That actually sounds great. I can relax a little and not be in a constant state of fear back at the house. Hanging out with Miles last night was such a relief. I tell Easton he can pick, and twenty minutes later he pulls into the restaurant Gramma Sharon took me on our first lunch date. It’s still early for dinner—only a little after five—so the restaurant is slow and the only other diners are people well past retirement age.
We’re seated in a booth facing the street, which is clogged with rush hour traffic. Easton and I casually talk about our days while looking over the menu. When the server comes to us—a short-haired brunette Easton’s age or a little older—we order, and she takes our menus.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Easton says. “You and Miles have been hanging out a lot lately.”
“Not a question, but yeah. Mom said he and I used to be friends back in the day, so I’m trying to rekindle that.”
He nods. “You decide if you’re going to talk on his podcast?”
“I said I’d think about it.” But something about the way Easton asked makes me feel like he knows more than he’s letting on. So I add, “But I don’t think I will.”
He nods, but it’s like he isn’t sure he believes me. “He started this whole thing sometime last summer. Came over one day to ask me if I’d come on his podcast and talk about the day you disappeared.”
“I assume you said no.”
“Of course. I hate that true crime shit. Because he wants to make it about him. He wants to be the special person who finds the one crumb of evidence overlooked by the police. He doesn’t care whose trauma he’s exploiting, just that he gets to be the one to present it.”
I shake my head. “He’s not like that.”
“How do you know? You only met him a couple weeks ago. Unless you remember something from before?” He looks at me with what I can only say is suspicion. So I turn away from him and shake my head.
“No. But he doesn’t seem so bad.”
Easton leans across the table. “Don’t trust him, Nate. He’s going to hurt you. He asked me, Mom, and Dad all to record something. And now he wants the former FBI agent who was in charge of your case to come on and talk about us?”
“It’s not about you all, it’s about me. And him, too. We were friends before I disappeared. You said he’s exploiting your trauma, but you forget he knew me, too. Maybe he’s working through his own shit.”
Easton’s jaw tightens as he stares at me. “You already talked to him, didn’t you? Recorded something.”
“No.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
Probably because I’m not selling it all that well. While it’s true I haven’t recorded anything, Ihavebeen helping Miles investigate.
When I don’t answer, he shakes his head. “I was hoping he wouldn’t get you involved, but I guess that was stupid of me.”
“I was already involved in it,” I remind him. “It’s my life, too.”
He laughs, but part of him is obviously annoyed. Maybe disappointed. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
When our food arrives, we eat in silence. Easton checks his phone several times, texting someone, but I don’t bother to ask who.
When we finish, the server drops off our bill. Easton hands over his card without looking at her. She brings it back promptly, he signs for it, and we go back out to the car.
He pulls onto the road, but not in the direction of the house.
“Do you want ice cream?” he asks. The ice cream place is straight ahead, and he points with his index finger but doesn’t take his hands off the nine-and-three position on the steering wheel. “I’m in the mood for ice cream.”
“Sure.” I want to mention we could have gotten ice cream at the restaurant when the server asked if we wanted dessert, but I assume he likes the ice cream at this place.
He pulls into the parking lot, and we get out to stand in the long line of people waiting to be served. We still don’t talk, and this whole evening has turned a little awkward. I want to ask him what he wants from me. If all he needs to hear isI won’t go on Miles’s podcast, sure, I’ll say it. Because I won’t. He’s doing his podcast with or without me, and I’ve already decided to be long gone by the time he does it.
But even that has started to get to me. Will it be nice not having to worry about Marcus trying to poison me with glass? Absolutely. But I’ve kind of started to feel close to Easton and Valencia. The only thing that could change my feelings toward her is knowing she was involved in Nate’s disappearance, too.
When we reach the front of the line, Easton orders a vanilla cone and I order their non-trademarked version of an Oreo Blizzard.
As we exit, I start toward some seats on the right side of the shop, but Easton stops me, pointing to the left. “There’s a few seats over here.”
