Beyond the Pale

by Jennifer Millikin

  I tell him what happened. He listens, and when I’m finished, he nods his head.

  “Thank you for sharing that with us,” he says evenly. No emotion, no understanding, no I’m sorry you went through that.

  “Do you understand the severity of a conversation like the one you and your friends had today?”

  “Yes, of course, but it’s not like we did anything. Nothing happened. Obviously you know that, because Ted’s alive. Isn’t that proof that nothing happened? That Brady and I shouldn’t be here?”

  What about Finn? If they came for me and Brady, wouldn’t they have also come for Finn?

  “Is Finn Jeffries here too?”

  Detective Morris ignores me. He looks at me like he’s evaluating me, rubbing the pad of his thumb against his chin. “Lennon, at around eight-thirty this evening, your mother found your stepfather unresponsive in his bed. She called an ambulance, and they pronounced him dead on the scene.”

  Shock takes the breath from me. Soon my lungs are screaming for it, and I suck it in. “He died? Of what? My mom said he wasn’t feeling well.” I rub my forehead, as though checking for a fever.

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Normally we’d attribute it to natural causes and the family would decide if they’d like an autopsy, but then your mother informed us of the conversation she’d overheard and we thought it was enough to look a little harder.”

  I gasp. “My mother?”

  He makes a face as if even he’s surprised to hear she would inform on her own daughter.

  “I had nothing to do with it. None of us did. We talked, we left in Brady’s car, and that was it.”

  “What did you do earlier in the day?”

  I walk him through every moment, starting from the second I woke up this morning.

  “Was anybody else in the house today besides you, your mother, and your stepdad?”

  I shake my head no, and then it hits me.

  Brady packed my bag.

  Even so, he would never do anything to Ted. Brady has a whole future ahead of him, one he wouldn’t give up to do something so stupid, so violent, so unlike him.

  I take that little piece of knowledge and lock it away. If Brady tells them he went in my house, I’ll lie and say I forgot. Ammunition against Brady will never come from me.

  “I told you, we left after that conversation. And it was just a stupid game. Not something we would ever actually do.”

  “The timing is convenient.”

  “That doesn’t make any of us guilty.”

  Detective Morris stares me down, squinting the tiniest bit. Suddenly he stands, his chair scraping against the floor.

  “You’re free to go.”

  “So this is over?” My voice is a mixture of relief and hope.

  “Unless there’s an autopsy and it shows something worth looking into, then yes, this is over.”

  Quickly I stand and round the table. I want out of this place. I’m not guilty of anything, yet just by virtue of being here, it makes me wonder if I am.

  The detective shoots out an arm, stopping me before I can scurry through the door.

  “Don’t go around having any more conversations about who you’d like to kill and how you’d like to do it.”

  “Okay,” I agree in a rush.

  He steps aside and I hurry through the door, away from that small, brightly lit room and the intimidating man. I retrace my steps until I’m at the front, and when I don’t see Brady or Finn, I walk outside. It’s disorienting. I forgot it was nighttime.

  Mrs. Sterling, Brady, and a man I don’t know stand in a tight circle a few feet away.

  I stop. It doesn’t look like a conversation I’m meant to hear. My politeness doesn’t seem to matter, though, because Mrs. Sterling is upset and isn’t doing a good job keeping her volume down.

  “Stop this right now, Brady,” she half-shrieks.

  “They need help, Mom. What’s wrong with you?”

  “You can’t save everybody, Brady.”

  “You can’t leave them in there! They’re as much at fault as I am.” Brady shakes his head, disgusted, and catches sight of me.

  He rushes to me, pulling me into his chest. He paws at my hair, pulling it in his relief, but I don’t mind the pain.

  “Lennon,” he whispers my name into my hair, over and over. “Do you know about Ted?”

  I nod against him. I haven’t had time to process the news. If last night hadn’t happened, Ted’s death would’ve saddened me. But now? I don’t know how I feel.

  I adjust my head against Brady’s chest so I can peek at his mom. She’s talking to the man I don’t know, her gaze flickering to us, then back to the man. He says something to her, she nods tersely, and then the man walks past us, his shoes tapping loudly on the concrete. He’s wearing a suit. He must be their lawyer.

  Brady’s mom walks farther away to a bench and sits down.

  I pull back from Brady. “Is Finn still in there?”

  “I think so. I saw him when they were taking me back, the door to the room he was sitting in was open. They waited for McNair to arrive, and—”

  “Who’s McNair?”

  “Sorry. He’s our family lawyer. He’s used to dealing with my sister.”

  “Keep going about Finn,” I urge.

  “McNair arrived, they asked me two questions, and I was released. But when I left, the door to the room I saw Finn in was closed.”

  “Fucking bullshit,” I hiss.

  “I know.” Brady glances toward the doors. “McNair’s going to figure out what’s going on. They can’t hold Finn unless they’re pressing charges, and there’s no reason to because none of us did anything wrong. We had a conversation about something hypothetical. That’s it.”

  I stand on tiptoe and bring my lips to his ear. “They asked me if anyone was in the house today, besides me, my mom, and Ted. I said no.” I sink back down onto flat feet, and our gazes remain locked. He doesn’t say anything, but after a moment, he leans down and kisses my forehead.

  “Let’s sit.” My legs feel oddly light, as though they might give way at any moment. Weaving my hand through Brady’s, I lead him to a bench on the other side of the front door. We sit, and I pull my knees into my chest and rest my chin on the crevasse between my kneecaps. Brady leans forward, his elbows resting on his thighs.

  Between us there is only silence, but all around us are the sounds of the desert at night. The air is thick with the high-pitched keening of cicadas and the incessant chirping of crickets. Somewhere in the dark, scorpions lurk, hunting the crickets. I tilt my head up to the sky, looking for the jerky flight of a bat, but I don’t see any. In the distance, the hoo of an owl floats through the warm air.

  A weird feeling squirms into my stomach, something that feels a lot like loss, even though I haven’t lost anything yet.

  My throat tightens and I turn to Brady, studying his profile in the harsh, yellow lighting. What if we called this whole thing off? What if the three of us decided not to go our separate ways? What would we do?

  Stay here, and then what? Go to college locally? Meet people. Date? Would we marry them? Or would we be in a fucked-up triangle, never moving forward, just buzzing along our axis and stopping when we bumped into each other at our shared forty-five-degree angles?

  Brady looks at me, the corners of his eyes tilting down with exhaustion. His tired gaze searches my face, and just as I’m about to open my mouth and voice my thoughts, the front doors open and McNair walks out, followed by Finn. He looks tired and angry and resentful, but my god he looks like heaven to me right now.

  “Finn!” Brady and I stand, rushing to him.

  I wind my arms around his middle, pressing my cheek to his chest. Brady claps him on the back, and I hear each relieved thwack as it travels through his body.

  McNair approaches. “This should all be over for the three of you.” He trains his gaze on me and I pull my head from Finn’s chest. “Your mother has said no to an autopsy—”
<
br />   “There’d be nothing to find even if she did,” I say quickly. He’s the wrong person to direct my indignation to, but he’s the only person available.

  McNair nods cooly, his eyes roaming the three of us.

  “Thank you,” I add.

  Finn echoes my words, holding out a hand. McNair shakes it, nodding at Brady before he turns to Mrs. Sterling. He says something to her, and I read her lips as she thanks him for coming in the middle of the night.

  “Why were you in there longer than us?” I ask Finn.

  “You’re the beloved pastor’s daughter,” he says, inclining his head to me. He switches his gaze to Brady. “You get to throw around the weight of dear old daddy. And me? My reputation precedes me. The trailer park I live in is a stain on this pristine town. We all know I’ve been caught shoplifting more than once. I told them the same thing you all did, but I don’t have your trustworthiness”—he looks to me, then to Brady—“or your political power.”

  “You had the truth,” I tell him.

  “Sometimes, the truth isn’t enough.”

  Finn’s scaring me.

  “Well, it was tonight,” I say, aiming for cheerful, but it sounds forced and fake. It’s hard to muster cheer in the middle of the night in front of a police station.

  “I’ll drive you all home,” Mrs. Sterling says, her keys jingling in her hand.

  Brady’s eyes meet mine. I was supposed to be staying with him and look how fast that changed. I can go home now. The threat is gone.

  Ted is dead.

  21

  Now

  “Lennon, are you sure?”

  I stop on the sidewalk and turn back to Laine. Her eyes are wide with concern.

  I get it. I’d be worried too. My mother’s funeral ended just a few hours ago. Given the emotions of the day, today might not be the best time to make such a drastic decision. Except, it’s not really that drastic of a decision. It’s been a long time coming, I just didn’t know it.

  How am I supposed to get rid of what’s holding me back if I’m clinging to it? I always saw it as a part of my identity, but now I see it for what it is. Something that holds me tightly in its grip, controlling me.

  I thought I kept it because it aided me in my fight, but the truth is that keeping it only kept me in the fight.

  So it’s time to cut it out of my life.

  Literally.

  Buh-bye, long hair. Time for something new, something that doesn’t tie me to my past.

  “Laine, I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

  I’m doing what I need to do to move on. Tonight I plan to finally go through my mom’s desk.

  But first, a trip to the salon. It’s not a fancy place, but I don’t need fancy. As long as the salon is capable of sectioning my hair into braids and chopping off ten inches, it will do.

  Laine links her arm through mine, marching me into the place. “Let’s get you a haircut.”

  The wait is less than ten minutes. I think of nothing else but the child who will receive my hair. She is nameless and faceless, but my imagination makes her into a person anyhow.

  I grew out my hair in defiance, not knowing what it would mean to keep it so long all these years. Now it will go to someone who needs it, and the more I think about it, the more I want to grab the shears and chop it off myself.

  When the woman with short and spiky plum-colored hair calls my name, I’m ready. Laine walks beside me to the chair. I’m vibrating with energy, but she looks nervous.

  “Stop,” I instruct, looking at her in the mirror.

  “I’m nervous,” she admits, twisting her lips.

  “I’m not.”

  Plum hair lady wraps a black cape around me, buttoning it at my neck. It’s a little tight, but I don’t tell her. I won’t be here long. She rests her hands with their long fake nails on my shoulders and looks at me in the mirror.

  “What are we doing today?”

  I put out my hand and Laine presses the little pouch holding clear hair elastics into my palm. “I’m cutting off ten inches for donation,” I tell Plum. She doesn’t even look surprised.

  Using my phone, I show her the cutting instructions on the Crowns of Courage website.

  “Got it,” she says when she’s finished reading. She takes the pouch from my hand and pulls out a handful of hair ties. She sections off my hair, securing each with an elastic, then braids it. When she’s done, she goes to the front desk and comes back with a ruler. After she’s measured and adjusted, she pulls out her shears.

  “I can’t look,” Laine yelps, turning her face away from Plum and her deft hands.

  Snip, snip.

  There it goes. Plum holds up one section in the mirror. Laine peeks over.

  Plum holds it out for me to take, and then she moves through the remaining sections. In less than a minute, half my hair is gone.

  While Plum spends more time making it straight, I add the hair to the plastic baggie I’m supposed to send the hair in, as specified on the website.

  Plum blow-dries my hair, and I smile at her when it’s over. “I love it,” I tell her.

  “It’s great you’re donating. It’d be a shame to keep all that pretty hair to yourself.”

  Laine and I check out up front. I tuck the bag into my purse with my wallet, in a state of disbelief but pride.

  We walk out, and on our walk to her car, I catch sight of my reflection in a storefront window. I’m momentarily startled, but I relax almost instantly.

  I feel lighter. Freer. I thought I’d ditched my shackles when I left Agua Mesa for Dallas, but it turns out I had them with me all along.

  Not anymore.

  Now I’m ready to go home and tackle my mom’s desk.

  My mother’s desk is neat and tidy. Her computer is in the center and an old-fashioned clock sits on the right side. On the left is a picture of her and Ted on their honeymoon. They wear leis and big smiles.

  I flip over the picture so it’s face-down and open the shallow center drawer. Pens, stationery, a small brass key, an old cell phone. Receipts, loose thumbtacks, a phone charger that doesn’t fit the old cell phone.

  I close that drawer and pull out a deeper drawer on my right. This one contains neatly labeled hanging files. One-by-one I read through them, touching each label with the tip of my finger. Mortgage, electric, landscaping. On and on they go. Slamming that drawer shut, I turn to my left and reach for the cool brass handle. Maybe this one will yield something. Anything.

  More files. My hope deflates like a slow-leaking balloon as I read each label. Who saves their tax documents from the past twenty years? And in separate files, no less.

  Water fills my eyes, making it hard to read the remaining labels. It’s useless anyhow, they are all the same. The word Taxes, followed by a year.

  But not the very last one. I blink twice, using the backs of my hands to push away the moisture.

  Lennon.

  Clear as fucking day. My name.

  My heart pounds against my ribcage like an angry fist on a wooden door. My hand flies forward, snatching the file and immediately dropping it as a sharp, hot pain flashes through the top of my middle finger.

  “Ow,” I whimper, bringing my fingertip to my mouth and sucking. In a few seconds, the pain lessens, and I pull my finger back and look at it. “Damn paper cut,” I mutter.

  This time I’m cautious. I reach out, gently lifting the manila file folder from where it fell and placing it on the desk in front of me.

  For a moment I’m still, studying my name written in her cursive. I always liked the way she made her L's. Loopy and feminine.

  I open the file and find a sheet of paper, folded in half.

  That’s it.

  Where are the baby pictures? The mementos? The crayon scribbles?

  I grab the paper and unfold it.

  I was wrong. It’s two pieces of paper.

  Jackpot, I think caustically. The word is bitter on my tongue.

  Leaning back in the de
sk chair, I pull my knees into my chest and begin to read.

  Dear Lennon,

  First off, I guess I should say welcome home. If you’re reading this, then you must be going through my desk. Which, of course, means I’ve joined the ranks of the dearly departed. What a blessed situation for me to be in. I’m now living with my Lord and Savior. I’m sure going through my belongings is the last thing you want to do. I don’t blame you. I’ve done it once before, I know how difficult it can be. You’re stuck doing it for me, and I had to do it for my sister.

  Yes, you read that correctly. I said sister. I was not an only child, as I told you. I’m sorry I lied about that, but I have to admit it wasn’t my only lie. Buckle up, because I’m about to tell you the truth. And the truth starts with my sister.

  Penelope was beautiful. Everyone called her Pretty Penny, and she had the shiny personality to go along with the nickname. She was the kind of person you took notice of the second she walked into a room. Penny and I were closer than sisters. Some days I thought maybe we shared the same soul. During my first year of college, our mom died. I did the only thing I could think to do: I dropped out and moved back home to take care of Penny. We had no other family, and even if we did, there’s no way I’d send Penny to live with them. I got a job at the local garden store, and between my earnings and the little bit of money my mom had saved, Penny and I made it through her senior year of high school. I smiled proudly at her graduation, and we shared a look that clearly conveyed how much we missed our mom. I assumed Penny and I would go to college together, taking out loans and working part-time jobs to make ends meet. Penny did not share my plan. She wanted to wait a year to go to school. She complained she was burned out from high school and wanted to delay college.

  As it turned out, Penny had a better reason for delaying college. She was pregnant. And not with just anybody’s baby. Penny managed to make a baby with the one person I’d been in love with for years. A love that only Penny knew about, because I’d never had the guts to tell him. She waited until after he’d left town that summer, returning to his fancy university on the east coast, before telling me.