Miles points back at me. “Big Scarecrow energy.” We laugh but it doesn’t feel like our hearts are totally in it. His smirk drops and he suddenly looks lost. “He’s really dead.”
The boy he played house with. The boy he probably loved. Even at that age, they saw something in each other. Kindred spirits who played house and knew they could playThe Wizard of Oztogether without judgment. Nate knew he could wear a pair of pink jellies and his friend wouldn’t make fun of him.
And maybe itwaslove. Because even kids that age know what love is. Sure, it was different from the warmth I feel when I look at Miles—the attraction when I want to run my fingers through his strawberry-blond hair, how I want to kiss his tearstained, freckled cheeks—but almost there. Undiscovered. And now something that won’t ever be discovered because Nate is gone.
There’s a part of me that might be a little jealous Nate and Miles got to share that even for a short time. Because that was never my experience. Even at that age I knew to hide those tiny slivers of who I really was. After being scolded by my father or teased by other boys, I knew what was considered effeminate, and I learned quickly how to bury it.
I’ve been pretending to be someone else a lot longer than a few weeks.
I don’t want to do that anymore.
“I lied to you before,” I say.
“Yeah, no shit,Nate.” He says it teasingly but I shake my head so he knows I’m not joking.
“The other night you asked what I wanted to be. When I’m older, what I wanted to do with my life. I said I wanted to be myself again. And I guess it’s not entirely a lie, but I mean I want to do something better with my life. When I ran away, I went to a couple of queer youthshelters but got turned away. They were understaffed and didn’t have the room. I want to become a social worker so I can help kids like me. Or like you and Nate. People who need love and support because they don’t get it anywhere else. I’m not excusing what I did, lying, but if there were more people out there who could show that, I might not be here.”
Miles watches me. “But then you wouldn’t be here.”
I nod. I wouldn’t have found Nate. Honestly, finding his body might not be enough to get Easton arrested, but maybe it’s at least enough to jump-start the investigation.
“We should get the police out there,” I say.
“Yeah.” Miles reaches into his pocket and takes out a small white rectangle. He hands it to me. Agent Grant’s business card. “Make the call.”
He’s right. We should call Grant first, tell him everything and see what we should do. Because we have to make sure we do this right. Easton is always a few steps ahead of us, but for now, we have the jump.
I dial the number, and he picks up on the third ring.
“Agent Grant, this is Nathaniel Beaumont. I need to speak with you.”
Forty-Six
The doorbell rings just after four. And not a moment too soon. We haven’t seen Easton, and the longer we waited, the more anxious Miles and I both got that he’d come back from wherever he’s been all day only for Grant to show up right after.
When I open the door, Agent Grant gives me a blank look, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets. The sport coat he’s wearing is pulled back to expose the gun clipped to his belt. He gives me a nod in greeting, then his eyes flit over to Miles. I step aside to let him in.
“Nate. Neighbor kid.”
“Miles. And again, would love to have you on the podcast when...” He stops talking and glances nervously over to me. “Sorry. You know what? I think I’ll wait, um...” He points to the living room behind him. “Over here.”
He leaves us and Grant turns to me. “What’s this about, Nate?”
I don’t tell him right away that he doesn’t need to call me that. Instead, I shut the door behind him.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask. “Water, seltzer? The Beaumonts have wine, and I’m sure they won’t mind if you want something stronger.” And maybe I will join him because who cares with all the laws I’ve already broken?
“Nate.”
I sigh. “Come into the kitchen.”
I motion for him to follow me. I didn’t realize until we were already back on dry land that we should have taken a picture of Nate’s body, but honestly, all they have to do is go over and look, so I’m not that worried.
Grant takes a seat at the table and I sit across from him.
“So, first off, I have to tell you the truth,” I say.
His brow furrows, but he remains stoic. It’s like he either doesn’t want to show emotion or he isn’t curious enough yet.
