Lost MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 4)

by Bella Knight

  They went back to the hotel. Both women were exhausted, but the girls were wound up from the acrobats and sugar-coated fruit on sticks. The girls put on a little performance, and the mothers watched. They watched a Chinese singing competition after baths, and the girls finally wound down enough to sleep.

  The next day, the girls swam in the hotel pool after breakfast. “We are leaving today, Bao,” said Callie. “Is there anything you want to do?”

  “I have seen Beijing for the first time,” she said. “It has been enough.”

  Happily, their morning wasn’t scripted. They put the girls in the shower and walked out to a nearby hutong, or local place with shops in between residential compounds. An enterprising cafe owner took the cafe table and chairs outside, set them up with tea and treats, and even fed the photographers.

  “This tea is incredible,” said Callie. She bought some to take home with her. The photographers seemed to be delighted by this.

  They went back to the hotel, packed, and checked out. There was one more press conference in the hotel lobby, where Callie and Grace spoke, in halting Chinese on Callie’s part and far more fluency on Grace’s part. The told them how much they loved visiting and how, of course, they would be coming back. Callie thanked the hotel and Singsun and all the people who had made their stay so wonderful. They were driven to the airport, and there was a press conference at the airport outside Security. The girls did their flower song again, waved goodbye, and the moms got their daughters into the security line.

  Free from the nosy photographers, they had noodles and tea in a noodle shop. They were escorted to a private sitting room to wait for the plane and were the first seated. The girls sat together, the moms right across the aisle from them. The moms got to, (just for a moment), sit and rest. The girls got lost in their own worlds as both moms did their homework, fingers flying over the keys.

  Each mom took a nap, taking turns, as the girls chattered and watched movies and changed from making paper flowers to making paper dragons. Bao woke up and Callie slept, and then it was time for lunch, then dinner.

  Everyone slept, then they woke up and landed in San Francisco. Customs was annoying with long lines, but they finally got through. They took a day and saw the Golden Gate Bridge and went to Chinatown. Bao and Hu loved every minute of it.

  They took the short flight to Vegas. Ivy was there with the car. She got the sleeping girls into the car, got Bao and a zombified Callie in, and drove them home. They put the girls in the pods, Bao in her fold-down bed, and Ivy led her wife off to bed.

  They all got in the car to see Damia, Ivy’s autistic daughter at her special school. Hu explained to her mother in Chinese about Damia, her differences, and the need to be silent. Bao was confused at first, then Hu showed her pictures of Damia and the school. They went in silently. The girls taught Bao some sign language.

  Damia was doing needlepoint with a large needle, creating a picture of an orange and black cat. She said, “Hello” to her mother in sign language, and kept working. Ivy explained that Hu’s mother was sitting next to Callie. Damia called Callie “C,” Hu “H,” and Bao as “H Mother.” She got up, stretched, and put away the needlepoint as the occupational therapist called time. She told her mother to come with her, and they went to the horse paddock together.

  They spoke in one-or two-word bursts, “nice day” and “sunny,” “horse” and “comb,” “hungry later.” Ivy tried not to cry; she was finally communicating with her daughter.

  They walked back when her daughter pronounced herself, “hungry.” They met the other kids in Damia’s cohort for school. The kids were starting to communicate with each other, “want” and “pass,” and “give” and “fruit,” and “little pieces.”

  Callie took Bao and the girls to get some food at the local coffee shop, and Ivy stayed to speak to the doctor.

  “I’m stunned again,” said Ivy, to Doctor Hiot. “They’re actually talking to one another.”

  “I’m really glad your daughter’s friend’s mother is here,” said Doctor Hiot. “And, yes, they seem to prefer sign to speaking. It’s quieter. We think… we hope, we’re teaching their brains to block inputs that don’t matter, and focus on things that are important. The math manipulatives are extremely useful.”

  “I think my daughter missed her math class to talk to me,” said Ivy.

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week,” said Doctor Hiot.

  Ivy cried a little, and they discussed Damia’s progress.

  “Damia is beginning to use a computer screen,” said Doctor Hiot. “We have them put on the blue, light-blocking glasses, so they aren’t stimulated. They’re learning to read and write, even type. We’re being extremely careful, but it is helping us with things like word order.”

  “She’s got so much more coordination,” said Ivy. “The tumbling is helping. And, so is the occupational therapy.”

  “She’s also happier,” said Doctor Hiot. “Our kids get so frustrated when they can’t communicate, or when they fall down and hurt themselves. Some of them are actually wanting to do classes out of order, and we let them do it when we can accommodate them. We think… we hope, they’re growing new synapses, new connections in the brain. If we can work around the part of the brain that doesn’t filter things correctly, then these kids can improve.” They chatted some more, and Ivy went to put her child into bed.

  They camped out at Henry’s house, crashing in a spare bedroom, the girls in sleeping bags in a tent in the living room, then Bao on the couch. Bao was afraid of the horses at first, then fell in love with the ponies. The girls went horse-mad again, and Bao stayed to learn how to clean tack.

  Ivy took Callie out to the meadow. They sat against a tree, and relaxed.

  “We’ve got to get a bigger place,” said Ivy.

  “Wish we could add on,” said Callie. “But, I’m all over it.” She showed a nearby apartment that took dogs, had three separate bedrooms, and was close to the restaurant.

  Then, she showed a duplex, and Ivy jumped up and down. “That’s it! Two bedrooms each! Closer to Dirty Vegas! We can rent, or buy it and rent to Hu and her mom.”

  “Well,” said Callie. “Looks like we’re getting a duplex.”

  Nantan rode by and waved. “Eye candy,” said Ivy. Callie smacked her arm, then they worked out which duplexes they wanted to see.

  They stayed for lunch, then Ivy, Callie, Bao, and the girls went home so Ivy could go to work, and Bao could start her first day at work teaching Chinese.

  New Eyes

  Nantan thought as he rode. The seeds were planted; he did it in batches, embedding them in the cloth. The Wolf Pack were serious mimics. Nantan had to pretend he was a mirror, and do everything calmly, correctly, with no wasted movement. He corrected his mistakes immediately, with an explanation of what he did wrong and the correct method. He talked about each variety, showing the seed and a picture of the mature plants.

  He deliberately planted as great of a spectrum of each plant as possible; a rainbow of carrots, from white to red, green tomatillos and cherry. Then Roma, red, and purple Cherokee tomatoes. He planted peppers, from bell to red hot, especially jalapenos. He planted traditional grains; amaranth, quinoa, and corn, as well as wheat. He planted trays of beets for the horses. He planted potatoes, from white to red, blue to purple, with the onions in a similar rainbow, and several kinds of cucumbers and watermelon. There were squashes, from acorn to pumpkin. He also planted salad greens, from chicory to arugula. Then red and green cabbage, romaine and butter lettuces, and spinach. The students loved the herb garden best, with the basil and sage, dill and mint, and cilantro and tarragon. They also planted ginger and garlic.

  He had to think on the trees. He wanted limes and tangerines, so they could grow indoors. He decided upon apricots, peaches, plums, and figs. The Wolves loved the pots, and he let them grow the non-citrus ones in their dorms. Each student took one and learned about how to care for it.

  The stallion had fallen
in love with Nantan, and was slowly improving, with steady food and quiet walks. Nantan rubbed him down, checked his hooves, curried him, and gave him carrots. He then took out the lovely Jumper, who needed to move, and to fly over land. He let her walk, trot, canter, then run, after walking her over trails to be sure they were flat and didn’t have dangers for her. Henry was delighted with the horse and had hopes to check to see if someone wanted to breed her in the spring.

  He loved the days. They were becoming consistent. Get up, eat breakfast at the main house with everyone. Plant some plants, showing the Wolf Pack how to do it. Guide the Wolf Pack in their programming and horticulture lessons. Talk to and walk the stallion they named Kuchu or Buffalo. He seemed to like the name. Then, time with the lovely lady mare, and back to check on the plants. Then helping the Wolf Pack with lessons or papers or projects. Then dinner, going out to an AA meeting then coming back. Sometimes after, possibly a movie or game with the Pack, then a shower, bed, a book, and sleep. He was slowly learning Southern Paiute/Ute, with definite differences from Eastern Apache.

  Nantan relaxed into the ride and thought about his new life. He watched Henry and David closely. They understood the Wolf Pack. Inola watched them, listened closely, and deftly drew each one into conversation. Numa did the same, but with a soft word (when the wolves started snarling at each other), that silenced them. He had many lessons to learn and knew he was learning them here.

  He was not used to being around so many women. He admired their strength, their ability to see what the men missed. Even Silent Sister used the side-eye and a closed face to show when she agreed or disagreed.

  His father had died of alcoholism and his brother Tarak had raised him, a silent man with anger burning under his skin. He had died in a bar fight, an innocent bystander hit by a beer bottle to the temple. Nantan had to sell his brother’s precious Harley to pay for school, but he got his GED two years early and had made it through an agricultural degree and a good job, before falling into his father’s trap. He was lucky; he got help early from a medicine woman who told him to attend the AA meetings or be thrown out of the tribe. Later on, she apologized; it was the only way to get through to him.

  The Wolf Pack decided to build a chicken coop, and there were two debates raging. One was the design of the coop —chicken-wire enclosure next to or underneath the coop? Drawers to catch the eggs? And the other problems of what varieties of chickens to get. Rhode Island Reds, Golden Campines, Easter Eggers, Australorps, Barred Plymouth Rocks, Red Stars, Golden-laced Wyandottes? Henry stepped in and divided them into two groups, one to design the coop and one to choose the hens. They also had to do pro and con lists for each choice, and come up with at least two choices. So, Nantan was learning the ways of discussion and compromise from a great leader.

  There was one problem here, and he needed to confront it before it exploded in his face. He turned Jumper and got her to go back. She did as he asked, and he let her take the longer trail home. A strange word. He tasted it in his mouth, and he realized it was true. He got off, took off her saddle, walked her, wiped her down, checked her hooves, curried her, and gave her carrots.

  Jeffrey fed the new mares and talked to them gently. They responded well, accepting carrots. Nantan decided to treat Jeffrey as he would a younger brother, with kindness.

  “Jeffrey,” he said, quietly. Jeffrey whirled, startling Chocolate, the slightly darker one. She shied. Nantan stroked her. Cinnamon, the lighter one, stood calmly.

  “Um, Nantan,” said Jeffrey, blushing. “I… I didn’t see you.”

  “I wish to speak clearly,” said Nantan. “There is no one nearby but these horses. Can we speak?”

  “Yes,” said Jeffery, drawing himself up.

  “Do you like the company of men? Are you drawn to them?”

  “Are you asking if I’m gay?” Jeffery looked away, then stared at the ground.

  “Are you, Jeffrey? I am.”

  “I am,” said Jeffrey, speaking toward the dirt.

  “It will be hard for you to find someone,” said Nantan. “We are isolated here. If you went to a normal high school or to college, finding someone would be easier. You must date boys your own age, find who you are.”

  “Am I not good enough for you?” asked Jeffrey.

  Nantan said, “You must know who you are first before you date someone my age. You must walk your own path. Older people will try to guide you down a specific path, and that is not for you.”

  “Even you?” asked Jeffrey.

  “Even me,” said Nantan. “Especially me, because I just found my home, and I may be the glue that holds you back. Eagles fly, Jeffrey. Don’t let anyone clip your wings, not even me.”

  Jeffrey straightened. “I see. So, how will I find people?”

  “Gay young men join groups, like photography or hiking. Join one. Look them up on your cell phone.” He smiled. “Be who you are, Young Eagle.” Jeffrey just stood there, stunned, as Jeffrey walked away.

  Nantan decided to take his own advice and went to the gay men’s meeting at a local club that night. There were men of every type —transgendered males, blondes with short hair and bulging muscles, old men with short hair, Hispanic men with short, black hair and cinnamon skin. There was one black man with dreads. He got a cup of coffee, doctored it, and sat.

  The meeting was the same as all the others, stories of loss and confusion, self-hatred and finding the way back, with an added thread of a world that didn’t accept them. With loss of family members and friends for them being who they were, being hated and reviled for being… human. He told his own story, of losing his own father, and his brother, making his way in the world alone, finding he had the same disease as his father.

  After the meeting, a Hispanic man came up to talk to him. “Hey, I’m Juan. We all like to go out after this to the coffee shop. To talk.”

  “Sure,” said Nantan.

  “Here’s a phone list,” said a young man in beach shorts and a tank top, sporting a deep tan and deep blue eyes. “Call any of us anytime. I’m Rob.”

  It didn’t take long for Nantan to realize that none of them were hitting on him. He walked with them around the corner to the coffee shop. There, he forgot race, or gay, or straight, or even gender. They laughed, they joked, they ordered every kind of drink on the menu, then they ate five kinds of pie and cake, and they were who they really were.

  They finished their food, and Nantan asked, “I know a young kid, just coming out. He wants to join a hiking group or something. He loves horses, has a real talent.”

  “Shit,” said Juan. “We got a group of young men, like to take trail rides, go BMX biking, stuff like that. A safe place for them to meet, get to know each other, usually college-age guys.”

  “May I have their information?” asked Nantan.

  “Sure,” said Juan. He wrote it down on a napkin and gave it to Nantan.

  They all walked back to the parking lot. They hugged and said goodbye.

  Juan met him at his bike. “You with a club?”

  “I am considering the Nighthawks,” he said.

  Juan nodded. “I’m thinking about them too.” He looked at Nantan. “Apache, aren’t you? A little far from home?”

  “I found a new home,” said Nantan.

  “I’ve got some Dine in me,” he said, referring to the Navajo. “We just had coffee, but I want to talk to you some more.”

  Nantan gave Juan his number. “We can ride down to Lake Mead tomorrow. It’s my day off.”

  Juan nodded. “Me too.” He gave his number. “We can meet for breakfast at the diner near the Nighthawks clubhouse, and go out.” He stopped. “Just to make it clear, I’d like to be friends, and hope that something develops.”

  Nantan smiled. “Just to be clear, it’s what I want too.” Juan hugged him, and Nantan rode home to the ranch, with a huge, wide smile on his face.

  “Legal machinery grinds slow, then, when you get what you want, move fast.”

  6

  Exp
ansion

  “Grow, or die.”

  Henry went with Inola, Bonnie, Ghost, and Killa on bikes, and Jeffrey, Tocho, and Imala on horses. David went in the van with the rest of Wolf Pack teens to see the “factory” for the harnesses for the dog boxes. Aquene and Bianca were both Paiute, with long black hair and snapping eyes. Aquene looked like an older Inola, with the same round face and a slight tilt to her eyes.

  Tocho asked about it. “Cousins,” said Aquene, laughing. Bianca was taller, with wide hips and extremely fast fingers.

  The factory was a low, adobe house, with cacti and desert plants in a rock garden in the front yard. Then a windmill, and some solar panels on the roof. The kitchen was wide, with arched doors, with dark counters. There was bread in the oven, and empty bread boxes out on the counter.

  “We make tortillas, flatbread, and honey wheat nut bread, in between creating the harnesses,” said Aguene.

  A 3D printer slowly printed a black plastic buckle. The teens streamed over to the 3D printer.

  Killa and Ghost both had boxes to fit with harnesses. The ladies exclaimed and ran forward to see the boxes.

  “What kind of dogs go in them?” asked Aquene, stroking the box, and checking the holes for strap placements.

  She took out a mini-measuring tape, and carefully measured the holes. She called them out to Bianca, who wrote them down, then approached a wall of harnesses labeled by size and breed. Aquene went to the wall that touched the one where Bianca was and got out padding and a utility knife. The padding fit perfectly, and Aquene cut holes to hold where the straps would go.

  “A pug an’ a corgi,” said Killa.

  Bianca came up with a red nylon getup for the corgi that had tiny corgis on it. She gave it to Aquene, who put it in the box Killa designated, hooking in onto rings Ghost had welded in. The pug got a pale blue one with little corgis on it. Aquene put that one in, the Wolf Pack watching.