The muscles in my legs gave out and I let myself sink into the mound of dirt surrounding our mailbox, last year’s mulch biting into my knees through my black pants.
Reading those words in her barely legible handwriting with the orange pen she never went anywhere without was like talking to Grace. The real Grace. Not the Grace everyone remembered. Not even the Grace I remembered. There was no silk screen hiding her flaws or opinions or all the stuff that made Grace, Grace. I couldn’t believe that I’d forgotten how awful her spelling and grammar were. Or the way she obsessed about her stupid babysitters and tried to memorize everything about them that made them cool. I couldn’t believe she’d lied to me about her middle name.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. Reading her words in her handwriting the same day we buried another Pemberly Brown student felt exactly like the time Naomi Farrow aced a tennis serve straight into my stomach. It took my breath away and left only raw pain in its place. I couldn’t help but hunch over.
I wished I could call Maddie back, tell her how sorry I was, let her read, let her in, but she was already gone.
“Kate! Kate! Are you okay?” Seth shimmied down his tree-house ladder in record time and stood over me all wide eyed and worried.
“I’m fine. I just need information about the boy. That’s it. Can you help? Please?” The tears shining in my eyes must have worked in my favor, because within seconds, Seth was sprinting into his house to get his laptop, squealing promises about online databases and friends from his weird online conspiracy club.
I started picking at the grass by my feet, just to give myself something to do. Something to focus on. I wanted to read Grace’s journal entry again more than anything, but I was a little afraid that if I read it again, there would be something else in there. Something I’d missed the first time. I wasn’t sure I was ready for any more of Grace’s secrets right then.
And then his voice.
“I’m sorry about earlier.” It was Liam. I recognized his beat-up Converse, the pleading in his voice.
Go away. Go away. Go away.
Every piece of grass I plucked from the ground was a wish. I wanted him to disappear. Even though he was still over three feet away from me, the scent of him met me—laundry detergent, a bar of soap, his cologne that had all but worn off.
“Can we talk?”
I didn’t look up when he spoke the words. I couldn’t stop smelling him, but that didn’t mean I had to look at him. Because I knew that if I looked at him, I’d cry. Or cave. I’d want to give up everything and just be his. “There’s nothing going on with me and Bradley, okay? I’m just trying to be there for him. It’s fine. Really.”
“It’s not, though. I don’t…I just…you worry me, Kate. God, is it so awful that I care about you? That I want you to be safe?” He was pulling at his hair again, and I shifted my attention back to my patch of grass. “If you would just let me help…”
Every muscle in my body tensed. God, sometimes his incessant desire to fix everything was exhausting. Liam never just let me be sad. He never let me make mistakes. He’s a fixer. And I’m a breaker. No wonder we never worked out.
“I just need to be alone.” It was such a stupid thing to say, didn’t really mean anything, but I didn’t know what else to tell him. I needed him to leave if I was ever going to fix anything else. Liam cared too much; he was too close. It was one or the other. I couldn’t have both. And I’d made my choice.
“But…”
I choked on the tears. “Please.”
I didn’t look up to watch him walk away, but I heard his footsteps on the driveway and eventually the engine of his Jeep turning over in the street.
It was better this way. It really was. I needed to let him go.
As usual, Seth was heard before he was seen.
“Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap.” I heard him chanting the words as he raced down the stairs inside his house, flung open the screen door, and sprinted toward my post at the mailbox, his laptop tucked beneath his arm.
Sweat was dripping down the sides of his face, and there was still a tiny smear of Cheetos remnants on his chin. I tried to ignore both of those things and focus on what a great friend Seth was, but I had to admit the Cheetos shrapnel was a tiny bit distracting.
Seth stared at me and wheezed for a second.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah…just….” He wheezed some more.
“Do you have more information on the boy?”
“Yes.” Wheeze. “That’s.” Wheeze. “Why.” Wheeze. “Running.” Wheeze.
“Seth, seriously…are you okay?” Now that I was looking at Seth closer, he seemed pale. Maybe this was more than just him being out of shape. “Let me go get your mom.” I hated to involve Mrs. Allen, particularly when Seth had information on the death, but the last thing I needed was another tragedy on my conscience.
“No!” Seth sucked in some more air and the color started to come back to his cheeks. “I mean, no thanks. I’m fine. Really. It’s just…” He opened his computer. “You’re not going to believe this.”
There was an article from an old newspaper on the screen, and this time there was a picture of two boys.
A local boy was struck and killed by an oncoming train near the Arthur Road tracks early Saturday morning. Andrew Carrington was 16 years old and was first thought to be half brother Richard Sinclair because he was carrying his wallet and identification. The mistaken identity was quickly sorted out by local police when Sinclair arrived at the police station with his parents. Carrington’s death has been ruled an accident.
I stared for a moment at the blurry photograph next to the article. Wrinkle-free beady eyes and smooth cheeks, but the same air of asshole surrounded the guy in the picture, even at the tender age of seventeen.
“Headmaster Sinclair?” The computer shook a little in my hands.
“Headmaster Sinclair.” Seth nodded.
I lowered myself onto the soft, green grass and stared up at the late afternoon sky, twisting Grace’s pearls between my fingers.
Oh, Grace, Grace. What does all of this mean? Why is an antiquated Sacramentum suddenly starting again more than fifty years after it killed our ex-headmaster’s younger brother? Is he somehow involved in all of this? Has he gone off the deep end since being demoted to security guard after the Brotherhood was destroyed? And who the hell is sending me your old journal entries and why? I silently sent my questions up, up, up into the sky.
I had gotten over my habit of sending Grace daily emails, but that didn’t mean I had given up hope on my dead best friend. Sometimes I pretended that if I could just ask the right question, she’d find me the right answer. But so far I was shit out of luck, and today was no different. The only response was the soft thump of Seth’s head hitting the grass just inches from my own.
“What’s going on, Kate? Whatever it is, you’ve gotta let me help.” His hand inched closer to mine, and six months ago, I would have been totally grossed out, but this was Seth. My best friend. Besides, he hadn’t tried to kiss me for at least two months, and now that I’d seen him with Maddie, I was beginning to understand why. So when his hand grabbed mine, I knew that it was an offer of friendship. Pure. Simple. No strings attached.
“You’ve already helped more than you know.” I squeezed his hand lightly.
I did want his help. I wanted it so badly. But I wasn’t sure what to even ask him for just yet. I needed more time to get my head around this entire situation. Everything was happening too fast. I needed time to process.
We lay there for a while watching puffy clouds shift and morph in the huge Ohio sky. And for a minute, I closed my eyes and tried to follow Dr. Prozac’s advice to just let myself live in the moment, to let myself experience the present instead of constantly getting dragged back into the hellish fires of my past. But Grace’s words were like lead in my pocket, pulling me back toward her, back toward the truth. No matter how hard I tried to move on, she was there. And now she’d been joined by Alistair, another casualty in the silent war that raged beneath Pemberly Brown.
By the time I sat up, the sun had moved behind a cloud, and Seth was snoring softly next to me. I had to keep moving. I had to take action. My present, my now, was haunted, and I owed it to myself to put my ghosts to rest once and for all.