Wild and Crooked

by Leah Thomas

  Grandpa tries to stand, maybe to hurt her after all, but his leg locks up.

  By the time Mom and I reach the foyer, he’s wheezing to keep up, and by the time I get down those deck steps and meet Mom at the bottom, he’s fallen behind.

  “Have fun with those medical bills!” he hollers. “Have fun in prison!”

  “I could call Tam for a ride,” Mom rasps as we walk down the driveway. When I look back, Grandpa’s bracing himself in the door frame, backlit by amber light.

  “It’s not Tam’s job to come, um. To save us.”

  “You’re right.” Her pace slows. “You’re right. I wonder why. I wonder if I’ve been waiting for someone to stop bullets, ever since.”

  “Ever since what, Mom?”

  She’s not crying. She’s not anything. “Ever since I watched your father die.”

  A gust of frigid wind blows hard, rising from the bottom of the driveway or beyond. Maybe it’s come all the way here from Samsboro. Back in town, the homecoming game is probably starting, just like it started eighteen years ago. Maybe this is the same breeze Dad—and Mom?—felt that night at Spence Salvage, recycled around the world for two decades. I wonder if Kalyn feels it, and whether it smells as clean to her as it does to me.

  PHIL

  I PARK THE Death Van in our dark driveway. As anticipated, John waits in the kitchen, hands folded on the table. He is heavier and younger than our father, but they bear an uncanny resemblance. It’s their eyes, the fullness and warmth within them.

  I sit down at the table across from him, resigned to my fate.

  “What the hell did you do, Phil?”

  “Oh, of course. For I must have done something.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t?”

  I shake my throbbing head. “I beat a fellow student senseless. Surely Officer Newton informed you. Of course I did something.”

  “Why is it ‘of course’ with you?” John slams a palm on the table, and now I see the warmth in his eyes spill over, wetting his red cheeks. “Phil. Why do you think violence is an inevitability? Who taught you that? We never, ever did.”

  “You know what I’m like, John.”

  “I do know,” he says, staring me down. “You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, Phil. Ever, and before I moved into the basement I studied at an Ivy League school. If you’re not outthinking this, this habit, that’s your own choice.”

  I think of all our points of reference. “You know how it is with some creatures. Goblins are sneaky, orcs brutal. The Balrog can only ever be fire and hatred.”

  He takes my hand. “You’re not a fantasy creature, Phil. You’re here, and you’re my brother, and you deserve to give yourself a fucking chance.”

  These are altogether too similar to the words Kalyn gave me; I recoil from them. An ache forms in my chest, and maybe it is almost like feeling. How can people ever tell?

  “Why? Why do I deserve that?”

  John sighs. “Every single person on the planet deserves that, man.”

  I swallow. “Well, alas, for I have already lost my chance to partake in this story.”

  “Don’t write yourself out. Where’s Gus? Where’s Kalyn?”

  “On some noble quest, I imagine. Playing the heroes while I revert to an NPC.”

  He lifts up his hands. “Then change it. Do something, Phil.”

  “As though it’s easy,” I grumble. “You can’t even leave the house.”

  “It’s not me you’re mad at. But nice try. How can you help Gus and Kalyn?”

  “They sent me home. They’re the leads in the play I no longer have a part in.”

  John taps his head. “What you’re lacking in Charisma and Constitution, you make up for with Intelligence. You want life to come together in a story? I challenge you to pick a new role. How can you, Phil Wheeler, apathetic nerd and decent friend—”

  “I’m not—”

  “—semidecent friend: How can you help move the plot forward?”

  I don’t know if I’m capable of admiring my brother. Over the years, he has pulled my hands away from burners, he has held me back from knives. I have bitten his forearms, insulted his lifestyle, dismissed him as a dungeon dweller. But John is nothing if not a solid DM, a remarkable strategist. Perhaps, with his aid, there is a role yet to play.

  “Mayhaps you can help me think of something.” The gears within me start whirring. My eldest brother cuffs my ear with his hand, smiling through unfounded tears.

  Maybe there is poetry in this.

  KALYN

  HONESTLY, I’M RELIEVED when Phil ditches us. Not because he’s weirding me out. Not because I’m becoming a soggy dishrag as Officer Newton waxes nice about Dad.

  I can’t be puzzling out Phil when I’m trying to puzzle out why the school secretary has come to our rescue. And there’d be pretty much no room for Phil’s scrawny skeleton in this car, what with me and the dog-monster crammed back here.

  “Watch out for Angus.” Ms. Patrick catches my eye in the rearview. She’s driving a stick shift, and she’s already stolen the best-driver title. “He might phlegm on you.”

  “It’s cool.” What harm can slobber do? I already look like the plague. “Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Patrick.”

  “Again, hon, it’s Ms. Haven’t been a Mrs. since the divorce. Hell, I don’t think I was a Mrs. during the marriage. Never let a man pretend to own you, you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “And don’t let any old broads tell you how to live,” she adds, winking.

  I’m grinning, despite everything, despite hell and the puddle of drool Angus has just dribbled onto my lap. “What if they’re the only cool person in the school, though?”

  “That’s a whole nother story.”

  “Yeah, and not the story I need right now. Why are you helpin’ us?”

  “Well, that’s a long—”

  “If you’re gonna say ‘long story,’ don’t. Give me the abridged version, but talk.”

  She makes another turn. “Guess most people don’t do you that kindness, huh?”

  “They don’t.” I’m staring out the window, cracking my knuckles. “Except Gus and Mom. Dad didn’t even bother calling last night.”

  “Whatever you’re feeling, he must be feeling it times ten million.”

  “Is he feeling innocent, though?” I wipe my hand off on Angus’s furry back. Big mistake. He thinks I’m petting him and responds by breathing putrid air up my nostrils.

  “Gary never struck me as the kind to complain. Not that I knew him like you do. But he was real quiet, real serious sometimes. Back in those days, I was teaching. Life Skills. Your dad didn’t even crack a smirk during the condom demonstration, and that’s a doozy for most kids. If I remember right, you snickered like a damn buffoon, Earl.”

  “It’s true,” Officer Newton admits. “I was a real turd sometimes.”

  “Life Skills . . .” Something slides into place: the dog pictures on her desk, her tears in the office. Gus’s clues and the part about Kathy Sturluson, the woman who—­

  “When I found James, I thought he was a dummy. Isn’t that ridiculous? I mean, I was looking for him. But I didn’t think he’d be dead. I felt guilty about creeping around Spence Salvage that day.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Because Spences are guilty scum.”

  “Kalyn, if you keep telling people what you are without giving them the benefit of the doubt, you’re helping those names stick.”

  There’s nothing I can say to that.

  “I got on just fine with your family. Used to take my car there for oil changes. That day I went to Spence Salvage to talk to James’s best friend.”

  “Best friend,” I echo.

  “It was pretty common knowledge. Wouldn’t you say, Earl?”

  Officer Newton doesn’t say a thing.

  “If it was common knowledge, how come me and Gus never knew that? How come no one ever
testified saying so?”

  “Someone wanted it that way,” she says. “An old man who’s kept his dirty hands just out of reach for long enough, if you ask me.”

  I look out the window. It’s so dark that I only see my own reflection.

  “I knocked on the door and no one answered. Me and Spook walked around a bit, thinking they might be doing an oil change, and that’s when I caught a whiff of that trunk. Mostly I was thinking ‘it can’t be,’ but maybe I did suspect. This was a story I felt like I’d read before, you know?”

  Yeah, I do know.

  “We’re four mastiffs on since then, but I remember what it felt like when I opened that trunk in the snow and saw him. You know what they don’t tell you in the papers? Someone set him up, closed his eyes, tucked a fleece blanket around him like he was sleeping. You don’t do that for someone you don’t care about. James Ellis was missing for days. There were a thousand other places your dad could have put that body.”

  “Unless he cared too much to let him go,” I breathe.

  “Or,” Officer Newton adds, “maybe Gary didn’t know the body was there.”

  We let that one hang for a second.

  “I think a lot about that day, Kalyn,” Ms. Patrick says. “I wish I hadn’t run to my car and called the police the minute I got home. I wish I’d spoken to your dad. I wish I hadn’t listened to Mortimer Ellis. You see a body and you don’t think straight.”

  “Most people would say you did exactly the right thing.”

  “So why do I regret it?” She’s slowed the car to a halt in front of a gated driveway. There’s no telling if she means to stop or if she’s just overwhelmed.

  She tells us to wait in the car.

  She’s in the wrong gang for that. Me and Officer Newton get out—although it takes a minute to shove Angus off my lap. The temperature’s dropped again.

  Newton glares at me, but neither of us pretend I’m gonna get back in that car.

  The gate is twice my height, black and forbidding. Funny how rich people are so scared about their privacy when they don’t seem to recognize the existence of anyone else’s. Ms. Patrick rings the buzzer, but I think it’s pretty clear no one will answer. You don’t put yourself in a mansion on a hill because you wanna associate with commoners.

  “I’m pretty sure I can climb it.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s trespassing. You aren’t doing that while I’m watching.”

  “Turn around, then, Ocifer,” I grab the cold bars—­

  Ms. Patrick gasps. “Someone’s coming.”

  “I don’t hear an engine.” Officer Newton draws his baton.

  “No, they’re walking.”

  “Are there bears in Kentucky?” I squint at the shadows. “Or do you think Mr. Ellis is coming to say hello?”

  “The bear’s more likely,” Ms. Patrick says.

  “Get back, Spence,” Officer Newton warns.

  But I’d recognize that gait anywhere.

  “Gus!” I holler, and then he’s wincing in the headlights’ glare.

  He looks more tired than ever, too tired to cover his eyes, but so far as I can see he’s not hurt. When he hears me hollerin’ he picks up his pace, leaving the other figure—his mom—behind.

  “Kalyn!” he breathes at the gate, twisting his fingers around the metal.

  “Behind bars at last,” I joke. Gus laughs like he’s been dying to. It kills me. “Tell you what, Gus, it’s not much of a rescue if you’ve already escaped.”

  “We’ll call it a jailbreak.” Gus lets go of the bars and takes my hand instead. “Hopefully your dad’ll be next.”

  And I realize something beautiful and horrible: Gus believes Dad isn’t guilty.

  So why can’t I believe it yet? Why can’t I let Dad be good? Let us be good?

  “Sorry I let you go, Gus.”

  “Don’t. And actually . . .” Those saucers widen. “I learned some things.”

  “Me too.” We’ll be editing his notes. “Think we might actually solve this thing?”

  “Not sure it’s the sort of thing that can be solved.” I want to ask why he looks so sad and scared, but he changes the subject. “Where’s Phil?”

  I can’t think how to answer that with Officer Newton looming behind us, and the image of Phil going apeshit looming inside me.

  We’re interrupted by the sound of Gus’s mom losing her ever-loving shit: “Open the damn gate, or I will call the police and tell them everything, you hear me? I’ll tell them about the bribes and the blackmail, and I’ll tell them about jury members who’ve been living rich ever since they sent Gary Spence to prison, jury members who suspiciously donate to your causes! And if you’ve bought out the local police, well, I’ll call national papers and I’ll contact my publishers and I will put the truth out there!”

  The gate clicks and eases open. I have a feeling she’s still got more to say, because she looks almost mad about not having to scream anymore.

  Gus and I don’t fling ourselves on each other, because both of us would probably fall over, and as much as it sucks, I think both of us will always worry about whether people are watching us. But once that gate opens and Gus hobbles through, he loops his arm around my shoulders and that’s enough.

  Ms. Patrick glares at Mrs. Peake. “Beth.”

  “Mrs. Sturluson,” she replies, just as stiffly.

  “It’s Patrick now,” I say.

  “And it’s Ms.,” Gus adds, because of course Gus noticed that.

  “When you call the papers,” Ms. Patrick says, “will you tell the whole story?”

  “I will,” Mrs. Peake replies, looking at Gus. “I’ll tell them everything. But first, I’ll tell all of you.”

  “Well, shit.” My heart deflates. “Isn’t that just too easy?”

  I’m not really complaining. It doesn’t feel easy. Me and Gus? We don’t know the meaning of the word.

  GUS

  SOMEHOW WE ALL squeeze into that car. I joke that one of us could ride in the trunk. Only Kalyn laughs. We make it down the hill, back to the edge of Samsboro and home.

  Tamara’s truck idles in the driveway. She stands beside it with a box in her arms and freezes when the station wagon stops at her feet.

  Mom clutches the seat in front of her. For a moment I think she’s going to hyperventilate. Instead, she opens the door and runs straight for Tam.

  I can’t hear what they’re saying. It’s none of our business. But when Tamara sets the box down to wrap Mom in a hug, Kalyn reaches across the enormous dog to nudge me on the shoulder.

  I climb out slowly. When Tamara sees me wearing those stupid cherry-red boots, she starts sobbing over Mom’s shoulder. I’ve only ever seen Tamara cry once before, on the day they got denied a marriage license. They knew they would get denied, but they tried and cried anyway. Their wedding was beautiful anyway.

  Tamara shuffles forward because Mom’s stuck to her like glue. She throws her other arm around me.

  “They fit, then?”

  “Perfectly,” I say, hugging her back.

  I call Phil and leave a message, telling him where we are, where everyone is.

  “Kalyn won’t say what happened,” I say, “but you should be here, Phil.”

  It’s his story, too, but he doesn’t pick up the phone, and Kalyn just shakes her head, saying, “You two need to talk it out.”

  I head back to the kitchen and pause in the doorway. We’ve never had this many bodies in our home before. I never dreamed we would. When I catch Tamara’s eye, I know she’s thinking the same thing.

  We’ve got enough chairs, but filling them is new. The house feels warmer, and not just because Angus is breathing hot air across my naked feet. A fire’s been lit in here.

  “Anyone want cocoa?” I ask, because someone should say something.

  “Coffee,” Officer Newton says.

  “He didn’t offer coffee, Earl,” scolds Ms. Patrick.

  Kalyn cackles, but I think she’s nervous.

 
“Sit down, Gus.” Mom lifts herself up. “I’ll get it.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Tam, I don’t want you—”

  “Don’t. This is my house, too, and I feel like making coffee for our guests. That’s it.” Tam gives Mom a look that probably says ten thousand things, but no one but the two of them knows what they are. “We’ll talk later.”

  Kalyn cuts right to it. “You’ve got some talking to do now, Mrs. Peake.”

  Mom’s eyes flit from our faces to Fridge-Dad. “I don’t know where to start.”

  Kalyn taps my notebook. “Got anything to write with?”

  Mom fetches the mug of multicolored pens that sits on her desk and overturns it. Kalyn assigns everyone a color. My notebook makes two rounds around our circle. Mugs are drained more than once.

  “Should have used a poster board,” Ms. Patrick says.

  “Or gone traditional. Red strings and a photo wall,” Kalyn says.

  “Not bad work here, kids.” As far as I can tell, Officer Newton’s being serious.

  “It’s about time people cleaned up their messes,” Ms. Patrick adds. “It shouldn’t have taken children marching down Main Street.”

  Mom doesn’t speak. Her hands look like mine, trembling on the table.

  “Here, kids. It’s all yours.” Tam pulls the notebook from Mom’s clutches. Mom puts both hands over her eyes.

  Kalyn and I flip through rainbow-streaked pages. Purple for Ms. Patrick. Magenta for Mom. Green for Officer Newton. It reminds me of the yearbook signatures.

  Until I start reading.

  Clues?

  1. Gary Spence Signed Dad's yearbook and appeared in photos with Dad, too. Good friends? If so, why would Gary Spence claim Dad bullied him?

  The two things are not mutually exclusive. Or, perhaps, like you and Kalyn, the general populace was not aware of the true nature of their friendship. There are social factors to consider. Spences and Ellises likely could not be seen together. yeah, apart from the photos and the yearbook there’s a picture where your mom and dad are on the hood of a car on fourth of july and to me it’s always looked like it was taken on grandma’s property @ spence salvage. I think they hung out. They started off on the worst foot as freshmen, but that was ancient history by senior year. Reports of bullying have been exaggerated, <—Ditto. they were friends plain and simple. Beth can confirm.