Straightened

by Alana Terry

  “Why don’t you think Noah told the detective about that club?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t he say anything?”

  Nick frowned. “It could be he’s too embarrassed to admit he was at a gay bar, no matter what the reason.”

  “But still, if it was that or get accused of killing your dad ...”

  A shrug. “Maybe he was scared of getting in trouble for that fight.”

  “Same thing,” Kennedy replied. “If the only other option is to go to jail for murder ...”

  Nick sighed. “I suppose the other possibility is Noah wasn’t telling us the truth. He may not have been at the Lucky Star at all.”

  “But why would he make that up? Why would he tell a story like that unless he ...” Kennedy stopped herself.

  Nick held her gaze. “You know it’s possible that Noah’s guilty, don’t you?”

  No. She couldn’t believe it. And how could Nick? Wasn’t he supposed to be Noah’s advocate? Wasn’t he supposed to stand by him during hard times? Isn’t that what being a youth pastor was all about?

  “Trust me, I don’t like that idea any more than you do, but we still have to consider ...” His voice trailed off.

  He could consider all he wanted. Kennedy wouldn’t. She knew Noah was innocent. He couldn’t even stomach beating someone up in a clear-cut case of self-defense. There was no way he would have killed his dad. It was impossible.

  Unthinkable.

  Nick checked the time on his phone. “Wow, it’s already six. Maybe we should head downstairs.”

  Six in the morning? It felt like ten at night.

  “Come on. You must be exhausted. Let’s find you something to eat, and then we can crash for a few hours.” Nick placed his hand on the small of Kennedy’s back as they headed to the elevator. She did her best to ignore his touch. She didn’t want his sympathy right now. She didn’t want his food or his hospitality, either.

  The only thing she wanted was the chance to prove Noah’s innocence.

  CHAPTER 23

  The Lindgrens were still sleeping when Nick and Kennedy entered his apartment. She headed straight for the couch. What a night.

  Or morning.

  Whatever.

  She stretched out, feeling the exhaustion seep out of the pores of her legs. She shut her eyes, realizing for the first time what a tension headache she had developed.

  Noah was innocent. She knew that as clearly as she knew the periodic table. He couldn’t have killed his dad. He was out all night. She’d heard him say so herself. Sure, it’d be embarrassing to admit he’d been at a gay bar, and not everyone would swallow his side of the story. But wasn’t that still better than having people think he’d murdered his own dad?

  She kept replaying Detective Drisklay’s recitation from earlier that day. Or night. Whichever it was. He made it out as if Noah were a petulant toddler, ready to lash out at his dad for not agreeing with him. Parents and children disagreed all the time. Kennedy couldn’t begin to guess how many fights she and her dad had gotten in while she still was in high school. Fights over how short her skirts could be, fights about how much makeup was too much, fights about the so-called losers he didn’t want hanging around his home or his daughter. That still didn’t mean she would ever dream of murder.

  Noah was a well brought-up, put-together boy. He had pleasant manners, a kind disposition. His biggest fault was probably that he was so broody, but that could be explained by the frustration of being attracted to guys in a home as staunch and strict as the Abernathys’.

  And where had that attraction come from, exactly? She’d been led to believe that people who were gay chose that lifestyle. What did that mean for people like Noah, people who hated being attracted to the same gender, people who’d been told their whole lives those attractions were wicked and evil? Should Noah feel guilty for liking other guys, or was it nothing more than a temptation, the same kind of temptation Kennedy faced when her roommate ogled the pictures in her calendar full of shirtless firemen with their hard jawlines and chiseled abs?

  If there was one thing she remembered from sitting in Sandy’s Sunday school class as a little girl, it was that temptations themselves weren’t a sin. How did that translate in the case of someone like Noah? And how could Christians hope to settle down enough to agree on anything in the homosexuality debate until they discovered unequivocally the core reasons people ended up having same-sex attractions in the first place? Was it genetic? Hormonal? The byproduct of upbringing? Sign of abuse?

  She thought about Nick’s sister Lessa. He’d never finished the story. Kennedy tried to guess what happened to her. If her mom hadn’t thrown herself into that “housewife theology,” as Nick called it, would Lessa have run away from home? Would she have grown to be completely comfortable as a heterosexual, completely comfortable with herself as a woman?

  And what did it mean to be perfectly comfortable as a woman, anyway? Kennedy’s dad talked to her all the time about modesty, warned her not to cause anyone to stumble by dressing too provocatively. Sometimes when she was walking around campus, she’d catch another student staring at her and feel immediately guilty. If she didn’t spend so much time on her hair, if she didn’t worry so much about her clothes, would people stop looking at her like that?

  Was it her fault if she wanted to look good? Was that something she was supposed to be ashamed of? It’s not like she could crawl out of her own body, not like she could stop being a woman. If people turned their heads or entertained impure thoughts, wasn’t that their problem, not hers? She couldn’t stop being a female, so why should she feel ashamed of that?

  Kennedy was a virgin, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious. It didn’t mean she didn’t struggle with desires. There were times when she wished she could free herself from all that sexual baggage. Stop thinking about sex, stop worrying about sex, and just go on with her life without the constant fear of getting date raped or harassed. Without worrying about whether or not she was dressed too immodestly or if she was causing anyone to stumble. Without worrying about who she’d marry and what it would feel like to be with him on their wedding night. If she could turn herself into an asexual being, there was the very real chance that she and Reuben could be lab partners again their sophomore year instead of him hiding down in Kenya to protect her from falling in love with someone who would one day die of AIDS.

  Her whole body was heavy. Why did her mind keep racing? Why couldn’t she slow her thoughts down? They crashed and tumbled together: images of Drisklay cuffing Noah and dragging him to the exit, of Vivian claiming responsibility for her husband’s murder, of Jodie crying softly into Nick’s chest at her grandma’s home. Had all that really happened in a single night?

  She needed to take a deep breath. Slow down those chaotic thoughts. Ignore those flashing mental images.

  She couldn’t do anything to help Noah right now. All she could do was pray.

  Pray ...

  Dear Father, Kennedy began, but she fell asleep before she could say another word.

  CHAPTER 24

  “It’s burnt.”

  Kennedy woke up to the grating sound of a high-pitched whine.

  Pots crashed and clanged against one another in Nick’s kitchen. “Woong, I told you, Miss Kennedy and Mr. Nick are trying to get some sleep. They had a long night ...”

  “Yucky!”

  Kennedy opened her eyes in time to see a dark brown pancake flying through the dining room and landing beside Nick’s trash can. She heard Sandy muttering under her breath but couldn’t make out what she said.

  She sat up on Nick’s couch and stifled a groan. Every muscle in her body was stiff. She could only guess what time it was. Had she slept another day away? Sandy was cooking breakfast, so it couldn’t be too late, could it?

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” Sandy called from the kitchen. “Sorry about the noise. We were trying to be quiet.”

  “Yucky!” Woong screeched.

  Sandy’s hair was falling out of her French bra
id in small, frizzy strands that made the gray stand out so much more than the brown. “I already told you. Mr. Nick didn’t have the same ingredients we use at home. They’re different pancakes. Different.” She spoke the last word slowly and deliberately.

  “It’s burnt.” Woong pouted.

  Sandy sighed and pointed to the stove with a spatula. “Would you like a pancake or two, hon?”

  Kennedy wasn’t sure why she didn’t feel hungrier. Something from the kitchen didn’t smell quite right.

  “I’m sorry.” Sandy leaned over the stove to flip her pancakes over. “All I could find was flour and salt. It’s, well, it’s not how I’m used to ...”

  “Yucky!” Woong screamed.

  Sandy sighed and took a small bite from the pancake. “I know, son. Maybe when Dad wakes up we’ll go out to Rusty’s, or ...”

  “I’m already awake.” Carl sat up with a loud succession of groans. “I’m awake,” he repeated, as if he needed to convince himself. He turned to Kennedy. “How’d last night go? Did you and Nick get much sleep?”

  Kennedy tried to remember the chronology of last night’s events, starting at the time the Lindgrens went to bed.

  “Carl, darling, she just woke up.” Sandy stepped into the living room to give her husband a kiss on his cheek. “And Woong’s starving. We better find someplace we can eat, and then Kennedy can tell us about her night. It was two by the time we got here. I’m sure not much more could have happened between now and then.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Kennedy glanced down the hall, where a few straggling dreadlocks were all that could be seen sticking out from a camouflage sleeping bag.

  Sandy was rubbing Carl’s back. “Well, let’s let Nick get some more sleep. We can find some place around here that serves breakfast, and you can tell us all about it.”

  Kennedy sipped her hot cocoa at Rusty’s Diner and hoped she’d gotten all her facts straight. She’d started the story as soon as the waitress took their order, and their food arrived when she got to the part about Drisklay arresting Noah.

  “So Vivian’s not the suspect?” Sandy asked and tucked a napkin on Woong’s lap.

  “No. She never was, really. I think she was afraid they’d go after Noah, so she turned herself in.”

  Sandy stripped the paper off a straw and slipped it into Woong’s orange juice. “So what made them decide it was really Noah?”

  “I don’t know.” Kennedy strained, trying to read Carl’s and Sandy’s faces. Did they think he was guilty?

  Carl dipped his biscuit into the gravy. “Drisklay doesn’t have to tell everything he found in his investigation.”

  “I know that,” Sandy said. “I just thought maybe he gave some sort of clue ...”

  “I really don’t know what made him come after Noah.” Kennedy’s mind was still spinning. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Hate can make people do some unthinkable things,” Sandy mused.

  Carl frowned. “Nobody’s saying Noah really did it.”

  “I know that. I’m just thinking ...” Sandy shook her head. “Poor Vivian. First her husband gone. Now her son ...” She clucked her tongue.

  “Now, what about that guy who was stabbed? What did you say his name was?”

  When he wasn’t looking, Woong tore off a big chunk of Carl’s biscuit and shoved it in his mouth.

  “Marcos Esperanza,” Kennedy answered.

  “Why does that name sound so familiar?” he asked.

  “He’s some kind of counselor,” Kennedy answered. “Works with teens who are struggling with homosexuality, or something like that.” She remembered how angry Nick got learning about Marcos’s work and wondered if Carl held different opinions.

  Sandy smothered strawberry jam on a piece of her toast and set it on Woong’s plate. “Who does Drisklay think stabbed him?”

  Carl didn’t give Kennedy the chance to respond. “He’s a detective, babe. He’s not gonna share all his research and fact-finding with a college girl. No offense,” he added with a nod toward Kennedy.

  “I know that.” Sandy pouted and stopped Woong from stuffing the jam packets into his pockets. “I just wondered if maybe he said something ...”

  “No. Nothing.” Kennedy wasn’t the only one looking for answers.

  “Marcos Esperanza,” Carl repeated. “I’m sure I know that name.” He pulled out his phone. “I think I’m supposed to be able to get internet on this new thing. Can I do that even if I’m not at home?”

  Kennedy reached out her hand and took his cell. “What are you trying to look up?”

  “That Marcos guy. I need to remember why he sounds so familiar.”

  Woong knocked over a water glass, and Sandy reached for a pile of napkins to wipe up the mess. “It seems to me like that counselor is the key to everything. Once the doctors wake him up, he can tell Detective Drisklay who attacked him, and that should take them to the real murderer. Sounds simple enough, don’t you think?”

  Kennedy’s gut twisted and her heart dropped in her chest when she clicked on the Channel 2 link that her Google search brought up. She shook her head.

  “It’s not going to be that easy.” She handed Carl back his phone. “Marcos died from his stab wounds sometime during the night.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Nobody talked about Marcos or any of the Abernathys as they piled into Carl’s maroon Honda. While Woong let out an occasional protest to tell his parents he was hungry, Carl and Sandy debated where they should go. The fire marshal hadn’t cleared their home yet, and the arson investigation was still ongoing. Nick’s place had worked on short notice, but Kennedy was glad that nobody was seriously talking about staying there long-term.

  “I say we splurge and get a hotel room,” Carl was saying. “I’ll be at my office, but you and Woong can spend your days in the pool. I think he’d like swimming, don’t you?”

  “I’d have to buy him trunks,” Sandy mused. “And we still haven’t finished our back-to-school shopping. Did you know that checklist we got from the school has over thirty items on it? I swear, Target and Walmart must be giving the school district a share in the profits or something. I don’t remember ever having to spend so much the last time we sent our kids off to school.”

  “The last time we sent our kids off to school, Reagan was running for president.”

  Sandy shook her head. “Well, the budget’s tight. That’s all I’m saying. Have you talked with the insurance agent yet about the fire?”

  “No. I’ve only been awake for an hour, babe.”

  Sandy sighed. “Well, we need to figure that out. We have enough for groceries for the rest of the month, but Woong’s supplies plus the clothes he’ll need is gonna be another couple hundred. I just don’t see how we’ll pay for a hotel without dipping into our emergency fund.”

  “That’s why they call it an emergency fund,” Carl muttered.

  Kennedy leaned her head against the neck rest. She hated sitting in the back seat of cars. She felt like an eight-year-old making the five-hour drive upstate to visit her grandma.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Woong’s parents ignored him.

  “Well, I say we book a hotel for the night. That gives you and Woong a place to stay. And you’ve got Kennedy, too. Dorms don’t open until Friday, right?”

  “Yeah.” Kennedy hated to think of Carl and Sandy going out of their way to accommodate her at a time like this. Maybe she’d call her dad and see if he could help deflect some of the costs of a hotel.

  Sandy pulled a hard candy out of her purse and passed it back to Woong. “The other option is we could look for rentals. It’s got to be cheaper than a hotel.”

  Carl turned on his talk radio show. “I think that’s a little drastic right now. Nobody’s condemned the house yet. Might just need to patch up Woong’s room.”

  “And in the meantime, we need a place to sleep.” Sandy turned the volume down to low.

  Nobody spoke. Kennedy had seen Carl and Sandy disagree
plenty of times before, but this felt different for some reason. She hated to think that her staying with the Lindgrens was causing them so much stress. Maybe she could email the dean of students, see if she could move into her dorm a couple days early.

  The radio host mentioned Wayne Abernathy, and Carl scarcely beat Sandy to shut it off.

  “What about some kind of motel?” Sandy crossed her arms and stared out her window. “They’re furnished, aren’t they? More like a home than a hotel room. Don’t a lot of them rent by the week?”

  “It’s a good idea, but we still have to see what the insurance adjuster says. I haven’t gone over that policy in a decade. I don’t know what it covers and what it doesn’t.”

  “Even if insurance doesn’t cover it right away, it will give us something of a home for the time being. They have kitchens, so we can do our own cooking. Save money on food.”

  “Yeah.” Carl sighed. “I’ll look into it. What about for now? I’ve got work to do at the church. Do you all want to tag along with me, or do you want me to drop you off at Nick’s place?”

  “We’ll drop you off at the office and take the car to do our shopping. Kennedy, you’re welcome to ride along if you’re not too tired. Do you need to new school supplies, too?”

  Kennedy smiled at the thought of Sandy buying her packets of erasers and black and white composition books for her college classes. “It’s all right. I can get all that stuff at the campus bookstore.”

  “Yeah, but it’s so expensive there, isn’t it?” Sandy turned around in her seat.

  “I guess so.” Eventually she’d need to find a place to take a nap, but she’d had a cup of coffee at Rusty’s and didn’t expect to sleep anytime soon. And actually, Sandy was right. It would be cheaper to buy her school things off campus somewhere. She had her dad’s debit card in her ...