The Keys to Jericho

by Ren Alexander

  “Hey, Jericho! Mr. Beckett! Long time no see!” Speak of the Devil’s never-aging assistant. I turn to see him jogging to us from the side of the house.

  “Not long enough,” I gripe.

  My dad gives me a sharp look before heading up the walkway. “Good morning, Dashiell.” He squeezes Dash’s upper arm as they pass each other.

  As I go to follow, Dash grabs my arm. “Hey. Will you please tell me what happened last night? We need to talk.”

  Moving my arm from his grasp, I sneer, “No, your onset of puberty is what’s long overdue.”

  His smile disappears and his forehead wrinkles. “Fuck, Jared. I’m not kidding,” he snaps, taking me aback somewhat. What the hell?

  “Drop it,” I warn, obliging him to momentarily glance away from me. I go to start walking, but he again grabs my arm.

  More determined, he says, “No way. There’s so much shit you’re not telling me.”

  I growl, “I’ve told you everything. Now let go of my arm before I break all your fingers in half.” He lets go of me and I make my way to the build, knowing without a doubt, he’ll follow me.

  “Stop fucking walking away!” I nearly stop, again surprised by Dash’s entire demeanor about my situation, but I keep walking, which pisses him off. “There you go! When life gets too hard for Jared Beckett or he’s faced with something painful, he ditches.” I refute that. I’ve dealt with my problems, but they’re never resolved—coming back to me like a boomerang, as is proven with Kat’s return. So really, what’s the point anymore? Ignoring them has become second nature to me.

  Dash affixes, “Deal with this! Let me finally be able to help you!”

  That strikes a nerve with me. I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m not a victim and I’m not as crazy as people think.

  I stop and turn around, glaring at him. “And what the fuck, pray tell, can you do? Get me a coupon for a private lap dance? No, thanks.”

  He self-righteously smiles through my hard stare, his blue eyes sparkling with unspoken threats of trouble. “I had dinner with Kat last night. I learned a lot.”

  I anxiously endeavor to not show Dash that what he said rankles me. He’ll only run with it.

  Executing a well-timed smile, I make an effort to joke, “Great, because you really need to learn to stop wearing a diaper.”

  Dash crosses his arms and heavily sighs, sadly shaking his head. “Deflection: another great feature of Jared Beckett.”

  Putting a hand on my hip and scrubbing the other under my hat, into my hair, I glance around for obvious witnesses, contemplating if I should kill him here, or bait him and do it somewhere else.

  Deciding to deal with him later, I impart, “Fuck off,” as I turn to leave.

  “We talked about you.”

  With my back to him, I swallow hard, but pledge that if I can’t hold down my breakfast, I’ll be giving it to Dash’s shirt as a parting gift.

  He tauntingly says, “Don’t you want to know what she said?”

  Reluctantly, I face him, careful to maintain eye contact to emphasize my point, since looking away will only implicate me, making him instantly suspicious. “Nope.” That’s actually true. I don’t want to hear how much of a jerk she thinks I am, even though she’s one of the people that made me the jerk I am today.

  “Well, would it interest you to know she’s a Gemini?”

  I irritably roll my eyes and blow out an exasperated breath of air. “Even less.”

  Throwing his arms out to his sides, he gawks at me like I’m two cans short of a case, and impatiently states, “Soulmate compatibility for an Aries!”

  Pushing up on the bill of my ball cap, I affectedly widen my eyes. “Hot damn! I’m all over that!”

  Dash averts his head, grumbling something under his breath before looking back to me. “Can’t you take this seriously and believe some of what I tell you?”

  “I do believe some of it because clearly, I have a charming knack for inviting obnoxious Libras into my life.”

  “I’m a Pisces.”

  “Whatever.”

  He scratches his hairless face, while glancing over at the construction and then to me. “Why didn’t you tell me about Kat?” His bringing up her name promptly puts me on the defensive.

  Crossing my arms, I divert my attention to cars driving past. I monstrously fail at sounding indifferent. “Why didn’t you?”

  “We became friends in college. I had heard of her in high school, but I didn’t know her like you apparently did. I didn’t even know she had been your driver’s ed. partner.”

  I shrug as I intently look at anything but him. “She was just a girl in my class. Nothing more.”

  “What about Rio? Did you tell him?” Before I can answer with a fuck no, he says, “I remember how different you used to be. For a while in high school, you were almost content, like you had something to look forward to. Then the next thing I knew, you crawled inside yourself and never came out.” I refuse to talk about that, especially here.

  I flatly reply, “And this is why I don’t tell Duquesne anything, either. You’re both screwy.” Pulling my cap back down and making another attempt at getting to work, I start walking to the site and as expected, Dash trails behind me.

  “I think I need to call him.”

  Stopping, I spin around to see him pulling out his phone from his pocket. “Dash, don’t even.”

  With that plea raising red flags, he circumspectly asks, “Why not?”

  I scoff, “There’s nothing to tell him and if there were, why would he care anyway?”

  Dash dolefully frowns. “Of course he’d care.”

  “No, as much as you annoyingly want to be involved, he thankfully won’t. So, Xerox that fucking page from Duquesne’s life manual and leave my past alone.”

  He swings his arm out, still holding onto his phone. “Jericho. Just tell me what happened.”

  Glaring at him, I clench my teeth, stiffly answering, “I told you. There’s nothing to tell.”

  Cocking his head, he asks, “Really?” but the disbelieving tone in his voice borders on getting him a knuckle sandwich express-delivered to his face.

  “Really,” I growl.

  He shrugs and looks around us, oddly conceding. “Okay.”

  I let out a slow breath and turn to walk up the ramp to the front entry, dreading this day and mentally counting how many beers I’ll drink tonight before passing out.

  As I take a step onto the plywood, Dash says, “By the way, her lips tasted better than dessert.”

  Lightning fast, and before I can register what I’m doing, I spin around, grab him by his white T-shirt, jerking him to me. “I will fucking throttle you.”

  He laughs and points at my chest. “Ha! I knew it! She was the one you were so fucked up over in high school!”

  “Shut your fucking mouth, Calder. You don’t know shit.” I give him a light shove and release his shirt. Saying nothing further, I twist my hat around before attempting to walk away, yet again.

  “Jesus Christ, Jericho. That’s it, isn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your best friend and you never said a word about her.”

  “Like I’m not now.”

  Undeterred, he follows me into the foyer. “Rio’s right. You’re like a damn robot. You compartmentalize all your emotions away so you don’t have to feel anything. We know you’ve been hurt and don’t trust people. We’re here for you, though. We want to help.”

  Trying to seem uninterested, I peer down the hallway and then into the living room area, muttering, “I don’t need any help.”

  “You’re absolutely clueless.” He morosely laughs. “From the way you’re acting, I know how you really felt about her.”

  Stomping up the stairs to escape him and to find Lange or Tony, I reply, “Yeah. It’s the same feeling of contempt I have for you.”

  He mercilessly follows, reminding me of the little, gray mouse that followed his uncle Jerry around in the cartoons.

  “Nope. I kn
ow, Jericho. I know exactly what it was. I’ll keep it to myself for now, but I plan on playing that card soon if you force me.”

  When I reach the landing, I stop and incredulously regard him. “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s not a threat. It’s a straight-up promise.” Dash’s determination would be honorable if he weren’t fucking with my life.

  Gripping the temporary railing, I argue, “Sticks, stones, and idle threats, Calder. I already know what you’re going to say and it’s 110 percent false.” Roy passes us on the stairs, giving us cordial smiles, in which Dash customarily overdoes his.

  From three steps below me, Dash seamlessly resumes, “Oh, yeah. Because you think you’re above it.”

  “It’s all bullshit and I refuse to allow a modicum of a possibility. That ship sunk before it even left the harbor.”

  “Because you loaded it with gunpowder.”

  “Is everything okay?” my dad asks coming down the stairs.

  “Yeah. Dash just thinks he’s a know-it-all.”

  “No. I just know you.”

  “I doubt that if you didn’t know me as well as you thought you did in high school.”

  “Evidently, you didn’t know anything in high school, either.” I take a step down, but my dad meets us in the middle, sticking his arm out, blocking me from getting closer. Dash grumbles, “Typical Aries.”

  “What now?” I snap.

  “You didn’t even pay attention to her feelings then. Even now, you’re not!”

  “I didn’t know it was her!” As I raise my voice, Dad’s hand pushes my chest, holding me back as I try to lean toward Dash.

  “That’s because you can be so self-possessed!”

  “She looks different!”

  Dash swiftly shakes his head. “Not that different. You just didn’t look close enough.”

  “Leave it alone, Calder! It’s none of your business anyway!”

  He ignores me, as everyone else seems to do on a regular basis. “You have another chance! Don’t lose her a second time!”

  My dad’s mouth becomes a gaping hole before he eagerly asks, “Lose who?”

  Glaring at Dash, I cuttingly answer, “Nobody.” If Dash blabs to my dad, I’ll never speak to him again.

  Dash bitingly laughs. “Go ahead, Jericho. You’re halfway there to losing her all over again.”

  “I guess that would be equal to you just losing your virginity yesterday. What’s that in Dash years? Fifteen?”

  My dad steps in between us. “Okay, guys. Jared, go get to work. Dashiell, you’re with me.”

  “Unbelievable,” I say as Dad puts his arm around Dash, dragging him down the stairs and out the front door.

  First Rio. Now Dash. What the fuck did I do to them to deserve this shit?

  With the threat of Dash briefly contained, I go downstairs, and head back outside. When I find Lange, I’m all work, glad to be buried in the remainder of our siding installation. I just want to forget everything going on around me, finish this job, so I can enjoy the rest of my vacation—alone. If there will be any vacation left. Why didn’t I just move into a hotel room? Even living with my grandparents most likely would’ve been a better option. All I’d have to do there is a few things around the house, mow their grass, and bring in the trashcans, not deal with any of this bullshit. What an idiot. I’d move in with them now, but my dad would just stop by every day, reminding me how disappointed he is in me for not making the “right choices.” I’m already regretting my choices. Believe me.

  Breaking for lunch, I don’t feel much like eating, but I need to go somewhere to avoid Dash and Kat. I’ve yet to run into her today, which is a relief.

  Walking around the house, I see my dad talking to Mark and he tells me, “Hey, bud. Dash and Kat just left for lunch.”

  Mark asks, “They didn’t ask you to go?”

  I uncaringly answer, “No.”

  Dad says, “Well, maybe it’s better you both cool off.”

  I tersely uphold, “Dash started it.” Truth.

  As my dad dubiously frowns at me, Mark says, “Your dad and I are heading out to lunch. Want to join us?”

  “No, thanks.” I turn to my dad. “You taking your truck?”

  Mark answers, “I’m driving.”

  Holding out my hand, I ask Dad, “Can I have your truck keys then?”

  He squints his eyes, like he’s trying to figure out my motive. “You’re not stealing it are you?”

  “Yeah because you’d never find me,” I deadpan. He continues to ogle me and I roll my eyes. “I just want to listen to the radio, but if I move it so I can sit in the shade, don’t call the cops.”

  He reaches into his pocket. “Ok. Just remember, I know where you’re living.”

  “Ha. Got it.” Kill me now.

  I take the keys and before he can ask any more questions about earlier or make stupid comments that aren’t funny, I head to the street. As I pull away from the curb, mentally negotiating whether or not I really could leave and not come back today, I round Brenda’s corner lot and park underneath a tree. I could drive somewhere for lunch, but just as much as I want to leave, a damned part of me doesn’t.

  What is Dash doing hanging around Kat now, anyway? Suddenly, they’re joined at the hip? As I blankly stare at a white brick house across the street, thinking about all the positions they can be joined that way, I twist the gray leather steering wheel grip, causing it to squeak in screeching, intermittent bursts.

  Why should it even bother me if they start dating? I have no claim on her. I never did. It shouldn’t bother me in the least.

  Yet, it does.

  Tremendously.

  I reach into my carpenter shorts to yank out my phone to call Rio and complain about Dash, but as I wake the screen, I realize that I can’t tell him about this. As much as Duquesne wouldn’t care about the entire situation, that sort of annoys me, too.

  Every car that passes by the truck compels me to look up, checking for Calder, even though he should be approaching from the other direction. It irks me I’m so on edge, when that’s what I’m trying to avoid by sitting out here alone.

  Hearing a familiar purr approaching from behind, I look over my shoulder to see Dash’s car pull up along the curb in front of the house. Kat gets out and waits for him before they go up the walkway. Kat giggles and says something to him as they move out of my line of view. Were they laughing at me, like they probably did their entire lunch?

  For the rest of the day, I successfully, and miraculously, avoid Dash and Kat, but that nowhere near settles me from wondering what they’re doing or what they talked about during lunch. Even if I told Dash I don’t care what they talked about over dinner, I am somewhat curious. However, I won’t go crawling to him or admit that I do want to know what was said. That’ll never happen. I’m used to not knowing.

  On the way home, Dad asks, “You want to tell me what really happened between Dashiell and you today?”

  I edgily sigh and lean my head against the headrest, closing my eyes. “This again?” I really need to start driving my car every morning. I don’t care if I have to park the next street over.

  “You’re not very convincing trying to convince me that something didn’t happen. There’s a huge chunk of the story I’m missing.”

  “Then maybe you should get a refund.”

  “Jared.”

  I try another smartass answer. “He said he was a human being. I disputed that.”

  He heaves a sharp sigh and frustration oozes in his gruff voice. “What is going on with you? Does this have anything to do with last night at the marina?”

  I open my eyes and pull my head away from the seat. “Okay. Spill it. You’re fishing.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Dad glance at me as he vacantly asks, “Fishing?”

  “Yeah. What did Dash tell you? He had to have said something to you. Now you want to get my side of it.”

  “Not much. He said you won’t talk to Rio or him about what’s b
othering you.”

  As we coast to a stop at a red light, I remove my hat and offhandedly comb my hand through my hair, while I observe four dogs walking a man. “There isn’t anything bothering me. Should I hire a plane to write it in the sky? You work for Boeing. Make it happen.”

  We’re quiet for about 10 seconds, until he can’t help asking, “Who was Dash talking about earlier?”

  “His mom.”

  He shakes his head and glances at me, apparently not believing my answer. “Jared. You know you can talk to me.”

  I grip the rubberlike door handle, making my knuckles throb. “Why does everyone say that? I can talk to a statue or a dead whale carcass if I wanted to, but I’m not. There’s nothing going on! I just don’t talk about my feelings like you all say I should. Who cares? Why would anything I feel actually matter to people? I think everyone is watching way too many soap operas.”

  He continues as if I didn’t say a goddamned word. “Jared, I know you carry a lot of baggage over your mother.”

  I whip my head to glare at his profile. “My mother? What does she have to do with anything? I don’t credit a damn thing to her and I have no need to bring her up in my daily life. She left. End of story. She’s moved on and so have I.” When he looks at me, I automatically look the other way.

  “Have you? You don’t trust anyone. Even your friends are having a tough time getting you to open up.”

  “My friends? If they were my friends they wouldn’t be talking shit about me.”

  “You know that’s not the case. Dashiell is worried about you.”

  “Yeah, because I’m the one who has all the baggage. The son of an ex-stripper-turned-lesbian and a strip club owner/poster boy for Gamblers’ Anonymous really has only my problems to focus on? He has nothing better to do with his repressed angst?”

  “He thinks of you as his brother.”

  “Don’t give me that sentimental bullshit. I have a sister and she doesn’t even think of me as a brother much.”

  “That’s not true.” Turning my head, I roll my eyes at the window and perfectly mouth his words I know are coming next, “Hadley loves you.”

  “Why don’t you ask her about her mommy issues?”

  “We’ve talked about them. She doesn’t hide things like you do.”