Bittersweet Wreckage

by Erin Richards

  We finished sanitizing the counters and Jesse swept the floor, marveling at our myriad cleaning products and apparatuses. Hey, if the Master wanted the house sparkling, we spared no expense. He never questioned those charges on the credit card.

  It was Jesse’s first time in Dad’s office overlooking the circular driveway and front yard gardens. The hydrangeas bloomed, their lavender-blue pom-poms dragging the branches down from their weight. The two-tiered birdbath stood stone cold dry.

  “Oh no.” I covered my mouth. “I haven’t filled the birdbath in days.” My shoulders hunched, and I startled when Jesse’s hand alighted on the small of my back, a weighty presence of many magnitudes.

  “One of his daily chores?”

  Unable to speak from the despair suddenly drowning me, I nodded.

  “I’ll do it now if you want.”

  “No. It’s my job.” I barked out a gorilla grunt. “I’d rather you washed the Porsche, my Saturday morning chore. Every friggin’ Saturday.”

  “Deal. As long as I get to drive it.”

  I met the sparkle in his eye. “You can drive it from the garage to the driveway.” I smiled. “That’s as far as he let me drive it.”

  He mock-pouted and fingered the salt-water taffy I’d bought on my last day at the beach. “Spearmint and peppermint. His favorite flavors.”

  I opened the banker’s box and unpacked the contents onto the cleared conference table. “Once a month, Mom gave me money to buy it for him in Santa Cruz.” I neglected to tell him how I wanted to lick each piece and re-wrap them. On one especially wicked day when he’d reduced my mother to a near coma, I wanted to dip them in antifreeze.

  “Did you go to the Boardwalk a lot?” Jesse picked up the framed photo of Mom and the Lynwood family photo, which had never decorated his desk at work. “I spent a lot of time there, hanging with friends. I wonder if we were ever there at the same time.”

  I shriveled inside, guessing that no framed photo of Jillian Jerome or my father’s other family existed in his belongings. “During the summer, I try to go every other week, to hang out alone and think. Escape my life. Write poetry.”

  He set the photos facedown. “You write song lyrics?”

  I scoffed. “My poetry resembles the crayon ABCs of a five-year-old.”

  “Will you let me read some?”

  No one had ever wanted to read my poetry, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to share. “Maybe.” Heat assailed me from Jesse’s interest, his nearness. From just him.

  Other than the pictures, the box held desktop doohickeys, folders, and envelopes containing a copy of his will, a second checkbook, and his benefit documents, most of which I’d already read on the flash drive.

  After looking at the will, Jesse said, “I’m not surprised he didn’t mention us.” Disappointment drooped his shoulders and turned down his mouth. “He hid us from everyone.”

  I rubbed his arm, feeling his lanky muscles twitch, awakening parts of me that had no right to awaken, until I tugged my hand away and bribed them to keep busy elsewhere. “He hid his lies from the world. He didn’t hide you.”

  I showed the secret checkbook register to Jesse. “Look. He gave your mom money every month.” He’d had a portion of his paycheck automatically deposited into a second checking account in his name only, a checking account and deposit absent from the other financials I had already gone through.

  A muscle in his neck protruded. “She lied. She said she never took regular money from him.”

  “It’s not cheap to live in California. She probably accepted money to give you and Jade a better life.”

  “He’s a fucking enigma now. Even my mother’s a stranger.”

  Our eyes locked; no sorrow, simply hard acceptance. “I never knew him at all,” I said.

  I lifted out the last item, a large envelope stuffed with photos of Jillian, Jade, and Jesse. I wilted onto the nearest chair and flipped through the pictures. Dates were marked on the reverse side in my father’s exact left-handed slanted handwriting. Pictures from the time he’d met Jillian and several pictures for each year of the kids’ lives. I looked at each one before handing them to Jesse, until my head spun on the hamster wheel of crazy and I tossed the envelope on his lap. With jerky movements, I slammed everything back into the box before I succumbed to my desire to burn every lick of Leo Lynwood’s existence from Earth. I hoped the devil appointed my father the master of turds broiling in hell.

  “Ivy. Ivy.” Jesse caught my hand in his. “Stop.”

  I emitted a muffled screech and Jesse weaved his fingers through mine. He pulled me closer, his other arm holding me tight to him, as if I was the sole star in his sky. The hard planes of his chest pressed against my cheek. He propped his chin on top of my head, his breath ruffling my hair. Part of me wanted to stay in his arms forever. The other part was seething to escape the confines of weirdness that still existed between us. Forbidden. Taboo.

  The front door slammed and we sprang apart. A cute dusky shade of pink glowed beneath his tan. When Mom found us in the office, we were seated at the conference table, my finance spreadsheet pulled up on the laptop, four copies printed for each member of the Lynwood–Jerome Council of Freaks. Jesse texted Jade to meet us for our first democratic meeting.

  Jade’s combat boots struck the hardwood floor in pounding steps. Fresh cigarette smoke wafted off her in clouds, and I fanned my face. Mom coughed into her upper arm, hiding the problem as usual. Some things never changed. Did she even understand how to get a grip on the Jerome orphan-bastard train?

  “You shouldn’t smoke in the house,” I said.

  Jesse scowled at her. “Or at all.”

  “Whatevs.” She took up the seat at the head of the table, slinking down, arms crossed tight over her chest.

  “Honey, please smoke outside away from the doors if you insist on such a nasty habit.” Mom finally dropped a parental mandate.

  “Don’t call me honey. I’m not your brownnoser daughter.”

  “Jade!” Jesse kicked her under the table. She yelped and clenched her lips tight.

  Mom waved her hand. “Let’s get on with this. I have a splitting headache.”

  I slid the spreadsheets across the table. “We have a huge mortgage and big outflow of monthly bills. I’ve made suggestions on what to cut, and have already cut the landscapers down and the housekeeper to monthly for the heavy cleaning.”

  Jade and Jesse read the amounts on the sheet and gasped in tandem. Jade straightened in her chair and slowly ran her finger down the spreadsheet. Heck, she might actually take something seriously for a change.

  “Cut out the landscapers completely. I can do it all.” Jesse looked to Mom for affirmation.

  “Well, I’m not gonna clean the house, so you better keep your housekeeper.” Jade’s two cents bounced on the table. As if she’d pony up a helping hand.

  “You need to do your part in cleaning up after yourself.” Jesse gave his sister a pointed look. “Your kitchen mess was ridiculous.”

  “Let’s carry on,” I said, concern for Mom’s pained look fueling me. She ran on borrowed time. “Dad’s life insurance is being held up due to the police investigation. They say it’s routine. Once the investigation’s resolved, they’ll release the money. Until then, we have a few months to last or we cash in some stock.”

  “What?” Jade’s expression collapsed, her kohl-rimmed eyes growing red. “Meaning?”

  “Same thing I found out when I called about Mom’s policy,” Jesse said. “They need to rule out suspicious behavior… and other things.”

  “From who?” Jade’s boots hit the floor in a loud thump and her eyes narrowed in suspicion at my mother.

  Dry-eyed and stoic, Mom said, “Whatever you’re implying doesn’t implicate me. It’s a routine investigation of an accidental fire.” She recited what seemed like practiced words.

  My palms sweated. I still needed to clear her from my own suspicions. My paranoia nibbled at my last few calm nerves.

&
nbsp; “What else do they need to investigate?” Jade slipped lower in her chair.

  “Suicide,” Jesse mumbled, studying his hands in his lap.

  “No!” Jade slammed her fist on the table. “Not Mom and Dad.” Tears welled in the machine.

  What’d ya know? The Rock possessed more than the two teenage emotions of sullen and angry.

  “Mom recently redid her will and upgraded her life insurance policy at work,” Jesse explained. “She left everything to us. The timing looks suspicious.”

  Jade began to full-on sob, scurrying from the room. Stricken, Jesse charged after her. I frayed the edges of my spreadsheet and Mom listed to the side, glassy-eyed, ready to visit Snoozeville. Silent, we waited for J-squared to resume their seats, a thorny air tagging along. Once they finally did, Mom cleared her throat.

  “We haven’t received the autopsy reports yet,” Mom continued. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, and kept plucking the hem of her dress, growing more and more suspicious in my newly leery eyes.

  “When Mom and I went to… the coroner’s office, the coroner suggested they may have taken drugs since they never woke up from the smoke.” I dropped another devastating crumb.

  Jesse averted his face. Jade fidgeted in her seat, her eyes darting past us out the window to Rex sitting on the empty birdbath, staring through the window into the danger zone.

  I stilled. “Did they do drugs?”

  “Pot,” Jesse replied, matter of fact. “Recreational.”

  Everything I knew about Mystery Jerkface had flipped upside down on its salt-and-pepper straw head.

  “JJ, why’re you telling the Queen and Pink Princess of San Jose our family secrets?” Jade kicked him under the table. Gritting his teeth, he met her kick and upped it a backhanded smack on her thigh.

  “Enough.” Mom listlessly slapped the table, slipping fast into dreamland. “We need to make decisions, including selling your house in Santa Cruz. We can’t maintain two houses.”

  Jesse held up his hand to forestall the rant ready to tumble out of Jade’s open cavern. “My friend Rico’s dad is a realtor. He said if we rented it out we’d make more than the mortgage and pocket a few hundred bucks a month. I say we hang onto it until I’m eighteen and then decide. He’ll help me manage it.”

  Jade glowed, her preening puppy eyes feasting on Jesse. “I agree. All those in favor. Right, sold to Jesse’s idea.” She earned round ninety-ninety of frowns and glowers.

  “That’s perfect, Jesse.” A weight slid off Mom’s shoulders, raising them to perky. “I want you to keep the extra rental money for you and Jade, or for maintenance on the house. I don’t expect you to contribute funds to the family pot.”

  “Well, duh.” Jade smirked. “Why should we?”

  I snapped. “We don’t want your money. But, seriously, you think we owe you a roof over your head and a pantry full of food? Or that you can just take and take from us? What have you brought to the party?” I leaned over the table toward her. “We don’t owe you shit. We didn’t give them the drugs that killed them.” I shoved away from the table, sprinted up the stairs, and slammed my bedroom door so hard, Dad’s ashes stirred and ranted, wherever they were in transit.

  My chest heaved in and out as air whooshed away from me, snatched by my disastrous suckass new life. The faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered in my room, ballooning my irritation. So much for thinking post-death life would be cake. Bye-bye burst bubble. This After Dad reality had become a different kind of imprisonment than Before Death. It sucked donkey’s ass. I hated to think that my mother might’ve been responsible for his death, but in that moment I wished he were alive to smack Jade upside the head.

  Sitting on my bed, I examined the pictures on the wall, my own rock-star display, tame in comparison to Jesse’s autographed posters. Dad never allowed posters, yet he didn’t object to the framed eight-by-tens on the wall by my flat screen—photos I’d printed off the web and framed of my favorite rock bands’ CD covers. Lately, I’d broadened my horizons toward newer bands playing on the satellite stations. Crap. “Another bill to cancel.”

  I stretched out on the bed and a knock shook my door. It wasn’t Mom’s soft distinctive double knock.

  “What?”

  “Can I come in?” Jesse asked.

  “Why?”

  “Just let me in.”

  Clothes scattered the foot of my bed and the armchair—my usual spotless room had gone to pot since the day I shall not mention. “Fine. Come in.” With my backside facing the door, I froze. I didn’t care what Jesse saw any longer. For all intents and purposes, he was my brother. As much as my twisted body wanted more, it wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t living in fantasyland. He was so out of my league and expertise even if he wasn’t my “brother.”

  The door squeaked open then snicked closed. Another chore I’d forgotten to do: spraying all the door hinges once a month to prevent the squeaks. Random squeaking doors kill people, ya know.

  The bed sank as Jesse sat down. Not that he was heavy, but everything about him was magnified—every breath he took, every look he gave me, every soft word he spoke. He was an enigma I wanted desperately to unravel. At the same time, I wanted nothing to do with the Jerome part of Dad’s life, which never intersected the Lynwood part. I buried my face in my pillow, trying to bury my divergence. Maybe I ought to take Will up on a second date to sidetrack my jacked hormones. He’d texted me earlier in the morning and I hadn’t replied. But nothing about Will conjured the blazing butterfly flutters Jesse elicited.

  His fingers brushed my arm, leaving a tickling crawl of goosebumps from my wrist to my shoulder. Argh! See what I mean?

  “Ivy?”

  The bed sank lower down my length as he lay beside me. His body seared into my backside, his breath ruffling the hair on the nape of my neck, his heartbeat so loud it crushed the sound of my own heart hammering in my ears. All my ideas of “brother” flew out the window.

  Chapter 15

  “Ivy?” Jesse whispered in my ear, not touching me, his closeness blanketing me in the feel of him. “Your mom tabled our discussion for mandatory family dinner tonight.” He paused. “She split for a lunch date. Jade’s waiting out front for Ax to pick her up.”

  We were alone in the house and I shivered. “No band practice? No friends to visit in Santa Cruz? No packing? No million texts and phone calls to return?” Clarity and bravado unwound in my head and I whispered, “No girlfriend?”

  He traced the bare skin of my arm, pressing into me, signaling me to roll onto my back. My shiver thawed in the heat emanating off him. We lay side by side, staring at the ceiling, our hips glued together. I wanted to run and hide from the repercussions of us.

  “I’m maintaining my social cred, blowing everyone off.” He grinned. “We pack the house next weekend. No girlfriend. Haven’t found the right girl to make it worth my time.” He tapped his fingers on my arm.

  Oh. Oh. “Even though they throw themselves at you on stage?” I only half-kidded.

  “Most of those girls are hit and runs. The other guys hook up. That’s not me.” He rubbed the tattoo climbing his arm, fingered his earring.

  “Do you want to do something today?” Crushing on him hard, I needed to escape myself.

  “I am doing something.”

  “Lying on my bed isn’t doing something.” I smiled at the ceiling, fearing to break the tableau, fearing where it led me.

  “Lying on the bed with you is.”

  Was I worth his time? “Oh.” I rolled on my side, facing him. No part of our bodies touched, although I wanted him pressed to me in a non-brotherly way.

  “You have beautiful lips,” he breathed out. Said no brother ever to his sister.

  My neck burned. “Thanks. I guess.”

  “The minute I saw you at the funeral, I wanted to know you.”

  “Before you knew my identity?”

  “Yes. More so now.”

  Wary of our new paradigm, I scooted back an inch. Jesse’
s hand on my arm stopped me.

  “You uncomfortable with me here? Want me to go?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  Caveman Jesse thumped his chest. “Of me? The big bad rocker.”

  “Of Jesse Jerome, my half-adopted brother.”

  “Ouch.” He traced a red, guitar-callused finger down my arm again, scratching an itch I’d buried forever. “We’re not related.”

  “I know.”

  “Is it weird?”

  “A little. I’m not sure what you want from me.” I released my darkest fear, my greatest hope to this stranger who’d bagged a part of me I never believed I’d give up.

  The air conditioner kicked on, and his hair swayed in the cool, gentle breeze blowing on us, twining another short dark lock around my longer blonde hair. Thanks for the much needed ice therapy.

  “At the funeral, your hand was clamped on this,” he touched my necklace, clinking the dragon against the silver disc, “like it was your lifesaver. Your expression was distant, not so much grief, but a different pain. You were a puzzle I wanted to piece together. Part of me recognized you were important to me. It freaked the hell out of me.” He rambled on as though he’d bottled up his words for a millennium and his bottle had just washed ashore on my island. “Something about you was a lie. I had to find out what’d caused such pain in your life. I needed to know you.”

  Tensing, I rubbed my forehead. How had he read all those emotions on a face I’d tried to mask? “You said you and Jade were in the back. How’d you see me so clearly?”

  “I managed to catch glimpses. Recorded it on video.”

  He rolled on his side to face me, his hand clamped on my arm, this time settled without moving. Possessive. Or I dreamed of his possession. Loony bin for the criminally incestuous, here I come.

  “I feel a tad stalked.”

  He smiled, baring a hint of white teeth, and dipped his chin. “Jade wanted the funeral on film. I cut out the extra panning on you, your sister, and mom before she destroyed the video. She kinda dove into a tailspin after we found out about you guys. I saved the original if you want to see it.”

  “Not now. It’s too fresh.”