The smell of the funeral home brought back a rush of memories. For Grace’s funeral, my mom had forced me to wear an uncomfortable black dress that was two sizes too small. There wasn’t time to buy a new dress, not that I’d have wanted to if there were. But still I remembered constantly pulling on the fabric as I wove my way through the endless line of people to pay my final respects.
I was actually kind of grateful for the distraction. Grateful that I could pretend that the wall of whispers that surrounded me was about my inappropriate attire instead of my status as the grieving best friend. As I made my way closer and closer to the closed black coffin surrounded by enormous sprays of flowers, the whispers clung like gum on the bottom of my shoe. My best friend dying had made me the star of the show. The queen of grief. It had been lonely at the top.
Today Bradley was the crown prince of Pemberly Brown’s second installment of suspicious student deaths. But he was more of a supporting actor in this show; it was Porter who had center stage. Porter who stood next to his parents in a perfectly pressed suit hugging friends and family, thanking people for coming, the white of his eyes pink, stripes of blue slashed beneath.
The scent of lilies almost made me gag as I knelt in front of the casket to say a short prayer. I bowed my head into my folded hands and tried to summon the right words.
I’m sorry you’re gone, Alistair. I’m sorry I didn’t help. I’m sorry I never called you back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. God, I’m so damn sorry.
My breath hitched and I bit back a sob. I was not going to be one of those people who cried too hard at funerals. I hated those people. There should be laws against them attending any type of service. There were categories of grief, and when it came to Alistair, I was a Level 7 at best. Porter was Level 1, which allowed for a complete and total emotional collapse and which for a lesser person probably would have involved throwing himself on the casket.
But Porter didn’t look like he was anywhere close to the brink of anything. He shook my hand firmly and pulled me in for a hug.
“Thanks for being here, Kate.” He held me for a beat too long, my chest crushed against his. “He always had a thing for you, you know.”
Alistair had never had a thing for me in his life, but I was merely an extra in this play so I nodded along, knowing that I wasn’t deserving of any lines. Sure enough, Porter was already on to the next mourner.
I wandered back toward the chairs that lined the enormous reception room and saw Bradley sitting with his head in his hands. Bradley was a Level 2 griever, so the other mourners had left a polite circle of empty chairs around him. I remembered sitting in that same circle of emptiness. Like living in a bubble. I walked straight toward Bradley and could have sworn there was a faint popping noise when I took the seat next to him.
“You okay?” Terrible question. Worst thing I could have asked, really. But Dr. P.’s words were still echoing in my ears.
“Super.” The word was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken since we’d spent the afternoon on top of the amusement park yesterday. Who knows, maybe he hadn’t. “Found something.”
He handed me a folded sheet of paper without looking up.
“It’s the article. About the guy who died last time during a Factum Virtus. It’s old, but at least we have a name.”
I started to open the paper, curious what I’d find, but a shadow fell over me before I could even read a word. I looked up to find Liam towering over me, his face a cross between concern and irritation. It was a look I’d come to know well.
“We need to talk.”
I crumpled the paper. It’d have to wait. “Um?” I hated that I looked to Bradley for…permission? But I did. I couldn’t help it. It was a split-second look, enough for him to shrug his shoulders in response and for Liam to shake his head in annoyance. Couldn’t say I blamed him. “Okay.”
I stood and shoved the article into my pocket and squeezed Bradley’s hand before following Liam through wall after wall of devastated people. He never turned back to ensure I had followed, and I knew if I didn’t, Liam would stop trying. He’d forget me and move on for good. I let him lead me because I wasn’t ready for that yet. When he found a bench, he lowered himself and waited for me to do the same.
“I know I don’t get a say. It’s not like we’re together anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.” He launched right in, the words practiced and smooth. If I hadn’t known him so well, I would have missed the urgency in his voice. “You said you needed space, Kate.”
I wanted to explain that most of the time I had no idea what I needed. Did anyone? But how could I admit that this whole space thing was making me more confused than ever? I focused on Alistair. Alistair was dead, and it wasn’t fair for us to be fighting about space and who said what and who needs what. Alistair was dead.
“I can’t do this right now. I don’t even know what to say.” I wanted to tell him I was doing this for his own good, that he’d only get hurt by me and I’d feel guilty and that the last thing I needed right now was more guilt, but I knew the fewer words I said the better.
He shook his head as though to say “forget it.” It broke something inside of me to actively see him forgetting me, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t explain to Liam why I had to help Bradley and why I cared so much about Alistair, especially considering our relationship when he was alive. I had no words for any of it. As usual.
“Well, good luck then.” He stood and said the words more to the ground than me. They were filled with so many more words that Liam was too polite to say. I hated myself for pushing him to this place but knew there was no other way around but through. Plus, Bradley stood in the middle and he needed me more than Liam did. For now.