him. “Bradley. Wait!” I stopped, my toes throbbing where my boots pinched them, my head still cloudy from the dust and the note and the shock of it all. I swallowed hard and choked back ridiculous tears.
Bradley slowed and finally stopped too, his shoulders slouching forward under the weight of Alistair’s death and my confession. I shouldn’t have even followed; I should have turned back to school and suffered through my classes the way I’d planned. If Bradley was anything like me, he’d want to do this alone. But I couldn’t just abandon him. Not when I remembered so clearly what losing your best friend felt like. I at least needed to say good-bye.
I finally caught up. “Look, I’m going back. You need time alone…”
He cut me off. “I’m sorry.” Oranges and yellows and browns normally swirled in Bradley’s eyes, but today they were muddied and dull. “Don’t. I need, I mean I can’t do this alone. I know things have been weird after everything that happened.” He ran his hand over his shaved head.
By everything I had to assume he meant the time he kissed me in the middle of the hall. And the fact that I’d kissed him back. The thing about Bradley Farrow and his lips was that they really didn’t give you much of a choice. Especially when you’d fantasized about those lips since you were a first-year.
I wasn’t really sure how to respond. “Okay?” It didn’t even make sense, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. This didn’t really seem like the time or place to rehash my crush on Bradley Farrow. Particularly since I’d spent the past couple of months avoiding him like the plague. “So, um, where are we going?” I stretched my neck toward the road. It was quiet during the day, everyone settled into work or school or whatever everyone else settled into on Monday morning.
“Porter. We have to find Porter.”
It was a terrible idea. Porter was Alistair’s cheeseball younger brother, and the Reynolds family was one of the oldest and the richest at Pemberly Brown. They were also one of the most private. It was hard to get into the Reynolds family compound on a good day. A few days after they’d lost their eldest son, it was damn near impossible. Even for Bradley.
But that didn’t mean we wouldn’t try. We’d rung the doorbell an hour earlier only to be shooed away by some well-meaning relative, so now we were stuck stalking the Reynolds house from behind a bush in a bed beside the house.
“What if he never comes out?” I whispered, narrowing my eyes at Porter’s front door. We’d watched lines of puffy-eyed people trail in, ill-behaved children bringing up the rear, stooped grandparents being helped out of cars and up the front steps. It didn’t look like the kind of house you could slip away from.
“We wait.” A bit of Bradley’s rich color had returned to his skin, and his eyes had the smallest hint of gold back in their muddy depths. Never underestimate the value of a good plan.
So we settled in for the long haul. We saw fourteen squirrels, one random cat, way too many ants to count, got pooped on once by a bird, and shared a granola bar. And Bradley was right. Porter wandered out sometime after lunch.
“Psst.” Under different circumstances, I would have made fun of Bradley for the “psst” but I let it slide.
Porter turned stone-faced toward the sound.
“Porter. It’s Bradley.” He still whispered, but this time he pushed up on his knees, emerging from the shrub and brushing leaves from his blazer. “And Kate.” He pulled me up too, and I offered a hesitant wave. I had no idea what to say to Porter. I could lose a friend every day to tragic circumstances, and I still wouldn’t have any idea what to say to a kid who’d lost his brother.
To say Porter looked pissed would be an understatement. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” Porter looked back at his house, through the windows at the groups of people in black smudged together like ink blots. “My family…Alistair. It’s not a good time.”
“I’m sorry.” Bradley’s voice cracked over the word, and he clenched his fingers around the now crumpled card stock. Lines of red ink showed through between his fingers.
“Yeah…I know.” Porter looked back at his house again, a silent excuse, and I knew he wanted us to leave.
“It’s just that…” Bradley unfurled his fingers and raised his hand out to Porter. “I have this. You need to see it.”
Porter smoothed the card and read the words, the wrinkles on his forehead deeper than ever. He handed the card back, his eyes filled with sadness, and asked us to wait. Only a minute after he disappeared into the house, Porter burst back through the front door, not even bothering to close it behind him.
He held an envelope of the same material as the paper. There was no return address or stamp, just one word in red. Frater. Brother. Bradley took the envelope and placed the card on top of it. The two were a perfect fit.
“Someone dropped it off Friday just as we got home from school. It was a black car, dark windows. Totally sketchy. I’ve seen it before. Parked at the end of the street or driving by slowly without lights.”
“Did Alistair say anything about it?” Bradley asked, tucking the envelope and letter into his blazer pocket. “Did you even ask him?”
I’m sure he hadn’t meant for his question to sound accusatory, but I could tell Porter was offended. His jaw tightened.
“Not sure if you remember, Farrow,” he spat Bradley’s last name, “but my brother and I weren’t exactly friends. I asked him a lot of questions. None of them were ever answered.”
“I’m…” Bradley began, but it was no use. Porter had already turned to the house. “Porter, come on.” But Porter didn’t come on. Instead he slammed the door.