Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 90

When we got back home, Coach Bentley was the living room with his laptop. Jordan must have either sensed my need to talk to his dad or he was still avoiding serious conversation after last night, because he headed right for the stairs after seeing me take a seat in the recliner across from the couch.

            "Today I told Coach Cordes that I wanted to compete at Nationals," I said before he even glanced up from his laptop. When he did look up at me, I furiously rubbed at my mouth. Could he tell I'd been making out with his son? Was there physical evidence of it?

            "He mentioned that to me," Bentley said, giving me no indication of his feelings on the subject.

            "I should have asked you first, though. I shouldn't assume that I can stay—"

            Bentley raised a hand to stop me and shook his head. "Of course you can stay, and I think you made the right choice. Let's see how things go in Chicago, and then we'll decide if we need to make plans beyond August. Until then, you're still eligible to compete at UCLA next season. I reminded Coach Cordes of this today. The rules are very clear."

            I exhaled. "Okay."

            There. A very big-girl move on my part, and it hadn't been as difficult as I'd built it up in my head all these months. Maybe because I'd imagined convincing my mom and dad of this and not my coach, whose job it was to train elite gymnasts.

            I stood up and hesitated before walking upstairs. Bentley lifted an eyebrow and said, "Anything else on your mind?"

            Yes, my routines, your picky hard-ass coaching. But Jordan had said to give it more time. I forced a smile. "Nope, that's it."

***

After two hours of attempting to fall back to sleep after another horrible car-jumping nightmare, I decided to go downstairs and get a snack or watch TV.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one with this idea. Tony was sprawled out on the couch watching The Simpsons in his boxers and a T-shirt. It was a tribute to the months I'd now spent inside a man-house that I didn't blush or giggle at the sight of Tony's boxers. Instead, I grabbed a container of fruit and a jar of peanut butter from the kitchen before sitting down on the far end of the couch.

"Which episode is this?" I asked.

He glanced at me and smiled like he hadn't seen me come down the stairs. "The one where Homer gambles all the Christmas money away and brings Santa's Little Helper home from the racetrack." He sat up and leaned closer to look at my snack. "You're putting peanut butter on cantaloupe?"

"Don't knock it until you try it."

He sighed and grabbed a piece of melon, sticking it in the peanut butter, wrinkling his nose before tossing it into his mouth. "That's terrible!"

"Maybe it's different for me." I shrugged. "I can put peanut butter on almost everything."

Tony picked at the fruit in the container, pulling out a red grape and popping it in his mouth without peanut butter. "What's your excuse for being up at two in the morning? Or is this when you and Jordy usually—"

I tossed another grape at him, hitting him in the cheek. "That is none of your business, but no, that's not why I'm up."

I pulled my knees to my chest and curled up in the corner of the couch. Maybe telling Tony would help me, maybe it would help him tell me his secret. Not that I wanted to have an awkward conversation about his sexuality, but if it helped him to practice telling people...

"I have nightmares," I said finally. "I think it's because I don't know what happened that night with my parents."

"What do you need to know?" Tony asked. "Besides the obvious, I don't see how it could help to have details."

"You know how sometimes when someone says, 'I need to talk to you privately,' and then you can't talk for like an hour and for that whole hour, ideas are building in your head and all of your theories end up so much worse than the real thing?"

Tony just stared at me for a long time, then nodded slowly. "Okay, I see what you mean."

"In my head, there're body parts everywhere and it's like this bloody gruesome horror movie."

"You were at the funeral, right?" he asked. "Didn't you see them in the casket?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, hating every mental picture that went along with my answer. Hating those stupid urns resting on the mantel in my dusty, lonely house. "They were cremated."

Tony scooted closer, eyeing me carefully. "And you really, truly believe that getting the details would fix the nightmares?"

"It's not just the nightmares." I told him about my experience on the beam in Houston and the little girl I screamed at the other day and all the near-panic attacks.

"Don't think I haven't figured out why you're spilling all this to me." He exhaled heavily, shaking his head.

I wasn't sure if he was onto the fact that I knew his secret or...

"You want my help again," he stated.

Okay, not the being gay thing.

"There must be a police file or something, right?"

"I'm sure there's a file, but I'm just not sure I can get my hands on it," he said. Then I watched him cover his face and groan into his hands. "Now I'm gonna have to try, because if you fall and break your neck on the beam it'll be on my shoulders."

I held my breath, trying not to get my hopes up or act too excited. "That would be so helpful."

"One condition." He waved a hand to get me to stop blabbering. "Stay here and watch TV with me."

"Deal."

I turned on my side and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch over me. I couldn't believe that I might actually be able to fill in those missing puzzle pieces. Tony had come through for me once already, maybe he'd do it again.

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