Wild and Crooked

by Leah Thomas

  “So what’ll it be, Wheeler?” Officer Newton asks. “You gonna help get this young man to the ER?”

  “Please don’t make me go with him,” Garth says, eyes wide between the blood.

  “We’ll take him,” the girl says, hoisting him up. “He’s our friend.”

  “Is he,” Phil says, watching them retreat. “Lucky thing.”

  “Enough, Phil! Where’s Gus?” I let him go, what is wrong with me?

  He pulls his eyes from Garth. “With his grandfather. Mortimer Ellis.”

  “Mortimer Ellis?” I gasp. “Where does he live?”

  “Worry about that after we get off this street.” Officer Newton nods at one of the policemen waving the traffic away. While his big stature seems to discourage some rabble-rousers, one or two angry rednecks ogle us something fierce. “Wheeler, you’re driving straight home. Spence, you’re with me.”

  I dodge his grip and fall in alongside Phil, who looks calm as a damn stream despite the cuffs. How is he like that? I feel my gunpowder igniting, like I’m a collection of backyard firecrackers, and sparklers keep catching the others on fire.

  I clap Phil’s shoulder. “How did you get him to talk, Phil?”

  “I told him I’d hacked his computer. That I’d expose his dull, dark secrets.”

  “What? Did you really hack it?”

  “No. I merely assumed he would have things to hide.”

  “Why?” I won’t ask about Gus.

  “Because I have such things, too,” Phil says, and I really don’t doubt it.

  “Hell, who doesn’t,” Officer Newton says.

  “Wanna tell me about you and Dad being besties, then?” He doesn’t look at me.

  Officer Newton steers us down an alley behind Maverick’s, away from Main Street and potential pitchforks. It’ll be a small hike back to the van, but I won’t let it pass silently. Silence allows too much time for thinkin’. There’s also Sarah to wonder about. Last I saw her, she was climbing up onto that hayride like a Valkyrie.

  “Sure, we’ve all got shit to hide.” There I was, thinking too much. “What’s bad enough to scare a human-shaped blister like Garth?”

  “Considering Garth’s nature, it’s more likely to be watching snuff videos or questionable porn than actual crime. I doubt he could stomach real violence. Certainly he could not beat me senseless with a helmet.”

  Officer Newton steps out of the alley, but Phil’s left me stuck. All those hairs people say stand up when you’re spooked? Mine are up, all right.

  “Phil. Hold up.”

  Officer Newton hasn’t seen us stop; he cuts across a credit union parking lot.

  I look at Phil, in all his weird, pill-buggy glory. And I realize he’s not just weird. He’s talking about violence with less emotion than the printed Dad mug shots contain.

  “That’s . . . Jesus, Phil. You’re really off, aren’t you?” His expression shifts. “It’s hard to tell when you’re with Gus, but once you’re by yourself . . .” Officer Newton’s found a trail through the reeds, but I’m watching Phil like you’d watch alligators.

  “When I was six, I fell off my bike. I hit my head, and my soul was knocked out of me.” Phil’s not quoting Shakespeare, but this line is obviously embedded in him. “Never tell Gus,” he adds.

  I don’t know why I feel like laughing. “Oh, I think he knows.”

  “He knows that I am a soulless creature?” He sounds like a total mope, and suddenly he stops seeming so creepy. Melodramatic monsters are easier to deal with, in my experience. In tons of romance novels, Primscillas date vampires.

  I don’t hate Phil, though I’m not sure I buy the whole concussion-equals-sociopathy argument. There are a thousand reasons why people become who they are, and a thousand reasons they don’t have to.

  “Gus can’t think you’re soulless, you ass.” We jaywalk to reach the credit union reeds. Not far off, sirens keep blaring. I put my icy fingers on Phil’s shoulder. He’s 3-D, all right. Maybe someone just has to remind him, and Gus ain’t here. “I bet he knows that you think you are. But come on. Who’ve you killed?”

  “Well, no one yet.”

  “Me neither, yet. So what’s the difference?”

  “You lack the capacity.” His words are colder than the air.

  “Maybe I do, but hell. Maybe I don’t. Phil, the more time you spend worrying about being a sociopath, aren’t you less likely to become one? We don’t live in a Minority Report society where precogs decide our fate and punish us for future crimes. Why waste time hating yourself for crimes that haven’t happened yet? Bad enough worrying about things that already have, dumbass.”

  Phil sucks air like he’s got four extra lungs. “Did . . . ​did you just reference a Philip K. Dick story?”

  “Love Spielberg. Freakin’ hate Tom Cruise, though.” I grab Phil’s arm. We follow the path through the swampy ditch. Officer Newton’s got a cell phone pressed against his ear. “Shakespeare talks about fighting your nature. Edmund, right?”

  “ ‘Some good I mean to do, despite of mine own nature.’ ”

  “Yeah. Just because you smacked your head and stopped caring about other people doesn’t mean you can’t learn to. You think I don’t struggle to be a good person?”

  “Sociopaths can’t learn empathy. Extensive research has shown that—”

  “I’m not talking about sociopaths, Phil. I’m talking about you. And if you really want to become better, you should talk to Gus. Tell him about the bike and your soul and all that crap.” I grimace. “Gus’ll accept you anyway. He accepts me, for chris-sakes.”

  Officer Newton emerges from the reeds, boots soaked in mud, and stands on the shoulder. He looks like he’s waiting on a taxi, but he’s more likely to catch a tractor.

  He grimaces at Phil. “I wasn’t joking; I’ve called your brother, Wheeler, and he’s expecting you home within half an hour. You’ve done enough for today.”

  “I’ll return to the wings.” Phil lets his shoulders rise and fall as Officer Newton undoes his cuffs. Like he couldn’t care in the least.

  But to me, someone who’s been acting like someone not me for ages, it seems like a performance. Phil can shill whatever bullshit he wants about being an apathetic monster. Before he can make for the van, I grab his arm.

  He stares at my hand like he can’t comprehend it.

  “Phil. You’re saying you’re not interested in saving your best friend?”

  “That’s the measure of it.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t be a coward.”

  I want his eyes to flash, I want him to reference Shakespeare. But Phil stares at me levelly. “Rather a coward than what I am,” he says, and pulls himself free.

  He leaves me and Officer Newton standing on the corner. I can’t believe he’s going until the van actually pulls away across the street, and then he’s gone.

  The wind’s rising and the temperature’s falling. Finally I turn to Officer Newton.

  “Well, great. So what about us?”

  “I called a ride.”

  “Who?” I pick burs from my jeans. “Mom? Isn’t she working?”

  Officer Newton doesn’t answer.

  “Or is it Tam?”

  Officer Newton doesn’t answer.

  “Christ! Why can’t any of the adults in this stupid town talk? Adults started this riot, adults shoved a teenager in prison, adults told Phil he’s nuts, adults kidnapped Gus! What’s wrong with you all? The fuck is wrong?”

  Officer Newton doesn’t look at me. “I was friends with your dad.”

  The fight falls out of me. The night seems to hug his next words.

  “I’d say so, anyhow. We were classmates from first grade on up. Our families went to Sunday school together. Baptists, all of us, but we got up to some mischief. Once at church camp, your dad and me thought it’d be good to fill our squirt guns at the baptismal fountain. By the time we hit high school, couldn’t say we were close, me and Gary. But we had classes together. Hung out some
weekends, too.”

  “Was it bad?” I swallow. “The bullying?”

  “From where I was standing, both kids gave as good as they got. They were pitted against each other from the get-go. Sure, James planted fruit flies in Gary’s locker. But Gary poured rubber cement into James’s baseball cleats.”

  “Doesn’t mean it didn’t get worse,” I say, thinking of Dad’s burn scars.

  “I don’t know. But there wasn’t bad blood between Gary and James by the end. I took Tech Ed with ’em. Those two were thick as thieves. They worked on a semester project together. I was jealous, to be honest. I thought Gary might wanna work with me, help me finish up my dogsled. I had huskies back then, and Mr. Stroud would let you choose just about any project, so long as you could buy the wood.”

  My icy ears are ringing. “What project did they choose?”

  “Don’t remember.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  The car that comes is no tractor, but it’s no great shakes, either. This station wagon would look right at home at Spence Salvage. The window rolls down and I cuss.

  “Hey, folks.” Ms. Patrick pushes an enormous, drooling dog out of her passenger seat. “Ready to go trail bombing?”

  GUS

  IF LIFE WERE a movie, Grandpa would sit in the back of a limo, hidden by tinted windows. As it is, he smiles and waves for us to follow like he’s any other man in town, not the man who owns half of it.

  Police are calling for order. The fuss is dying down. I’m dying down, too.

  “Did that boy hurt you?” Mom searches my face.

  I don’t answer.

  Her eyes are exhausted. “I know you’re furious with me. I’m furious with me, too. But we have to go with him, Gus. Not a choice.”

  Suddenly I can’t believe I marched all that way. I can’t believe I thought I could keep up with Kalyn. I know that’s the fatigue talking, but it’s louder than anything. I want to run back to my friends. I don’t want to move. As usual, I’m split in half.

  Mom takes my arm—I can’t even look at her—and leads me to Grandpa’s Land Rover. He opens the door for us before heading around to the other side. Mom gives my hand a squeeze. It unlocks me, just a little.

  “Gus. The abyss? Sometimes you have to face it.”

  “You aren’t my abyss,” I whisper. “You never were.”

  My body won’t cooperate. My brain won’t, either. If I went to Kalyn now, I’d be dead weight. But maybe if I give my brain a minute, I can stare down the abyss who’s starting the engine, adjusting his lapels.

  The Land Rover takes us beyond the outskirts of Samsboro. It’s too dark to see much, but my stomach feels the moment we start going uphill. Houses grow larger as we ascend. This is where CEOs live, where wealthy people vacation.

  We drive through a familiar wrought iron gate I thought we’d never see again. It takes a full minute to reach the end of the driveway and park in front of the quadruple garage. The air smells less like sugar here.

  Grandpa’s house is a rustic dream on steroids. It’s too imposing to feel like a cabin at all. How many trees died to make this monster look quaint? The shiny grill on the deck, the Adirondack chairs overlooking the forest and lake—they scream money. Maybe they just scream. Motion-sensor lights glare at us, detecting our approach.

  These polished wooden steps were always too high for me, but I don’t let it show. Grandpa isn’t a super-villain, but there’s a lot of gray area between that and being the sort of person you’d ever want to show weakness in front of.

  He leads us into his living room, complete with a taxidermy grizzly bear and a fireplace big enough to swallow us. It’s a kiln no one could bond beside. Mom and I sit on one side of an oak coffee table. Grandpa’s on the other. Behind him is a trophy case filled with family accomplishments.

  “Coffee? Tea? Whiskey?”

  Mom shakes her head. I’d rather meet the grizzly’s marble eyes than Grandpa’s.

  “Well, let me know. Got a dumbwaiter, if you can believe that.”

  He must have help hidden under our feet. Grandpa thinks relying on others makes you less of a person. I rely on Tam and Mom, and they rely on each other. I rely on my doctors and my friends, and they rely on me, too. I know that makes us all bigger people.

  I can meet Grandpa’s eyes.

  “These aren’t the best circumstances for a reunion,” he grumbles. “I should be angry about that stunt, Gus. But it’s nice, getting the whole family together.”

  “Tam’s not here,” I say. Mom glances at me.

  “I should be angry,” Grandpa repeats, like I never spoke. “It’s appalling that you’d disparage your father’s memory like this. Right when his name’s at stake.”

  “I think . . . ​it’s easy to be confused about all this,” Mom says.

  “Oh, I’m confused, Beth.” His tone is as level as his stare. “You come to me begging for help, asking about lawyers, saying you’re sorry for shacking up with that woman. Guess you’ve been confused for decades, eh?”

  I can see anger in Mom’s eyes, but her expression is neutral as water. No matter what brought her here, she’s always been allergic to this house.

  “Gus. I understand how you might be confused about what’s right and wrong. Brain’s a bit soft. That’s not your fault.” He taps his head. “You’re following your mom’s example. But come on, son. That Spence girl’s not even much of a looker.”

  I imagine Kalyn’s reaction. She’d punch him once for me, and twice for herself. What she looks like has nothing to do with it. The thought almost makes me smile.

  “We’ll all have to get along to make sure Spence stays behind bars. We’ll have to play ball in court. But since when do you have sympathy for the devil?”

  “Since always.” “Devil” may as well mean “lesbian” or “disabled” to Grandpa.

  His eyes bore into me. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t have a little fight in you. Guess that’s why you marched. It’s in the family. Rebellious, like me.”

  “Like my moms.” I say the easiest words I’ve ever said: “You aren’t my family.”

  “The hell I’m not. Who do you think pays for your health care? All those endless surgeries and appointments? That pediatrician from Pakistan, or what have you?”

  My heart stutters. I don’t have to look at Mom. I know he’s telling the truth.

  And it all makes sense. This is the reason Mom agreed to visit a man and a home she’s allergic to. She isn’t choosing a monster over Tam. She’s choosing me. Again.

  All this time, she’s been locked in another tomb I never even noticed.

  I have to break us both out.

  I sit up straighter. “Gary Spence and Dad were close, weren’t they?”

  Grandpa stills. “There are school records that’ll put you straight on that front, boy.”

  “Records about Dad bullying Gary Spence. Probably because you thought, um, you w-wanted Dad to. And they still ended up friends. You must have hated that. You must have hated Gary Spence.”

  “Hate’s too strong a word. There’s just a hierarchy. A food chain.” Grandpa gestures at the grizzly. “That family’s trash. Don’t need more why than that.”

  Maybe Grandpa has another motive. Maybe decades ago, Kalyn’s grandpa gave mine a bad deal on car repair. Maybe Grandpa fought with him in high school. But maybe nothing happened, beyond people pretending to be worth more than others.

  “You do need more why. But you don’t feel, I mean, you don’t have it. Dad knew it. I bet he became friends with Gary because you bullied him not to.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “Grandpa, did Dad even like you?”

  I can read the answer in his face.

  “He was, I mean, probably dying to know Gary Spence. At least Gary Spence wasn’t you.”

  Grandpa places the full weight of his stare on Mom. “I never spared those rednecks a thought, until they killed my son.”

  “Unless they didn’
t.”

  “Gus,” Mom warns, but I’m not finished.

  “Unless DNA proves Gary Spence is innocent.”

  I half expect Grandpa to overturn the table, to come around and grab me.

  I don’t expect him to shrug. “You’re right. The DNA would prove Gary Spence didn’t do it. But we won’t let them get that far.”

  I’m on my feet, thoughtless about getting there, but Grandpa doesn’t seem to care.

  “Listen here, son,” Grandpa says, pouring himself a whiskey. “Best let this one go, now. Ain’t that right, Beth?”

  Mom’s mouth is a firm line.

  “Mom?”

  She won’t look at me.

  “Your father was my only son.” Grandpa shakes the glass in his hand. “My name died with him. He can’t carry on a legacy. Can’t keep up the house once I’m gone. He isn’t here to inherit. In life, James was a failure in many ways. In death, at least he’s a martyr.”

  “Mom.”

  Tears slide down her cheeks.

  “The hero, the widow, the son. Things are complicated enough, with the widow being a dyke and the son being damaged. Leave the rest alone, for god’s sake.”

  Somewhere in there, Grandpa crossed a line. Mom stands. “Jimmy wasn’t a hero. He was a screwed-up teenager, just like I was. I was wrong, Gus, to let you think he was anything else. Our home was supposed to be an apology, never an altar.”

  I think of the faces on the wall, the tomb’s icy chill.

  “But I’m done with that. And we’re done here. You called that march a rebellion, Mortimer? Like any rebellion worth its salt, it did its job. It woke people up. It woke me up. I won’t let you insult my son, my wife, or our intelligence anymore.”

  “And the consequences?” Grandpa sets his glass down. “You’re fine letting the truth come out?”

  Mom laughs. “I haven’t had trouble coming out for years. These aren’t my skeletons. When I testify in court, I’ll say what I never could. And maybe, finally, I’ll sleep through the night.” Mom looks at me. “We’re leaving, Gus. Okay?”

  “The hell you are,” Grandpa snarls. “The hell you’re going anywhere until we come to an agreement!”

  “Go on, then. Hit me like you used to hit James. You think I never saw the bruises? We were madly in love, remember. Isn’t that how you testified? ‘Madly in love.’ So hit me, old man, but know I’ll hit back.”