Where Silence Gathers by Kelsey Sutton Page B

born two weeks apart. She arrived first, of course. Our friendship was preordained. It’s the only thing I haven’t fought against in the course of my life. Then Georgie moved to Franklin with her mom in third grade and we accepted her into the fold.
    I park, turn the key, and jump out. The rain has let up, but not much. I wipe more water from my eyes and make the bolt to the door, backpack thumping against my side. There’s no truck in the driveway, which means Briana’s dad isn’t back from the general store yet. After the mines closed, he was one of the lucky few who managed to get a job in town. Almost everyone else drives the fifty miles to the tire factory in Pasco. No one can move, though, because property in Franklin doesn’t sell anymore. Foreclosures are another story.
    There’s a beat-up Buick parked next to the garage, which means Briana’s brother Ethan is back from one of his frequent trips. Everyone knows he’s a dealer, but people love their vices in these parts, so he doesn’t get turned in.
    I enter without knocking. A whoosh of air announces my presence. Or at least, it should. Dropping my bag— thud —I shut the door behind me and pull off my soaking jacket. Someone comes out of the kitchen and walks toward me. Ethan.
    â€œHey,” he says around a mouthful of food, a bag of chips in his hand. He looks like his father, with ruddy skin and heavy-lidded eyes.
    â€œHey,” I say back. He goes into the basement without another word.
    Sounds drift out of the living room, a combination of clicking and voices that must be from the ancient television. I put my jacket on one of the hooks on the wall and wring my hair out on the rug, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of whoever is watching. Francis, Briana’s mom, is standing in front of the wide window. She doesn’t seem to notice me as she bends over a pot of dirt. The wheel on the show she’s not paying attention to spins again, emitting noise that’s almost similar to the rain outside. Click-click-click-click .
    Francis must sense my presence, suddenly, because she turns around and straightens. “Oh, Alex,” she says in soft surprise. “I didn’t hear you come in.” It’s strange how much she and Briana look alike, yet how drastically different. Time and hardship have marked Francis.
    â€œHow are you?” I ask, smiling.
    Sighing, she flaps a hand at the pot. “Still can’t keep a plant alive to save my life. Otherwise we’re all fine, I guess. What about you? How are Saul and Missy?”
    Something brushes against my leg, distracting me, and I glance down at their tabby cat. Einstein cries for attention so I bend to scratch his chin. “They’re—”
    â€œHey,” Briana says from behind. I start. Standing in the shadows, my friend inclines her head in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m set up in here.”
    Before I can say anything, she walks down the hallway. “Maybe try giving it less water,” I suggest to Francis. She purses her lips and looks at the pot again, contemplating this. Quickly I grab my bag and follow Briana. The sounds of the television fade away.
    I wait until we’re alone to ask, “So, did you talk to Rachel Porter today?” The smell of something spicy fills the kitchen.
    Briana goes to the oven and opens the little door to peek inside. She shrugs, but the light that heats the pizza rolls illuminates her tight expression. “I didn’t have a chance” is all she says.
    That’s not what’s bothering her, though; I saw how she was looking at Francis. I don’t know what to say. Their relationship has always confused me. All I know is that sometimes, when Briana looks at Francis, Fear materializes. And I wonder if she’s terrified that she’ll end up like her mother.
    I used to think that inheriting traits from our parents wasn’t real. Now,