Secret Brother by V.C. Andrews Page B

must he look up at Grandma Arnold’s portrait in his office and ache? How empty were his nights? Nowadays, I was tempted each morning to stay in bed forever. How did he manage to get himself up? Where did he find the energy and the desire?
    I decided to be less intolerant of the attention he was giving the poisoned boy. I didn’t like it any more than I had yesterday, but perhaps once he saw to it that the boy was restored to health, he would surely move on to other things. He’d probably help find a new home for him. I was used to the idea of my grandfather having influence on many things besides his own business interests. He knew so many politicians. There was once talk of him running for mayor of Prescott. He could even call the governor if he wanted.
    I sat at my desk again and continued my letter to Willie.
    Uncle Bobby just left. I miss him already. I love everyone here, but Uncle Bobby is special. You know that, too.
    I still can’t believe you’re gone, Willie. Even after all we’ve gone through and all the people who’ve tried to comfort us, I still expect you to come barging into my room and annoy me when I’m on the phone or trying to get some homework done and study for a test. I know you hate to be alone and want me to watch television with you or play one of your games.
    I’m sorry now for every time I snapped back at you. You know I ended up being with you anyway. People always say Myra and My Faith spoil you, but you and I know that I spoil you the most. Or did.
    I have to tell myself that you’re not alone now , that you’re with Mommy and Daddy, and the truth is that you feel sorrier for me than I do for you.
    When I die, will you still be a little boy when I see you again, or do people grow older in heaven? You have to be in heaven. You didn’t get a chance to do anything very bad, not that you would have.
    Uncle Bobby was right about my getting back to myself, but I can’t help being afraid of going to school again, seeing the faces of my classmates, who I know will all be thinking about what happened and waiting for me to break out in tears at any moment.
    People are afraid of people who are in mourning. They don’t know how to talk to them, and they worry that they will say something that will get the person crying or running off. They’ll feel just terrible about it, so the best thing to do is avoid them.
    I’m so afraid that will happen to me, especially next week when I return to school.
    I even think that might be why Grandpa is leaving the house so early these mornings. He’s hoping I’ll get all my crying done before he comes home. One look at him told me not to cry in front of him anymore. He would just call for Myra and rush away to his office, closing the door behind him. Then I’d feel even worse.
    I didn’t want to put this in a letter to you, Willie, especially not one of the first ones I wrote, but I think there’s going to be more and more about him over the next few days. I’m talking about the poisoned boy. If you were here and had seen him, I know you’d be as interested in him as Grandpa is, and I would be, too. But if I was to count the minutes Grandpa has spent thinking about you and the minutes he is spending thinking about t he poisoned boy, I think I’d find that he’s spent more on him than on you.
    Maybe Uncle Bobby is right. Maybe Grandpa is afraid to think about you and thinking about this strange boy helps him avoid it, but I don’t have to like that.
    Sometime next week, after school, I’m going to ride my bike to the cemetery and talk to you, Willie. I promise.
    Mostly, I promise I will never forget you.
    I’m going to write to you all the time, because I believe as soon as I finish a letter, Mommy will read it aloud to you and Daddy.
    Forever.
    I put my pen down, folded the paper, and stuck it into one of my personalized envelopes. Then I put it in thebottom left