Clark, for his part, hadn’t moved away from the car at all. He leaned against the hood, reading something on his phone and determinedly not looking anywhere but the dimmed screen. There was a strange duality to Clark. On the one hand, he clearly lived a frugal, tight-fisted existence. On the other hand, he had every luxury and advantage at his fingertips. He should have been a snob. Being a snob definitely would have explained his refusal to even interact with the Lewisham family or their aging but proudly kept home. There were only two motives she could see for keeping himself away from the people he’d driven here to help.

A) He was an unsalvageable, irreversible, cruel man beyond salvation, who hated the poor, resented the working, and slept happily on stacks of money. He had to rest up, naturally, because he spent his days diving into money bins full of gold coins. Or:

B)…Something else. She wasn’t entirely sure what that something else was, but there had to be a second option. She refused to see the worst of him and only the worst. Maybe he was allergic to the wildflowers in the front lawn? Maybe he didn’t want to rub his wealth in their face?

She looked at his face. Tight. Strained. Maybe he was nervous?

“Hey, Bradley?”

“Yep!”

She released him; he plopped to the ground with the lightest thud she ever heard. Like a dedicated method actor, he leaned against his Tiny Tim cane, putting all his weight on it. Kate bent down to his eye level; she needed to impress upon him the importance of this mission. Just one little interaction could be the key to understanding the bank vault of a man who’d driven her here.

“If you do something for me, I promise I’ll tell you everything. Deal?”

“Deal.” Bradley brandished his cane like a sword. “Now, who do I have to fight?”

“You don’t have to fight anyone. You see that guy over there?”

“Yeah.”

“His name is Clark, and—”

“I know who he is!”

“Okay. Okay! What do you think about him?”

“He looks kind of lonely.” Bradley shrugged. He matched his voice to the whisper of Kate’s, keeping his tone low and confidential. “He’s not your boyfriend, is he? Because everyone hates him.”

Hate. What a bold, uncompromising word for a nine-year-old. A shiver gripped Kate’s spine. The hairs on her neck raised.

“We don’t hate him. We have to help him. Can you go over there and just…” She searched for the words to describe what she wanted. In the end, she landed on the one thing she wanted to do. “Just be nice to him?”

Bradley’s face scrunched as he leaned on his cane, giving him the appearance of a curmudgeonly old man. A mini Scrooge. Of all the times not to have a camera handy.

“What, just like talk to him and stuff?”