Table

by ML Mystrom

  As the day went on into night, the temperature started dropping and the crowd of people dispersed to their own homes. Table’s friends helped to clear and put up the tables, and the women helped put the few leftovers away. They left to go back to a place called the Lair, which was about an hour away, and soon the only adults left on the farm were me, Table, Carol, and Martha. Angel had been up for all that time, not wanting to miss anything, and was getting fussy. Instead of getting frustrated with the whiny baby, Table shushed and crooned at the girl, letting her curl up on his shoulder as he rocked her back and forth on the porch swing. I sat and watched them, a glass of sweet tea in my hand.

  He looked at me as the little girl fought to stay awake. “No use trying to put her down until she’s ready to go.” Cuddled to her daddy’s warm body, it didn’t take long for the tiny girl to give up and fall asleep. Table lifted her and took her in the house to put her in her crib for the night. Martha and Carol were already inside watching TV and dozing in their respective recliners. I stayed on the porch, sipping my tea and listening to the night sounds. It had been a good day. Table’s family was wonderful and the comradery between him and his club brothers was something even tighter than the blood ties he had with his cousins. I found myself envious of that. Envious of the surety Eva showed about Stud’s love for her. There was no doubt she was his world. The connection between Kat and Mute was so tangible, you could almost touch it. God, I wanted that in my life!

  I shivered as a sudden cold hit me and I lost some of my enthusiasm for being outside. I put the tea glass down on the wicker table next to the chair I was sitting in and hugged my arms around myself. My skin prickled and I felt uneasy. I didn’t know why, but something was bugging me. I felt like I was being watched.

  I jumped as Table suddenly appeared.

  “Damn, baby girl. Didn’t mean to scare you. Angel is down for the night and I didn’t want to leave you on your own out here. If you’re tired, I’ll walk you back to your room, or if you want to keep more company, you can always bunk in the big house tonight.”

  I breathed a little easier in his presence. “No, I’m good. You don’t have to walk me to my room. It’s not like it’s miles away.”

  Table grinned. “’S no problem, Lori. It won’t take long and besides, if I don’t walk you, Martha will snatch me bald.” He got a comical look on his face and ran a hand over his smooth scalp. “Uh-oh! Too late!”

  I couldn’t help it. I burst into laughter. It was good to really let go and enjoy the feeling of opening up.

  Table’s smile got bigger. “Good to see you do that, baby girl. You got a nice laugh and should let it out more often. I got an idea for you. Angel’s down for the night ’n’ the odd couple are snorin’ in their chairs. How ’bout a bike ride? It’s a bit chilly but I think you can handle it. What do you say?”

  A bike ride? This time of night? Maybe it was the feeling of being a part of such a big family. Maybe it was meeting Table’s club brothers and seeing their obvious respect for him. Maybe it was just good old-fashioned hormones. For whatever reason, I found myself wrapped in Martha’s heavy winter hunting jacket and straddling the back of Table’s motorcycle with a red helmet strapped to my head.

  We took off, and I mean took off!

  The wind was icy and still pierced through the jacket but I didn’t mind. I figured out how to lean slightly into the curves, feeling the pull of inertia as the bike twisted through the winding mountain road Table had chosen. The look of the bushes and trees whipping by in the wide illumination of the bike’s headlight was a bit eerie, but where the forest broke there were glimpses of a clear, dark sky dotted with brilliant stars, calming in their stillness. I could barely grip Table’s waist with my bare hands. He somehow knew it and reached up to pull me further into him, tucking my freezing hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. I felt his body flexing as he changed gears, braked to slow down, or gunned to speed up. I don’t know where Table was heading, but he was in total control and I trusted him.

  Shit. I trusted him!

  The ride was probably less than ten minutes long and soon we were pulling back into the farm driveway. Table cut off the rumbling engine and then took my hands out of his pockets to examine them.

  “Damn, baby girl. You need some gloves. Real ones, not them stretchy dollar store kind either.”

  He rubbed my fingers between his and I grew warm from his touch.

  We walked slowly through the dark. Table stopped at the narrow steps that led to my room. I turned to thank him for everything and froze. He was standing close, his eyes looking into mine. I was alone in the dark with a man. A man I was aware of and tingling from it. I looked at his generous lips framed by his fantastic beard and had the urge to touch them, just to see if they were as soft as they looked. Forget my fingers. I wanted to put my lips to his. I also wanted to run like hell.

  He made the decision for me when he leaned in and kissed my forehead. “’Night, Lori. Sleep well.” His voice was rough and low as he gave me a little push toward the stairs. I could still feel the place where his lips had pressed to my skin as I moved up the steep steps. I looked back to see he was still at the bottom, waiting for me to enter my room. I nodded at him; afraid that if I spoke, I’d shatter. He didn’t move or stop looking at me until I closed and locked the door. Only then did I hear him walk away.

  Sleep didn’t come easy. I tossed and turned, incapable of finding a comfortable position and failing to turn off my brain. When I did finally drift off, the nightmares came with such viciousness, I woke up retching, tears clogging my throat. I staggered over to the sink, half-drunk with fatigue, and didn’t bother trying to get my water bottle. I just stuck my head under the faucet and gulped at the cold liquid as it filled my mouth. This had to end soon before I went stark, raving mad. I ran my fingers through my shaggy tangled mop of growing hair and recalled the bike ride. The feeling of trust.

  I wanted to get back on that motorcycle and never get off.

  Eight

  Table blew one last raspberry on Angel’s stomach. The baby went into peals of laughter and slapped her tiny hands around his head. Black Friday was a big deal for retailers and not so much for tattoo artists, but he still had to go open the shop. Whatever had possessed him to agree to a first shift during one of the busiest and heaviest traffic times of the year, he didn’t know. But he had agreed and needed to keep his word.

  Last night was rough. The day had been great, with good food, good friends, and good family. He hadn’t expected the twinge of homesickness for his life in Bryson City to hit him so hard. Seeing the brothers he had prospected alongside and ultimately joined with was tough, and Eva being with Stud was bittersweet on its own. At one time he’d thought he had feelings for Eva, but seeing her and Stud told him she was with the right man.

  Lori’s presence was adding another complication. One minute she hated and was scared of him, and the next minute she was looking at him like she wanted to devour him whole. Table knew already that something had happened to her. Any fool should be able to tell that someone had done a number on her, but to what extent was still a mystery. Table wished he could find the son of a bitch in a dark alley and take care of the demons that haunted her. Last night, after having her on the back of his bike and as he walked her back to her room, he’d grown hard at the idea of touching her, and it seemed she was becoming more open to the idea every day. Last night, he’d almost given in to the desire to kiss her, and unless he’d gotten his signals badly crossed, she was ready for that to happen. Maybe it would. Maybe not.

  It was just after nine in the morning when Table made it to the tattoo parlor and the sight that hit his eyes made him stop cold. The painted front window had been shattered. Several large bricks were just inside the glass on the display shelf. Police were already there, taping off the damaged area, and the owner was there as well, talking to an officer. Jack spotted Table sitting in his truck and waved him through the police line so he could park in the back
lot.

  “Fuck me, man,” Jack intoned, disbelief in his voice. “Happened sometime yesterday when everything was closed for the holiday. I got insurance and everything, but fuck, what a hassle! No one needs this bullshit!”

  Table looked at the destroyed window. What was left of the glass sparkled prettily in the sunlight, and his mouth tightened. “Any equipment stolen or damaged?”

  Jack inhaled and blew out a breath. “Naw, man, jus’ the window.”

  Table looked at the storefronts on either side of the parlor. Their display windows were intact. Not a scratch to be seen. “Looks like we’re the only ones who got hit. You piss off someone? Sleep with a client’s wife or something?”

  Jack made a face. “That was only once and a long time ago, man. I ain’t done nothing with nobody in so long I’m probably turned back into a virgin.”

  Table grunted. “Huh, I doubt that.” He turned back to view the damage again. “We were targeted. Someone’s not happy with us.”

  “Bad tattoo?”

  Table shook his head, “Never had complaints about the work from any of us before. This doesn’t look like a bad tattoo job, else they would have fucked up the equipment, not just the window. This was personal for one of us.”

  A sheriff’s deputy chose that moment to approach. “Are you James Boone?”

  Table looked at the envelope the uniformed man clutched in his hand. A sense of dread filled his stomach. “Yeah.”

  “Sorry for this, buddy, especially now during the holidays. You’ve been served.” He handed Table the envelope, turned, and left quickly. Table looked at the white paper rectangle as if it was a snake ready to strike.

  Jack pulled out a cigarette and lighter. He tapped one out and placed it between his lips. “You gonna open it?”

  Table tore the end off and pulled out the paper inside. His jaw clenched visibly as he scanned the document. “Goddamn fuckin’ bitch!” he snarled. “My fuckin’ ex-wife is taking me to court, trying to get custody of Angel. Says she was in a depressive state when she signed away her rights and didn’t know what she was doin’. More like she wants the fuckin’ money she can get for child support. Fuck!”

  Table crumpled the paper and wanted nothing more than to throw it to the ground.

  “Think she had somethin’ to do with this?” Jack gestured to the destruction.

  Table sighed. “It’s somethin’ she would do, but I can’t see her comin’ to Asheville to do it. I’m one-hundred percent positive this court shit is for money, and she knows her best chance of gettin’ it is hittin’ me up in court. She wouldn’t have a problem pitching a temper tantrum like this and breaking shit when she didn’t get her way, but it don’t make sense for her to do it now. Don’t matter, since I already know what’s gonna happen.”

  “So you’re saying she ain’t gonna win this fight?”

  Table looked at his friend and boss. “Not a fuckin’ chance in hell is that bitch ever gonna take my little girl.”

  They spent the rest of the day cleaning glass, checking equipment, and nailing two big sheets of thick plywood over the gaping hole. The police had dusted for fingerprints, but that was a token gesture since they had decided it was teenagers making trouble. Table was still not convinced and had a bad feeling about it, but there wasn’t much he could do. The crime seemed too directed at them, but Jack was happy with the police assessment and decided to let it be. The insurance adjuster came by and plans were made for the repairs to be done. The parlor would stay closed for the day. Chrissie showed up, shrugged, and left, texting her friends to meet her at the mall. Jack locked up and went home. Table did the same.

  He barely noticed the traffic on the way back to the farm. He’d never expected to hear from Tamara again and he speculated on the reasons why. It had to be money. When she'd left, she had a man with her. Maybe she was on her own again and flat busted broke. She never was good at keeping finances and had left him with a pile of credit card debt he was still paying off. With this new demand, he might be looking at another mountain of debt to pay for another lawyer. Stud had been an attorney at one time and might be able to help, but he wasn’t a divorce lawyer and wasn’t an expert in family law. He could leave it to the state, but he had already heard plenty of nightmare stories where kids were pulled between the parents like wishbones and the state just about split them down the middle. He did not want that for Angel and would spend every last dime he had to keep that from happening. The trouble was, he was on his last dime. There was no mortgage on the farm, but it was still expensive to run, and with the recent equipment problems there was more money going out than coming in. More than once he’d thought about asking his grandmother to just sell it. She and Carol could move to a high-class retirement village and live out their lives being taken care of, but neither woman would budge. Maybe they were right. Maybe not. But as long as they were physically able to work, they would cling to that plot of land.

  He spotted Lori’s van parked where it normally was and noticed his grandmother’s old Buick was gone. Bingo night, he thought. The crinkle of paper reminded him that the subpoena was in his pocket and he would have to deal with it. Money was going to be a problem and he was unwilling to take any from his grandmother or his club. After the holiday weekend was over, he would be making a few phone calls and seeing what kinds of league fights were happening. He was still registered with the league even though he was inactive. Hopefully, they’d overlook his lack of recent training since at one time he dominated the ring. Fights were not his favorite way of getting money, but it was the quickest and always paid in cash.

  With nothing else that could be done, he entered the house.

  Nine

  “You can call down to the VA iffen you need help with the baby. She’s sleepin’ now, but’ll wake up hungry. Bottle’s in the icebox and the mashed sweet taters is in the little blue container. You remember how that fancy warmer works. The jackpot’s not till nine, but we gots a lotta rounds ta play afore we get to the big money.”

  Martha and Carol were heading out to paint the town red, or at least mark a few spots. They were loaded with markers and ready for a big night of bingo. Once a month they dressed up as fancy as two old ladies could manage and headed out for a night of revelry, and this month, it just happened to be on the evening of Black Friday.

  “Hurry up, Carol! All the good chairs’ll be gone afore we get there!” Martha garbled while she painted her mouth with bright red lipstick in the hallway.

  “You just want to get a chair next to Floyd Parsons.” Carol clacked on the wood floors in wide-heeled sandals with daisies on the closed toes.

  Such was the life of two single senior citizens. They got more action than I did these days, but truthfully, I was okay with quiet, solitary nights. Lately, my work days were a blur of constant physical exertion. The need for house cleaners had suddenly exploded and the extra hours of hard manual labor left me exhausted at the end of the day. One advantage was that when I collapsed into bed, I was able to sleep uninterrupted by nightmares all night.

  “Floyd done had a crush on me for decades ever since we was in high school. Someday that old coot’s gonna make his move, iffen he remembers how. ’Sides, he still has all his own teeth,” Martha groused as she put away her lipstick. The orange bubble top she wore clashed horribly, but that was Martha. “Ain’t too many our age to choose from these days and Maribelle Mayhew done had her eye on him last month. I heard she brung him some snickerdoodles.”

  Carol gasped at this bit of news. “Oh my! That hussy!”

  I barely contained my laughter. They finally shuffled off and I was left in the house alone with a sleeping baby, a fully stocked kitchen, and a satellite’s worth of movie channels. Table had worked the day shift and should have already been home, but he phoned to say something happened and he had to stay at the parlor. I had the whole place to myself. Absolute luxury!

  The sun was going down fast while I made dinner for one from the ample leftovers of yesterday�
��s feast. There was no wine available, and I’d had Martha’s moonshine experience already. Her blueberry booze was so strong I thought it really would grow hair on my chest. I settled for water. Angel awoke with perfect timing just as I finished washing my dishes. I popped a bottle into the warmer and the mashed sweet potato bowl in the microwave before I went to her room. She fussed a little and rubbed at her eyes with tiny fists as I picked her up. She smelled of sweet baby powder and baby pee. What a combination! She managed to contain her hungry squalls until I had her changed and clean.

  She gazed up at me with curiosity as I held her in the crook of my arm and spooned the warmed food into her mouth. I tried not to put too much on the utensil at one time, as whatever she couldn’t work around in her mouth she promptly dribbled down her chin. Too late, I remember I was supposed to put on the bib draped over the chair. Both of us were soon covered in sweet potato goop.

  “Sorry, Angel. I haven’t had a lot of practice,” I told her softly. She smacked her lips and reached for my face. “I used to think about babies and children, but I haven’t in a while.”

  I keep talking to her as she practically inhaled the potatoes. I cleaned both of us at the kitchen sink, then went in the living room to watch TV and give her the bottle. You could tell which chair belonged to which sister by the stuff around it. Carol’s chair had a knitting basket with colorful yarn, needles, and crochet hooks. An old Bible sat on the table with an adjustable lamp on it. Martha’s chair had a Panthers football team throw hanging on the back and a pile of well-read old Harlequin romance novels on her table. I ended up settling us both on the big fluffy play mat on the floor, where Angel promptly showed me her skills of rolling over and skootching. The mat came with soft walls that helped contain the active baby. This was a good thing, as she was starting to explore her mobility and was wiggly. Crawling was definitely on the horizon and the house would need serious baby-proofing.