Beyond the Pale

by Jennifer Millikin

  “They are from both of us.” Finn’s voice comes from behind me. He swipes the flowers from me and walks to Mrs. Sterling, making a show of bowing when he reaches her. When he’s upright, he holds out the flowers. She makes an exasperated face, but I can tell beneath her tough exterior she has softened just the tiniest bit. Given the chance, Finn can charm a habit off a nun, and perhaps this new version of Mrs. Sterling is no exception.

  Brady reaches into a cabinet above the microwave and pulls out a vase. I hold back my smile. The vase is crystal, and it has the same pattern as the decanter in Mr. Sterling’s office.

  Which makes me wonder where Mr. Sterling is. I ask Brady, and he directs questioning eyes at his mother.

  “Out back,” she answers, indicating her hand toward the back yard. “He’s not allowed to smoke cigars in the house,” she adds. Brady heads for the back door, Finn in tow, and Mrs. Sterling yells after them to make sure Brady’s dad is doing his job.

  “He’s supposed to be grilling chicken and steak,” she explains, looking at me.

  Brady throws out the thumbs-up sign above his head as he walks through the back door. I watch out the window as he and Finn cross the length of the deck, and down the stairs that lead to the outdoor kitchen.

  “Is there anything I can help with?” I ask, turning back to Mrs. Sterling.

  Her gaze is already on me, and my shoulders instantly tense. She watches me for what I’m sure is only three seconds but feels like forever.

  “The salad,” she answers, motioning to the pile of ingredients on the counter beside the sink. “Can you assemble it?”

  “Sure,” I say with false cheerfulness.

  I’m cleaning the lettuce when Mrs. Sterling, who has just closed the refrigerator and is now holding a big bowl of potato salad, walks up behind me and places her hand on my forearm. My shoulders tense again. I honestly cannot remember if this woman has ever willingly touched me. Maybe Brady is right. Maybe she is turning over a new leaf.

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, keeping my attention on my task.

  Mrs. Sterling sets down the bowl and leans back against the counter. “I bet you’re tired of hearing people say they’re sorry for your loss.”

  Looking at her from the side of my eye, I smile softly and admit the truth in her words.

  Mrs. Sterling removes a cutting board and knife and sets them on the counter beside the sink. I finish the lettuce and start chopping vegetables. I’m halfway through the cucumber when Mrs. Sterling speaks.

  “I had a brother who died when I was ten.”

  I look up, glancing at her, but she isn’t looking at me. Something else has her attention, and perhaps it’s not even in this room. “I began to hate hearing people tell me they were sorry for my loss. It felt so cheap, as if my brother could be reduced to a loss.” Mrs. Sterling chuckles softly. “When I hear the word loss, I think of a business not making money, or a sports team losing a game.” She shakes her head as she returns from her reverie. “Listen to me, going on.”

  “Please, continue,” I hurry to tell her. It’s the most talkative she’s ever been with me, and I’m afraid if she stops now, it will never start again.

  “Tell me about your mom,” she says, switching subjects. “What was she like?”

  “Well…” I hesitate, trying to buy time. “She was very involved at our church,” I pause, glancing over at Mrs. Sterling to see if the mention of the church, and by extension my stepdad, will stir up what happened eight years ago. I see it, the faintest squint of her eyes, the reminder that I’m the reason her son was questioned about a potential murder.

  “Go on,” she says, reaching over for a cucumber slice and popping it into her mouth.

  “She liked daytime television. Soap operas. Passionate love affairs, people coming back from the dead, surprise evil twins, that sort of thing. It was her dirty secret.” Along with some other ones.

  “What kind of mother was she?”

  I drop my knife on the cutting board, and it spins out toward the edge of the counter. Jumping back, I watch it tumble over and onto the exact spot my feet had just been.

  “Geez,” I breathe, my heart racing.

  “That bad, huh?” Mrs. Sterling looks nonplussed by what I’m certain is a very expensive knife being dropped on the floor.

  Bending, I grab the knife and run the blade under running water from the sink.

  “She wasn’t the best,” I admit, sliding my sliced veggies from the cutting board onto the salad greens.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize that. Back then, I mean. When I had the chance to see that side of your life.”

  I’m working hard not to appear shocked, but I know I’m failing. I just know it.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Lennon. When I heard about your mother, and Brady told me he was coming here, it upset me. Old wounds still feel fresh, which I realized is stupid. By now old wounds should be scars.”

  My blood warms, along with my cheeks. I spent years around this woman, knowing she didn’t like me. I was too young and too afraid to say anything back then. But now? I’ve grown up. And I’m no longer afraid.

  My gaze on hers, I open my mouth. “Just to clarify, what wounds are you referring to?” My tone is respectful, but I hope she hears in it the backbone I’ve acquired.

  “I’m sure you know which one.” She glances at the floor, the expression on her face uncomfortable and appropriately embarrassed.

  Wiping my hands on the dishcloth, I turn to face her. “All due respect, Mrs. Sterling, the truth is that you never really liked me. Somehow my very presence managed to inflict pain on you. So, as wounds go, there could be many to choose from.”

  Drawing her gaze back up to mine, she squares her shoulders. This is the Mrs. Sterling I recognize. “Brady was questioned by the police because of you.”

  I shake my head. “Brady was questioned by the police because of a conversation that was overheard and reported. Finn, Brady, and I were equal participants in that conversation.”

  “Brady never should have been talking about what he was talking about in the first place.”

  I don’t know what to be more amazed by. The fact that this woman cannot accept that her son is capable of making mistakes just like every other human being, or that we are standing here discussing this in such quiet voices.

  I’m gearing up to respond, but Mrs. Sterling beats me to it with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t invite you over here tonight to rehash history. I wanted to apologize and hoped you’d allow me to explain my feelings and actions back then.”

  I look outside, and in the distance, I see the shapes of three men standing before a fire. To Mrs. Sterling, I say, “The floor is yours.”

  She walks to the breakfast table and sits down, pushing a second chair out with her foot. I’m grateful for the invitation to sit because I honestly don’t know if my feet could hold me another second. My earlier confidence is quickly disappearing.

  We sit with our bodies angled toward one another and Mrs. Sterling begins. “Let me start by saying it was never my intent to hurt your feelings. It wasn’t about you, but more about Brady. I’m sure he’s told you all about his sister?”

  I nod. Despite my irritation with Mrs. Sterling, I feel bad for her.

  “I had one child who felt like a lost cause. I know that sounds harsh, but it’s true. She kept messing up, and we kept cleaning it up for her. Robert’s position as a judge was a blessing and a curse, I suppose.” She laughs, an empty sound. “And then there was Brady. Good, sweet, and honest. He made us happy and proud, day after day. After having a difficult child, having one like Brady is”—she raises her eyes upward—“a gift from Heaven.”

  I nod my understanding, but I’m wondering just exactly how Finn and I factor in here.

  “The problem was more Finn than it was you, until later. Finn was a troubled kid. Sullen, prone to fighting.” She ticks off Finn’s list of problems on her fingers. �
��Brady came to us once, asking for us to help Finn out when he’d been caught for shoplifting and—”

  “He stole shoes because his had a hole and his uncle couldn’t afford to buy him another pair.” Is stealing okay? No. But how can Finn be faulted for wanting to wear shoes that kept his feet warm?

  “Brady told us the situation, and of course it was sad. I didn’t like knowing his friend was in that predicament, making a choice like that. But spending time with the wrong people will bring someone down, and I didn’t want that happening to Brady.”

  Her eyes widen, and it makes me realize the look on my face must be reflecting how I’m feeling inside. Shock, for one, and awe, for another. Shock that a child’s unfortunate situation can be discussed so mildly, and awe that the very same situation can be used against him.

  “I’m not heartless. From that point on, when Brady needed a new pair of shoes, I bought a second pair. Those went to Finn. Brady told him he’d outgrown the shoes, or didn’t like them, or whatever excuse he came up with.” She points one finger at me, and her eyes narrow. “Finn doesn’t need to know that, by the way.”

  I nod, swallowing, the backs of my eyes burning. All those times I watched Brady hand Finn a pair of shoes, saying they were too tight, or any other reason, he was really giving him a brand new pair of shoes.

  Suddenly Mrs. Sterling isn’t looking like a cold bitch anymore.

  “I’ve always liked you, Lennon. You had a fire inside you, an innate refusal to be kept down. You were quiet, but you held your chin high. You had moxie.” She looks at me, her eyes burning intensely. “You still do.”

  Happiness blooms in my core. Until that last summer, I felt largely invisible. And here Mrs. Sterling is, saying she saw me the whole time.

  “Thank you.” The words trickle out slowly, and a pleased smile curves my lips.

  “It wasn’t until the final summer that—”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  She holds my gaze. “I know that.”

  “Then why hold it against me?” If only I could post that question on a billboard. I’d love to ask all the owners of the curious looks, the suspicious glances.

  Her fingers brush her lower lip, taking with them a swipe of the petal pink lipstick she’s wearing. “It was more about Brady than you. We feared for him. For what could happen to him because of that situation. And at the time, nobody knew what had gone on. Was Ted killed? Did he die of natural causes? Why were three teenagers being questioned?” She takes a breath. “How would you feel if you had a child who’d been implicated, simply by being friends with someone?”

  My fingernail runs the length of my thigh as I consider her question. It’s hard to think about me having a child. After all the horror I’ve seen, I prefer adoption. Of course, my adopted child will be my own, just the same as one I grew inside me, and the longer I think of what Mrs. Sterling has asked me, the easier it is to see her position.

  “I see what you mean.” My admittance brings relief to her face.

  She reaches out, covering my hand with her own. It’s warm and soft, and unexpected tears blur my vision.

  “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings back then. Even as adults, we don’t always make the best choice.”

  Nodding, I accept her apology and blink back my tears.

  Movement in the yard calls my attention outside. The three men walk closer, Brady in the lead. Behind him, Mr. Sterling and Finn appear to be in deep conversation. I’ve seen them speak only a handful of times, and I’m curious to know what topic they’re discussing.

  As I watch them come closer, six words I don’t mean to say slip from between my lips.

  “Some choices are hard to make.”

  Mrs. Sterling follows my gaze. She turns back to me, her eyebrows raised. Just before the guys reach the door, she says, “They both love you. They always have. One day…” The rest of her sentence is drowned out by the din made by all three men as they come inside. Brady says something to his mom, and the other two are chuckling loudly.

  Mrs. Sterling sends me a meaningful glance as we both stand. She walks to the island, reaching across it for the salad. Brady catches my gaze, his eyes holding curiosity and concern. In two long strides he’s beside me, his hand finding the small of my back.

  “Everything okay in here?” He dips his head, his voice trickling down over me.

  I relax into the pressure from his palm and the soothing movement of his thumb as it runs over the fabric of my sundress.

  Looking up, I tell him everything is fine.

  But inside, everything is not fine. Everything is a jumble. A typhoon. A tornado.

  I don’t need to have heard Mrs. Sterling to know how that last sentence ended.

  One day, you’ll have to choose.

  16

  Now

  I’ve invited Finn and Brady over to help me with the house. Their company makes the whole process of going through my mom’s things much more enjoyable. Plus, I haven’t seen them since dinner last night, and I already miss them.

  Finn arrives first. When I open the door for him, I see Brady climbing from the car he’s parked on the street in front of my house. Finn’s arms circle my waist, pulling me in for a hug. At the same time, Brady catches sight of me and waves. I return Finn’s hug with one arm and use the other to wave back at Brady.

  Just as I knew he would, Brady quickly hides his scowl and replaces it with a smile.

  Finn pulls away and stands beside me, waiting with me while Brady leans into his passenger side and comes away with two bags of Chinese food.

  Finn chuckles, and I know why he’s laughing.

  “All you think about is food,” I yell out, so my voice reaches Brady across the yard.

  He grins, and when he gets closer he says, “I like to feed people. It’s one of my special qualities.”

  Finn reaches for the bags, taking both from Brady. “And I, for one, have always appreciated that special quality.”

  Finn carries the food through my open front door.

  Leaning a shoulder into me, Brady says in a low voice, “I got two orders of orange chicken. That way you and I can at least get a few pieces.”

  “Good call,” I whisper back.

  We follow Finn into the house. He’s gone directly into the kitchen and he’s pulling open cabinets, peering inside.

  “There,” I say, pointing at the cabinet beside the fridge.

  Finn follows where I’m pointing, removing three plates from the stack. Brady opens up the boxes of food while I grab silverware and napkins.

  We settle in around the small breakfast table, and Finn’s the first to talk.

  “What’s left to do?” he asks, chewing as he looks around.

  “A lot,” I admit, looking down at my fork before spearing a bite of beef and broccoli. “The house looks tidy, but every time I open a drawer or cabinet a mess of shit comes spilling out. It’s a metaphor of her life.” I raise my fork, noticing the confused expressions on Brady and Finn’s faces. “Her surface life appeared clean, but underneath it was a heaping mess. She did such a good job manicuring the outside, I bet nobody would believe the dirt it concealed.”

  Both heads, one a honeyed blonde, the other a chocolate brown, nod in understanding.

  “I wonder,” Finn starts, “if you’re going to find any more secrets as you go through her stuff?”

  I snort. “Like what? I have a long-lost twin?”

  “Who you were separated from at birth.” Finn points his fork at me while he talks.

  “Evil,” Brady adds around a mouthful of food. He swallows and says, “The long-lost twin has to be evil. It’s mandatory.”

  “What’s her name?” I ask.

  Finn reaches for the second box of orange chicken. “Leticia.”

  “Lindsay,” Brady says, taking the box from Finn. He dumps the few remaining pieces on my plate.

  “Ding ding ding! Lindsay it is!” I laugh and eat the chicken.

  Finn playfully juts out his lowe
r lip, though I’m not sure if it’s from the loss of the chicken or the loss of naming my evil twin.

  “Do you want to hear something really shitty?” I take a bite and look from Brady to Finn.

  “Shittier than your mom dying and having to clean out her house?” Brady asks, eyebrows raised.

  “Sure, I love shitty news.” Finn folds his arms across his chest and leans back, waiting.

  “Do you remember that young girl who showed up here yesterday? Elliot?” I direct the question at Brady.

  He nods.

  “She wanted to talk to me about some drama. Only, when I took her home, I found out it wasn’t just your average teenage theatrics.” A lump forms in my throat. “She has cancer.”

  “Fuck,” Finn mutters, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “I can understand my uncle getting cancer. He’s never taken care of himself and he’s old. But a young girl?”

  “That’s awful,” Brady says.

  I stand, gathering the empty boxes and stacking them. “She’s dealing with something a young girl should never have to handle.”

  “Is there anything we can do for her?” Finn asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I can ask her grandma tomorrow at the church.” I start to walk away, but a thought makes me turn around. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Ellie’s doctor expects her to make a full recovery, but my heart still feels heavy. I want to wrap her up in a hug and tell her everything is going to be okay.”

  I turn back around without meeting their gazes. I don’t want to see Brady’s pity, or Finn’s concern.

  “Meet me in the office when you’re done,” I say over my shoulder as I exit the kitchen.

  It takes Finn only five minutes to come find me. He walks in, hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts. I’m standing in front of my mother’s bookshelf.

  “Brady’s taking out the trash. He didn’t want you waking up tomorrow to the smell of Chinese food.”

  “It does tend to linger,” I say off-handedly, running my fingertips over the worn spines of paperbacks. “Cowboy themed romances were not the books I pictured my mother reading.”