Bound by Lies (4 page)

He’s silent as he meets Max in the hall and they head back to Jenner’s truck together for the ride home. Max’s worried, sidelong glances in his direction are mostly ignored but he has no doubt she can tell the types of thoughts capturing Jenner’s attention so completely. They’ve been friends long enough to have been in this type of situation before. Jenner always reacts the same way, just as Max always reacts to his reaction the same way. It’s a fucked-up wheel, turning them in the same circles. Part of Max’s is to try to break the cycle. Part of Jenner’s is to ensure she never does.

The drive is a short one. As they park in front of their house and get out of the truck, one of their elderly neighbors, Mrs. Thompson, who has owned her house since it was built fifty years ago, passes by, walking her miniature poodle. Mrs. Thompson spends most of every day sitting outside on her front porch, keeping an eye on every person, animal, car and house in sight as if she’s been appointed sole responsibility for being the entire neighborhood watch. Jenner likes to combat this nosiness by giving her something to get excited about once in a while.

Max cheerfully calls, “Hey, Mrs. Thompson!”

Jenner smiles and waves, then gooses Max after circling the truck. With a squeal, Max jumps, giggling, shooting Jenner a look of playful accusation. Mrs. Thompson gasps with shock, staring at them.

“Think it might rain? Cloudy today, isn’t it?” Jenner asks conversationally, chuckling as Max hurries out of range of Jenner’s grasp. Once they’re inside, Jenner instantly drops the act. His thoughts swing right back around to Brayden Clare. Their third housemate, Art Conner, is right there, looking the picture of his Irish heritage with his wild mop of curly red hair, thick red beard and millions of freckles, looming over Jenner’s six-foot-four inch height by a few inches and nearly twice as broad. Art is eating an apple and leaning over the kitchen’s center island, watching with narrowed eyes as Jenner stalks mindlessly to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water and tries to leave the room with it. Art’s arm shoots out to block his path.

“Okay, what’s going on? I know that look.”

“Parrish has a
project
,” Max tells him with a cat-like grin.

“Is this true?” Art asks solemnly.

Jenner doesn’t reply; he just drinks his water and ducks under Art’s arm.

The last time Jenner had what his housemates deemed ‘a project’ he had become set on rescuing an abused kitten from a nearby house, getting the owner brought up on animal cruelty charges and gaining a family member in the process. Pussy, a little white puffball of a cat, now lives up in Jenner’s room and is intensely loyal to him. But the one sticking point of Parrish’s projects is that he refuses to talk about them, preferring to keep everything—whether it’s potentially embarrassing or not—to himself. He has never even acknowledged he
has
a cat, even when she’s sitting blatantly cradled in the crook of his arm. Sometimes headstrong denial is the only road worth treading. If there is anything life has taught Jenner, it’s that no matter what may be right there in front of people’s eyes, they will believe any lie they’re presented with, so long as you’re confident and insistent enough about it.

As far as Max and Art are concerned, all of this denial is just a weird facet of Jenner’s personality. He allows them to mock it to the extent that they do, knowing the teasing is not intended to be cruel, but to try, futilely, to draw him out.

Privately, one of his reasons for being so motivated to rescue Pussy was because of an incident when he was eleven. It was a hazy, lazy sort of afternoon, mid-summer. A group of boys from the neighborhood were riding bikes through backroads and unfenced backyards, looking for trouble. Jenner was with them because it was absolutely a case of ‘keep your friends close, but your enemies closer’. From early on, he aligned himself with them, though he tried to keep to the sidelines and not get involved when things got rough. Most of them weren’t so bad, but the nicer ones were notorious for eagerly going along with whatever rotten plan their headstrong, outspoken leaders came up with. Sometimes it was throwing rocks through windows. Other times it was harassing some of the smaller, more passive kids on their block. That afternoon, their target was a gentle, meek boy named Patrick, who owned a long-haired white kitten named Feathers and liked to play with her in their yard.

Someone yelled, “Look at that stupid cat! Hey Pat, what’cha got there?”

A kid named Mark snatched the kitten from Patrick’s hands, saying, “Give it. Give it to me!”

Two other kids pushed Patrick back, and Patrick started to cry.

Mark, whose parents barely looked at him and only rarely remembered to feed him, laughed, “God, he’s such a pussy!”

Jenner felt sick watching them toss the tiny animal in the air as a chorus of voices mocked Patrick’s tears and egged Mark on. Patrick tried to get to Mark and take his kitten back, but there were too many boys standing deliberately in the way. A moment later, Mark kicked the kitten across the yard like a football.

After she landed, she didn’t get up.

Sure, there were about ten different kids there, too many to take on all by himself, or with Patrick’s help. It didn’t matter that the numbers were against him. He did nothing, said nothing. Even if it was Mark who kicked that tiny animal, what happened to her was still Jenner’s fault. He knew, deep down, that if he was truly worth anything, he would have ignored the fear of standing out in the wrong way and spoken up.

It wasn’t long after that incident that he started to study martial arts. He kept telling himself that if he could become stronger, maybe the next time would be different. He would feel more confident, more ready to stand on his own. Strangely, no matter how long he studied jujitsu or how physically strong he became, that fear of standing out in the same ways that Patrick did never got easier to conquer.

Many years later, seeing a different white kitten—Pussy—locked out, shivering in the cold and starving, Jenner knew what to do. That he kept what he did a secret wasn’t just for him. It was for her, too; to keep her safe from those who would kick her for being small.

Max and Art don’t know about Patrick or Feathers. They weren’t there and he’s never spoken of it. But they know how he has always responded to unwanted scrutiny—whether it’s regarding a white kitten or any other aspect of his personal life—closing off the more people pry. Since it’s a given that Jenner won’t say word one about his
new
project, Max tells Art, “You know the Jeep?” She cocks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the Clare house.

“The blue one? Surfboard?”

“Yeah. We figured out it belongs to
Brayden Clare
.”

“So?” Art shrugs, unimpressed.

“He’s that kid from high school whose dad bit it. Rough deal all around. Everyone gave him a hard time and then he vanished right after graduation. But now I guess he’s back and somehow he’s suddenly so hot, just the sight of him nearly made Parrish jizz in his pants.”

“Okay, now I know you’re fucking with me. Jenner’s never impressed by anyone, let alone impressed enough to come in his pants.”

“Well, that’s why this is so very interesting,” Max purrs. She leans against Art’s bulk, letting him drape an arm over her shoulder, which makes a good armrest as she’s more than a foot shorter than him.

“You two can stop talking about it now,” Jenner tells them as he heads to the next room, calling back over his shoulder.

Max says, “See? What did I say? It’s a project.”

“Wow. You’re right!”

“I bet he’s standing at the window right now, waiting for Brayden to get home.”

A second later, Jenner appears in the doorway, glares at Max and Art in a manner threatening enough to get them to immediately stop talking about it, as previously requested. It goes without saying that if they press the issue much further, they might mysteriously suffer side effects like waking up with one eyebrow shaved off. When Jenner needs to make a point, especially when it comes to his reputation, he does so without hesitation.

They give Jenner a few minutes’ peace. Then Art seeks him out and finds him right where they said he would be, standing by the living room window, watching the Clare house.

“Lots of neighborhood gossip about that place,” Art tells him conspiratorially. “I heard his mom was a real headcase, joined the Peace Corps after his dad bit the big one, even though she had a kid and all. The kid—Brayden—no one really knows what happened to him after that. Some people say he died, too, but you know, clearly he didn’t. No one but old Ms. Clare lives there anymore. Well, her and some little girl. No one really knows what that’s about either.”

Standing at the window, mostly hidden from sight by the darkness of the house, Jenner wonders how many other houses along their street have eyes peering similarly from shadows, or more openly, in the ways of those like Mrs. Thompson. Watching the comings and goings of neighbors, assuming things, making up stories about why and where and how; Jenner knows that’s how the rumors are born. Once they spread, they become more powerful than the truth or the people being gossiped about. As Jenner knows well, if you’re insistent enough about a lie, what’s real doesn’t matter at all.

A blue Jeep turns onto their road and slowly pulls into the driveway four houses down, on the opposite side of the street. Just because Jenner doesn’t see anyone gazing out from behind curtains or blinds, doesn’t mean they aren’t there, watching along with him. Someone Jenner recognizes instantly, wearing what looks like a woolen sweater-jacket, gets out of the vehicle. Long brown hair catches the light on the cloudy, cold day, defying the weather, like Brayden brought a piece of the tropics with him when he moved back home.

“That must be him,” Art says. “Wouldn’t have recognized him, though.”

Can Brayden sense it?
Jenner wonders. Being watched and scrutinized, being judged—it’s constant. His gaze mistrustfully sweeps the silent houses and darkened windows, wondering what stories about Brayden’s homecoming boredom is breeding.

Jenner doesn’t reply, but knows Art doesn’t expect it of him. He’s used to talking to Jenner without getting much back. Jenner has been defensive about so much for so long, it’s doubtful he will ever be able to change his stripes even if he wanted spots.

Fate and nature have not been kind to Jenner, though it might appear otherwise. Sure, he owns his own business. He’s good looking, and both his size and attitude get him attention from just about anyone whose attention he seeks. The trouble is, when everyone sees you a certain way, expecting you to act a certain way, it puts you in a box. Jenner’s personal box is labeled “cold-hearted tough guy”. He’s a hardass bar owner who intimidates people into falling in line, whether he’s actively trying to or not. Back in school, he was the quarterback of the football team. Extreme popularity meant he had expectations to fulfill if he wanted to keep being popular. He let those around him believe what he wanted them to believe, actively denying them the ability to suspect otherwise. What friends he had only liked him for his athletic ability and talent at charming the cheerleaders; they didn’t really know him at all. Other boys feared and respected him. Girls found his elusiveness alluring. Seducing the unattainable Jenner Parrish became their challenge. Most days he felt like the idea of a person rather than an actual human being, with feelings and opinions.

Jenner’s whole world has been diligently constructed with fabrications, every piece crafted so that his family, friends, co-workers and, previously, his classmates, knew only what Jenner wanted them to know. His realization about his sexual orientation came years ago, but he’s still not out to anyone but his two best friends.

Jenner knows he’s lucky that Max and Art have been able to prove themselves, gradually, painstakingly. When all of the pretending became too much, and it was confide in someone and vent, or go crazy, he’d told them. It’s an admission he still regrets sometimes. Once light is shed on a truth, you can never pull it back into the safety of shadow.

After living in Robertsville all his life—and now running the most popular bar in it—Jenner knows well how quickly and easily rumors and labels spread. Whether you’re at the supermarket, the local bar, or just getting the newspaper from your driveway, there’s nearly always someone watching, commenting on how you’re dressed, who you’re with, or whose hand you’re holding. He hears the whispers, feels the stares. Figuring that his personal life and activities are his own business, Jenner simply shuts out anyone who hasn’t thoroughly proven themselves to him.

The current rumor swirling around Jenner, Max and Art is that their living situation and relations with each other aren’t entirely platonic, but instead rather scandalous. Jenner knows he and Art are imagined to have wild, debauched sex with Max out of convenience’s sake. Sometimes they play into it, especially at the bar when the liquor is flowing. It helps keep speculation off of Jenner’s prolonged bachelorhood and Max’s distaste for locals. Art simply doesn’t give a shit. He can get all the women he wants anyway. It must be nice, Jenner thinks, to have it so easy. Jenner has never experienced what it’s like to bring a date home, to introduce them to people or hold hands in public.

“Gonna make it more difficult that he’s a towny,” Art murmurs. “Plus he lives right across the street. Kind of awkward if he’s a one-night-stand.”

Jenner gives him an exasperated look. “If that’s what I was after, I’d just go to Manse, wouldn’t I?”

“You still go to that place, huh? So, what are you gonna do about Brayden, then?”

Jenner thinks this over, and grumbles morosely, “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

Brayden is able to get all the way upstairs to his new living quarters, a large enough bedroom for his needs on the second floor, without being noticed by his grandmother or his cousin. The room used to be his mother’s when they moved in with Nana after leaving Dad behind. Years’ worth of living is like heaviness in the walls. It’s impossible not to feel memories echo back through years and years, making him feel like that overwhelmed kid he used to be.