Imperfectly Criminal

by Mary Frame

  She speaks rapid-fire Spanish to Dean before walking over and taking him into a hug, still talking while kissing him on the cheeks.

  He responds, speaking better Spanish than I ever could have imagined emerging from his mouth, then he introduces us. “This is Alejandra, she’s my mom’s neighbor and she comes over sometimes to help with stuff around the house.”

  “Mucho gusto,” I say, one of the few Spanish phrases I remember from high school.

  Alejandra grabs my hands and half holds, half shakes them, still talking and looking at me and then Dean and then back at me again. I have no idea what she’s saying, and then she’s hugging me. I look over at Dean, but he just shrugs. Then Alejandra is moving away, back into the kitchen, still talking quickly.

  We follow her into the kitchen and that’s when I see Dean’s mom.

  She’s sitting in a chair at the small kitchen table. She has a light pink bandana over her clearly bald head. Her eyes are large in her thin face, her cheeks are sunken and her pallor is gray.

  But she smiles when she sees Dean and her whole face lights up.

  He immediately goes to her, leaning over and folding her into a hug.

  “Dean, honey, what are you doing here? You never come over on Saturdays. Don’t you have studying to do?”

  He stands up and steps back so she can see me, hovering in the open doorway.

  “I wanted you to meet my friend,” he says.

  I walk in and lean over and give her a hug, too. Everyone seems so touchy feely around here, and I am totally into that. But, you know, not in a creepy way.

  “It’s really nice to meet you, Mrs. Collins,” I say, pleased that I remembered Dean’s last name from when I got him out of the clink. Her shoulders feel thin and frail under my hands.

  “Dean’s told me so much about you,” I continue. I turn around and give Dean a pointed look that I hope says something along the lines of, you told me absolutely nothing, you ass, and I’m going to make you regret it.

  “He has?” His mom sounds surprised.

  “Where’s Sarah?” Dean asks, interrupting us.

  “Sarah!” Alejandra yells so loud, I flinch and nearly have to cover my ears.

  A door creaks open somewhere and the clomp of feet yammer down the hall in our direction. For a minute, I wonder if “Sarah” is a call for a herd of wild goats, but no. Sarah is a young girl, perhaps eleven or twelve. She’s lanky with the same blue eyes and blonde hair as Dean.

  As soon as she steps the threshold into the kitchen, Dean takes her in a headlock and noogies the top of her head.

  “Hey, what?” Sarah immediately attempts to squirm out of the grasp of her older brother, lanky limbs flying.

  Dean releases her and Sarah’s red faced and obviously embarrassed by the laughter coming from the rest of the room.

  “Sorry, sis,” Dean says, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “I can’t help it. I see you, and I just want to mess with you.”

  Sarah groans and slaps a hand over her face. “Can I go back to Call of Duty now?” she asks.

  “You’re letting her play that shit?” Dean asks his mom.

  “Hey, language!” she says.

  “Sorry.” Dean holds up his hands in supplication.

  “You’re the one that bought her that Nintendo, or whatever it is.”

  “Playstation,” Dean corrects.

  “Whatever.” She waves her hand.

  “Ugh, kids and their video games,” I say, pulling out the chair and sitting next to Dean’s mom.

  “Right?” she says, nodding at me. “What’s your name? I’m sorry, but Dean hasn’t mentioned you until today.” She gives him a look that’s very similar to the look I just gave him.

  “No worries.” I roll my eyes. “He’s such a boy. My name’s Freya.” I stick out my hand.

  “You can call me Meredith, sweetie,” she says, taking my hand. “All that Mrs. Collins stuff makes me feel old,” she laughs. “Are you guys staying for lunch? Alejandra made a whole casserole dish of enchiladas.”

  “We’d love to!” I say, at the same time Dean says, “We can’t.”

  I shoot him another dirty look and then turn back to Mrs. Collins, er, Meredith.

  “So,” I say, “do you have any embarrassing stories about Dean when he was a kid?”

  ***

  An hour later, I’m sitting on a porch swing with Dean’s mom, while he tosses a football with his sister on the lawn. Meredith spent the last hour showing me pictures of Dean when he was a kid, while he moaned and groaned and finally left our trash talk for the safety of his sister’s room, but even he couldn’t handle the video game warfare for long.

  “Do you want some more ice tea?” his mom asks me.

  “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  Just then, Dean laughs at something his sister said, throwing his head back before pitching the ball back at her in a clean spiral.

  “I haven’t seen him laugh like that in a long time,” Meredith says.

  “Really?” I ask. He seems to laugh a normal amount…at me, anyway. Well, I guess he used to be mostly grumpy, and now he’s only sometimes grumpy.

  “Nope.” She shakes her head and sighs. “I hope you don’t mind me oversharing, but when I got sick, Dean got very serious. It’s my fault, really. There was so much I couldn’t do anymore. I was too tired. Too sick. Too…not present.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I assure her. I pat her hand. “You couldn’t stop yourself from getting sick.”

  “I know. But…it wasn’t fair for Dean. He didn’t have much of an adolescence, you know. It’s not just that I got sick. I made bad decisions in relationships, and Dean paid the price. He grew up too fast. He didn’t get to slow down and enjoy his youth. He suddenly had this huge responsibility, and in the process, he missed out on the best parts of his formative years.”

  Sarah yells something to Dean about being an old man and how she can totally kick his ass because he’ll break a hip, and he laughs again.

  “You’re the first girl he’s brought home in a long time,” Meredith says.

  “Oh. We’re not—”

  “Angelica was the last one, and this was over a year ago. She was too…cold. Serious. Sort of like him, but much worse.”

  I want to ask what she means, but I don’t want to be too nosy.

  She takes a sip of her tea. “You are full of life and spontaneity, I can tell these things.”

  Oh, if she only knew.

  “I think you’re a good influence on Dean. He’s been unhappy for too long. This is the first time I’ve seen him have fun in years. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

  I stare into her serious, shadowed eyes for a few seconds before nodding. “Okay,” I say.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dean

  Change isn’t easy. It takes time.

  —Caroline Kennedy

  After we’ve eaten enchiladas and cleaned up the kitchen, Mom goes to lie down, but not before telling me to take Freya out in the backyard and show her the flowers I planted.

  “She’s going through her third round of chemo,” I say, leaning over to pick a weed out of the dirt.

  A cloud goes over the sun and I see Freya shiver out of the corner of my eye.

  I shove my hands in my pockets. “We’ll find out soon if she can stop, or if we need to do more aggressive therapy.”

  There’s a few red tulips blooming in a flower box along the fence line.

  Freya reaches out and brushes one with a finger. She doesn’t say anything, so I continue.

  “The first time she had breast cancer, I was just a kid. They had to perform a complete mastectomy. Then she was in a car accident a couple years ago and hurt her shoulder, and the cancer came back and attached to her injury. This time is harder than the others. She still works. Her boss has been very cool since she’s out of it most of the time. She does clerical tasks, and she doesn’t make much—enough to allow her to keep her insurance. But the insurance doesn’t
cover everything and she’s gotten to the point where she can’t drive so I pay for a taxi to take her to and from work. I also help with Sarah’s clothes, food, the mortgage…whatever they need.”

  I don’t look at her. I don’t really want to see her reaction. Instead, I keep my gaze focused on the flowers.

  “This is why you do what you do and live where you live,” she murmurs.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  I brace myself for her response. I don’t typically tell people what’s happening with my family, because I don’t know how they’ll react. I’ve had bad experiences with that. I don’t like to make people feel uncomfortable or sorry for me. It is what it is. It’s no one’s fault and I can only do the best I can.

  She comes up to my side and slides an arm around my waist. “I’m sorry,” she says.

  She doesn’t sound pitying or uncomfortable. I hug her back, pulling her against me.

  “It’s nobody’s fault,” I say. “Things happen.”

  “Shit happens,” she says. “It sucks.”

  “True. This is why I have a hard time focusing on...everything else. When I think about what might happen to my mom and sister if they actually charge me with something…” I trail off and clear my throat before continuing. “They have enough to worry about. I don’t want them worrying about me. And if I’m sent away, who will take care of them?”

  “I would,” she says quickly.

  I pull away slightly and look down at her. Her eyes are bright and she’s staring at me, and I realize I believe her. I trust her. It’s been so long since I trusted anyone other than my family. “You would, wouldn’t you?” I ask.

  “But I won’t have to because we’ll get to the bottom of it and you won’t be charged with anything.”

  We’re silent for a moment, just standing there in the spring breeze. After a few seconds, I step back.

  “Are you ready to get out of here? There’s somewhere else I want to take you.”

  She nods.

  We go back inside. Mom’s still asleep, so we say goodbye to Sarah and get back in the car.

  “Where are we going now? Another surprise?” she asks, clicking her seat belt into place.

  “It’s not far,” I say.

  “Okay, Mr. Mystery.”

  We drive less than a mile before pulling into a small lot next to a park that’s seen better days. There’s one lonely swing swaying in the breeze, a slide, and a small merry-go-round that looks like it was red at one time, but now is mostly gray because a majority of the paint has chipped off.

  There’s a large expanse of dead grass, and beyond that, trees that continue into the distance. A cloud passes over of the sun, making the park underneath it look even more depressing.

  “Come on,” I say. We get out of the car and she follows me.

  We walk through the tired playground, across the grass and into the trees. There’s a small deer path winding through the woods, and we clomp down it.

  “Now you really are taking me to your lair, aren’t you?” she teases.

  “Maybe.” I take her hand and help her climb over a fallen tree trunk.

  “Who’s Angelica?” she asks when we’re winding down the small path. It’s too narrow to walk side by side, so I’m leading.

  I glance back at her. “What?” I heard her, but I’m stalling because I don’t want to answer.

  “Angelica,” she repeats, a little louder. “Your mom mentioned that you haven’t brought a girl home since Angelica. Who was she? A girlfriend?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Fine. But just so you know, I’m taking that picture of you in the tub with that other boy that your mom showed me, and I’m distributing copies around campus.”

  I laugh. “I was two.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I thought you’d given up vengeance.”

  “This isn’t vengeance, it’s blackmail,” she corrects.

  “Ah, my mistake.”

  The trees peter out, and as they gradually disappear the sound of rushing water gets louder. We step around the last tree and into a large meadow. She follows me through the waist-high grass. Our movements disturb a big gray bird that takes off into the distance.

  I lead her to a wide, flat area where the grass is short and soft. There’s more tall grass around us, and the creek is on the other side. I can hear it clearly, even though I can’t see it. This is where we stop.

  “What are we doing here?” she asks.

  “I used to come here a lot as a kid,” I say with a shrug. “I wanted you to see it.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she says.

  I cross my arms over my chest and scuff my foot on the ground. “I also thought this would be a good place to show you a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m a little worried about this whole thing with Carter.” I rub my chin and avoid her eyes.

  “Cameron. And yeah, you and me both.”

  “I can’t be around you all the time.”

  “Geez, am I that annoying?” she asks.

  I chuckle and shake my head. “No, not that. I’m worried that if I’m not around he’ll show up and try something with you. I want to show you a few defense moves.”

  “You’re going to teach me self-defense?”

  “Some.”

  “Are you qualified to instruct me on this?”

  “Does a black belt in karate qualify me?”

  “No wonder you’ve got the body of a Greek god and can break grown men in two.” She gapes at me.

  I have to smile at that. “Greek god, huh?”

  She flushes and closes her eyes. “Why don’t I have a filter?”

  “It’s no biggie,” I say to spare her further embarrassment. “I’ve been doing karate since I was a kid.”

  “If you say so, Iron Man.”

  “Iron Man? I thought I was Thor.”

  “You can be whoever I want you to be.”

  I sigh. “Okay. Let’s start with the basics.”

  I show her how to react to different attacks, from the front, from the back and from the side. Since she’s short, I teach her how to use the lower center of gravity to her advantage.

  She has a hard time at first, but quickly gets into the practice combat. It’s never easy to attack or fight back if you’ve never done it before.

  I also show her simple ways to inflict pain, by pulling fingers in opposite directions and twisting the skin on the arm. Very little pressure, but immediately painful.

  The hardest part is when I have her on the ground on her back and I’m lying on top of her. Her breathing changes and I can tell she’s just as affected as I am by the position.

  “I’ll give you twenty minutes to stop doing this,” she says when I pin her hands at her side.

  I frown down at her. “This is serious,” I say. “If you get to this point with someone, you’re going to have very limited options on how to break out of it.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” she mutters.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” she says.

  I roll off and to the side and lie in the grass next to her.

  For a brief moment, the clouds break and the sun shines through. I look over at Freya and she’s shut her eyes against the glare.

  I shift closer to her, letting my shoulder brush hers as I turn onto my side, leaning on my elbow, head in hand.

  She turns her head, opening one eye to squint at me.

  “Tell me,” I say.

  “Tell you what?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Freya. You’re continually making these cryptic references, and I know it has something to do with your relationship with Colin.”

  “Cameron,” she mumbles.

  She sits up a little and turns towards me so we are both on our sides, facing each other. She mimics my pose, head in hand, elbow on the ground. “Why should I tell you anything?” she asks. “You won’t tell me anything abou
t this Angelica person. You totally surprised me with your mom, without saying a word, and you expect me to be all, oh yes, let me tell you all my dark secrets,” she says in a higher-pitched voice before continuing in a regular tone. “Even though you’re always glaring at me and won’t tell me shit for shit.”

  She flops back, arms crossing over her chest.

  I hate it that she’s right.

  “Fine,” I say, rolling onto my back and staring up at the sky. At some point, the sun disappeared behind the clouds again.

  “Angelica was my girlfriend. We met in high school, and we were together for three years. When Mom got sick again, things changed. I had to cut back on everything in order to help her pay for her medical bills, and Angelica wasn’t exactly supportive. I didn’t realize how materialistic she was until I stopped taking her out and buying her things. She couldn’t handle being around my mom. She said it made her too sad to see her that way, but I think the truth was…” I stop on a sigh. “It was like she thought cancer was something dirty people get. I don’t know. She came from money. Her family and upbringing were so different than mine.”

  “Sounds like a heinous bitch,” she says.

  I laugh and look over at her disgusted expression. “Yeah. She wasn’t like you, all bleeding heart and fighting the man.”

  She doesn’t say anything but her disgusted face morphs into a smile for me.

  “Your turn,” I say, rolling over to face her again.

  She opens her eyes and rolls in my direction to face me. This puts us very close together. All I would have to do is lean forward slightly…

  “My turn for what?” she asks, playing stupid.

  I give her a look and try not to smile. “Don’t play coy with me.”

  “I’m not playing anything.”

  “I just spilled about my terrible relationship. You never told me what happened with Colby other than the cheating, and I’m not buying that that’s the end of that story. He’s too much of an ass.”

  She doesn’t respond. She stares at me for a moment, looking thoughtful. Then her gaze moves from my eyes to my lips and my mouth goes dry. All I can think about is kissing her. Pulling her bottom lip into my mouth.