by ML Mystrom
“Yeah, brother, I know, I know. I gotta bolt. See ya!”
Table had a feeling Ditch was looking for the party Chrissie had gone to, probably to score a night with the blue-haired and pierced girl. Oh, to be young again. Nope, he’d had enough of the party-every-night-till-dawn life. Now it was fatherhood, which was almost a bigger challenge than running the Tail of the Dragon, a road famous for its quick and sharp turns. He was living in one big curve with plenty more up ahead.
Table cleaned his equipment carefully and eyed the dirty stuff left behind by the other two artists who’d jetted just as soon as they could from the store. It would never have been allowed at the shop he’d run in Bryson City, but here he was not the owner or manager. It was just a part-time gig to earn some money while he figured out his next move.
Table mounted his bike and left the downtown shop for home. The nights were getting cooler, but as long as he could ride, he would. Freedom on his bike was something he relished and from time to time he thought about when he would get Angel her first bike and teach her the joys of riding.
He geared down and guided the bike into the garage, careful not to make any more noise than he had to. More than once he’d been up with Angel during the night and seen Lori’s light come on. The woman was prickly and exasperating, and had pissed him off more than once, but there was still a fragility about her he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
He was on his way to the main house when he saw her leave the upper room and carefully make her way down the narrow steps and head toward the creek. He wanted nothing more than to go in the house, check on his beautiful sleeping girl, and crash face-first into his own bed. Instead, he found himself following the petite woman.
I shot up in the bed, gasping as if there were hands tightening on my throat. I clawed at the comforter, trying to escape it, and ended up falling to the hard floor with a loud thump. My hip and elbow throbbed from the impact, but the sudden pain helped pull me out of the nightmare. I was in my little remote room, in a little remote town, in a little remote part of the state. I was okay. I was safe.
I got up and went to the small fridge where I kept a water bottle and gulped the cold liquid, wetting my dry mouth and cooling my sweating body. Someday, I hoped these damn nightmares would stop. Maybe once it was over, I could finally be free.
Earlier today I had texted a New Jersey number, asking for an update. It took a lot of time to text from my phone as I had to scroll through the letters one at a time on the outdated keypad, but I eventually did get the message out. When it was answered, I was disappointed to hear there was another delay—but to not worry about it.
Not worry? This was the third delay and had the potential to keep me in this limbo state for weeks, maybe months. I was frustrated and mad about it, and wanted to throw something against a wall just to watch it break. I ended up snapping my cell phone in half and tossing it in a dumpster. It was time for me to get a new burner anyway. Maybe I’d watched too many spy movies and thought it was easy to track someone through cell phone towers, but I still didn’t want to take any chances.
Sleep was not coming back to me anytime soon. I threw on some sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, as nights in the mountains could get cold. I stepped outside, listening to the burble of the river as it flowed over rocks and the light chittering of crickets and other bugs. The moon was full in the dark sky as I made my way down to part of the bank that overlooked the wide creek, letting the peaceful sounds rush over my raw nerves. Nothing had been going right lately. The winter garden wasn’t producing like the sisters wanted and I felt like I was to blame for it. One of the ATV’s tires shredded while I was riding it back to the house one afternoon. A tire on one vehicle shouldn’t have been a big deal, but the same ATV had also broken a belt recently. Table had put it down to regular maintenance needing to be done, but the parade of problems still had me tied in knots.
“You all right?”
I screamed and jumped three feet in the air at the unexpected voice. I nearly slipped and fell down the embankment, which wouldn’t have been life threatening but would not have made my night any more fun.
“Sorry, Lori. Didn’t mean to scare you none. I saw you leave your place when I was comin’ down the driveway and just wanted to check on you.” Table appeared, dressed in worn jeans, black leather jacket that I knew had his club insignia on the back, and a black knit hat on his head. “Damn, baby girl! You’re white as a ghost. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I answered quickly. “Just couldn’t sleep and decided to come outside for a bit.”
Table grunted an acknowledgment but didn’t go back to the big house. We hadn’t said much to each other since the night of the club fight. These were the first words we’d spoken besides the have-a-nice-day moment when we shared breakfast with Martha and Carol in the mornings and farm talk. That was the sum total of our recent contact. Now, he came up to stand next to me and I could feel his presence like something solid. He reached down and picked up a handful of sharp gravel. “Are you sure ’bout that ‘nothin',’ Lori?”
I took in a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”
He fingered a pebble, tossing it lightly into the water. I heard a faint plop.
“I just think there may be somethin’ to your nothin’. I’m not a college man, but I’m not stupid and I got eyes in my head.”
He tossed in another pebble, this time skimming it across the moonlit surface.
“The first morning I met you when you came up to the house with your hands all chewed up by the chicken, you looked lost.”
He skimmed another pebble. I wrapped my arms defensively around myself as I braced for more words.
“I know you don’t sleep good at night ’cause I see the lights on when I get home. You’re jumpy as shit most of the time. You ain’t got any real property other than your van and I’m bettin’ there’s not a long paper trail on it. I’m also bettin’ your name ain’t Lori Matthews either ‘cause the information you wrote down on the contract is bogus. Martha thinks you’re a free spirit or some sort of bullshit hippie pilgrim. Carol thinks you’re escaping from a cult and is determined to ‘save’ you. I’m not sure what to think, but I’ve watched you bite at me twice so far, fightin’ back against a threat that don’t exist and then runnin’ away like a scared, whipped, stray dog. Right now I’m looking at you, huggin’ yourself like you’re trying not to fall apart. I can’t help but feel you got somethin’ more than nothin’. Makes me wonder what kind of demons you got chasing you.”
I was lost for a moment at his bluntness, and then I burred up. “No, I’m not a free spirit hippie cultist and any demons I have I can handle myself. I’m not a criminal on the run either.”
He grunted and skimmed again, the pebble bouncing three times before sinking into the water.
“I told you I got eyes in my head, right? I’ve seen how hard you work and how tight you hold your shit together. I’ve watched you with my daughter and how you take care of them like they were your own people. I don’t think someone with criminal intent would’ve stuck around this long, takin’ care of two old ladies plus watchin’ out for a baby.”
He threw the last of the rocks into the creek, no skimming this time. He turned and faced me direct.
This was it. He was going to tell me to pack up and get out, and I was fully prepared for that. What I wasn’t prepared for were his next words.
“I ain’t exactly lily-white when it comes to followin’ the law. The Dragon Runners are a legit club but weren’t always, and there are times when us and the law still clash a bit. Brick, our president, says there’s sometimes a difference between what’s right by law and what justice is, and I happen to agree with him. You can’t judge everything by one yard stick. I think maybe you’re runnin’ from somethin’. I don’t know what it is, but I ain’t seen anything that tells me you’re a bad person. The club protects its own and while you’re living under my roof, that protection extends to you even if you don’t want it. It would
be nice to get a heads-up if you can do that for me.”
A feeling rustled in my gut, both unnerving and relieving. “No demons, Table,” I managed to say firmly, but I couldn’t meet his eyes as I spoke. “If I’m running from something, I promise there’s no blowback on you or Martha and Carol. I’d leave tomorrow if I thought that would happen.”
His soft sentence almost undid me. “I’m a pretty good demon-slayer, baby girl.”
I felt tears hit my eyes and I had to retreat before I burst. “I’m heading to bed. Have a nice night.”
I could sense his eyes on me as I turned and walked back to my room. I didn’t turn around even though I wanted to. I was afraid if I did, I would start running back to him.
Six
I tucked my hands in my jacket and swore again that I would buy gloves the next time I forced myself to go shopping. The sun was out and there was no wind, but it was still around sixty degrees and cold. I supposed that was normal in the mountains in mid-November.
I was helping Martha with their vendor booth at the North Asheville Tailgate market. Carol usually did this chore, but today she was under the weather and I was asked if I could fill in. This was the last Saturday the market would be open and the crowd was enormous. Hundreds of people were out and about, probably in preparation for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. The canopy-covered stalls were arranged in long lines along a paved parking lot at the University of North Carolina at Asheville campus. Homegrown vegetables, breads and other sweets, cheeses, handwoven rugs, plants, crafted jewelry… the variety of stuff for sale was mind-boggling. There was even a duo of violin and mandolin at one booth playing Christmas tunes for tips.
Christmas! I couldn’t believe I’d been in this place long enough to get to the holidays.
Martha and I had been there since 6:00 a.m., setting up the double canopy and putting out the last of the vegetables for sale. Potatoes, sweet pumpkins for baking, acorn squash, and something called a cushaw were piled on the white plastic-covered tables. I’d never heard of or seen the green-striped oblong vegetable before, but Martha explained it was another kind of squash good for baking pies.
“Carol’s gonna make up two cushaw pies for Thanksgivin’ dinner next week. Tastes a little like sweet tater pie.”
Since I’d never tasted a sweet potato either, I didn’t have a clue what that meant.
It was getting close to the noon closing time when Table showed up carrying a bright-eyed Angel bundled up in a thick one-piece outfit that made her look like a yellow duck. A pacifier was attached to the zipper with an orange ribbon and made to look like a bill. Martha scowled at him. “Whatcha done with that stroller I bought’cha?”
Table grinned and jostled Angel, who was looking around. “Now how tough do you think I’m gonna look wearing my club colors and pushing around a baby stroller? You’re messin’ with my street cred!”
Martha scoffed at him. “Street cred, my ass! You jus’ keep on thinking you look real rough ’n’ tough while you got a duckling over your shoulder.” She went back to puttering around and rearranging the remaining produce. I stifled a laugh and he grinned even larger.
Maybe this was the reason I stuck around. The easy family atmosphere and the support I’d seen and experienced from these people was far from what I was used to. I was finding myself craving the fellowship more and more. I’d even ventured to church with Carol a few times and found out my presence lowered the average age there by at least a decade. Table was a big part of it. The truce between us was mainly due to his easy manner and his show of character. He worked hard and took care of his family and no one could dispute his dedication to his little girl. His real name was James and occasionally Jimmy-boy if Martha was mad at him. He seemed to take life in stride and spent more time with his daughter than any other father I knew. I’d still not seen any sign of Angel’s mother, and although I was curious, I never asked. Table talked a lot, joked a lot, put up with Martha’s cantankerous mood and Carol’s constant preaching and praying. The only time I’d ever seen him lose his temper was with me the evening we confronted each other in the garden. The other time I snapped at him at the bar, he just left me alone. Even then he wasn’t half as bad as other people I know.
“Hey, Nanny M! Whassup?”
I spotted a tall, dark-haired man heading toward us through the crowd of people. He was wearing a jacket and I recognized the insignia of Table’s motorcycle club. He must be a member, or as Table would say, a brother. To my surprise, he had an arm slung around a familiar figure. Connie had been talking about a biker who had been badgering her for a date. She finally gave in and went out with him. Apparently, it went well and this was him.
“Lori! Chica! How’s it going?” Her face had a big happy smile plastered across it and she had an arm around the man’s solid waist.
The man looked perplexed for a moment. “You two know each other?”
Connie rolled her eyes. “Si, cariño, we work together. She’s the skinny white girl I told you about. Chingada!”
“Get your ass outta the way, Ditchdigger! You’re blockin’ my customers!” Martha had finished puttering and was ordering the big scary biker around like she would a child.
Ditchdigger laughed and took his arm off Connie to wrap it around the old woman in a big bear hug. “I love you too, Nanny.”
“Dang it, you’re like a hair in a biscuit. Always hangin’ round. Turn me loose!” The old woman groused at the giant, but it was obvious she enjoyed the attention.
“We doing Thanksgiving dinner at your place, right?” The question was directed at Table, but Martha answered.
“If the weather’s warm enough, gonna be outside. Got maybe forty or so people comin’ ’n’ that’s too many t’ fit in the big house. If it’s too cold or we get any weather, gonna be at the church. Carol’s got a key t’ the big dinner room. Either way you need t’ come early and help set up.”
“Church?” Ditchdigger’s eyes got comically big. “I don’t know ’bout that. I could get struck by lightning if I walk through the door!”
“Preacher don’t have no job ’less he’s got sinners t’ save. Just don’t say nothin’ to Carol. She’s longer winded than him.”
I was still trying to get my head around the words “Thanksgiving dinner” and “forty people or so.” Table noticed my slack look. “There a lot of aunts, uncles, cousins, and kids that come around on Thanksgiving. It ends up being a gigantic potluck with all-day eating. This year, I invited some of my club brothers from the Asheville chapter. Some of them don’t have another place to go and this is a time when it’s all about family and connections.”
“I’m making enchiladas with homemade mole sauce,” Connie trilled, back under Ditchdigger’s arm again. “You got a special somethin’, chica?”
I stuttered. “I’m—uh—not invited.”
Table looked at me funny and shifted duckie Angel to his other shoulder. “Why would you think that?”
“Um—I’m not really family.”
Table’s face was unreadable, but his answer was clear. “Yes, you are.”
The tension of the moment was gone when Ditchdigger declared, “I’m bringing the booze!”
“You ain’t bringing no booze t’ the church! You’ll give Carol a heart attack and I’ll hafta deal with her preachin’ hellfire and damnation till the New Year!” Martha shook a finger at the behemoth. Table roared with laughter as I watched. He lifted a finger to wipe his eye.
“Lord, I needed that. Good thing the harvesting is done. The tractor threw a rod this morning up in the field. Oil was run out dry, which doesn’t make a lot of sense ’cause I checked it last week. Ditch is gonna help me tow it back, but I’ll still need to get a new part and patch the shaft.”
“Ain’t had no problem with that tractor in thirty years. Might be there’s a part in the storage shed.” Martha started boxing up the remaining few vegetables. “You best be gettin’ to it, if you ’s expectin’ to get that done tonight.”
&
nbsp; I went to help Martha with the loading and Table stopped me by placing Angel in my arms.
“Ditch and I will take care of the loading, Nanny. You ladies can discuss where we’re goin’ for lunch. My treat.”
“Woo hoo! Dude done messed it up! Hey, baby, google up one a them fancy-ass restaurants that has more than one fork next to the plate,” Ditchdigger directed Connie with a big goofy grin as he heaved a box into the bed of Martha’s truck.
She rolled her eyes as she huffed and pulled out her phone. I ignored both of them as I held the small, squirming bundle. Angel regarded me with her daddy’s brown eyes and a wrinkled-up forehead. Even though I’d held her many times already, she didn’t quite know what to make of me, but she wasn’t crying or fussing.
“Hello, precious,” I whispered. “It’s Lori. Lo-wree.”
Angel’s face relaxed into a toothless smile and she made a cooing noise in greeting.
“I like your duckie outfit. It’s very pretty. Pretty outfit for a pretty girl.” I found myself swaying back and forth in a rocking motion. Connie was scrolling through her phone, and Martha was directing the two men. The rest of the market noise died away as I chattered away at the baby. “You’re a daddy’s girl for sure. Your daddy is a really nice man.”
Angel waved her cloth-covered hand and tried to grab my lip. She let out a “ba-ba-ba” in agreement and blew a wet raspberry. I couldn’t help myself. I was totally in love with the adorable little bundle. She was surrounded by people who loved her and saw to her every need, treating her like the princess she was. She would never be hungry. She would never suffer pain. She would never be forced to do something she didn’t want to do. She would live her life knowing she had an entire village of people supporting her no matter what. I envied that a bit.
