Miles narrows his eyes at me. “Okay. So who are you really?”
Is he asking my name? I’m definitely not giving him that. Miles is smart enough—even if I disappeared tomorrow, he’d be able to track me down eventually if I didn’t change it. And I have no clue how much work changing my name would be without all my legal documentation.
So I shrug. “A queer homeless kid from West Virginia.”
He frowns. “Still hiding, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll break you down eventually.Nate.” Then he says good night and I wait until he goes around the side of the house before I head into the kitchen.
Valencia and Marcus are speaking in hushed tones in the living room, so I close the door quietly behind me and tiptoe across the kitchen tile to the doorway.
“...have to pay it back,” Marcus says.
“Then we’ll pay it back. We’ll use the home equity line and pay it back.”
“The rate is variable, Val.”
I realize whatever they’re talking about can’t be all that interesting if it’s about interest rates, so I’m about to turn back into the kitchen to grab another drink before heading upstairs, but Valencia’s voice stops me.
“Can’t you be happy our son is alive and well and back in our home?”
Marcus’s voice gets a little louder, and I can hear some of the temper Easton mentioned. “That’s not what this is about!”
“Do not raise your voice to me. And yes. It is, Marcus. That’s exactly what all this is about. And I don’t give a shit how much money we have to pay back. They can have it. At least we have him.”
“We don’t know—”
“I don’t want to hear any more about how much fucking money we owe! We’ll pay it. Do you understand me?”
A long silence stretches between them, and it gives me enough time to try to figure out what they’re talking about. Obviously me, but what does money have to do with it? And who do they owe it to?
“I’m making myself a cocktail,” Marcus says. His voice is lower now. Calmer. “Do you want one?”
Valencia answers with a huff. “I’m fine, thank you.”
A shadow enters the living room doorway and I turn around and run for the back door. I pull it open quickly, then shut it loudly to make it sound like I just came in. I’m halfway across the kitchen when Marcus enters. He gives me a quick glance—it might look a little resentful?—then heads over to the fridge. He already has a crystal rocks glass in his hand, and he pulls open the freezer to put ice in it.
I go out into the living room and sit down on the couch next to Valencia. She smiles brightly, like she and her husband weren’t arguing about money and my presence less than two minutes ago.
“Miles go home already?” she asks.
“He had some photography stuff to work on.” I turn my attention to the TV. “What are you watching?”
“Some HBO show about space pirates.” Her voice takes on a playful tone. “You’re welcome to stay, but there’s lots of sex, so you may not want to watch it with your parents.”
Marcus enters and gives us a side-eye, which Valencia misses. Then he goes to the bar cart in the corner of the living room andpicks up a bottle of gin. I’m honestly surprised the Beaumonts have their liquor out like this. My parents didn’t drink, but I figured parents who did would keep stuff locked away so their kids wouldn’t dip into it.
Marcus mixes his cocktail and reaches for one of the tools held in a stainless steel block. He pulls it out but stops, looking at it. It’s sharp and looks like an ice pick. He’s about to put it back but then puts it in his glass and uses it to stir the cocktail before placing it back on the cart.
“I think I’ll skip the Space Sex Pirates, but thank you.” I stand. “I’m tired anyway, so I think I’ll go to bed.”
“Painting tomorrow?” Valencia asks.
“Sounds good.”
“Love you, honey,” Valencia says. “Good night.”
“Night,” I say back.
Marcus doesn’t say anything; he just sips his cocktail as he unpauses their show. Whatever they were arguing about, I’ll have to see if we can find out what it is on Monday when Miles comes to help me snoop.
