Once Miles is gone, Easton asks Agent Grant, “Anything else?” He holds out his card, but Easton doesn’t take it. “We’ve got one somewhere. Thanks.” Then he closes the door in his face. He turns his attention back to me, shaking his head. “Hate that guy.”
“Why?”
He walks back to the kitchen and I follow. “Who do you thinkstarted all the rumors about Mom and Dad being the ones who hurt you?”
I freeze in the doorway. “Seriously?”
Easton nods. “Guy’s a dick. He’s pissed off he isn’t good at his job, so he makes shit up to make his suspects anxious. I don’t have proof, but he asked a lot of questions when you went missing that came back around once people started blaming Mom and Dad.”
Maybe Grantdoesmake things up. Like that nurse thing seemed kind of fake. I doubt a nurse would tell him someone was admitted to the hospital, because Miles is right, even without specifics about the injury it would probably be a HIPAA violation. He might have been outside and seen Marcus and Valencia drive past with Gramma Sharon in the back seat, a bloody dish towel to her mouth.
Easton peers into the sink. “Speaking of blame. I gotta ask.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You didn’t do it on purpose, right?”
“No.” I open the cabinets. “Look, the glasses are all here.”
He points to an empty spot, and I shake my head and open the dishwasher to show him where the dirty glass is.
“Could have come from somewhere else.” He goes into the fridge and gets out the jar of peanut butter.
My voice is verging on shrill. “I didn’t put glass in the Watergate salad! I was going to eat it, too!”
“Okay, so you didn’t do it,” he says. “I was half joking, but happy to know you’re not a total psycho.” I watch him grab a spoon and take another huge glob of peanut butter from the jar.
“So what do you think?” I ask. “Where did the glass come from?”
He shrugs. “The factory. Maybe a light broke over the conveyorbelt where they chopped up your pineapples or whipped the Cool Whip and you didn’t notice when you were mixing it.” His eyes go wide and he laughs. “Dad’s gonna sue the shit out of them.”
“It wasn’t the factory, Easton. I poured out all the ingredients myself, and I didn’t see any glass.”
He stares at me, looking nervous. “So then who did it?”
“Who do you think?” I ask. I don’t mean to sound accusatory, but I genuinely want to know. Easton shakes his head.
“Mom and Dad would never do that.”
Before we can say anything else, the door out to the garage opens and I turn to see Valencia and Marcus. She looks worried and exhausted; his expression is almost unreadable.
Easton goes over to them and Valencia hugs him. “Is Gramma okay?”
Valencia nods and I feel a tiny bit of relief. Then she comes over and gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, too.
“She has some deep lacerations in her mouth,” Marcus says. “A couple stitches on the tongue, cauterized the gums. She’ll need to stick to a liquid diet for a few weeks. And they’re keeping her overnight for observation to make sure she didn’t accidentally swallow any. But she should make a full recovery.”
He stares at me while he speaks, and I stare right back. It’s like we’re daring one another to tell the truth. Right here in front of everyone.
“Easton, go upstairs,” Marcus says.
He shakes his head. “No, I can—”
“Now.” Marcus’s temper returns. Easton gives me an apologeticlook. I nod to him, and he licks his spoon clean, drops it in the sink, and leaves the kitchen.
“How did the glass get in there, Nate?” he asks.
“Marcus.” Valencia sounds like they’ve talked about this in the car and agreed not to bring it up yet. He holds up a hand to silence her.
“How did shards of glass get in the food you knew your grandmother would be eating?”
“You forget I had a plate of it, too.”
