The Keys to Jericho (12 page)

“Unbelievable,” I say as Dad puts his arm around Dash, dragging him down the stairs and out the front door.

First Rio. Now Dash. What the fuck did I do to them to deserve this shit?

With the threat of Dash briefly contained, I go downstairs, and head back outside. When I find Lange, I’m all work, glad to be buried in the remainder of our siding installation. I just want to forget everything going on around me, finish this job, so I can enjoy the rest of my vacation—alone. If there will be any vacation left. Why didn’t I just move into a hotel room? Even living with my grandparents most likely would’ve been a better option. All I’d have to do there is a few things around the house, mow their grass, and bring in the trashcans, not deal with any of this bullshit. What an idiot. I’d move in with them now, but my dad would just stop by every day, reminding me how disappointed he is in me for not making the “right choices.” I’m already regretting my choices. Believe me.

Breaking for lunch, I don’t feel much like eating, but I need to go somewhere to avoid Dash and Kat. I’ve yet to run into her today, which is a relief.

Walking around the house, I see my dad talking to Mark and he tells me, “Hey, bud. Dash and Kat just left for lunch.”

Mark asks, “They didn’t ask you to go?”

I uncaringly answer, “No.”

Dad says, “Well, maybe it’s better you both cool off.”

I tersely uphold, “Dash started it.” Truth.

As my dad dubiously frowns at me, Mark says, “Your dad and I are heading out to lunch. Want to join us?”

“No, thanks.” I turn to my dad. “You taking your truck?”

Mark answers, “I’m driving.”

Holding out my hand, I ask Dad, “Can I have your truck keys then?”

He squints his eyes, like he’s trying to figure out my motive. “You’re not stealing it are you?”

“Yeah because you’d never find me,” I deadpan. He continues to ogle me and I roll my eyes. “I just want to listen to the radio, but if I move it so I can sit in the shade, don’t call the cops.”

He reaches into his pocket. “Ok. Just remember, I know where you’re living.”

“Ha. Got it.”
Kill me now
.

I take the keys and before he can ask any more questions about earlier or make stupid comments that aren’t funny, I head to the street. As I pull away from the curb, mentally negotiating whether or not I really could leave and not come back today, I round Brenda’s corner lot and park underneath a tree. I could drive somewhere for lunch, but just as much as I want to leave, a damned part of me doesn’t.

What is Dash doing hanging around Kat now, anyway? Suddenly, they’re joined at the hip? As I blankly stare at a white brick house across the street, thinking about all the positions they can be joined that way, I twist the gray leather steering wheel grip, causing it to squeak in screeching, intermittent bursts.

Why should it even bother me if they start dating? I have no claim on her. I never did. It shouldn’t bother me in the least.

Yet, it does.

Tremendously.

I reach into my carpenter shorts to yank out my phone to call Rio and complain about Dash, but as I wake the screen, I realize that I can’t tell him about this. As much as Duquesne wouldn’t care about the entire situation, that sort of annoys me, too.

Every car that passes by the truck compels me to look up, checking for Calder, even though he should be approaching from the other direction. It irks me I’m so on edge, when that’s what I’m trying to avoid by sitting out here alone.

Hearing a familiar purr approaching from behind, I look over my shoulder to see Dash’s car pull up along the curb in front of the house. Kat gets out and waits for him before they go up the walkway. Kat giggles and says something to him as they move out of my line of view. Were they laughing at me, like they probably did their entire lunch?

For the rest of the day, I successfully, and miraculously, avoid Dash and Kat, but that nowhere near settles me from wondering what they’re doing or what they talked about during lunch. Even if I told Dash I don’t care what they talked about over dinner, I am somewhat curious. However, I won’t go crawling to him or admit that I do want to know what was said. That’ll never happen. I’m used to not knowing.

On the way home, Dad asks, “You want to tell me what really happened between Dashiell and you today?”

I edgily sigh and lean my head against the headrest, closing my eyes. “This again?” I really need to start driving my car every morning. I don’t care if I have to park the next street over.

“You’re not very convincing trying to convince me that something didn’t happen. There’s a huge chunk of the story I’m missing.”

“Then maybe you should get a refund.”

“Jared.”

I try another smartass answer. “He said he was a human being. I disputed that.”

He heaves a sharp sigh and frustration oozes in his gruff voice. “What is going on with you? Does this have anything to do with last night at the marina?”

I open my eyes and pull my head away from the seat. “Okay. Spill it. You’re fishing.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Dad glance at me as he vacantly asks, “Fishing?”

“Yeah. What did Dash tell you? He had to have said something to you. Now you want to get my side of it.”

“Not much. He said you won’t talk to Rio or him about what’s bothering you.”

As we coast to a stop at a red light, I remove my hat and offhandedly comb my hand through my hair, while I observe four dogs walking a man. “There isn’t anything bothering me. Should I hire a plane to write it in the sky? You work for Boeing. Make it happen.”

We’re quiet for about 10 seconds, until he can’t help asking, “Who was Dash talking about earlier?”

“His mom.”

He shakes his head and glances at me, apparently not believing my answer. “Jared. You know you can talk to me.”

I grip the rubberlike door handle, making my knuckles throb. “Why does everyone say that? I can talk to a statue or a dead whale carcass if I wanted to, but I’m not. There’s nothing going on! I just don’t talk about my feelings like you all say I should. Who cares? Why would anything
I
feel actually matter to people? I think everyone is watching way too many soap operas.”

He continues as if I didn’t say a goddamned word. “Jared, I know you carry a lot of baggage over your mother.”

I whip my head to glare at his profile. “My mother? What does
she
have to do with anything? I don’t credit a damn thing to her and I have no need to bring her up in my daily life. She left. End of story. She’s moved on and so have I.” When he looks at me, I automatically look the other way.

“
Have
you? You don’t trust anyone. Even your friends are having a tough time getting you to open up.”

“My friends? If they were my friends they wouldn’t be talking shit about me.”

“You know that’s not the case. Dashiell is worried about you.”

“Yeah, because
I’m
the one who has all the baggage. The son of an ex-stripper-turned-lesbian and a strip club owner/poster boy for Gamblers’ Anonymous really has only
my
problems to focus on? He has nothing better to do with his repressed angst?”

“He thinks of you as his brother.”

“Don’t give me that sentimental bullshit. I have a sister and she doesn’t even think of me as a brother much.”

“That’s not true.” Turning my head, I roll my eyes at the window and perfectly mouth his words I know are coming next, “Hadley loves you.”

“Why don’t you ask her about
her
mommy issues?”

“We’ve talked about them. She doesn’t hide things like you do.”

Golden Sis strikes again. Can’t wait for tomorrow.

He goes on, “She’ll be here tomorrow evening, so—”

Bouncing my head side to side to this all-too-familiar tune of his, I finish his sermon, “I know. Play nice.” A sudden, inspiring idea comes to me and I abruptly laugh. “Maybe I’ll take her out and get her plastered. Some real brother/sister bonding time.”

“Sounds great,” he morosely replies to the car ahead of us. “She’ll have Finn with her, so I don’t know what they’ll want to do.”

“Well, I’m sure she can loosen his leash long enough for him to have a beer or three with me.”

“She won’t have a problem with her boyfriend hanging out with her brother.”

I lazily shrug. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“If you do need a ride home, call me.”

“Hadley could probably snag us a taxi if she wears a short enough skirt.”

“My daughter will
not
be resorting to doing that to get a ride. Just call me.”

“I doubt Finn would let anyone else ride her anyway, unless he’s into that sort of thing.” I bite my impending smile.

“Jared Adam,” Dad admonishes, and I widely grin at the windshield with prevailed satisfaction.

Still
too easy.

Friday morning, I found Tony before Dash had the opportunity to ruin my day. Knowing Tony’s working on shingles today, I grabbed a spare tank top and sprayed my arms with sunscreen, so I’m not at my dad’s mercy for an aloe rubdown tonight. That’s enough to scar me for the rest of my life.

Because I helped reshingle my grandparents’ roof, I told Tony I wanted to help with this one. At first, he was hesitant, but I promised I wouldn’t fall off and if I did, he could put me out of my misery with a nail gun, given that I’ve been hoping for that to happen since starting this damn thing.

Being high above everything and everyone, even in the extreme heat, is absurdly refreshing. Up here, I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder or bracing myself for some kind of intervention. I almost expect cameras to appear for one of those TV episodes, on top of the roof’s pitch, with my dad and Dash heading up the pointless confrontation. Fuckers.

Once or twice, and against my better judgment, I do glance to the ground below for the whereabouts of Dash and Kat, but don’t see them. Dash’s car is parked at the curb, so I know that dickwad is around somewhere.

By lunch, I’m soaked from the morning humidity. Sweat drips from my hair, my eyelashes, the tip of my nose, and has drenched my gray tank top. Yet, I don’t want to stop, but know I have to take a break or Tony won’t let me back up here.

Upon climbing down the ladder, I go right to my dad’s black truck, roughly running my hands through my damp hair on the way there. Finding a towel in the backseat, I somewhat dry off my face and hair before flinging the towel back into the truck. I then peel off my wet shirt. As I twist to heave it into the backseat, something catches my eye and I look to see Kat hurriedly turning away, speed walking into the construction. How long was she watching me? And why? After Wednesday night at the races, I’ve been keeping my distance and have done nothing to encourage her to pay any attention to me.

Mechanically grabbing my white, spare tank top, I tug it on, still guardedly watching the front entryway for any more incidents of her watching me. She’s not, as far as I can tell.

I shut the truck door and head to the water cooler, reflexively nodding at Brenda as she walks by.

As I take a drink, while continuing to watch movements around me, I regret that I don’t have eyes in the back of my head. “Hey, Santa. How do you like it up on the housetop?”

I garbled into my cup, “It’s far away from you, so it’s the bomb.”

“If I’m good, will you bring me a sack of toys?”

“Forget the toys, you need an actual sack. I think that’s the Easter Bunny’s department.”

Dash laughs. “You want to do lunch with me?”

Swallowing, I shake my head and have yet to turn around. “No, thanks.”

“Come on, Jared. I’m sorry about yesterday. I won’t ask anything that will make you mad.”

“Not worried because I just won’t answer them.” I set my cup down and check my watch. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

“You have to eat. You’ve been up there in this heat for hours.”

“I’ll eat. I brought my lunch.” Still not hungry.

He sighs. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”