Because he gave up on him and blamed himself.
“This isn’t funny,” I say.
JT points to me but doesn’t look over. “Yeah, I’m with Nate.”
“I’m telling you,” Easton says, his voice calm and collected. “That’s not Nate. It’s some other kid who is pretending to be him. And I think it’s time he tells us why.”
“Sure,” JT says. “Go ahead, Nate, tell him why you’re not you.” JT clearly doesn’t believe Easton either.
“I don’t know what he’s talking about.” I’m still trying to figure out where this is coming from. Easton has to have some weird ulterior motive here. There’s no way he killed Nate; he was ten years old when Nate disappeared.
Easton heads back to the cliff edge and looks out to the water below.
“Fine,” he says. “I guess I’ll tell my side of the story first.”
He’s so calm and it’s really starting to scare me. It’s a warm night but I feel cold. My legs are shaking.
This can’t be true. He’s got to be lying, trying to get me to crack because he has a hunch I’m not Nate.
“What about the onions?” I ask.
JT groans. “I’m so fucking confused.”
Easton isn’t, though. He looks over at me like he can’t believe how stupid I am. “Theonions? I made that up. And Mom is such a desperate fucking loser she pretended to remember. I mean, sure, Nate probably hated onions, but they’re vegetables. What kid likes vegetables?”
“I like veggies,” JT says.
“You’re starting to believe me now, aren’t you?” Easton asks me, ignoring JT.
I shake my head. “Listen, I know you’re pissed off at me, but I don’t get why you would—”
“I am,” Easton says. His voice is low and calm. “I worked sofuckinghard to plan out what would happen if they ever found Nate’s body, but thenyoucame along to ruinit. And now you and that talentless nobody next door are trying to dig around. I heard you the other night.Not everything needs to be about the investigation.Now tell me. Which investigation would that be?”
I don’t know what to say because this is worse than being caught for pretending to be Nate. Easton finding out I’ve been investigating his family is a whole other horrific twist.
I still don’t fully believe him, though. This is just him taking out his frustration on me, it has to be. Easton was a kid when Natedisappeared. He knows people think his family was involved in Nate’s disappearance, and now he learns the person he thought was his brother isn’t really his brotherandhe’s been investigating his family.
“So why wouldn’t you just tell everyone I’m not Nate, then?” I ask.
“Because I’m not trying to get caught. I had someone to blame, I had aplan. If I expose you, the rest of us are under scrutiny. I tried to tell Dad—mydad—to end this the day you came home, but he wouldn’t go for it because he was worried about my mom having another fucking mental breakdown. But at first even he didn’t fall for your shit.”
The conversation I overheard the first day at the Beaumont house. Easton was trying to get Marcus to do a DNA test on me.
“But now, because you’ve been here for weeks and have been doing your own little investigation, we’ll look complicit if I tell the cops you’re a fake. Who in their right minds would let a stranger pretending to be their kid into their home? Someone who doesn’t want to be blamed for that kid’s disappearance, maybe?”
JT’s weed must be giving him some clarity because he’s looking at me as though I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.
“And now,” Easton says, “it will look like we’re the ones who found you and got you to do all this. My mom fought to make sure you weren’t going to be DNA tested because she was so deluded that she didn’t want the truth to burst her bubble. Or... depending on how the cops see it, she didn’t want the police to prove that you aren’t her son. Why do you think she’d do that?”
Wait. Is he saying Valencia is involved?
Okay, let’s say Easton did kill Nate—he was ten years old. Hecould have done it by accident and maybe they didn’t want Easton to go to prison so they helped him cover it up.
Shit.
“Wait.” JT holds up his hands in a time-out gesture. “I need everyone to be real for a second. This is a bit, right?”
Easton shakes his head. “It’s not a bit, John Thomas.”
