Carte blanche, p.35
Carte Blanche, page 35
Richard had enough dirt on that bitch that she should be scared of him. Her last victim had been covered up well as a suicide, but Richard had found the truth: He’d killed himself on her orders.
Phineas had helped him confront her when they’d rescued Gabe, before it was too late. Hopefully, the memory of that barely legal interaction had stayed with her. They’d recorded the whole conversation. Phineas had assured him repeatedly that they’d stayed above the board, but Richard was worried she’d try to file a countersuit for intimidation and blackmail. Because as far as Richard was concerned, he had intimidated and blackmailed her into letting Gabe leave, not-so-subtly threatening to take the letters she’d hidden from her last victim to the press.
“Do you want me to text that to you?” Richard asked. Antonio’s face was screwed up in concentration, like it did anytime he was trying to memorize something. Antonio made his annoying bubbly personality seem so effortless; sometimes Richard forgot how hard Antonio had to work to function.
Antonio snorted. “Please. I’ve got it in a song, but I might not remember if I’m stressed.”
With a nod, Richard let Antonio up from the car and drew him into a hug instead. “I’m trusting you to keep him safe. And yourself. Don’t put yourself in a situation where you’re going to relapse for Lee’s sake. He loves you more than he needs a break in his career.”
“I know. He doesn’t want me to go, either.” Antonio hugged him back. “But it’s not just for him. I’m doing this for me, too, even if I don’t understand it fully.”
“Everyone wants you healthy and whole, Tonio.”
“I promise to bring us all back in one piece.” Antonio sniffled against his shoulder.
Richard scoffed. “Don’t get snot on my suit.”
“Love you, too. Dicky.”
Richard groaned as Lee joined, but he didn’t pull away, especially when Sunny hugged them all too. His fiancé kissed his cheek with a teasing, “You’re hating this, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer. For once, a group hug with Antonio wasn’t the worst experience of Richard’s life.
Sunday, October Thirty-First
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Blanche
Blanche squinted at their laptop in the dim light of the dining room, struggling to make sense of the admissions requirements for the counseling program at the University of Iowa Bellamy. They wrapped their blanket tighter around them, tucking their ice-cold feet up onto the dining chair. Where had their slippers gone? With the shift to autumn, the downstairs floor had become freezing. They’d have to get house boots for winter.
Jazz held up a spoon in front of them. “Try this, tell me what you think of it.”
Blanche jumped, minimizing the form. It only managed to expose another window with instructions for a name change. With a squeak, they minimized that one too, revealing a forum about BDSM apprenticeship advice, followed by a DNA test kit order form, the GED program at Bellamy Community College, the map of the country roads surrounding Marshall, Minnesota, and the sex therapy certificate from the U. Cheeks burning, Blanche finally reached a window that they didn’t mind Jazz asking questions about: their SubParty.
“You know, most people would be trying to hide their porn, not their college search,” Jazz teased, still holding out the steaming spoon. “Should I pretend I didn’t see any of that?”
“Please, if you don’t mind.” Cheeks still on fire that Jazz had basically seen the list of everything Blanche was tentatively considering wanting, they blew on the steam from the spoon. “Not quite ready to talk about any of it.”
“Any day now,” Jazz teased. Unlike Blanche, who was freezing in their witch costume (a gauzy black robe embroidered with spider webs), Jazz seemed perfectly comfortable in her short, sleeveless purple dress and thigh-high socks.
“It looks hot.” Blanche tentatively took a bite of what Jazz claimed was chili. It looked more like bean mush to Blanche. Tasted like bean mush, too. Scalding hot bean mush. They puffed around the bite burning their mouth.
“Too spicy?” Jazz asked.
Blanche shook their head. It was far too bland for anyone to consider it spicy. But Jazz probably didn’t need to hear that. “No, temperature hot. It um…it needs salt. Or seasoning, perhaps? Meat?”
Jazz hummed. “I can do everything but the meat.”
Blanche grinned. “Sorry, I don’t know what it needs other than more flavor.”
“I’m trying to make it healthy but good, so ‘needs seasoning’ is still helpful.” Jazz went back to the kitchen. “What are you working on over there? If there’s anything you’re comfortable telling me about, anyway.”
“Oh, just browsing estate auction sites for a replacement grate for that hole in the foyer.” Blanche found that window, keeping the rest minimized. They were still simply dreaming, unsure how to tell if they really wanted these things, or if they were simply whims. Shayla had said that if Blanche kept coming back to something, there was a good chance it was a want worth pursuing. “It’s giving me a headache trying to read my screen.”
“Have you considered that you might need glasses?”
Blanche laughed. “Many times. I have done nothing about it though. I can get by.”
The doorbell rang.
“Ah! Showtime!” With a burst of giddy energy, Blanche threw the blanket from their shoulders and pulled on a witch’s hat on their way to answer it. Jazz had never been able to decorate for Halloween, and Blanche had never had trick-or-treaters at their old apartment. Admittedly, they might have gone a little hard on the decor: crystals and dried herbs hung in the windows, fake crows and cats were tucked around the house, midnight blue tablecloths glittering with stars covered all of the side tables, and candles were everywhere. Blanche suspected most of it would become year-round decor, considering the house now matched Jazz’s bedroom.
“Trick or treat!” A group of college students in costume held out pillowcases.
Yet another group of trick-or-treaters, who were much older than Blanche had anticipated when they’d envisioned their first-ever Halloween as a homeowner. But they hadn’t had anyone younger than fifteen come by since sundown, so Blanche still complimented their costumes and gave them candy bars.
“More college kids?” Jazz asked when they returned.
“Yup.” They leaned on the counter. “When does trick-or-treating end? Like, how do I know when it’s over?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t do that Satanic shit at my house,” Jazz laughed. “Maybe turn the porch light off, and pretend you’re not home?”
“So you and Lee never wore costumes and went trick-or-treating?” Blanche asked. They’d been giving Jazz space to process her feelings after the argument with Lee last night. Jazz had to be upset still, even if she was pretending everything was normal.
“Of course not!” Jazz rolled her eyes. “Now it’s all well and good for him to do what he wants, dress in drag and shit. But not for me, apparently!” She huffed as she stirred the chili. “Sorry.”
“Get it off your chest—” The doorbell rang. Blanche huffed and apologized as they went to give more candy to a trio of teenagers who hadn’t even bothered with a costume. But Blanche still had four bags of candy, so they gave them some anyway.
“College students?” Jazz asked, turning off the heat.
Blanche shook their head, wrapping their thin robes tighter around themself. “Seemed younger. They didn’t even have costumes.”
“And yet you rewarded them.”
“I gave them the candy I don’t like.”
Jazz laughed, then sighed. “I think I’m so angry at Lee because, well, frankly, it hurt. Hearing him say the shit he did, the assumptions he made, the conclusions he jumped to. He doesn’t think I’m capable of making my own decisions. He’s always had this older brother mindset—Dad never let him forget it—but he’s never thought less of me for it before.” She tapped the wooden spoon against the pot with more vigor than usual. “Like, he would do all this shit when we were younger to cheer me up, keep me safe from our parents, but I…I guess I just didn’t expect him to be such an ass about me making decisions for myself.”
Lee had reacted exactly the way Blanche had expected him to, including accusing them of grooming Jazz. While it hurt to hear, that was how Lee’d been raised, not his true feelings about Blanche or their friendship. He seemed to have forgotten how much baggage he carried, hiding it so he wouldn’t have to address it. They swallowed. “Over the years, I’ve noticed that when Lee’s upset, his first reaction is always what he learned from your parents. Not that it excuses anything he said, but with some space and distance to mull things over, he always comes around to see sense.”
Jazz grumbled, “I can’t forgive him as easily as that. He knows what it’s like, to constantly hear that shit—I dunno. I know we’ll figure it out. We are the only blood relation we can count on, like he said. I just…” She shrugged.
Blanche pulled her into their arms. “You need time?”
Arms slipping around Blanche’s waist, Jazz nodded into their neck. “And he needs to prove he meant it. That he wasn’t just saying what I wanted to hear because I was yelling at him.”
A knock sounded at the door as Blanche’s phone buzzed from…somewhere in the dining room. Jazz stole Blanche’s witch hat with a grin and a peck on the lips. “I’ll give out the candy. You answer that.”
Blanche found their phone on the chair they’d been sitting in, just as Sunny’s call went to voicemail. Knowing Sunny as they did, they waited, and the phone buzzed again seconds later.
“Hello?”
“Hey, do you and Jazz want to go on vacation?”
Blanche blinked. “Uh…this is a little out of the blue.”
Sunny huffed through the speaker. “I know, but Richard is looking up tattoo ideas again, and I don’t know what else to do.”
“Let him get a tattoo?” Blanche suggested. “Is a tattoo mutually exclusive from a vacation?
“No, but he only wants a tattoo because he’s having an existential crisis about being unable to control every aspect of existence. Namely, Gabe and Antonio going to New York. So I was thinking we should go somewhere, like a road trip or something, so he can drive, make all the plans, and feel useful. It’d just be for the weekend while they’re out of town.”
Blanche covered the phone when Jazz returned. “Sunny wants to know if we want to go on a road trip the weekend after next, when Lee and them are in New York.”
“We? As in ‘us’?” Jazz grinned. “Like a couple?”
Blanche ignored the burning of their cheeks; after last night, they’d been worried Jazz would want to pull back from them around others. “Is that okay?”
“Of course! It’s nice to be included by the rest of your friends, even though Lee is being a little bitch about it.” Jazz gave a tiny skip as she went to stir the chili. “Where are we going?”
Her easy giddiness made them smile, as Blanche squinted at the phone for the speakerphone button. “You’re on speaker. Jazz is in, but she wants to know where we’re going.”
Sunny hummed. “I haven’t thought that far yet. Where do you want to go?”
Jazz shrugged and gestured to Blanche to answer.
Blanche bit their lip, mulling over the idea that had been forming over many conversations with Jazz, Freddy, Tara, and Lee. One of those quickly minimized tabs on their laptop had been searched at least a dozen times; if that wasn’t a sign that they wanted it, then what was? “How do you feel about Nowhere, Minnesota?”
Jazz turned from the stove, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Blanche, you wanna go back home?”
Blanche winced, inhaling a sharp breath before saying, “Yes? For you know, closure and shit.”
“Oh, Dicky would love to bring you to your cult! That’s exactly what he needs!” Sunny squealed. “Are there corny roadside attractions?”
“Oh, uh…” Blanche fiddled with their hair. “I’ve only driven through there once when I was thirteen, but I vaguely remember seeing signs for a SPAM Museum on the way here.”
“Hell yes!” Sunny cheered. “This is going to be so much better than New York!”
Friday, November Fifth
Chapter Thirty
Gabe
Shrugging off his too-tight blazer, Gabe draped it over the break room chair, greeting Richard with a nod as he sat next to him. The bright room was practically empty; most people worked from home on Fridays. Despite not even living in the same time zone, Leigh Anne insisted Gabe work from the office five days a week. As a manager, Richard felt obligated to be in the office as much as he could.
Richard responded to Gabe’s greeting with a grunt, barely deigning him a glance.
Still pissed, then. Raising his eyebrows, Gabe opened his sack lunch of apples, cheddar, and some crackers he’d scrounged from the pantry that morning (he was still getting used to Tara’s portion sizes; leftovers were not as reliable as when he’d been cooking for one). “You know, we’re the only ones here. If you want to air it out.”
“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Richard stabbed his pasta salad with more force than necessary.
Gabe popped a cheese cube into his mouth. “Don’t you wanna yell at me more?”
“Why would I yell? I’m not mad.” Richard’s jaw flared as he stared hard at the table.
Gabe fought to keep from laughing at his surly expression. “You look mad.”
“I’m not!” Richard snapped. “Am I worried? Yes. Am I stressed? Yes. But you want to go for Antonio’s sake, and Antonio is determined to go. So I am not going to get involved, and I’m going to cope by taking Sunny to the fucking SPAM museum, apparently.”
Gabe blinked, confused by the turn his rant had taken. “What?”
“Don’t ask. I don’t understand it.” Richard waved a hand as he continued venting. “She got this idea to go on a road trip. Something about closure for Blanche and corny roadside attractions. So I have mapped out every corny roadside attraction between here and wherever the fuck Marshall is.”
“Well, that sounds like a productive use of your nosy, micromanaging-ass energy,” Gabe teased, crunching on his apple. His phone buzzed in his left pocket, which he ignored, because the phone in his left pocket was his work phone. And he was on break.
“My nosy micromanaging is my greatest strength,” Richard snarked. “One that has directly benefited you greatly over the years.” He finally looked up at Gabe, his too-serious expression causing a pinch of dread in Gabe’s gut. “Gabe, you should know—”
“Nope! I should not!” Gabe waved the apple in warning. “Everything is going to be fine! No one will know or care that I’m in New York except Antonio, Lee, and Tara. It’s going to be okay, because it has to be.”
Richard frowned, narrowing his eyes at Gabe for a moment, before returning to his pasta salad. “Fine.”
They ate in tense silence, the only sound Gabe munching on the crisp apple. For as pessimistic as Gabe could be, he had to be optimistic about this. What was the point of worrying about what would probably never happen? This was exactly why Gabe hadn’t been burdening Richard with anything; he always invented these practical solutions to abstract problems. Like his gender weirdness, or his anxious excitement about his and Tara’s kid, this New York trip was not something that had practical solutions.
His left pocket buzzed again; probably fucking Leigh Anne calling again. Gabe ignored it, half wishing Freddy had taken more time away from Confession, so he’d have an excuse to take more time off and work there instead.
Either something bad would happen, or it wouldn’t. Richard would worry his way into endless what-ifs, account for every imagined problem, and stress himself into a nervous wreck before the trip even happened. Gabe had to hope for the best, and do what he could to make the best happen.
Like how Antonio had been weird lately, quiet and distant. Sure, it was probably partially Gabe’s fault for asking his cousin to have a threesome with him and Tara, but he never would have expected Antonio to react so strongly! There was no way this was about Angie; it had to be about the trip. But Antonio kept saying everything was fine! Despite his worry, all Gabe could do was keep showing up, keep communication open, and hope for the best. And when Antonio was ready to confide in him about whatever it was that had him upset, Gabe would—
He paused, mid-bite. Oh. Maybe that was what Richard had been doing. Waiting for Gabe to share what had been going on, and getting increasingly annoyed that he hadn’t. It was probably how Phineas always felt, unsure of his place in their lives, unless he was invited in to help clean up their mess. Maybe he’d been putting all of his emotional support eggs in Tara’s basket, or relying on his therapist, when he could have turned to his friends.
As his left pocket buzzed again, Gabe turned it off. He still had fifteen minutes of his break, and Leigh Anne and this whole job could fucking wait.
Gabe looked at Richard, who was still slowly eating his pasta salad. He had one egg, so to speak, that he could give Richard. One that didn’t have any easy solutions that he could think of; none of the worries that kept Gabe awake at night had easy answers.
“I wish I could unsubscribe from gender completely,” Gabe murmured. He fought a grin as Richard perked up, sitting up in his chair to turn to Gabe. The faintest ghost of a smirk on his face was a sure sign that Richard was about to give Gabe a perfectly reasonable solution, except it wouldn’t quite fit Gabe’s problem. “Like if there could be a mod to my stats that everyone could see, so they know I am just me—not a man, or a dad, or a boyfriend, or any of that. And just like, accept that, so I wouldn’t have to explain the vague wrongness every time I feel weird about gendered shit.”
“You could get an agender or non-binary pin,” Richard suggested. “Or whichever flag suits you best, I mean. I guess that wouldn’t solve the problem of everyone understanding and accepting it without question, but it would be a start.”
