Through the window I can see Richard’s dad, a picture book open, reading to a bunch of kids in bunk beds. I hear the clatter of Sylvia doing dishes. Over the flickering firelight, I catch Ben’s eye, and I swear we are thinking the same thing: How lucky some people are.
I’m hit with a sudden wave of aching nostalgia. I miss this. But how can miss this when I never truly had it in the first place? It was secondhand through Meg. Like pretty much everything else in my life.
The firelight crackles. Richard finishes his beer and stashes the empty in the bushes. “You want another?” he asks us.
Ben shakes his head. “Better not. We have a big drive tomorrow.” He looks at me. I nod.
“So where you going, exactly?” Richard asks Ben.
Ben looks at me, asking the same silent question. I still haven’t told him the whole story.
“Laughlin, Nevada.”
“I caught that much,” Richard replies. He goes to the cooler and grabs another beer for himself and a couple of Dr Peppers for Ben and me. Something in my chest twists, and it’s ridiculous because I’m getting emotional because he remembered what soft drink I like. “I guess my question is really why Laughlin?”
I don’t say anything. Neither does Ben.
“What? Is it a secret or something?” Richard asks.
Ben looks at me. “Apparently.”
“Wait, you don’t know?” Richard says.
“I’m just along for the ride,” Ben fires back.
They glare at each other for a second, and then look at me. Inside, Jerry and the kids are saying prayers, calling out a long list of people to be blessed.
“This is between us,” I say, pointing back and forth between me and Richard and Ben.
“A sacred circle,” Richard jokes. “Or triangle. A ménage à silence.”
I give him a look, and then he goes solemn and promises.
“Remember when I came down and Harry was helping me with the computer thing?” I ask.
Richard nods.
“We found an encrypted file on Meg’s computer, and it turned out that it was instructions from this suicide support group, a group that supports your decision to end your own life. I did some more digging, and I uncovered her posting to these discussion boards. There was this one guy; he was like her mentor. He encouraged her.”
“That’s messed up,” Richard says.
“Yeah, it is,” I say.
“I can’t believe Meg fell for it.”
“I know,” I say. But I lack the conviction on this one. Because now that I know Bradford, I can believe it. “So I found this guy, and now I’m going to see him.”
“You’re what?” Ben interjects.
“I’m going to see him,” I repeat, but it comes out tepid this time.
“I thought you needed to talk to someone who knew about her death, like the Seattle people,” Ben exclaims. He frowns at me like I’ve violated some treaty.
I take a deep breath to keep my voice level. “I’m talking to the person who caused her death.”