Beyond the Pale

by Jennifer Millikin

  My stomach sinks. I feel awful. I study his profile as he talks to Brady.

  My Finn. A study in opposites, the epitome of a tortured soul. He came back even though he knew he’d have to face Brady, the golden boy of Agua Mesa, and admit he’d been fired. Such a tough pill to swallow, especially since the trajectory of Brady’s life has only soared higher since we all left.

  My arms long to wrap around Finn. I keep my hands to myself, because I don’t want to see Brady’s frown, the one he’ll cover up as quickly as it appears. He’s always felt what runs between me and Finn, the connection born from being more similar than different. Brady’s upbringing gave him almost everything, except the ability to empathize with our struggles. Despite this, his role in our triangle is irreplaceable. He is our steady, our reason, our unconditional love.

  Finn’s gaze drifts over to Brady. He reaches across to the end of the table and runs the tip of his finger down the glass salt shaker. “Do you remember the time we mixed the salt with the sugar?”

  I roll my eyes. I took no part in that particular shenanigan, but I didn’t stop it either.

  Brady laughs. “I was your lookout.”

  “Of course you were. Never one to get your hands dirty.” Finn’s tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent of something stronger.

  “Don’t be a dick,” Brady says, pushing around the last bite of his sandwich.

  “That’ll never happen,” Finn says cheerfully.

  I try to suppress my laugh, but it makes a sound in my throat. Brady glares at me, but I know it’s playful. Finn looks at me, his dark eyes cool, but his cheekbones pull up mischievously.

  I cross my arms and groan.

  Brady angles his body so that his broad shoulders block as much of the end of the table as possible.

  Finn reaches for the half-empty salt and sugar.

  “You’re going to Hell for that,” I mutter.

  “Baby, I’m going to Hell for a lot of things, this being the very least of my transgressions.”

  Despite my disagreement about where Finn will spend his afterlife, I smile.

  We’re back. The three of us together, we’re beyond the pale.

  “Hello?” I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder, my hands busy washing the dishes in the sink of my mother’s kitchen. There are bread crumbs on a plate alongside smears of peanut butter. On the day she died, she ate peanut butter toast for breakfast.

  “Lennon, hi. This is Wilma. From the church,” she adds, as though I need the reminder. I don’t. There aren’t too many Wilmas running around these days.

  “Hello, Wilma. How are you?” I ask politely as I slip the remnants of my mother’s last meal under running water.

  “Oh, just lovely, I suppose. The pastor asked me to call you. He’d like you to meet him at two this afternoon at the mortuary to discuss arrangements. You need to get everything underway as soon as possible before... before... well, it’s too unpleasant to talk about. You know what I mean.”

  My stomach turns. I hadn’t thought about it, but now that Wilma mentions it, I wish I could unhear what she didn’t actually say.

  Rigor mortis.

  My own breakfast of waffles threatens to reappear in the world.

  “Right,” I choke out. “Tell Pastor Thomas I’ll be there.”

  I put down the phone, dry my hands, and pick the phone back up.

  He answers on the third ring.

  “Are you free today?” I ask.

  At twenty till two, Finn pulls up in front of my mom’s house.

  He hops out of his truck and eyes Laine’s SUV. “You’re driving,” he says, pointing at me.

  Pulling my keys from my purse, I walk around to the driver’s side. Finn comes around to my side too. I look up at him, confused, and shield my eyes from the sun.

  Finn steps into me, until our chests touch, and weaves his fingers into my hair. He pulls my face to his, and the tiniest pause before our lips touch gives me a chance to refuse. I don’t, and I know he’s not planning on asking a second time. This is what Finn does. He’s impulsive, and he leads with his heart. Right now, he’s leading with his lips.

  Lips that are on mine, meshing with my own, pulling away only to come back for more. Memories of stolen kisses consume me. We did this for years. And never anything more.

  “Finn.” I turn my head to the side and breathe his name.

  “You taste the same,” he says against my cheek.

  Stepping back, I give him a look meant to be dirty, but I’m certain is weaker than I intended it to be. “Get in the car.”

  He nods and goes around the back. For a moment I contemplate hopping in and taking off before he can get in.

  But I don’t.

  He climbs in and shuts the door. I throw it in drive and glance at him on my way out of the driveway.

  “This isn’t high school anymore, Finn. You can’t grab me and lead me behind the gym. No more spontaneous make-out sessions.”

  “But they were fun,” he complains.

  He’s right. They were more than fun. They were delicious. And so damn confusing.

  “We’re adults now.” It’s the best response I have.

  He looks out the window. I should be focused on the road, but it’s difficult.

  “Just say it.” His voice is rough.

  “Say what?”

  “The real reason. Not the excuse. The reason.”

  “Finn, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His gaze flickers over to me. “Sure you do. Just think a little harder.”

  “I’m not playing mind games with you. If you won’t say it, then fine.” A deep breath fills my chest, then slowly seeps out. “Tell me about your apps.”

  Finn shifts in his seat and leans a forearm on the center console. He looks at me, his lips twist, and I can tell he’s deciding whether he should let this conversation end.

  Finally, he says, “The first one was a travel app. It was going to keep friends and family up-to-date while people traveled abroad. It had location sharing, pictures, a way to write notes that others could read.” The more he talks, the more animated his voice becomes. “Basically, anything that a person might not want to share on social media, but would want friends or family to know.”

  “That sounds amazing. What happened?” I’m bummed to know this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

  His face falls. “Someone else beat me to it.”

  “What?!”

  He shrugs, but I know it’s a front. He’s genuinely disappointed. “That’s life in this business. If you don’t get it to market first, it’ll never happen.”

  “That’s shitty.” I take a right turn too quickly and look sheepishly at Finn. “I’m still getting used to driving this car. It’s not mine.”

  He laughs. “I figured as much. You’re a social worker.”

  I make a face. “Maybe I have a sugar daddy.”

  “Do you have a sugar daddy?”

  “No.” I grin. “But I could, if I wanted one.”

  “You’re not the type.”

  I shake my head. “Definitely not. Tell me about the second app.”

  “It was for animals. A way to track your pet using a tracking device that hooks onto their collar. Owners could also take notes, like when they administered medicine, or notate the dog’s behavior to later share with a vet if the dog was sick.”

  “That sounds great too. What happened?”

  “Same story. Someone else beat me to completion.”

  I make a frustrated sound and Finn laughs. “It’s the nature of the beast, Lennon.”

  I nod. “Still sucks.”

  “Yes it does,” Finn says as I pull into a parking spot at the mortuary and cut the engine. “Are you ready for all this?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  His eyes grow serious. “You always have a choice.”

  I smile weakly at Finn and grab my purse from the back seat. Having a choice is what has kept me securely in bet
ween Brady and Finn, loving two men for most of my life.

  7

  Now

  The mortuary is officially a place I never want to find myself in ever again. Even when it’s my turn. But I guess by then I won’t know, so it won’t make a difference.

  I’ve done my part picking out a casket and going over service details with Pastor Thomas, and now we’re lingering in the lobby.

  “I’ll make the announcement about the date and time of the service tonight at Bible study, and once all the ladies get ahold of it, it will spread like wildfire.” Pastor Thomas laughs at his own joke. “We’ll update our webpage, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.”

  “What about Snapchat?” Finn asks. I know he’s teasing, but Pastor Thomas doesn’t.

  Pastor Thomas frowns. “Snapchat is not the kind of social media our congregation spends much time on.”

  Finn smirks. “Something tells me you’re wrong about that.”

  Pastor Thomas’ mouth draws into a hard line. He looks like he has a lot more to say, but he’s choosing to hold back. He’s not the only one holding something back, except what I’m holding back is my laughter.

  “Finn, I need a moment alone with Lennon.”

  Irritation flares on Finn’s face. He looks to me, and I give a small nod. He saunters out the front door and disappears from sight.

  Pastor Thomas leans closer to me. “What I told you yesterday... that should stay between you and me.” His gaze flicks outside, then back to me. “I’ve never been quite sure how to tell everyone. And I don’t want to hurt my father’s legacy.”

  My insides tighten at the mention of the word legacy. If my mother would have believed me that night, my stepfather’s legacy would’ve been ripped to shreds long ago.

  “Your secret is safe with me.” Stepping back into Agua Mesa and ruining this guy’s big secret was never on my agenda.

  His features soften with relief. “I think we got started off on the wrong foot.” He offers me his hand. “My name is David. You don’t need to call me Pastor Thomas.”

  “Hi, David.” I shake his hand as I greet him like we’re new to each other. “We’re not friends. I don’t make a habit of becoming friends with someone who thinks I might be a murderer.”

  He shakes his head. “That's not what I said.”

  My eyebrows raise. “Word on the street is that you killed my father.” My fingers make air quotes as I speak.

  He lets out a small sigh. “Okay, that is what I said. But that’s not what I meant.” He looks around to make sure nobody is nearby, and even though we’re alone, he comes one step closer and lowers his voice. “When I came to Agua Mesa, and I heard what happened, I kept imagining scenarios. Like, what would happen if I met you, or called you, or I don’t know, was struck by lightning and left with mental telepathy capabilities.”

  Despite the fact that I’ve decided I definitely do not like this man, I laugh.

  “You were going to tell me off?”

  He nods, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his navy blue slacks and rocking back on his heels. “Oh yeah. I had a lot of choice words for you.”

  My hand lifts to cover my mouth and my eyes go wide, feigning shock. “Mr. Pastor. Were you cussing in your mind?”

  He smiles and points upward with one finger. “That’s between me and God.”

  “Let me put your mind at ease once again. I did not kill your father. Nobody killed your father. He died of natural causes—”

  “Natural causes?” David’s eyebrows lift, his head tipping to the side.

  “That’s what they ruled.”

  “If only your mother had—”

  My palm lifts, stopping him. My mother hadn’t allowed an autopsy.

  “I know. I asked her to, but she wouldn’t budge. She said she couldn’t stand the thought of someone poking around in his body.” I’d wanted it, if only to make it clear to everyone that although we were questioned by the police, it didn’t mean we were guilty.

  “It only made you look more guilty.” He winces. “That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.”

  It’s true. Not allowing an autopsy took away being able to say what his cause of death was beyond a shadow of a doubt. The police may have decided it wasn’t probable that we were responsible for Ted’s death, but not knowing for certain how he died made our involvement possible.

  That doesn’t help David though. The only answer I have isn’t the one he wants. “Well, you know the truth now. I’m sorry I ruined all the scenarios you’ve been running in your head for the past four years.”

  “Not me. It helps me to stop thinking of my dad as a victim.”

  “Hah!” I bark out loudly, then cover my mouth.

  David’s eyes narrow. “What?”

  “A victim is the last thing your father was and—”

  The front door opens and Finn walks in. He glares at David. “Are you done talking to her yet? Because there isn’t any shade out front and I’m sweating my balls off.”

  “We’re done.” I stare at David, silently finishing my sentence. Out loud, I say, “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  He shakes his head. “We should be good. See you Saturday at eleven.”

  Finn guides me out the door, his arm firmly around my shoulder. “What was that about?” he asks as we cross the hot pavement.

  For a second, I contemplate telling him the truth. Finn doesn’t give a shit who’s related to whom. I open my mouth, but something stops me. I feel weirdly bound to keep Thomas’ secret.

  Shaking my head, I say, “I think you make him nervous.” We reach my car, and Finn opens the door for me.

  I climb in and look back to where Finn still stands in the open door. Eight years has done nothing but make him more attractive. It’s easy to presume he is the best-looking app developer in Silicon Valley. Finn never had trouble with girls in high school, and I would bet every cent in my bank account he is still just as successful with women.

  Finn steps closer until his legs are flush with the car. He lifts a section of my hair and places it over my shoulder. His gaze burns into mine, and as much as I want to look away, I feel altogether powerless.

  “I meant what I said to you earlier, Finn.” My voice is a murmur, weak even to my own ears.

  “I know you did.” Finn weaves a hand through the hair he moved over my shoulder, his thumb rubbing a spot just below my ear. “Do I make you nervous too, Lennon?”

  “No.” Yes.

  Finn chuckles, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

  He leans in closer, his lips nearly to my ear, and says, “I think I do. You have a tell.”

  “I do not.”

  He pulls back, taking with him his touch, his scent, his familiarity. Grinning, he looks pointedly down at my hand resting on my thigh. My thumb and pointer finger rub against one another, over and over. How long have I been doing that?

  I clench my fist, ceasing my tell, and glare at Finn. He smiles again, and it’s the kind of grin that says I know what you’re not saying. It infuriates me.

  “Get in the car,” I mutter.

  Finn closes my door and walks around the back of the vehicle. Our drive is quiet, but my mind is racing.

  It’s always been this way with Finn. His presence is like a drug, something highly addictive.

  But he’s not the only drug I’m addicted to.

  8

  Then

  “Brady, stop.” His fingers curl into my sides, tickling me again. Through my girlish giggle, I manage to say, “Your mom is going to lose it if she catches us.”

  “So?” His fingers freeze, but he doesn’t move them away from me.

  I give his shoulder a good, hard shove, and his hands leave my sides. “So she hates me.”

  “She does not hate you.”

  Brady bumps his arm against mine, but not nearly with the strength I just used on him. I look up into his eyes, and he sighs, lifting his gaze to the ceiling.

  “Okay, fine. She’s not your b
iggest fan. But she doesn’t hate you.”

  Brady has finally admitted what I’ve always known, but the victory is empty. Rolling over onto my right hip, I push myself up and off his bed.

  “We should go. Finn hates when people are late.”

  “Finn is always early.”

  “He’s punctual.” My defense of Finn is automatic. I spend a lot of my life defending him. To classmates, to teachers, to my mother. Reaching down, I tap Brady’s math textbook. “Do you feel proficient solving linear equations?” That’s what we were doing before Brady decided to take advantage of how ticklish I am.

  Brady shrugs. He sits cross-legged on his bed, the navy blue shorts he wears blending into his navy blue bedspread. “As good as I’ll ever be at it.”

  Grabbing my lemon yellow backpack off the wood floor, I swing it up onto my shoulder and try to decipher the odd look on Brady’s face. It’s a futile effort. Fourteen-year-old boys are such odd creatures.

  “Why didn’t you ask Finn to help you with math?” Of the three of us, Finn is the smartest. He’s also the one with the worst grades.

  Brady closes his book but doesn’t answer me. He stands up and pushes his backpack up against his bed with his foot.

  Things between Brady and Finn have changed over the last year. They’re still best friends, but something else is popping up too. Competition, for starters. They both behave as if the other is a yardstick by which they need to measure up. As though Brady could ever have Finn’s impetuousness, his ability to see a straight line and bend it into a new object. Finn has no chance of being calm like Brady, of seeing a task and understanding that completing it will lead to something more, and maybe that something is better. Finn thinks the world has taken something from him. Brady believes he has something to give the world.

  Brady still isn’t answering my question about Finn, so I push further. “My days of helping you in math are going to be over once you go to that fancy private school.” Eighth grade will be done soon, and Brady’s mom and dad decided he’d be better off at the private high school than filing into the public school with the rest of us from Agua Mesa Junior High. “You know they teach a year ahead. And you know what that means. Unless you want a tutor.”