by Rachel Rust
“You’re gonna get in trouble. Get up.”
“Why do you care what happens to me, Alex?”
He stared at me for a second as though carefully considering his answer. And then he never gave one.
I crossed my arms over my face. “Leave me alone.”
“No,” he said, tapping my foot again with his own. “C’mon, I’m done running. I’ll sit with you on the bleachers, and we can make fun of everyone else as they pant around the track.”
When I didn’t respond, he plopped down on the littered grass near my legs. He sat for a while before finally speaking. “Worried about Nathan?”
I nodded. “Someone is setting him up.” I removed my arms from my face. “Don’t you think?”
Alex stared at the brick façade of the school for a long time before answering, “Maybe.”
It wasn’t a strong maybe. It was a conciliatory maybe—one said to make me feel better, not because he believed it himself.
“You think he did it, don’t you?” I asked.
Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, he does have a history of doing stupid things, and the bullets…”
The bullets. Those two words jabbed at my stomach.
“Lance knew the bullets matched before anyone else around here,” I said. “Don’t you think that’s weird?”
Alex’s mouth twisted a bit. “You think Lance has something to do with this? Why would he frame Nathan?”
“He doesn’t like that Nathan’s hanging out with me.”
Alex pulled a few blades of grass from the ground. “But when the store was shot up, you didn’t know Nathan yet, right? So what motive would Lance have had back then to frame him? And how would he have gotten his gun?”
My brain chewed on this for a while and came up with no good explanation. With a huff, I crossed my arms over my face again, blocking out the happy sun, blocking out the blond mohawk. Life made no sense, and I wanted to hide from it all.
“I’m staying here. You should get back to class,” I said.
There was no sound, no words from Alex, no sound of his feet shuffling on the grass. I peeked through my arms to see him staring at me.
“Go away,” I said.
He shook his head. “Suit yourself.”
And finally I was left alone again. With nothing but my thoughts. My rambling, no-good thoughts. Eventually the air around me filled with mild commotion. After the final bell rang, students left the school. From the front of the building wafted the sounds of post-class merriment. Conversations, laughter, car engines.
I hated them all. Their laughter, their glee. I wanted to grab them and shake them until they shut up. My fingers curled into the dry lawn at my sides until the blades snapped, leaving me with handfuls of ragged grass and crumbled dirt.
An innocent man was in jail and they didn’t care at all. They continued to laugh and talk and drive away like all was right with the world.
“Screw this place,” I muttered.
****
Daniel’s black Suburban was parked in front of Subway when I drove down Broadway Street after leaving school. Just inside on the large windows, I spotted him, alongside Nina, Taya, and Alex. They were stuffing their faces full of bread, veggies, and meat. Maybe they were talking about how to help Nathan. Or maybe not. Maybe they weren’t even thinking about him anymore.
The distraught tug at my heart was jerked away at the sight of Nathan’s Uncle Ed walking out of the police station on the other side of the street. My foot hit the brake, and I parked haphazardly next to a squad car.
There was no time for parking inside the lines.
I rushed out of my car and onto the sidewalk. Alongside Ed was a tall, thin woman in a black pant suit with dark hair pulled into a tight bun.
“Lydia,” Ed said with surprise on his face. He glanced at the woman next to him. “Rose, this is Lydia, Nathan’s girlfriend. Lydia, this is Rose Dennison, Nathan’s attorney.”
Rose hadn’t a speck of makeup on her, yet was still prettier than any woman in town. I shook her delicate hand and returned her small, tight smile.
“Did you guys just visit with Nathan?” I asked, not sure why else they would be there. The police station wasn’t exactly a casual hangout spot.
Rose nodded briefly. “We did.”
And?
She checked her watch. The woman didn’t seem too eager to share anything, but it was hard to tell if she just didn’t like me, or if she had a stick up her ass making it difficult to speak.
“How are things going?” I asked, “With the case, I mean. Any leads or anything?”
My attorney legalese was nonexistent. Did attorneys chase leads themselves? Or did they just shuffle paperwork and drink coffee while wearing uncomfortable-looking clothes?
“Things are progressing,” Rose replied, tersely.
“The old guy—Saul Mitchell, have you talked to him?” I asked. “He was at the gas station the night of the shooting. And Chris DeMarco, he hates Nathan and he was there too. Did you talk to him? Can you tell me what he said?”
Rose tightened her grip on her briefcase. “We haven’t spoken to them yet, but we will.” She sighed slightly. “In time.”
In time? What the hell did that mean? Two possible eyewitnesses and she hadn’t even spoken to them yet? Meanwhile Nathan sat waiting, in what I could only imagine were less-than-comfortable conditions. I had seen HBO shows. Jail cells were gross and cramped.
“Well,” she said, “I’ve got to be on my way.”
After a quick nod to Ed, she got into a black Audi and drove off. Leaving us small-town folk to once again fend for ourselves.
“How you holdin’ up?” Ed asked me.
I shrugged. “How’s Nathan?”
“He’s … hanging in there.” He glanced at his phone. “I hate to run, but I gotta pick Sam up from school.”
I stepped back. “Sure, no problem. Tell Heather and Liliana hi for me.”
“Will do.” He hopped into his big white Ford truck and rumbled away.
The town around me was quiet. People doing their own thing, behind closed doors. Saul was probably sipping coffee, waiting for darkness so he could start sipping whatever it was he sipped at night. Chris DeMarco was probably in his comfortable chair, making financial deals of a slithery nature. And somewhere lurked an unknown teenage guy with dark hair.
Three people. Possibly one of them had the information I needed. The information that could clear Nathan’s name.
Maybe Rose the Attorney hadn’t wanted to scuff up her nice shoes to seek them out for answers, but I had. Day and night, questions and possibilities ran through my head. Mental lists were made. Scenarios pondered. Investigator was a new title for me, but it was beginning to mold to me. Like an old pair of dance shoes.
I left the police station and headed home.
I yanked down on the door of the mailbox and pulled out two pieces of mail. An electricity bill addressed to my mom, and a plain white envelope addressed to me—in Nathan’s handwriting.
In the comfort of my room, I rolled into my blankets and tore open Nathan’s letter.
Lydia,
Hey beautiful.
I met my lawyer today she said she’s doing everything she can do but I don’t know what that even means. Ed comes by every day to see me. He said Liliana has been asking about me, wondering if I left. It sucks not being able to see her.
And I really want to go for a run. They don’t have much of an outdoor area but they do have a small basketball court even though the balls are kind of flat. The good news is I’m catching up on all the episodes of Fast ‘n Loud. It’s on TV a lot here. They fixed up a Camaro in the last one I watched. It was a ’68 but close enough.
I hope things are going ok for you. I miss your cute smile and will admit that I think about that garage sofa a lot. Hope to see you soon.
N
P.S. – don’t worry about me
Nathan’s penmanship stared back at me like a dagger slicing into
my eyes. I clutched the letter to my chest and burrowed deeper into my bedding. Nothing in that moment was worth coming out for.
Chapter Thirty-Four
She Can Be a Royal Pain in the Ass
Whatever it was Rose the Attorney was working on, two weeks later nothing good had come out of it. I wasn’t certain how quick the justice system worked, but I figured it was a hell of a lot slower than the Law & Order episodes my dad liked to watch.
Impatience twisted inside me like a gnarling beast. After two weeks, it seemed reasonable to believe Rose would’ve found something to help Nathan. But Nathan was still in jail, and I hadn’t heard any news … good or bad. Twinges of ickiness filled the spaces where hope was slowly sputtering out.
It had been fourteen more days of no Nathan. Fourteen days of letters in plain white envelopes.
I cherished his letters. I loathed his letters. And it was becoming more difficult thinking of things to write back to him while trying to maintain a healthy balance of optimism and realism. Plus, my life just wasn’t that exciting. Nothing interesting to report on. I could only share things about my homework or meal decisions for so long before I started to bore even myself.
My friends all had an arsenal of “things will work out” platitudes, and Taya and Nina sometimes sent me uplifting texts with pictures of funny cats, but mostly I ignored all talk about Nathan with them because I didn’t know what to say. And none of my friends seemed eager to discuss the possibility of Nathan being framed. Their silence on the matter said plenty. They were leaning toward Guilty as Charged.
So I hung out in my bedroom after school every day. Alone.
Surrounded by my four walls, I’d sit and imagine what it would be like to be locked up. But my mind couldn’t go there. I didn’t let it.
My thoughts of Nathan had a fine line between rational and irrational. Get too close to the irrational end of the spectrum and I’d end up with torn out hair, tears and snot. The physical pain of it was unbearable. So I chose not to go there. I thought of him every day, but only in small bursts. Only on a surface level.
The autumn weather had become cloudy and windy as October skated into November. I allowed it to envelope me. The Earth looked miserable. I joined her in that sisterhood.
As I drove myself to school, junk mail flyers and other small debris scattered across deadened lawns from no-lid garbage cans. Stray autumn leaves swirled their way around, decorating whatever structure managed to snag them for a time, until the next gust pushed them further on their journey.
My parents had left two days ago for a week-long trip to Eagle Butte. Before they’d left, my mom had loaded the cabinets with boxed meals, and the refrigerator with fruits and yogurt. But all I had in my stomach that morning was the dull throb of ongoing anxiety.
I parked next to Daniel in the parking lot, under my usual tree. Only now its branches were naked. Stark, broken lines against the grey backdrop of the sky. Like something from a horror movie, its branches were like fingers, waiting to grab and entrap me.
No one stared at me as I walked up to the school. This would have been normal in some far-off time and place where I was plain ol’ Lydia in a pre-Nathan world. Hell, it was downright ideal to not be the center of bad attention. But it was different. No one stared because no one cared.
No one cared about Nathan. They didn’t care because they didn’t think about him. He was the boy who didn’t exist.
No one whispered about him anymore. And no one whispered about vandalism anymore—because there wasn’t any. For two weeks, there hadn’t been any talk of spray paint or broken windows or guns.
The world’s most boring town was hibernating, while conveniently ignoring the boy sitting in jail. The town had flicked him away like a bothersome bug.
As my feet hit the steps in front of the school, a hand reached in front of me and opened the door.
“Mornin’,” Lance said.
“Hi.” I walked through the door without even thanking him.
My attitude managed to get through the next seven hours without skipping any classes. Once the final bell rang, I exited the school the same way I had entered: Head down, avoiding eye contact and conversation.
At home I fetched the mail, which included my daily plain white envelope. The house was empty and quiet. Exactly as I preferred after a long day of pretending to learn.
In my bedroom, I laid Nathan’s unopened letter on my desk and fell face first into my pillow. The world around me went black.
****
“Lydia,” a voice whispered.
The black haze started lifting.
“Lydia,” Nina said a little louder this time.
A hand nudged my arm. Twisting around on my bed, I squinted against the evening light in my bedroom. I stared at her and Taya as best I could through my slits. “What are you guys doing here?” I asked, my voice dry and crackly.
“You left the back door unlocked,” Nina said. “We’ve been texting you and ringing the doorbell. We wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
I yawned and stretched, then collapsed back into my bed.
“We were wondering if you wanted get something to eat,” Taya said. “Or maybe we could all go for a walk.”
“No,” I said into my pillow. “Imma stay here.”
Nina yanked my comforter off me.
“What’re you doing?” I groaned, trying to grab at it again.
She tossed it on the floor. “The sun finally came out—let’s go outside. You can’t just sit at home all the time. It’s not good for you.”
“Come on, Lydia” Taya said. “Please.”
I exhaled hard. “Fine.” I forced my body out of its warm, cozy bed haven and stomped past Nina and Taya, out the bedroom.
“Are you hungry?” Taya asked.
“No, let’s go for a walk.”
I forced my feet into a pair of gray sneakers and then walked outside into the cool, windy November air. Despite the prickly cool temps, the bright evening light was like a shot of vigor into my dreary bones.
“So,” Taya said with great uncertainty to her voice, “any more letters from you-know-who?”
“You can say his name, he’s not Voldemort. And yes, there was another letter today, but I didn’t read it yet.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “They all say the same thing, which is exactly nothing. Either he doesn’t know anything or he’s not telling me what he knows.”
“Maybe he’s trying to protect you from the truth,” Nina said.
“What truth?” I asked. “You actually think he shot up The Pit Stop?”
“No,” she immediately replied. “Probably not. But don’t you think it’s weird that he’s still sitting in jail. I mean, if there wasn’t any evidence against him, wouldn’t he be out?”
I forced a shrug, a nonchalant attitude. We walked the next three blocks to the city park without another word. It was clear that Nina and Taya had nothing helpful to offer other than their company. I appreciated their attempts of support, but the knot in my stomach tightened in the presence of other people’s doubts about Nathan. It made me feel even more alone than before.
The park was large considering the tiny size of the town and the sunny evening had brought out a smattering of people.
The three of us sat on a wooden bench near the colorful playground, watching kids navigate the stairs, slides, and swings. Their exuberant innocence tore at me like little claws of torture. Back and forth they ran, laughing and squealing, as though nothing was amiss in the world.
I longed for childhood ignorance.
“Wid-yah!” a small voice squeaked behind me.
My head whipped around to see Liliana and her silky black-brown hair bouncing up to me as fast as her chubby little legs would allow.
“Hi, Lil!” I said with my first real smile in days.
Behind Liliana walked Aunt Heather, looking exhausted already after only having chased her daughter twenty feet from the parking lot.
Liliana stepped in front of me, her upper lip reddened by whatever red juice had also dripped down the front of her pink shirt.
“Hi, Lydia,” Heather said, coming around from the back of the bench. “Hi Nina, Taya.”
We said hellos, and my body tightened in awkwardness as she sat next to me. I wanted to barrage her with questions over Nathan. But I wasn’t sure what proper social protocol was over digging for information on someone’s jailed nephew in public.
From her bag, Heather pulled a small bag of Skittles. Liliana’s eyes lit up. Upon receiving five skittles in her chubby little hand, she shoved them all in her mouth.
“More pease,” she gargled with rainbow drool hanging to the corners of her mouth.
“Chew and swallow those first, then you can have more,” Heather told her.
Her chubby jaw chomped up and down with serious determination. I stared at her long black-brown hair. She looked a lot like her mom with the exception of her dad’s almond-shaped brown eyes. Eyes similar to Nathan’s. I couldn’t help but stare at them.
Liliana finally swallowed her skittles, and Heather shook a few more into her little hand. A red one careened onto the concrete, and Liliana wasted no time plucking it off the ground and popping it into her mouth.
“Gross,” I remarked.
“She ate a fruit snack off the stable floor last week,” Heather said with a laugh. “She’ll be fine.”
Liliana chomped on and swallowed the remaining skittles. “My go on dah swide!” she announced and then grabbed my hand with her sticky fingers. “Come Wid-yah!”
I obliged and allowed her to lead me to a small blue slide on the opposite side of the playground. I helped her climb a small set of steps and then she pushed my hands away. “My do it!”
She sat at the top and then rushed down on her back, straight down the entire length of the blue slide. Her butt landed with a thump on the mulch six inches off the end of the slide. Laughing hysterically, she hopped to her feet and rushed back up the stairs. The butt of her pink leggings was covered in a brown-gray dust.
Over and over again she slid, as though the entire playground consisted only of that slide. Up the steps, down the slide. Up the steps, down the slide. I wondered how much sugar Skittles contained. But as her butt hit the mulch once again, she didn’t hop up. Her fingers dug into the mulch and squeezed. She didn’t move.
