“About what?”
“He told me that he'd told his parents about me, but I found out that he hadn't,” I said. Not a total fabrication. I had found that out as well, just days later. “So I was angry. We broke up.”
“You did?” the detective said, raising his eyebrows.
'Yes. But then we got back together,“ I said. 'You know how it is.”
I giggled. The detective rubbed his temples and blew out a sigh. I sounded flighty. Flighty and stupid and nervous.
“When did you get back together?” the detective asked finally, making a note on his paper.
“Friday morning,” I said definitively.
Confidence, Reed. This wasn't so bad. I could answer their questions. I had nothing to hide.
“Friday morning?”
They seemed very intrigued by this fact.
'Yes."
“So the morning of the day that Thomas disappeared,” the detective said.
I cleared my throat. Why did I clear my throat? “Sorry,” I said, coughing. “Yes.”
“When did you last see Mr. Pearson?” the detective asked.
“Then. I mean, that morning. In my--”
No. Can't say that. Can't have boys in the dorm room, stupid. Say that and you get thrown out of school before you can say, “Natasha Crenshaw.” Ms. Naylor's eyes gouged caverns in the back of my skull.
“That is, behind my dorm. Bradwell,” I told them. "Before
98
breakfast. But I don't live there anymore. In Bradwell, I mean. I live in Billings now. In case you need to know for your... whatever."
Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!
“And you didn't see him for the rest of the day,” they said.
I cleared my throat again. Apparently I was becoming my grandfather. “No. I tried to call him a few times, but I kept getting his voice mail.”
“Miss Brennan, has Thomas Pearson contacted you in any way since you last saw him?” the detective asked.
Well. There it was. He'd finally gotten to it.
“Miss Brennan? Has Thomas Pearson contacted you?”
Yes, he has.
No, he hasn't.
Yes. He has.
“No,” I replied.
“You haven't heard from him at all.”