ARROGANT BASTARD

by Winter Renshaw

  “I’m kind of tired. Been a long day.” I point toward the stairs and paint a regretful half-smile on my lips.

  “Please.” She’s not asking. Her eyes snap toward the kitchen table. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this conversation. There are things you need to know, Jensen. About the past. About the present, too.”

  The tea kettle whistles. She grabs two mugs and two bags of tea and I take a seat at the table amongst one of the twelve chairs.

  “I’m sure you have questions,” she says, setting a white coffee mug in front of me.

  Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. None of which matter at all anymore. Maybe at eight or twelve or even fifteen, I’d have wanted a chance to ask them. I lost my ability to give two shits years ago.

  “Your father,” she says, blowing on the steamy liquid in her mug, “is a very powerful man.”

  You’re tellin’ me, lady.

  There’s a reason he beat the living shit out of me and walked away with a slap on the wrist. He’s got the whole town of Charter Springs, Arizona wrapped around his pinky finger. He drives around in the church’s Lincoln Town Car like he owns the city, and he sort of does. The man’s never met a traffic ticket he couldn’t get out of, and he’s never met a local he couldn’t convince to come to one of his sermons. The man could sell ice to an Eskimo, just like the way he sells his version of God to a congregation of over two-thousand people. Back in Charter Springs, Josiah Mackey is a hand-picked-by-God, modern-day saint.

  “I ran off with him at eighteen,” she says, averting her gaze. “We never married. You came along quickly, and then something in your father changed. He became controlling, physically abusive—manipulative. I couldn’t do anything right. I couldn’t please him.”

  Her hands tremble as she wraps them around her mug. Josiah Mackey put the fear of God into his congregation each Sunday, but he put the fear of himself into his women twenty-four-seven.

  “I tried to leave him several times. I took you with me each time, and each time he’d find me. And so I stopped fighting. I made him think I was happy. I had to get him off my case for a while. But right after your seventh birthday, I announced I was leaving him for good. He told me if I took you, he’d kill us both.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” I stare at my tea. I haven’t touched it yet. Not much of a tea-drinker, and it stinks like mulch and barley.

  Kath blinks away tears and wipes the ones that fall anyway. “I wanted to come back for you, Jensen. I did. He made it impossible.”

  If she wants me to feel sorry for her, it’s almost working.

  Almost.

  “I tried to go to the police in Charter Springs. No one would listen. No one believed me. And by then, he’d trashed my name all over town. Told everyone I ran off and had an affair. Said I had mental illnesses and I was a danger to you.” She sniffs and turns away. “The threats didn’t stop until he knew I was good and scared. I was afraid if I tried anything else, he’d hurt you.”

  “I was a weapon,” I mused. “The only weapon he had to hurt you with.”

  She wipes her nose on the side of her wrist and nods, her blue eyes softening as if we’re sharing a special moment. I’m sure it’s a special moment, in her book.

  “I wish things would’ve been different,” she says. “There’s nothing you or I can do about any of it but move forward. I’m just glad to have you in my life again.”

  Her hand slides across the table, covering mine. She’s not shaking anymore. I drag my eyes toward hers, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t completely hate her.

  “Mind if I get to bed?” Heart-to-hearts wear me the fuck out. I’m not cut out for those kinds of talks.

  “Do you forgive me, Jensen?” Her eyes are round, her brows raised. “I need to know. And if you can’t forgive me, is there any hope you might someday?”

  I might be an asshole most of the time, and I’m definitely a Mackey, but I’m not heartless. Plus, she’s taking me in, which beats the hell out of some random foster home or halfway house. Mercy told me I was old enough to be a ward of the state, but I wanted to finish my last few weeks high school without worrying about how I was going to provide for myself or where I’d be staying until my apprenticeship. This, believe it or not, was the lesser of all evils.

  I take a deep breath, consider it, and release. “Sure… Mom.”

  She smiles when I call her that, and maybe it’s sort of worth it. I don’t tend to make a ton of people smile these days. It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling like I used to get when I’d break into the communion wine cabinet.

  “One more thing.” Her smile fades fast. “You’re going to meet the rest of your family tomorrow. Be ready by seven. We’ll head over to the main house together.”

  I rise from my chair, immediately plunking back down from the force of the bomb she’s just dropped. That explains the twelve chairs at the table.

  “Wait… what?” I scratch just above my brow. I could’ve sworn Mercy said Kath was a single mom. No one mentioned a husband.

  “Your stepfather’s name is Mark,” she says slowly, her chin dipped low. “I’m his third wife. I have two sister wives, and you have five other brothers and sisters.”

  I lean back in my seat. There were some polygamous communities in Arizona, but they mostly lived on self-governed compounds. We rarely noticed them. They didn’t live on a street with white-picket fences and manicured lawns. They didn’t wear jeans or look like Kath.

  “Mark’s first wife is—”

  “Does Dad know?”

  Kath pauses before nodding. “He found out a few years ago. I’m not sure how, but I’d sent you a card on your thirteenth birthday, and he sent a letter back threatening to out us all if I tried contacting you again.”

  I lean forward. “So you’re, what, FLDS now? How’d that happen? We’re not—Dad’s not—Mormon.”

  “Technically we’re not FLDS. We’re AUB. Apostolic United Brethren.” She offers a dreamy smile, as if she’s recalling the best thing that’s ever happened to her. “It’s nothing I went searching for. It found me. I don’t know, Jensen. It just sort of happened. I met Mark, and we hit it off. When he explained his situation, his beliefs, it all sounded… perfect.”

  “So you have no problem sharing your husband with other women?” It’s none of my business, but this is crazier than the damn snake charmers Dad brought to the church one summer. Plus, it’s getting late. My brain isn’t firing on all cylinders and my filter has washed up and gone to bed for the night. “So you left Dad and found someone even more dysfunctional. Good for you.”

  Her lips form a straight line and she squints. “There are things I don’t expect you to understand, Jensen.” She says my name a lot. Makes me wonder if she’s missed saying it over the years. “There are certain burdens that come with being a woman. Being a sister-wife, you share those burdens. And the love we share—”

  “Okay, cool.” I slap my hand on the table. Not a single ounce of me wants to carry on this conversation with her, because I’ve already got a general idea of where it’s heading. I stand up and stretch. “I need to get to bed, so…”

  “Right.” She rises, and her stare is heavy like it doesn’t want to let me go quite yet. She doesn’t have a choice. I’m exhausted. Plus, I don’t give a shit about the dirty details of her weird-ass plural-marriage. “See you at seven. Everyone’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  I hear her faintly call “goodnight” as I trudge up the stairs. Rounding the corner to my new dinosaur room, the one I share with the half-brother I never knew existed, I tumble into bed, not bothering to crawl under the covers. Too many nights I’ve woken up tangled and constricted by fucking sheets and blankets. I’d rather be cold than overpowered by anyone or anything ever again.

  Gideon— I think that’s his name—is talking in his sleep. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he’s clearly not having a nightmare. Must be nice.

  I rest my hands behind my head and stare up at the g
reen, glowing stars on the ceiling with half-open eyes.

  Tomorrow I meet the rest of the freaks.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Kath said he was beat up pretty badly.” My older sister, Bellamy, whisks scrambled eggs over the stove as I’m stirring two pitchers of orange juice. “Don’t stare, or anything.”

  “What happened?” I ask, replacing the lid on the pitchers and carrying them to the table. Going to school every morning smelling like a restaurant is one of the worst things about my life right now, but I could have childcare duty. I’d much rather smell like bacon and eggs than spend all morning wiping snotty noses and getting the kids dressed.

  “We don’t know, and it’s none of our concern,” Mom interjects. Her voice is hushed, which is her way of telling us to stop talking about it. Summer—my dad’s second wife—and her three kids shuffle in from the family room and take their places at the table. One more year and our half-sister, Justice, will be old enough to help out with meal prep. For now she gets the easy chores like emptying trash cans and dusting blinds.

  Those were the days.

  “You’re going to burn those,” I tell Bellamy. “You know how Dad gets about his eggs not being fluffy.”

  Bellamy sighs and clicks off the burner. Ever since she took a job working at some financial corporation in Salt Lake City, she’s been zoned out on autopilot. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s met someone, but she won’t tell anyone anything. She’s secretive like that. She scrapes the eggs into a ceramic serving bowl. There must be a dozen scrambled eggs in there, all mixed in with her secret spice, which we all know is really just dill.

  We set the table and bring the food over. Dad sits at the head of the table, reading the paper and squinting hard. Mom tries to tell him to get his eyes checked out, but he refuses. Everything has to be his idea or it’s not worth entertaining.

  Four empty chairs take up the space across from Bellamy and me. We had to make room for the fourth one. It’s a tight squeeze, but we made it work. It just means the twins will have to sit closer together, which should be fine because they’re pretty much inseparable.

  “Sorry we’re late.” We all glance up to the doorway where Kath ushers in her kids like a mother goose and her goslings, only one of the goslings is dark and huge and stands out like a sore thumb against the bland Americana we have going on in the Miller household. “Everyone, this is Jensen.”

  Summer’s kids, Justice, Honor, and True, stare at him with blank faces. Mark folds his paper, Summer offers a distracted “good morning,” and Mom welcomes him into the main house.

  He doesn’t say anything, only nods. His eyes are mildly swollen with dark purple rings underneath them. There’s a gash on his cheek that’s begun to scab over. Even with his face all mangled, it’s plain to see he’s attractive. I forget to breathe for a second and snap myself out of it with a giant gulp of orange juice.

  He takes a seat across from me, his eyes traveling across the table and rising until they lock with mine. My heart beats so hard I can’t think straight for a second. I don’t understand what just happened or why my palms are suddenly sweaty.

  I rub them against my jeans and reach for my orange juice cup a second time. It’s empty. I look like an idiot.

  Jensen reaches for a pitcher of juice and pours some into my cup without saying a word. His lips are full and arched, the corners seemingly drawn into a permanent smirk.

  “Thank you.” I brush the sandy-blonde hair from my face and take a sip.

  He says nothing, releasing me from his gaze as Kath begins to go around the table and introduce everyone. I’m dying to know what’s going through his head right now. This would be a lot for anyone to take in, but I’m hopeful I’ll get a chance to explain to him that we’re a family just like any other, only we have a few more layers. I’m sure, as time goes on, he’ll fit right in.

  Though judging by the way he wears his ripped up jeans and those faded t-shirts that cling to his body, I don’t think he’s someone who cares too much about fitting in. Everything about him says he’s comfortable being in a league of his own.

  “Jensen, good to have you with us.” Dad lifts his juice glass as if he’s making a toast. “You’re a part of the family now. I plan to sit down with you after dinner tonight so we can lay down some of the house rules.”

  I’m rolling my eyes on the inside. Jensen’s going to hate Dad’s house rules. Eight o’clock curfews. No loud music after dinner. Mandatory, bi-weekly family meetings and Family Home Nights. He’s going to swear him to secrecy about our lifestyle, too. We’ve managed to blend in in this little Utah town, but if we were ever publicly outed, it would destroy my dad’s pharmacy business—our only means of survival—in two seconds flat.

  Jensen still hasn’t said a single word.

  “We won’t send you to school until the bruising on your face goes away,” Dad says. “I know it’s hard enough being the new kid.”

  He shrugs. He doesn’t care.

  “As soon as you’re ready, Waverly here will take you under her wing.” Dad sips his juice and smiles at me. I was the first baby of the family until he married Summer. I was six years old. I hardly remember what life was like when it was just us four. “You two are both seniors. How about that? Got any big plans for this fall? Got your sights set on any particular colleges?”

  I glance at Kath, who’s cutting up pancakes for the twins. Something about her is a bit more radiant today. Her shoulders are more relaxed. She’s less twitchy.

  “Jensen, care to tell us a little about yourself?” Dad stares down his nose at Jensen, saying his words in a huff. I can tell he’s growing tired of Jensen’s quietude. It’s a sign of disrespect, and my father does not tolerate that kind of behavior in his house. My fingers cross under the table. I hope he’ll give Jensen a break, especially since he’s been through a lot.

  Jensen shrugs, pushing the food around on his plate. “Not much to say.”

  Kath flashes a look toward Dad, as if to ask him to leave him alone this once.

  Dad inhales his final bite of breakfast and stands up, jingling his keys in his pocket like he always does to signal his departure. He makes his way around the table, kissing the little kids on the tops of their heads and kissing the cheeks of his three wives. When he gets to Bellamy and me, he kisses our foreheads. He’s always had a way of making each of us feel special, which means a lot when there are so many of us.

  Bellamy eyes the clock. She has to leave for work soon. I have to go to school. The good thing about weekday breakfasts is we get out of cleaning up. Usually two wives will clean up while the third runs the little kids to school after Bellamy and I leave.

  I wonder what Jensen’s chores will be. True was the first boy to come along and he’s only eight. The hardest part of his day is remembering to put his dirty clothes in his hamper each night.

  “I’m leaving,” I announce.

  “Enjoy your day, Waverly,” Mom says. “We’ll see you tonight. Don’t forget, you’re giving Honor her piano lesson before dinner.”

  I’m shuffling about, grabbing my car keys and backpack and making sure my homework is in there. I swear I feel his eyes on me, though it could easily be my imagination. The room feels weightier with him in it, or maybe there’s an electrical charge. Something’s off today.

  My stomach grumbles. In the midst of everything, I’d hardly touched my breakfast. Anything I did eat, I certainly didn’t taste.

  I remind myself Jensen is my stepbrother, and that any curious thoughts I might have are an inappropriate waste of time and energy, and I sling my bag across my chest. My hair gets caught beneath the strap and I yank it out. By the time I look up, Jensen has risen from the table and is carrying his plate in my direction.

  My heart jolts and my breath quickens. He’s charging at me, the corners of his lips curled up and his golden eyes holding mine. Jensen nods toward the sink behind me and lifts his plate.

  “Oh,” I say, “you can just leave that at the tab
le. Whoever’s on clean up duty today will take care of it.”

  “I can’t take my dish to the sink?” His dark brows arch. His shower-fresh scent invades the close space between us. “My legs aren’t broken.”

  “Yeah, but,” I start to say, “in this house, the men don’t work in the kitchen.”

  I realize how dated I sound to someone from the outside, and maybe it seems ridiculous, but it’s always how it’s been in our house. It just works. Besides, it’s very important that we all walk a straight line here. Every day is a struggle to balance the equilibrium.

  He ignores my warning and reaches behind me, his arm grazing mine as he sets his plate in the sink.

  Just like that he defies me, our house, and our family rules. Like it’s nothing. Like he’s above us. All I want is to leave for college in the fall, and that won’t happen if I step out of line or upset the peace. Jensen’s going to make things difficult for me. I can feel it already. I’ve known him thirty minutes and he’s already testing my patience.

  “Next time, please leave your dish at the table. Someone will take care of it for you.” I lift my head high. I’m not sure who he thinks he is. “We thank you for your cooperation.”

  He snickers. “What is this, some kind of restaurant? Do you even hear yourself?”

  “Rules are rules.” It’s the best comeback I can muster given the fact that the way he looks at me turns my brains into mush. “We have a system. It works.”

  “Are we really making this a thing right now?”

  “It’s only a thing because you’re making it a thing.”

  Jensen reaches around me again, taking his plate and walking it over to the table, returning it to his place setting. When he returns, he bows down, rolling his wrist as if I’m royalty.

  “That was rude,” I mutter under my breath, my eyes darting into the dining room to make sure my father didn’t hear me. I’m supposed to be sweet and kind, void of opinions and allergic to conflict. I’m not that way, so I have to pretend.