One of Us is Lying(75)
“Anything new?” I ask. “I’ve been away from screens for half an hour.”
But there’s nothing. The police are being tight-lipped about whatever they found. Addy’s lawyer doesn’t have a clue what’s happening. “You want to hang out tonight?” she asks. “You must be going nuts. My mom and her boyfriend have plans, so Ashton and I are making pizza. Bring Maeve; we’ll have a sister night.”
“Maybe. If things aren’t too out of control,” I say gratefully.
Maeve turns into our street, and my heart sinks when I spy the line of white news vans in front of our house. It looks like Univision and Telemundo have joined the fray, which is seriously going to piss off my dad. He can never get them to cover anything positive about his company, but this they show up for.
We pull into the driveway behind my parents’ cars, and as soon as I open my door a half-dozen microphones are in my face. I push past them and meet Maeve in front of the car, grabbing her hand as we weave through the cameras and the flashing lights. Most of the reporters shout some variation of “Bronwyn, do you think Nate killed Simon?” but one calls out, “Bronwyn, is it true you and Nate are romantically involved?”
I really hope my parents weren’t asked the same question.
Maeve and I slam the door behind us and duck past the windows into our kitchen. Mom is sitting at the island with a coffee cup between both hands, her face tight with worry. Dad’s voice rises in heated conversation from behind his closed office door.
“Bronwyn, we need to talk,” Mom says, and Maeve floats away upstairs.
I sit across from my mother at the kitchen island and meet her tired eyes with a pang. My fault. “Obviously you saw the news,” she says. “Your father’s talking to Robin about what, if anything, this means for you. In the meantime, we got a lot of questions when we walked past that zoo out there. Some about you and Nate.” I can tell she’s trying hard to keep her voice neutral. “We might have made it difficult for you to talk about whatever … relationships you have with the other kids. Because from our perspective the best way to keep you safe was to keep you separate. So maybe you didn’t think you could confide in us, but I need you to be straight with me now that Nate’s been arrested. Is there something I should know?”
At first all I can think is What’s the least amount of information I can provide and still make you understand I need to help Nate? But then she reaches out and squeezes my hand, and it hits me with a stab of guilt how I never used to keep things from her until I cheated in chemistry. And look how that turned out.
So I tell her almost everything. Not about bringing Nate to our house or meeting him at Bayview Estates, because I’m pretty sure that’ll send us down a bad path. But I explain the late-night phone calls, the escape-from-school motorcycle rides, and, yeah, the kissing.
My mother is trying so hard not to freak out. I give her a lot of credit.
“So you’re … serious about him?” She almost chokes on the words.
She doesn’t want the real answer. Robin’s answer-a-different-question-than-the-one-you’re-trying-to-deflect strategy would work well now. “Mom, I understand this is a bizarre situation and I don’t really know Nate. But I don’t believe he’d hurt Simon. And he doesn’t have anybody looking out for him. He needs a good lawyer, so that’s what I’m trying to help with.” My phone buzzes with a number I don’t recognize, and I grimace as I realize I need to answer in case it’s Mrs. Macauley. “Hi, this is Bronwyn.”
“Bronwyn, so glad you picked up! This is Lisa Jacoby with the Los Angeles Ti—”
I hang up and face my mother again. “I’m sorry I haven’t been straight with you after everything you’ve done for me. But please let me connect Mrs. Macauley and Eli. Okay?”
My mother massages her temple. “Bronwyn, I’m not sure you understand how cavalier you’ve been. You ignored Robin’s advice and you’re lucky it didn’t blow up in your face. It still might. But … no, I won’t stop you from talking with Nate’s mother. This case is messed up enough that everyone involved needs decent counsel.”
I throw my arms around her and, God, it feels good to just hug my mom for a minute.
She sighs when I let go. “Let me talk to your father. I don’t think a conversation between you two would be productive right now.”
I couldn’t agree more. I’m on my way upstairs when my phone rings again, and my heart leaps when I see a 503 area code. I can’t keep the hope out of my voice when I pick up. “Hi, this is Bronwyn.”
“Bronwyn, hello.” The voice is low and strained, but clear. “It’s Ellen Macauley. Nate’s mother. You left me a note.”
Oh, thank God thank God thank God. She didn’t hightail it to Oregon in a drug-induced haze. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
Cooper
Saturday, November 3, 3:15 p.m.
It’s hard to evaluate exhibition games anymore, but overall this one went pretty well. My fastball hit ninety-four, I struck out the side twice, and only a few guys heckled me from the stands. They were wearing tutus and baseball caps, though, so they stood out a little more than your average gay basher before security escorted them out.
A couple of college scouts showed up, and the guy from Cal State even bothered to talk to me afterward. Coach Ruffalo started hearing from teams again, but it strikes me as more of a PR play than genuine interest. Only Cal State is still talking scholarship, even though I’m pitching better than ever. That’s life as an outed murder suspect, I guess. Pop doesn’t wait for me outside the locker room anymore. He heads straight for the car when I’m done and starts the engine so we can make a quick exit.