She’d been in Tripp’s house before, but never without Tripp. It felt weird.
“Where’s Tripp?” she asked after Nate didn’t answer her.
“Work, until eight or something. I never know. That guy works a lot.”
“Well, there aren’t a lot of cops.” Bridget turned her phone over in her hand, her palms slick.
“There’s more crime than I thought.” Nate cleared his throat, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Drugs. Overdoses.”
“Yeah,” Bridget said.
“So what’d you want to show me?”
He’d pulled inside himself, his eyes flatter than she’d ever seen them. She used to think they could all live in those eyes, surviving on the sparkle. He’d given them all life. For whatever time you spent with Nate, you escaped the confines of Mt. Oanoke, the drugs and the mill, the woods and the Stop & Shop. Now he looked like everyone else, a flatness to him that twisted her insides.
“Nate,” Bridget said without knowing what she’d say next. He shook his head, don’t. She raised her phone and opened Periscope. Flicked her fingers across the screen, finding Andrew’s profile and Temp’s party; it was still there, what an idiot.
She pressed play and moved the slider to twenty-seven minutes, the last three minutes of the party. She heard the heyyyyy baby, wake up. She swallowed, her tongue dry, tasting like acid, and passed the phone to Nate.
He took it and watched it, expressionless. When it was done—she said yes, dog, and that deep, echoing laughter—she imagined Andrew’s hand on Lucia’s breast, the way he’d cupped Taylor’s breast in the car, his big, knuckled hand knobbed and rippled underneath the stretched knit of pink, and swallowed the sick to the back of her mouth.
Something itched in the back of Bridget’s brain.
Nate winced, but not enough. He handed it back without saying a word.
“Well?” Bridget asked him finally.
He shrugged, shoved his hand back into his jeans pocket. “Well what?”
“This changes everything, Nate. Something bad is going on at school. Has been. Something that has nothing to do with you. You’re being set up for something.”
He laughed then, a hollow, scary sound, deep from somewhere inside. “I know that. I’m the only one who believes it.”
“Not anymore. I believe it. So does Tripp, maybe. Hard to tell. He can’t say much.”
Nate laughed again, and Bridget wanted to slap his cheek. She imagined it, the red welt on the side of his face, his eyes open wide in shock.
“Stop laughing, nothing about this is funny.”
“Bridget, godddamn it, I get that.” He rubbed his jaw and moved past her to the fridge. Popped a beer on the edge of the counter, too comfortable. Too easily. “Alecia texted me last night. Drunk, maybe. Does she miss me?”
He turned away then, his voice breaking. He’d gained weight, maybe ten pounds even in the last three weeks. His back was a soft dough with newly formed love handles.
“I think so,” Bridget lied. She opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, and handed it to Nate to open it. She took a long gulp and the fizz felt cold and bubbly in her throat. Nate watched her.
“You and Tripp, what’s up with that?” He leaned, casual, against the counter, his eyes moving around the kitchen.
“Nothing.” She swallowed and repeated, “Nothing.”
“He’s always had a thing for you. He’s not a wildcat anymore. I was surprised by that. Remember all his women? He always had women.” Nate tipped his head, took a long gulp. “God I was jealous of that guy. I’ve never even dreamed of that much action.”
“He was jealous of you,” Bridget blurted. “With Alecia.”
“Yeah. Alecia.” He let out a bitter ha and flicked the empty beer bottle into the recycling can. The glass broke.
He drank it too fast.
“She was so fun, remember? She loved our game nights. They were great.” He reached for the refrigerator and Bridget put her hand on his arm. His skin burned hot under her palm. “Anyway, he tell you that? That he was jealous?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s a pretty cozy conversation. You should really think about it with him. I mean it—”
“Nate, listen to me. I want to help you, but you can’t spend your whole days at the gym and your nights getting wasted.”
“I don’t go to the gym, Bridget, look at me.” His palm slapped his belly, firm but bigger. His cheeks puffed out.
“Where do you go?” Bridget asked.
“Anywhere, sometimes nowhere at all. But mostly, anywhere. The woods. The lookout over the river. Sometimes the mill.” He swept his arm wide, knocking over a jarred vanilla musk candle.
“What are you doing?” Bridget righted the candle. “When you go there, what do you do?”
“What does anyone do? I think. I worry. Sometimes I bring a book.”
Nate never read a book in his life, she was pretty sure. War books, maybe. Not a novel.
“You read a book.” Bridget repeated it, slowly and dumbly. It seemed like a lie. “Nate, what about the video? Help me help you. I want to figure this out. Did you do something to Lucia?”
“Do something?” He cocked his head to the side, his mouth twisting. “Like fuck her?”
“Like kill her.” Bridget gnashed her teeth. “She’s missing, Nate. People think you did something to her. Did you?”
“Do you think that, Bridge?” He came closer and his eyes went dead. Flat again.
She stepped back. “No. But you are so different now. I want to help you. I want to reach you.”
“You’re the only one, then.” He turned around and walked to the back door, his hands on his hips, watching the small, fenced-in backyard. Then, “Wanna hear something crazy? Jimmy’s back.”
“Jimmy who?” Bridget shook her head, her mind racing through the options and not being able to pick out a Jimmy.
“Lucia’s father. He left a few months ago. God, I heard he’s awful. Spent the day in the drunk tank. I knew him, years ago, when he worked at the mill. He was a bit crazy, but a good guy, I guess. Now . . . this town has changed a lot.”
“Do you think he has something to do with Lucia being missing?” Bridget asked, incredulous.
“Maybe? What the hell do I know?” He lifted up a curtain and pushed it off to the side, craning to get a better look at something in the yard. He tapped his skull. “Guy’s not exactly right here.” He took a deep breath and then said, “I saw him, you know. In the woods. Why, do you think?”
“Did you tell anyone?” Bridget asked.
“No. Who would believe me? I barely believe me. Besides, Harper would just say why were you in the woods?”
“Are you sure it was him? We should go to Harper. If you’re sure.” She eyed him like she didn’t quite believe him, either.
Nate shrugged. “Listen. It’s a huge forest. Thousands of square miles. It’s not a crime to be in there, for anyone. I go to the police and I look like I’m desperate and guilty as hell, right?”
Bridget shrugged. She honestly didn’t know. “Okay, Nate, but that video.” Bridget took a deep breath, her lungs puffing out her chest. “I think they raped her.”