What Lies Beneath

Nine

As soon as he said that, Mr. Jefferson's face plagued my thoughts.

I nodded. "There's a diner on the North end of town. It's called Grandpa Jefferson's."

"The North end?" Christian's eyebrows furrowed. "What were you doing over there?"

"I was just doing some research for class earlier this week. At the library. Mom gave me permission to go." Sooner or later that lie was going to grow old, and someone would catch on. But the way it rolled off my tongue so smoothly, made me forget for a moment—just for a moment—that a lie to save my butt was all it was.

"Oh." His voice faded as though he didn't believe a word I said. I couldn't blame him if that was the case. I've lied to him before. After a while, it became second nature to me. "Speaking of your mom, please don't give her a hard time. She cares about you too much."

"Where is this coming from?" I murmured, twisting the strap of my seatbelt.

Christian sighed, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "I'm just speaking in general, Tyler. There's a lot going on in the world right now. You could lose her at any moment," he paused, adjusting his words, "or she could lose you at any moment. . . I could only imagine what that girl's mother is going through, having lost her only child. . ."

My head dipped to the side as I took him in. His bottom lip was wobbling the slightest bit. He inhaled a soft breath, then exhaled through his nose, seemingly distraught. I didn't have the first idea what he was babbling about. But he seemed to have taken whatever it was personally. Even I recognized that was out of character for him. Then, what he said finally clicked.

"Christian. . ." I squeezed my seatbelt strap. "Are you talking about Emerald Lynn?"

He didn't say anything at first. Instead, he rolled his shoulders back, and kept his eyes on the road. While he appeared to be unbothered by his slip of the tongue, I noticed his knuckles were turning white. He stayed like that for what felt like minutes before he sent me a nod.

"Her mother was located?" My voice raised a pitch. Christian nodded again.

If I hadn't bit down on my tongue, I would have bombarded him with loads of questions that I had no business asking. Like who was she? She hadn't been in the media at any point during Emerald's case. Not even a feature in a news segment about the investigation. Weren't parents usually involved in the case? I guess not always publicly. It probably varied from case to case.

Christian cleared his throat, changing the subject. "Anyways, tell me more about this diner because I'm starving." I didn't argue. Nor did I try to change the discussion back. Even though I desperately wanted to.

* * *

The bell above me chimed in the same way it had when I first entered Mr. Jefferson's establishment. I could hear Christian mutter a wow behind me as he took in the colorful designs around us. This time, there were more employees scattered around the diner other than Mr. Jefferson, himself. Mostly waiters and waitresses. Still employees, nonetheless.

"Good afternoon. How can I—oh." Mr. Jefferson approached us on the other side of the counter. "Welcome back, son. And company." He nodded to Christian who raised an eyebrow at me in return. All I did was shrug before gesturing towards the stools at the counter.

"What can I get you two young men started with?" Mr. Jefferson pulled out a small notepad from the breast pocket of his uniform, readying the pen from behind his ear to the paper.

"Oh, uh, I'll take a Sprite. Thank you. Tyler?" Christian looked at me.

"Just an orange juice, please." I shrugged.