Trailer Trash(64)

Cody glanced around, wondering if Shelley’s friends felt as unsatisfied as he did, but found no answers.

Still, he was glad Nate had made him come.

“Do you want to go to the graveside part now?” Nate asked as they made their way back to Nate’s new-to-him Toyota truck.

It was sunny out, but the wind was worse than normal, howling across the plain, bending Warren’s few trees, ripping at their jackets as they walked.

“No. It’ll just be more prayers.” And although he felt the cumbersome weight of unshed tears in his chest and his throat and behind his eyes, he knew standing there watching them lower Logan and Shelley into the ground would only make it worse. “Besides, I told them I’d be at work early.” They’d already told him they didn’t intend to replace Logan at the Tomahawk. Business had been waning since fall. They’d recently let two waitresses and one of the cooks go, and more and more of the work was being done by the Robertson family. Cody’d be able to pick up a few extra hours, but not nearly as many as he would have liked.

It wasn’t until he was climbing into the cab of Nate’s truck that it hit him—he’d seen everybody in the school grieve in one way or another.

Everybody, that was, except for Nate.

He debated his words as Nate started the engine, but he didn’t manage to speak until they were pulling out of the parking lot.

“You’re the only one who isn’t sad.”

Nate frowned. “I wouldn’t say that.”

His tone was guarded, and Cody waited, feeling like there had to be more coming. Several seconds passed in silence, and Cody finally prodded Nate by saying, “And? Is that it?”

“I feel guilty,” Nate confessed at last.

Cody hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

Nate hesitated, braking at a stop sign and spending a long time checking to make sure the coast was clear before moving again. Cody was pretty sure he was just biding his time, trying to decide what exactly to say. Finally, he sighed. “I think I almost hated him.”

Cody couldn’t even comprehend such a sentiment. “You hated Logan? Why? I thought everybody liked him.” Just the thought of somebody disliking Logan made him angry. “What’d he ever do to you?”

“Nothing. He didn’t do anything. It’s just . . .” A slow stain of red was beginning to creep up Nate’s neck. “I was jealous, that’s all.”

“Why? Because he was popular?”

“No.” Nate’s voice was tight but level. “Because of you.”

Cody blinked, stunned. “What? Why?”

“You guys— It just seemed like you were so close, you know?” His cheeks were now bright red. “It feels petty now that he’s dead. I almost feel like I made it happen by wishing he’d disappear.” He glanced hesitantly Cody’s way before turning back to the road. He must have seen the incomprehension on Cody’s face, because he rushed on, trying to explain. “I was jealous because he had the part of you that I wanted most.”

Cody sat back, even more confused than before. He couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around that last statement.

They were silent for the rest of the drive. Nate pulled into the Tomahawk’s lot and parked. He left the engine on, but sat staring at the keys hanging from the ignition. Cody could tell he was working up his courage for something, but after admitting his inexplicable envy of Logan, Cody couldn’t begin to imagine what could be coming next.

“Did you . . .” Nate took a deep breath, as if forcing himself to go on. “Did you love him?”

Cody shook his head, feeling as if he were a mile behind in their conversation. “What?”

“Did you love him?” The question seemed to come easier the second time.

Cody wasn’t sure exactly what Nate meant. There were lots of kinds of love, and it seemed ridiculous that Nate would be asking.

“We were friends.” It was the only thing he could think to say.

“Yeah, but you were more too, right?”

Cody blinked at him again. “What?” It felt like he’d asked that a hundred times in the short drive over.

“I saw you with him at the dance.”

“At the dance,” Cody admitted. “But not, like, with him at the dance.”

“I saw him kiss you.”

Cody’s head bumped the passenger window as he reeled backward. “What?”

“I saw him—”

“Are we even talking about the same guy?” He held his hand up, over his head. “Like, six foot two. Quarterback of the fucking football team? The guy who had half the girls in school trailing behind him, no matter where he went?”