Beyond the Pale

by Jennifer Millikin

  I close the back door quietly and walk around the side until I reach the gate. Two weeks ago Ted painted the wooden slats of the gate a dark, chocolate brown. During his project, my mother made him a sandwich and asked me to take it out to him. He smiled the proper amount when I handed it to him, his fingers not touching mine when he took the plate. We chatted for a minute about how dry the wood was, how quickly it soaked up the first coat of paint. Everything was normal. Appropriate.

  Who the hell was the person who came to my room last night?

  In the space between the slats of wood, I see Finn and Brady. They could’ve reached over and flipped the lock on top, but there’s a second lock on the bottom. Nudging it out of the way with my foot, I push the top lock and open the gate.

  Brady and Finn stand there, the sun shining on their backs, their faces showing the same expression. Anger.

  “Come on.” I step back from the open gate. They walk inside and the gate falls closed. “What’s up?”

  Brady grabs my hand, squeezing tightly. “Are you okay?” His gaze is urgent, his concern pressing into me.

  “We’ve been worried about you. I wanted to call, but”—Finn glances at Brady—“he said to give you some time. With your mom.”

  I look behind me at the house. Their bedroom is just beyond this wall. Unless they left the house while I was locked in my room, I assume they are both in there. At this moment, Ted is probably less than five feet away from me. If there wasn’t a wall here, what would I do to him?

  “I want to kill him,” I blurt out. My voice is low, but the words are so big, the intent so salacious, that I might as well be shouting.

  “So do I,” Finn says.

  “Me too,” Brady adds.

  “How would you do it?” The question is mine, but it doesn’t feel like it comes from me. It’s coming from a different person. A person who almost lost her virginity in an act of violence. A person filled with hate and fear and revulsion.

  Finn’s eyebrows draw together. He looks worried. Perplexed. Surprised.

  “Stab him in the back.” Brady’s lips twist with disgust. “That’s basically what he’s doing to you and your mother and the entire church who thinks he walks on water.”

  “No fucking kidding,” Finn says.

  “I’d put something in his underwear, something that will burn his skin on contact.” Both boys wince. “Then, when he’s crying in pain, I’d…I’d…” I realize I don’t have the slightest clue how I’d kill him. I’m picturing a gun, but that’s probably because of all the movies I’ve seen. I don’t know how to get a gun, or if I did, how to shoot one.

  Plus, this is a game. Obviously nobody is going to kill Ted.

  “Finn?” I look to him. He’s slouching against the block wall a few feet away.

  “I don’t think anyone should say anything more while we’re outside.” He points at the house behind him.

  There’s no way my elderly neighbors can hear anything we’re saying, but he has a point.

  “Have you seen him?” Finn pushes off the wall and comes closer, until he’s standing right beside me. A whoosh of warm breath tickles my cheek.

  I shake my head. “He’s been in his room since before I came home. My mom said he didn’t feel well and went to lie down.”

  Brady, on my other side, speaks up. “Maybe God sent down an excruciating bacteria to kill him so we don’t have to.”

  Finn ignores Brady, continuing to talk to me intensely. “Did you tell your mom?”

  A flash of anger settles on top of everything else I’m feeling, followed by hurt. How could a mother not believe her own child?

  “She accused me of lying and threatened to take away paying for college if I tried to tell anybody else.” She knew just what to say to keep me quiet. Getting out of this place is what I want most.

  Finn’s lips press together, all the muscles in his face growing taut.

  “Fucking bitch,” he says, the words squeezing through clenched teeth.

  “Lennon.” Brady steps in front of me, squinting as the shade from the house falls away. “You’re going to come stay with me. You can’t stay here.”

  I laugh. “That’s sweet, Brady. Your mom will love that.”

  “She won’t know. You stayed last night, and she had no idea. And my dad’s never home.”

  “That was one night. I think after a while she’d figure it out.”

  “Next week they’re going to Alaska for a cruise. We only have to keep you hidden until then. We can figure the rest out after.”

  My fingers graze the warm stucco exterior of my house as I think about his offer. It wouldn’t be impossible to hide from his mom, especially not in a house that big.

  I look to Finn. I want to see his face, figure out what he thinks about Brady’s idea. He’s the smartest of the three of us. He sees possibilities we’d never think to consider.

  But he’s not looking at me. His gaze is trained down to the ground, where he’s rubbing the toe of his sneaker against the rocky dirt.

  “Let’s do it,” I tell Brady, mustering up a smile. It’s not as beatific as Brady’s responding smile. I’m not sure anybody could smile like Brady. It has future politician written all over it, not that he aspires to be one. He wants to be a lawyer.

  “Finn, you take Lennon to my car. I’ll go inside and put together a bag with her things.”

  “Brady, I can—”

  “If he’s been sleeping all day, he’ll have to wake up sometime.” He looks at the time on his phone. “Do you want to be there for that?”

  “I chanced it this morning.”

  “Only to tell your mom what happened,” he argues. “Now you have.”

  Finn takes my hand and pulls me toward the gate. I follow, looking back at Brady. He’s tall and strong, and his stride is nothing less than certain as he rounds the corner of my house and disappears from sight.

  The gate falls quietly closed behind us. Finn holds open the car door and surprises me by climbing in the back beside me.

  I smile gratefully and crawl into him. He tucks me into his side. He refuses to wear cologne, so he smells of himself: the detergent his T-shirt was washed in, the sweat that dried on his skin from the heat, the unmistakable scent that is Finn. We learned about pheromones in biology, and Finn’s pheromones are other-worldly. Beyond not being able to afford good cologne, Finn simply doesn’t need it. He makes his own heady scent.

  “Lennon?” Finn whispers my name.

  “Hmm?” I mumble.

  “Look at me.”

  It’s hard to look at him from my place pressed against him, so I pull back a couple inches.

  He stares into my eyes for a few moments, then he kisses me. Gently. It’s not a romantic kiss that wants more. It’s not a sexy kiss that expresses passion. His kiss is an apology. Not for him, but for Ted. For what I went through last night. His heart is telling mine that it’s sorry. I drink it in, kissing him back in a way I’ve not done the other times he’s kissed me.

  The kiss ends, and he pulls back only to lean forward again, his lips falling against my temple.

  We stay that way until Finn spots Brady.

  “Finally,” he mutters against my head. He pulls back and I scoot into my seat, watching Brady come down the driveway with my duffle bag in his hand.

  “What took so long?” Finn asks when Brady opens the door.

  He tosses my bag onto the passenger seat and slides in. “Lennon’s room was a mess. And I didn’t know what she needed, so I was trying to be thoughtful.”

  “I’m on my period.”

  Brady turns around to the backseat, horrified. “Uh, okay. We can stop somewhere to buy your... things.”

  I laugh. “Kidding. But you might want to learn not to be grossed out by something natural like a period.”

  Brady faces forward and starts the car. “Maybe they teach that kind of stuff in college,” he says.

  Finn snorts. “Yeah. It’s a prereq for Helping Your Partner Through Childb
irth.”

  Brady makes another face and Finn cracks up.

  If laughter is the best medicine, then that’s what we’re all doing. Medicating.

  Against the uncertainty of going our separate ways at the end of summer. Against what happened last night. Against whatever is going to happen from here on out.

  Brady shifts into drive just as I catch movement at the front of my house. My mom stands in the open doorway, staring at us. Or, really, just me. Her laser-focus makes me squirm. Her expression is hard to read. She looks heavy, if that’s possible. Weighed down.

  By what? Her words in the kitchen earlier?

  Brady pulls away from the curb. I raise a hand and wave.

  20

  Then

  “Shhh,” I whisper, one finger over my lips. “If you yell like that again she’s going to come in here.”

  Brady waves me off. “She’s asleep.”

  “I wouldn’t risk it.”

  “You don’t risk anything.”

  “Says the person who’s so timid it makes me look like a thrill-seeker.”

  Brady raises his eyebrows. “I’m the one hiding you in my room, aren’t I? That wasn't Finn’s idea. It was mine.” His chest puffs out proudly.

  Hiding out at Brady’s house makes the most sense. There would be no hiding in Finn’s trailer unless I was sleeping duct taped to the roof.

  I reach out, running my hand through Brady’s hair until it sticks up. “Next up, skydiving.”

  He tries to fix the mess I’ve made of his hair. “Maybe I’ll do that to celebrate graduating law school.” He leans back against his headboard. A small section of hair that he missed pokes up.

  I climb onto my knees, using one flattened palm to balance, and fix the rest. When I’m done, Brady wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me into the mountain of pillows. At home I have two pillows. Brady has six.

  He slides down until our bodies are parallel. He props himself up on an elbow, and I copy him. Using his knee, he nudges the bag of chips we’ve been sharing until it’s between our chests.

  Grabbing a couple more, he pops them into his mouth and chews. “This will be two nights in a row you’re sleeping in my bed.”

  “You’ll never wash your sheets again.”

  Brady laughs. “That depends on whether or not you get your period on them.”

  I roll my eyes and laugh.

  “I know, I know. It’s stupid. I’ll learn all about it. I’ll figure out how to buy tampons and whatever else. I don’t have any exposure to it. It’s not like my sister’s around.”

  “Exposure…” The word rolls around my mouth. “Do you think exposure is what makes us do things? Or not do things?”

  Brady licks salt from a finger. “I think it primes us.”

  “Primes us?” I dig around for a big chip. We’re getting to the bottom of the bag, and most of the chips have turned into fractions.

  “Yeah. Like it preps us. Maybe we’d never think to do something, but then an experience pushes us closer to action, or farther from it in some cases.”

  “Do you have an example?”

  Brady thinks. He’s cute when he thinks. His lips pull at one corner and his eyes squint.

  “My sister. My exposure to her means I’ll never, ever do drugs.”

  “Brady, you were high last night.”

  A flush spreads on his cheeks. “I mean hard drugs. And last night was... I just wanted to know what it would be like. It was offered to me all the time at parties, and I never said yes. I was too afraid someone would take pictures and use them against my dad, or me someday. I’m going to be a lawyer, but what if I do decide to go into politics? Imagine having to defend something you did a long time ago. That would suck.”

  “So Finn was the lucky guy who got to be with you?”

  “I trust him.”

  “You don’t trust me?” My hurt feelings creep into my tone.

  Brady sighs. “It wasn’t like that, Lennon.”

  When I don’t respond, he continues. “I didn’t want you to see me either. What if I acted stupid? And, in case you’re wondering, I did. Finn told me. I was paranoid. I did not chill out and play video games, like my Trinity friends.”

  “Brady, no matter how you act, I’ll always—”

  “I know. I know that, okay? But I didn’t want that image in your head.” Brady reaches across the eighteen inches that separates us. His warm hand cups my shoulder, and his fingertips graze the length of my arm. “Not when—”

  A knock halts his words. The sound is muffled, too far away to be his bedroom door. Alarm widens his eyes. I imagine I look similar. We wait, and the knock comes a second time.

  We both sit up and climb off his bed.

  “It might be my mom. I better answer it before your mom does.”

  We hurry out of his room and down the hall. Brady’s house is so big it takes far longer to arrive at his front door than it does mine. I round the corner into the foyer first, and skid to a halt. Brady stops behind me, his front pressed against my back. His arms wrap around my waist, either to protect me or to steady himself.

  Mrs. Sterling stands in the open door, her nightgown illuminated by the porch light. Two uniformed policemen stand in front of her.

  “Why would she be here?” I hear her say, the irritation in her voice barely contained.

  At first, I think they’re talking about Brady’s sister, but then I realize it’s probably me they’re looking for.

  “We need to talk to your son too, ma’am.”

  “Brady? Why?”

  “We have a few questions for both of them.”

  “You can speak to my son when you tell me the nature of your questions.”

  “We’re not at liberty to say right now. Please have your son call me.” He reaches into his shirt pocket and hands something to Mrs. Sterling.

  I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t have Brady getting in trouble for me. After what happened last night and today, I can’t believe my mom would send the police looking for me. She saw me leave today. She knew I’d be with either Finn or Brady and that I’d be safe either way. Why cause this kind of drama? Especially considering the whistle I could blow on her precious husband.

  “I’m here,” I call out, stepping from Brady’s hold. I raise my hand, as if I’m in class and have the answer to a question.

  Three gazes swing toward us. Mrs. Sterling’s mouth drops open.

  “Lennon? What are you doing here?” Her questioning gaze flickers over my shoulder to Brady. “Why is she here, Brady?”

  “She needed a place to stay, Mom. Calm down. Everything’s okay.”

  She gestures at the two men in the doorway. “Apparently not.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I say to her as I walk forward. “I never thought my mom would call the police to come get me. I’m eighteen.”

  I reach Mrs. Sterling’s side. Brady has followed me, and he’s standing behind me once again. I look at the officers standing there. One is tall and thin, the other just a few inches shorter and stockier. Neither looks angry, and aside from their overall persona, neither looks incredibly intimidating.

  “I’ll come with you,” I tell them, stepping around Mrs. Sterling.

  “We need both of you,” the stockier one says. He nods at Brady.

  I’m confused. “Why would you need Brady?”

  Mrs. Sterling is saying something in protest too, but I can’t understand it over the blood rushing through my ears. How could my mother make Brady a part of this?

  “We’ll talk about that at the station. For now, we’d just like your cooperation.”

  I step forward. This doesn’t feel real. I could be outside of my own body, watching as I step over the threshold of the immaculate Sterling home and into the desert heat.

  The tall officer falls into step beside me. I glance back. The shorter one walks beside Brady. Brady meets my gaze, shrugging in bewilderment. Mrs. Sterling walks quickly alongside Brady.

  �
��Brady, don’t say a word,” she instructs, her tone urgent. “I’m calling your father. And our lawyer. Not a word without our lawyer present. Do you hear me? Not a word.”

  He nods.

  We reach the police car and the tall one holds open my door. “You’re not being arrested. We just have some questions.” He motions for me to climb in, and I do.

  The doors close simultaneously, and I jump. Brady looks at me, and his hand stretches across the seat, pulling mine from my lap and enveloping it.

  He’s so calm, and I’m not.

  I have no idea what this is about, and I have a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Miss Davies, thank you for coming in.”

  A man in khaki slacks walks into the small room I’m sitting in. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, revealing a tattoo. He takes a seat across from me, and I angle my head so I can read what his tattoo says. Semper Fi. He has dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard with more salt than pepper. “I’m Detective Morris.”

  A detective? My knowledge about police procedure is limited to television dramas, but aren’t detectives used for actual cases? I thought this was just about some questions.

  I lick my lips and wipe my hands on my shorts. I wish Brady were with me. They separated us the second we walked in the station doors, whisking me away from him without the possibility of a last glance.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” I tell him, my voice shaking.

  He folds his hands on the table between us and offers me a smile like he feels bad for me.

  “You’re here because we need to talk about a conversation you had this afternoon with your friends.”

  I make a face. Conversation? What conversation?

  “Earlier today, did you take part in a conversation where the topic included killing your stepfather, Ted Blake?”

  My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. I don’t know what to say. The answer is yes, but does he understand why that conversation took place?

  “Yes, but it’s not the way it sounds.” Desperation coats my voice. “We were being stupid. We were angry at him. I was angry at him after... after…” I pause, considering my mother’s threat. Usually I want college more than I want air, but whatever’s happening here is bigger than a debt-free ride through higher education.