Vindicate (Recovered Innocence #1)(39)

I know she’s trying to be polite and making an effort to connect with me over the only thing she knows about me, but damn. I hate it. I hate that there is nothing else to talk about.

“He’s okay.”

I’m totally aware that I’m not holding up my side of the conversation. There’s no way to end her line of questioning without being rude. I don’t want to talk about Beau. Not because I’m ashamed. It’s because he’s not here. It feels like a betrayal to chat about him and his life with a stranger like you’d talk about traffic or the weather.

“It must be rough on your parents. I can’t imagine what they’re going through.”

She means well, I remind myself, even as she drifts past empathy and straight into sympathy.

“And you too,” she adds.

I’m an afterthought, a pitiful afterthought. She feels sorry for my family and me. Of all the emotions people have about what happened to Beau, pity is the one I can’t stomach.

I slide back in my chair. “Where’s the restroom?”

She blinks at me, then points. “Down the hall. Third door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

I’m out of my chair and halfway down the hall before the tears start. Once closed inside and alone, blessedly alone, I take big gulps of air, trying to calm myself. This is why I don’t do social situations. I don’t know how to field the inevitable questions and the myriad emotions people want to throw at me as though I’m a universal catchall for whatever opinion they have about the case. They don’t care about me. Their only concern is having their viewpoint heard. I’ll take a nosy reporter asking questions over people telling me what they think any day.

I stay in the bathroom as long as I dare without drawing attention. When I return to the table, the conversation seems to have turned to something Anne learned in school that day. I resume my seat at the table and paste on a smile, pretending that I’m as normal as everyone else here.

Leo leans toward me. “You okay?”

I nod. His gaze lingers on me as I somehow manage to show the proper response to the story Anne is telling. He takes my hand under the table. I squeeze it hard enough to earn a startled glance. The rest of the meal goes by without incident and I’m starting to relax again when Mrs. Nash asks me another question.

“Do you get to see your brother often?”

The whole table waits for my answer. The girls’ faces reflect identical curiosity. I don’t know if it’s because of the question or my potential answer.

“As often as I can,” I answer.

“It’s getting late,” Leo says, pushing his chair away from the table. “I should pack so we can get going.” He still has ahold of my hand.

I do as he did and stand with him. Everyone’s eyes go to our clasped hands. I don’t care. It was this tie to Leo that helped me get through what should’ve been an easy task. Mr. Nash looks like he wants to say something. The girls glance back and forth at each other. Mrs. Nash’s smile looks strained, as though she’s been holding it too long.

“Thank you for dinner,” I tell Mrs. Nash, even though I mostly just picked at it.

“You’re welcome.” Then, to her husband, “Ed.” As though he should do something.

Mr. Nash lays his napkin on the table, saying nothing as we head to Leo’s bedroom. This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered someone who can’t separate me from Beau’s case. I’m a curiosity up to the point where they realize I’m a person who could possibly invade and influence their child’s life.

Leo closes the door and puts his arms around me. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s…what it is.” I push out of his arms and wander around the room.

There are trophies on shelves—baseball trophies. Clothes are scattered across the floor as though they were dropped where he stood. A big TV hangs on the wall with wires coming out of it. Video-game controllers are stacked on top of the dresser under the TV. In the corner is a desk with more trophies and ribbons. It looks and smells like Beau’s room used to.

“It’ll just take me a sec to pack,” Leo says.

I sit on the corner of his unmade bed and watch as he stuffs a gym bag with clean clothes from the dresser and dirty clothes from the floor. He’s such a guy. He goes to get more stuff from the bathroom, leaving the door open slightly. Mrs. Nash says something to him, her voice hushed. I don’t hear Leo’s answer. Mr. Nash replies, his tone soothing, but Mrs. Nash is having none of it. She doesn’t like me or who she thinks I am. That’s fine. I don’t need to be liked. I also don’t have to sit here and listen to them argue about Leo staying at my place.

I peek down the hall, but I don’t see them. Their voices are louder now. Leo is madder than I’ve ever heard him. He’s defending me. I get a quick rush of happiness over that, but it’s instantly doused by what Mr. Nash says. He doesn’t want Leo to get involved with me. I’ve got issues. Issues he doesn’t want in his son’s life. That’s fine too, because involved is more than I want or need right now.

I head out to the front of the house. I’ve heard enough. The girls are watching TV, so they don’t notice me walking out the front door. I’m in my car and backing out of the driveway when Leo comes outside. He runs up to my car and bangs on the window.