Beyond the Pale

by Jennifer Millikin

  A few second into my search I find that I am in luck. There are four bathing suits; three modest one-pieces, all chosen by my mother, and the cherry red bikini I bought with my own money.

  I reach for the bikini, pulling it from the drawer and dangling it in front of me. If my mom had known about its existence, it would’ve met a quick fate in a trashcan. I kept it a secret, stealthily shoving it in the bottom of my backpack while donning the matronly one-piece. I changed whenever I got where I was going: usually it was a public restroom, a friend’s house, and once, behind a neighbor’s shed while Brady turned his back and kept lookout.

  Stripping off my clothes, I slide the bottoms up my body and thread my arms into the straps, tying it in the back. When I look in the mirror, I feel young again. I look young again. Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I go back to before, to a time when my biggest complaint was that my mother was mean. At the time, it felt like everything, like there was nothing worse than her narcissistic mind games. Only a short time later, I learned how wrong I was.

  Back then, when I wore this bikini, I was just a girl with two best friends and endless possibilities.

  I open my eyes and smile, one thought reverberating through my mind: I am still her. I am still a girl with two best friends and endless possibilities.

  Slipping on my T-shirt and shorts, I gather my purse and sunglasses. On my way to Brady’s, I make a stop and pick up sunscreen and beer.

  This bikini might make me feel young again, but now I’m old enough to buy alcohol, and I have been for a long time.

  Brady’s house is oversized, bordering on ostentatious. Built by a developer who didn’t want his community to look like the rest of Agua Mesa, he snubbed the traditional stucco for red brick and gray clapboard siding, making it seem as though the homes were plucked from Nantucket and dropped in the sunny desert.

  Parking my car in the long driveway, I climb out and pause with my hand on the car door, watching Brady stride toward me across the neatly trimmed grass lawn. He’s wearing royal blue swim trunks and a white button-up embroidered with tiny palm trees. The shirt hugs his biceps, a reminder that although he works long hours, he manages to stay fit. Does he have someone to stay fit for? Is that why? He hasn’t said anything, but still… The thought makes my belly burn in an uncomfortable way.

  Which makes me realize none of us has broached the subject of significant others. Does Brady have one? Does Finn? Yesterday’s kiss tells me nothing. The Finn I remember didn’t care if he had a girlfriend, he’d kiss me anyway. The girls he dated weren’t serious; if he’d had a serious girlfriend, that would’ve stopped him. It may even have stopped him from being my friend at all. My hand raises as I think about it, my fingertips brushing my lower lip like I can read his previous kisses like tea leaves.

  Brady didn’t have a serious girlfriend in high school either. Am I the reason why?

  Brady reaches me, pulling me in and pressing me to him. His body is warm, and he smells like coconut and sweat.

  “Did you get stuck in the driveway?” Brady’s deep voice tumbles down around me.

  I chuckle against his chest. “I was thinking about something.”

  He steps back, but his hand stays on my forearm. “Anything important?”

  I shake my head, unwilling to open that can of worms. We may be a collection of our memories, but for right now, I want to stay firmly rooted in the present.

  “No,” I tell him, turning back to the car and reaching for the bag in the front seat. Brady takes it from me and starts for the house. “I brought beer,” I tell him, following him through the grass and up onto the sidewalk.

  “I grabbed some too. Want to bet Finn will bring some? We’ll have ourselves quite a party.”

  “I’m not placing a bet on Finn. He’s a wildcard. Who knows what he’ll show up with.”

  Brady laughs. He reaches for the front door and opens it, then steps back and waits for me to walk in first.

  “Always a gentleman,” I tease, walking past him and into the house.

  “Always,” he echoes.

  It feels like forever since I’ve been here, but it all comes rushing back. The door I snuck out of more times than I can count, the awkward dinners I was invited to, even when I knew it was because Brady begged his mom to have me over. Automatically I walk forward, through the cavernous foyer, and turn left for the kitchen.

  “Your parents updated.” I gesture to the all-white kitchen, the island painted a Grecian blue. “These handles,” I murmur, my fingers trailing along the matte gold. “They’re beautiful.”

  “They redid everything a couple years ago,” Brady replies. “I don’t know why. They’re rarely here.” A look comes over his face. “Except for the next few days. They’re arriving tomorrow. When my mother heard I was staying here this week, she decided she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to visit.” He sets the shopping bag on the counter. Both of his palms fall to the cool white marble, spreading out wide and pressing down. He looks at me, and then he keeps looking at me, and my mouth feels like a desiccant has been placed on my tongue.

  “You’re wearing the red bikini.” His eyes trail over my neck to the spot at the back where the straps are tied.

  Suddenly everything in the room is more alive than it was before. The air is electric, something palpable instead of being a thing I know exists but can’t see.

  Brady’s right hand curls into a fist, and his gaze doesn’t leave me. His eyes lose their friendly playfulness. Focus takes over, and it looks so singular, so dogged, that my stomach begins to churn and my heart beats against my chest. Brady wears the look of a man who wants to devour a woman.

  Me.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I take a step back and open the shiny, stainless steel fridge. Grabbing a bottle of water, I twist off the top and drink half, trying to cool myself down from the inside out.

  When we were eighteen, we were naive and riddled with hormones. Every feeling was confusing. But Brady’s a man now. Tall, strong, accomplished and overworked. And he gazed at me with heat so intense I half expected my bikini top to untie itself.

  And he’s still looking at me that way.

  I avert my gaze and run a hand over my mid-section, trying to calm my reaction. Pounding heart, racing pulse, runaway stomach. All of it happening at once.

  Since the first day I met Brady, I’ve loved him. Who wouldn’t? He’s caring, compassionate, and has a soft spot for strays. Finn and I are proof.

  And there’s the problem. Finn.

  As if thinking about him has conjured him up, Finn walks into the kitchen. Dark green swim trunks hang over a shoulder, and a handle of pre-made Hurricane mix dangles from his hand.

  “Nope,” I declare, shaking my head, relieved to have something else to talk about right now. Finn looks confused, so I point at the rum drink.

  “Don’t be a baby, Lennon.” The bottle smacks the counter as Finn sets it down too hard.

  “Your peer pressure tactics no longer work on me. I’m a grown woman now.”

  Finn reaches over, slipping one warm finger under the exposed red strap at my neck. He slides it down until it meets the top of my shirt.

  “Says the girl wearing her old high school bikini.”

  I swat his hand away and glare at him. “It’s all that was available on short notice.”

  He smirks. “Did your grandma one-pieces disappear? Or were they lying right there beside the world’s sexiest bikini?”

  By far, this is not the world’s sexiest bikini. As two-piece swimwear goes, it’s tame. I ignore him and walk to the six-pack I brought. Brady still stands beside it. Grabbing one from its holder, I hand it off to Brady and take another for myself.

  “I’m going to change,” Finn announces, giving me a side-eye as he passes.

  “I’m going to order pizza.” Brady pulls his cell phone from his pocket.

  Without announcing my intention, I leave the kitchen and walk through the open sliding glass door that takes up the ent
ire back wall of the living room.

  After I slip off my T-shirt and shorts, I settle onto a chaise lounge and pull sunscreen from my bag.

  Finn appears by my side at the worst time. My arm is bent awkwardly as I try to reach the middle of my back. Looking up, I squint at him and untangle my limb.

  He reaches for the sunscreen, but I grab the bottle first.

  “I don’t need help, thanks.” My voice is polite, but there’s an undertone.

  “Yes, you do.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “I’m fine.”

  Finn sighs. He plops down on to the chair beside me, knees facing me. “Why don’t you let me help you?”

  Because I’m certain Brady would just love to watch you rub lotion on me. Out loud, I say, “I’ve got it covered already.”

  He eyes me, and I can tell he knows I’m not telling the truth. Shrugging, he changes position so his whole body is lying on the chair.

  I do the same, crossing one ankle over the other and closing my eyes.

  A few minutes later I hear the back door open and close, then the sounds of Brady settling in on my other side. Peeking one eye open, I turn my head toward him and welcome him with a smile.

  “Food’s ordered,” he says, bringing the beer bottle to his lips.

  “Thanks,” Finn says from my other side. Brady tips the beer to him in acknowledgment.

  “Lennon, tell us more about your job.”

  Turning to Finn’s voice, I see he’s not looking at me, but staring out at the sparkling blue pool.

  I do the same, but the still water is quickly replaced by the image of a case from two years ago. Immediately my heart twists, pain wringing from it like a soaking wet towel.

  Slowly I shake my head. I still can’t comprehend the cruelty.

  “A daycare worker called. She reported redness on a toddler’s behind. On my way to check it out, I prayed it would be a bad case of diaper rash.” Tears sting my eyes, and my gaze flickers up to the sky as I try to keep them at bay. “It wasn’t. The redness... it was a burn.”

  “How does a baby get a burn on its backside?” Brady asks, trepidation coloring his voice.

  I glance at him. “Do you really want to know?”

  He squeezes his eyes and shakes his head.

  “Why did you become a social worker, Lennon? I’m all for it, but I wouldn’t have picked it for you.” Finn’s asking the question.

  I look out at the water again, and again I don’t see it. I see the little girl instead. She had blonde hair, and a birthmark in the shape of a four-leaf clover on her thigh.

  Finn’s question hangs in the air. Finn is sharp, seeing patterns and reasons when others don’t. He obviously knows why I became a social worker. Maybe Finn wants to make sure I know it too.

  “Some children are born to people who don’t deserve to be parents. Some people want so badly to be parents and are just waiting to be given a child. I’m not Robin Hood. I don’t take from the undeserving and give to the deserving. It doesn’t work that way. But, once in a while, it does. That little girl eventually went to a couple who wanted her. And I don’t mean they just wanted a child. They wanted a child, it was a longing I could practically see. This little girl made their lives better. They invited me to her third birthday party. You wouldn’t believe how over the top it was. A unicorn! For a party she won’t even remember.” I laugh softly. “They wanted to give her the best, and that was how they did it. The party was huge, and they showed her off to every person there.”

  Brady gets up from his chair and sinks down onto mine. Using the corner of his towel, he wipes away tears I didn’t know I was crying.

  Finn moves so that he’s facing me. He takes my hand, wraps it in both of his own, and squeezes. “Maybe you have the right job after all.”

  Here’s the problem though: I don’t. I have a job that keeps me in my past. As hard as I’ve fought to escape this place, escape my fucked up childhood, the truth is, I haven’t. I’ve only managed to revisit it in a different role.

  But what I do have are my boys. My guys. One is holding my hand, the other is waiting to wipe away my next tear.

  “I’m lucky to have both of you.” I smile at them, then take my hand back from Finn and stand up on the chair. With a palm on Brady’s shoulder for balance, I walk the length of the chair and jump lightly to my feet. When I get to the pool’s edge, I turn around and look back at them.

  It’s funny how two very different men can wear the same look. Longing, confusion, desire, with a hint of sadness clinging to the edges.

  The tone of this get-together has taken a somber note, and I intend to fix that.

  “Cannonball,” I yell, jumping and tucking my knees into my chest.

  By the time I resurface, both guys are mid-air. They sink down into the water and pop back up, grinning. Finn shakes his wet hair at me like a shaggy dog and I squeal. Brady rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing.

  Swimming over to the steps, I prop my elbows on the top step and lie back. Brady and Finn each assume their positions on either side of the long end.

  “On your marks,” I shout. “Get ready. Go!”

  And they’re off, treading water, using their power to propel them. After the third lap, I get up and go back to my chair, draping the towel over my body, and settle in. Sheer exhaustion will be the only thing to stop them.

  Years of dancing this same dance has told me so.

  10

  Now

  Finn

  This place smells like shit. Even worse, it smells like familiar shit.

  Tangy sweat and years of cigarette smoke have settled into the walls, the couch, the pores of the entire trailer. It’s a smell I can conjure up just by thinking about it, no matter where I am.

  And here I am, back in it. When Uncle Jeff called to pass along the news from the “little shithead doctor,” I didn’t run back to Agua Mesa. That was a month ago.

  I haven’t told Jeff why I’m here now. He assumes it’s out of concern for him. It’s not that it’s not, it’s just... who the hell am I kidding? It’s not Jeff. I’m building a cabin to take him away from this place, I had no plans to come back to it.

  It’s for her. Lennon. The girl whose hand I can feel in mine when it’s not there, the same way I can smell sweat and cigarettes in a fragrant garden. Lennon is an enigma. Better yet, our whole situation is one giant fucking enigma.

  But I want to solve it, to crack it open and watch the gooey insides of our relationship trickle down.

  Unlike Brady, I haven’t loved Lennon from day one. She showed up wearing that shirt with the stain on it, and I felt an immediate dislike for her. It was the stain that did it. Every last article of clothing I owned was stained, but on her it was repugnant. I was the one who didn’t have enough money for nice clothes. I was the poor kid. That was my role. Who was this girl with the short hair like a boy, coming into my classroom and shaking my stability? It wasn’t a stability to be proud of, but it was mine.

  Lennon grew on me. Quickly. As much as I didn’t want to like her, it was impossible not to. She watched more than she talked, a trait I realized I appreciated. When she ate her sandwich at lunch (homemade, and I imagined she had a nice mom who wore an apron and smiled while she married the peanut butter half with the jelly half), her tongue darted out of her mouth to grab the crumbs on the corners. I sat there, slurping from my carton of milk, stabbing at the rubbery green beans and Salisbury steak I ate for free thanks to the school lunch program. I was a watcher too, and the longer I watched Lennon, the more I liked her.

  When Lennon joined me and Brady, when we became three instead of two, it rounded us out. We were too young to know we were missing her all along, but when she became our friend, the whole universe felt right. I felt it, even if I didn’t have a name for the feeling until I was older. Lennon gave me my first taste of hope. She made me think maybe I could be better than the poor boy being raised by his uncle.

  Brady believed in me, encouraged me, wanted to rai
se me up to his level. That’s what Brady does. Brady’s the kind of person who runs into a burning building to see who needs to be rescued. But growing up, it was hard to look at Brady’s shining face, his Ralph Lauren polos and khakis, his easy smile and confident demeanor. He’d extended a hand so many times, offered me a chance to be more like him, and I never took it. After a while, when you’re used to smelling the shit, it no longer smells like shit.

  Rolling over, I pick up my head and look at the small white clock on the chipped, particle-board desk. The time is wrong. It’s not eleven p.m. It was wrong yesterday too, and the day before that. Spoiler alert: it will be wrong tomorrow.

  Rolling back over, I reach for my phone to see the time. 6:52. With a swipe, I take the phone off airplane mode and a message from Brady pops up. Sent twenty-one minutes ago.

  Do you want to meet me for a run?

  My gaze falls to my duffle bag, my brain mentally sifting through what I packed. I brought running shoes, but clothes for running? Nope.

  Looking down, I survey my white T-shirt and cotton-blend shorts. They’ll have to do.

  I text Brady my response, brush my teeth, and get in my car.

  “Fuck, man,” Brady says, stopping on the corner of Valley View and 165th. We’re both breathing heavy and dripping sweat.

  “Did you forget how hot the sun is?” I hit the crosswalk button and rest my hands on my hips.

  “It’s different here,” Brady responds, reaching down to tighten the laces on his shoes.

  I look out at the fancy grocer on the corner. Green awnings the color of money jut out above the windows, and freestanding signs advertise wine and cheese pairings.

  I shrug. “Everything looks the same to me.”

  Brady follows my gaze. Shaking his head, he says, “I meant the sun. Not Agua Mesa.”

  I knew that, but I couldn’t resist the chance to point out the fact that nothing in this ritzy place has evolved.