by Deja Voss
I’ve been fucking directionless since moving back into the house. Other than club work and keeping track of Goob, there’s really nothing more to do than drink and screw. And sleep all day. I’m bored with life, but my blaring hangover isn’t giving me any reason to do anything about it.
“Who cares?” I groan. Four, five, ten, midnight, it didn’t really matter. Same shit, different day. It’s too late for me to enroll in law school for the fall, and I know at this point I’m never going back. Might as well embrace the thug lifestyle.
“Seriously, get up. I want to show you something.”
“Fine.” Throwing on clothes is even a chore. My head is pounding and my mouth is dry.
“You look like shit.” Heat laughs.
“Thanks.”
I put on my sunglasses in preparation for the trip outside. I know I’m not in my right mind when being in nature doesn’t make me feel good. Right at this moment, I feel like the July sun is trying to murder me, the muggy air is trying to drown me, and the gnats buzzing around my head are just trying to fucking irritate me. I saddle my bike and follow him up the winding trail.
These roads were cut into the mountain by my grandfather and his friends, the founding members of the club. They’re straight dirt and pretty overgrown with stray branches from lack of use since my father built the mansion, but they get the job done. I know exactly where Heat’s taking me before we even pull into the gravel driveway.
We hop off and I stand there, staring for a moment, soaking in the bittersweet vision of the place where it all began.
“You’re not acting like yourself, Gavin. All your life everyone has known you were destined for great things. Your grandfather had a vision for this club and it revolved around you. I thought maybe bringing you out here would remind you of that.”
“Don’t be like that, Heat. I’m no different than my father, or my brothers for that matter. This club wasn’t made for me. It was made for all of us. The only reason it’s changed is because you all allowed it to. You all wanted it.”
The old farmhouse has seen much better days. The roof is caving in and the windows are all cracked. He opens up the front door and a giant tomcat screams at us before running off into the woods.
“Fucker scared the shit out of me,” I laugh. I flip on the flashlight on my cell phone and I’m hit over the head with a million memories. This was the house that my grandfather built.
This was the house he and my grandmother lived in. It doubled as the clubhouse, the dining room table was the meeting room. When I was a kid, I loved nothing more than when he’d let me sit in on those meetings. I’d help my grandma serve the guys sandwiches and top off their moonshine. I had no clue what they were even talking about, but I knew back then that the only thing I ever wanted in my life, the only thing I ever needed in my life, was a bike, a beard, and my misfit family.
The original Mountain Misfits were a bunch of outlaws who gathered together and decided they wanted to live here in the mountains, off the grid, completely self-sustained. Things got a little diluted in my father’s generation, but now that those old guys are dropping off and these young bucks are coming up, I’m beginning to feel another big change coming on.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“It’s sad, man.” I can feel my grandfather here. Even though this place has turned into a hotel for feral cats, everywhere I look, I see the care the old man put into making this home. He put so much care into everything, from the beams that run across the A-frame ceiling that he chopped, planed, and polished himself, to the big bay window he built for my grandmother that overlooks the field out back where deer and turkey come and feed on the apple trees he planted.
Back then, it wasn’t about selling drugs and prostitutes and heavy artillery to the highest bidder; it was about the freedom to live your life however you saw fit. Good friends and family by your side, no worries about the world below.
“Why’d we let this place go to shit?” I ask him. I know I can’t remember. Things got sad after my grandfather died. I never set foot in this house after that day. There were two very distinct eras of my life. Life with him, and life after his death.
After death was when my dad started wanting to run the show.
After death was money, violence, fear.
I think everyone died a little bit along with him.
“It’s a shame, huh? How long do you think it’d take the prospects to get this placed cleaned up?”
“Cleaned up is one thing, Heat. I have a feeling this place needs to be gutted. I’m sure the well needs to be taken care of and who knows what the wiring looks like. This isn’t just a little afternoon project.”
I kick up a warped floorboard that’s peeling back. Everything is falling apart.
“Well, what do you have going on that’s so important, boy? You’re back now, aren’t ya?”
I don’t have it in my heart to tell him that law school is still lingering in the back of my mind. That I’m unhappy and confused and really don’t know if this is the life for me.
“Living in that basement is doing you no favors, son. That’s not where you belong.”
He’s right. It’s not where I belong. I have no idea where that is. I’m straddling two worlds right now, stuck in some sort of strange purgatory created by my greedy father.
Maybe fixing up the house will at least be something to keep my mind busy. I’ve always enjoyed working with my hands. It’ll give me something to do while I bide my time here, figure out my next move. It’ll give me a good excuse to get away from the club scene, reconnect with nature, reconnect with my roots.
“I think you’re on to something, Heat. You think the old man will care? Grandpa did leave it to the club, not just me.”
“You think your old man will even notice?” He laughs. “His head’s so far up his ass right now you could probably run him over with your bike and he wouldn’t have a clue. Either way, I’ll slip it in at the next meeting. I’m sure the guys will be fine with it.”
“Yeah, let me know, I guess.” For the first time since being up here, I feel excited about something. Even though this house is dingy and dilapidated, it feels more like home than that basement apartment will ever be. It’s like I can breathe again.
“Oh, you’re sitting in, aren’t you?” he asks. “I mean, with Micah gone, we need to vote for a new vice president.”
“I don’t want in on the politics, Heat. Give it to Brooks. He’s put in the time. Or why don’t you do it?”
“Come on, Gav. You know we need you.”
I’m not gonna push the issue right now. It’s not worth arguing over. Becoming vice president would be the final nail in my coffin, sealing me here for life possibly. I don’t feel like explaining that to him right now.
“Let’s get outta here, Heat. I think we’re pissing off the tenants.” I laugh. I can see at least ten cats, and I’m sure there are hundreds more, tucked in every crevice of the place. I don’t blame them. They took advantage of a good opportunity.
I take one last hard look at the old A-frame before getting back on my bike, soaking it all in, trying to picture what it was like when Grandpa lived here. All I can see is myself, sitting on the porch swing, having a beer, a good woman by my side, maybe a dog, maybe a handful of kids running around. From this view, it doesn’t look so bad after all.
Chapter 16
Sloan:
I snap a picture on my cell phone of the scruffy ball of fluffy mutt I just picked up from the humane society and send it to Arthur. His name is Bender, and I have no idea what breed of dog he is, but he’s old and ugly and I couldn’t stand to think about his fate. They said he was super low maintenance, which is ideal for our lifestyle, and the second he walked up to me and gave me his paw, I was in love.
“Meet your new son,” I text him. “He’s so cute!”
“You’re gonna love your new home, Bender,” I say. He’s wagging his tail as he hangs his head out the window, his whole body
quivering with joy. I feel the same way. Things have been pretty stressful around the house lately and it seems like Arthur’s mood gets increasingly worse as the days go by. We’ve been talking about getting a dog forever, and when I told him I was going to go look for one, he gave me his blessing.
“You sure you don’t want to come with me?” I had asked before leaving the house. “It’s going to be your dog, too. I want you to like him as much as I do!”
“I trust you, babe,” he said. “Go have fun. Take your time.” He handed me a big wad of cash.
I know the old mutt doesn’t have much running left in him, but I’m sure he will be happy living out his last days wandering around our big backyard, sniffing flowers and chasing birds. I used some of the extra money Arthur gave me to splurge on a plush pillow bed for him and some high-end food that’s supposed to be good for seniors.
I pull into the driveway and something is definitely not right. There are two moving trucks parked outside and men I don’t know are walking out of the house with boxes and furniture, loading them into the trucks.
I hook Bender up to his leash and let him walk around the yard a few times while he sniffs everything and pees everywhere. I wish he would hurry the hell up so I can go inside and see what’s going on.
“Arthur?” I yell into the big empty house. My voice echoes off the high ceilings,
“I’m sorry, Sloan.” He’s emptying the dresser drawers into a suitcase, just dumping them over and smashing them down, and I just stand there watching, wide-eyed. “Can you help me?”
“Help you do what? What’s going on here?”
“I just need you to trust me. We need to go live somewhere else for a little bit. I promise it’s no big deal. It’s just a stupid tax technicality.”
No big deal. Sure. Like this is a normal day in anyone’s life and I’m just supposed to say ‘ok, great!’ and not ask any questions. That’s what he expects from me, but he has every reason to because it’s what I’ve always done.
“Where are we going?” I ask. “I don’t want to move further away from the hospital.”
“You’ll be fine. We’re gonna sublet an apartment from my buddy for a few months until we can get things figured out.”
“Is it pet-friendly?” Bender is sitting on my feet. He hasn’t left my side since we came into the house.
“Sure. Now go grab your bags. Anything we don’t get today is gone forever.”
Maybe he’ll leave me here. I could only hope. Me and my dog. Gone forever.
Instead, I fish out my luggage from the closet. The last time I used these bags was when we spent two weeks in France, carelessly skiing in the Chamonix Valley, no luxury spared. Now I’m stuffing them full of socks and underwear, knowing that this surprise vacation probably isn’t going to be anything like the last. Instead of two young lovers hiding away from the world, making love by a fireplace, we’re now two old hardened criminals hiding away from the world while we watch everything we know burn to the ground.
Full circle.
I go to grab my personal safe from the trap door under the bed. It has all the expensive jewelry Arthur gave me over the years, but also a few sentimental things. Letters from Olive, pictures of my friends from undergrad school, my letter of acceptance into the fellowship program at the hospital.
It’s missing.
“Where’s my safe?” I ask.
“I got it, don’t worry. We’ll make sure it gets to the apartment.”
Part of me is sad that I likely lost a box of memories; the other part is flipping the fuck out because, well, that was my escape plan. That was my life savings. If I had to leave in a hurry, I’d at least have a bunch of jewelry to pawn. Now I have nothing of value.
Except for this dog. This dog that won’t stop nudging my arm, begging to be petted. I carelessly finish dumping the necessities into the bag and start wheeling them out the door. Maybe leaving this house would be good for us. We could strip away the pretentious bullshit and just be two people trying to make their lives better.
For some reason, there’s a nagging in my gut that that won’t be the case. For some reason, I feel like life with Arthur will always be a contest to see who can make whose life worse.
Chapter 17
Gavin:
Moses Boden, my father, the most intimidating man on the mountain, not because of his size, but because of his sneer, sits at the head of the giant oak table, tapping his giant thumb ring.
“What are you doing here, son? Officers only.” He smiles, showing all his teeth. The kind of smile a wolf makes before ripping out your jugular.
The room is silent except for his tapping. Everyone knows what’s about to happen, but nobody wants to be the first to say it. They’d rather marinate in this awkwardness, trying to prolong the fight that’s about to ensue.
“Well, from what I gather, you need a vice president. I’m not saying I should be the guy, but I think I should at least be a guy on the board since I’m back here.”
“Is that so? You wanna breeze back in here like you never fucking left and start running the show, huh? These men have been loyal from the day they were patched in. They’ve been here through the worst times. I can’t believe you have the balls to storm in here and even suggest that this is somewhere you belong.” He takes a long drag from his whiskey. The man makes a valid argument on the surface. What he’s really saying is ‘I don’t want a vice president.’ He knew his days were numbered, but I just put a little pressure on that situation.
“That’s fine, Pops. But you really need to find someone to be vice president. Grandpa would never let the club go on like this.”
“If your grandpa had his way, we’d be selling corn at the farmer’s market and sitting on the front porch of the clubhouse whittling walking sticks. Times have changed, son.”
“I suggest Brooks for vice president,” I say, and turn my back, heading out the door. Even if I wasn’t going to be a part of this, I at least want to see my best friend move up in ranks. He knows the vision. He’ll see it through.
“Get back here, boy,” Heat yells after me.
I turn and stop. “Don’t do this, Heat.”
“I propose a vote to elect Gavin Boden as vice president of the Mountain Misfits effective today. All in favor.”
My dad just shakes his head, squinting his eyes as he runs his fingers through his beard.Hands go up across the table, none reluctant. These men don’t know what they’re doing. Their confidence in me is a little overenthusiastic. Why they think I’m so capable is beyond me.
Of course my father doesn’t vote, trying to prove his point.
“Come have a seat, Gav,” Brooks says, motioning to the chair next to him. “We’ll get you caught up.”
“I suppose it will be nice to keep the legacy in the family,” my father finally mumbles.
“We are all family, Pops. These mountains run through all our blood. No matter who sits at the head of that table, he is my brother, or my father, or my grandfather. We’re all kin in this club.”
“Sounds like college turned you into a hippie, boy,” he snips.
“Nah, college just made me realize how good we have it up here. We might be outlaws and misfits, but we’ve got life figured out better than anyone down there. We have our family and we have our freedom.”
Heat is grinning from ear to ear, and a slow clap begins to fill the room.
“You guys are ridiculous.” I laugh. “Let’s get this meeting started.”
Chapter 18
Sloan:
The way the last month has unfolded has me questioning if I made a big mistake in blowing off my lunch date with Officer Brighton. Arthur is more than stressed out, super erratic, and I know he’s using more than he has in the past.
He’s losing weight fast. His skin looks like complete garbage, all pockmarked and scratched to shit. I try pleading with him. As much as I’m beginning to come to terms with the fact that he’s a bad person, I’m disgusted to admit I still love h
im. I don’t care about the money. I don’t care that we aren’t living the way we used to. I care about him and his health. He needs to start caring as much as I do.
Every time I come home from the hospital, he’s in some sort of state of unravel, be it fiending for a fix or high off his ass, his eyes glossed over as he stares blankly into the TV. Poor Bender isn’t getting the attention he deserves, and he’s been having accidents all over the cramped little apartment, which only contributes to Arthur’s mood.
“I’m taking Bender to the dog park,” I say to him as I grab my keys off the coffee table, barely avoiding the graze of the used needle and spoon laid out in front of him.
He’s in his happy place, nodding on and off, and I hope he’s still there when I get back. I’m not in the mood for a fight.
Bender hops in the car with me, nosing at the window. He loves riding with his face in the breeze. I start it up, but sit there, digging through my purse. I clutch the business card in my hand and then put it away.
I pull it out again.
My hands are quivering as I dial the number. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think my life wasn’t in danger.
“Officer Brighton,” he answers after a few rings.
“Hey,” I barely eke out before bursting into tears.
“Hello?”
“It’s Sloan. Do you have a minute?”
“Where are you?”
“Can we meet somewhere?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Baden Square Dog Park? I’ll be there soon.”
Bender nuzzles his head under my arm, and as cute as it is with him trying to cheer me up, it just makes me cry even harder.
“Don’t worry, bud,” I tell him. “We’re still going to the park.”
This fucking dog.
As much as I want to just turn around and go back inside, forget the phone call I just made, I can’t do that to him. We have to go to the park.
