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“Sure.”
I followed him into the trailer and sipped my drink while the shower kicked on and started to squeal. The water pressure was all over the place and it made a high-pitched sound half the time. The longer I thought about everything that had happened to me in Jesus jail—in a fucking conversion camp—the more I wanted an explanation from the people who’d done it to me. My foot tapped. I knew it was stupid, but I wanted to go over and demand answers from Mom. I gave myself a hug and hurried to the bathroom door.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah,” he called out immediately. “You good?”
Not really.“How did you know where to find me?”
He didn’t say anything.
I had to wonder about a few things. Dad was missing, and we were worried the cops might come to question Ethan because they’d already been here once. “Ethan.” I pressed my forehead to the bathroom door, then cracked it open.
“Huh?” he said, but his voice was tight. Steamy air blasted me in the face and the scent of a masculine soap tickled my nose.
“Did you talk to my parents?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Are the police right?”
Silence.
My gut churned. I hated Dad for what he’d done to me, but did I want something bad to happen to him? He’d been ready to hurt Chet. Hell, maybe he’d sent people to that camp in the past, and who knew how messed up they were now as a result? Were they even alive?
“Would you really want to know?” Ethan asked, and the showerhead made another terrible squealing sound. He cursed and smacked the wall and the noise stopped.
My mind froze. I hadn’t cared that he’d beaten Gerard to death. Not at all. I knew Gerard had tortured people. In his own way, Dad had done the same thing.
Ethan’s answerwasan answer, even though he hadn’t said anything at all.
Anger ripped through me, and I pushed open the door. I shoved aside the cheap plastic shower curtain, and he turned with his fists up, then lowered them and grabbed my arms. I stared at him, and he looked right back. His lip curled a little when I shoved him.
“I have to know what was in his head about all this shit,” I said, pulling away from his grasp. “How can I know now?”
Confusion passed across his face, but I closed the shower curtain on him because I couldn’t explain why getting an answer mattered. I wouldn’t have liked anything I heard from Dad, but I wanted a reason. He’d given me a sermon before he’d sent me away. I wanted to hear real words from him, what he’d truly thought in his heart about me. I grabbed Ethan’s brown leather jacket and stomped across the lawn toward Cider Mill Creek, then hopped the stone fence and jumped across the rocks as if I’d been doing it my entire life.
I hadn’t.
I wouldn’t have dreamed to disobey my parents before they sent me away to hell, all because I’d disappointed them with who I wanted to love. It was surreal walking up the front path to my house. I turned the knob and the door opened, the same way it had my entire life. I’d never had a key to my house because my father had always said it wasn’t mine, it was his castle, and there was no reason for me to have one.
Inside the front door I stopped and stared around, but then I heard the water turn on in the kitchen, and a rage I hadn’t known I could feel crackled alive inside me. I walked in that direction with my hands clenched into fists and stopped when Mom came into view. She was wearing a pink dress, which wasn’t unusual. The flats on her feet matched the material in the same modest shade. If Dad were here, he would compliment her on how feminine she was, as if that was something great. She had her hair up like she might be going out soon, and she was humming. She didn’t appear to be a grieving woman at all.
Did Ethan kill Dad? Where is he?“Mom?”
She jumped and whirled around, slapping the water faucet so that the water stopped running. Her hand flew to her heart.
“Jonas! What are you doing here?” Her hand crept to her neck and she curled her fingers around her cross necklace. Her bottom lip trembled. “Daddy went to check on you in Mexico. I figured that had to be it, you know. That’s all. He’ll be back. I told the congregation he was checking on you.” She laughed, and the frantic tone made me sick to my stomach.
“Check on me in Mexico. What was I doing in Mexico?” I asked her.
She knew. She had to know, but she just waved a hand. “Missionary work, of course. Helping rebuild houses that collapsed in an earthquake.”
I stared at her and couldn’t tell if she knew the truth or not, and the longer I stood there, the more defiant her expression became.
“So—” She forced a trembling smile. “—where’s Daddy?”
“Dad didn’t come to Mexico. I left the conversion camp he sent me to and I’m still gay.” I smiled at her and stalked closer, feeling a terrible sensation rise up inside me. The tips of my boots touched her shoes, and I glared directly into her eyes. “Did you know?”
