by Cheree Alsop
“Cole, it’s not polite to laugh,” Aunt Lauren said. She gave me a worried look. “I’ll call your mother and let her know what happened.”
I was about to tell her not to bother when the nurse spoke up. “I need one parent to come with me. The rest of your family and friends have to wait in the waiting room. We’ll let them know when you’re done.”
Friends? I glanced back to see about twenty students following us. They laughed and shoved each other, joking around as if my wreck truly had been the highlight of their week. Cassidy grinned at me. “Told ya; Sparrow’s a boring place.”
“Guess you just needed me to liven it up,” I replied.
She ruffled my hair, then disappeared down a side hall with the rest of the group following behind.
I tried to put my hair back in order, then gave up. I figured with the gaping wound down my leg, nobody would be looking at my hair anyway.
The nurse wheeled me into a wide emergency room where several other occupants already waited. A quick glance showed one man with a rag over his hand and two fingers missing, and another holding a bloody cloth to his forehead. My stomach rolled and I was grateful when the nurse pulled a curtain around the bed to create a small room. “Guess we’re at the bottom of the totem pole,” I said.
Uncle Rick leaned against the wall. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You tried to ride a motorcycle?”
I let out a breath. “Stupid, I know.”
He shook his head. “You got off pretty well.”
I laughed, despite the pounding in the back of my head. “You think this is pretty well?”
He nodded. “Better than some.” At my curious expression, his forehead creased and he glanced at the floor. “Want to hear a story about your dad?”
The thought made my heart ache, but I nodded.
His gaze took on the distant look of someone watching the past. “The first time I met your dad, he and your mother had been engaged for about a month. Lauren was sure her sister had found a dud.” He glanced at me. “I mean, he proposed to her on a scoreboard during a college football game.”
I knew the story. His love of sports was why I avoided them.
Uncle Rick let out a breath. “Anyway, when your parents came over, your dad brought his motorcycle.” A small smile crossed his lips. “It was Corvette red and when he gunned the engine, it roared like a lion.”
I knew the bike. My mom had a picture of them on it together in front of a drive-in theater. She threw it away after he split, but I found it in the garbage can and kept it in the drawer next to my bed. I was afraid I would forget what he looked like. When I moved to Sparrow, I left it behind.
“So he asked me if I wanted to ride it.” Uncle Rick gave a wry smile. “I’d ridden four-wheelers and dirt bikes before, but nothing above a thousand cc’s.”
“What’d you do?”
He grinned, and I saw Cassidy’s smile on her dad’s face. “I rode it, of course. At least, I tried.” He rubbed his forehead, his eyes tight with the memory. “I gunned it, trying to show off to Lauren, whiskey throttlin’ it within five feet of starting.”
“Were you hurt?”
He winced. “My pride, mainly. I had to go to the hospital because I was stupid enough to think I didn’t need a helmet. They diagnosed me with a concussion and a cracked tailbone.” He chuckled. “I had to sit on a pillow shaped like a donut for a month.”
I laughed. The image of hardworking, serious Uncle Rick sitting on a donut pillow for a broken tailbone sounded a lot worse than my accident. Laughing made my head hurt. I settled back on the bed and covered my eyes with my arm to shield them from the glare of the neon lights.
“You all right?” Uncle Rick asked.
The kindness in his voice cut through walls I wanted to keep up. I gritted my teeth. “Fine. Just have a headache.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “About California—”
His words were cut off when the nurse walked through the divider with a blue-scrubbed doctor. He looked at my leg, then glanced at the nurse. “I’ll inject a local. Scrub out the gravel and prepare it for sutures.”
He proceeded to inject several places around the gash. I swore the injections hurt worse than the wound itself. The doctor then left me to the nurse’s care. Luckily, her fingers were nimble as she pulled small rocks and several shreds of my pants from the wound. “We don’t want you to get an infection,” she said. I tried not to move. Uncle Rick read my expression. “Maybe yours is worse,” he said.
I nodded in agreement and kept my hands balled into fists as she flushed it out, then left to get the doctor. I settled back on the bed and willed the moment to be over. If Uncle Rick still wanted to talk about California, he kept silent out of mercy. The doctor came in a while later and put in thirty-eight stitches. I was exhausted by the time he finished.
The nurse wrapped the wound and gave us several extra packages of bandages. “Keep it dry,” she said. “Make an appointment in ten days to see if you’re ready to have the stitches out.”
I rose and limped carefully to the door. When I walked into the waiting room, most of the students had gone home.
“Wow, you took forever,” Sandy said.
“I wasn’t at the top of the injury list,” I replied wryly.
“How many stitches did you get?” Jeremy asked.
I was surprised he hung around, but the smile he threw Cassidy answered my question. “Thirty-eight,” I replied.
“Couldn’t talk the doc into a full forty?”
I laughed. I liked the guy, and it was obvious Cassidy did as well. She stayed near him as though relishing every moment they had together. “Thanks for the ride,” I told him sincerely.
He shrugged. “No prob. If it was up to Magnum, you’d probably still be bleeding to death.”
Aunt Lauren looked at me sharply. “The Bullets were involved in this?”
I tried to avoid her gaze. “It was Magnum’s bike I wrecked.” At her worried look, I put up a hand. “He forced me to ride it, honest.”
She looked from Sandy to Cassidy and Jeremy. Everyone nodded. Aunt Lauren shook her head. “I hope this doesn’t come back to haunt us.”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Cassidy replied. “I don’t think Kel will be back on a motorcycle for a long time.” She grinned and I returned the smile, but I didn’t comment either way.
We sat on the chairs while Uncle Rick filled out some paperwork at the front desk. I stretched out my leg gingerly. The nurse had cut my pants up to the knee. It hung tattered on either side of the bandages. “Guess I’ll need a new pair of pants,” I mused.
“You should still wear them. It could be a statement,” Jeremy suggested.
Cassidy laughed. “Maybe everyone will do it.”
I smiled at the thought. “I couldn’t do that to Sparrow. Besides, I’m not the type to start new fads.” I looked around. “Where are Jaren and Cole?”
“The Crosbys picked them up. There’s always work to do,” Aunt Lauren replied.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to five. “Let’s head out,” Uncle Rick said.
I rose and limped toward the door. “Do you mind dropping me off at the junkyard?”
Uncle Rick’s eyebrows rose. “I think you’ve earned a night off.”
I shook my head. “There’s something I need to do.”
He nodded, and I know I didn’t imagine the approval on his face when he held open the door.
“If it’s all right with you, Mr. Ashby, I’d be happy to take Cassidy home,” Jeremy said. He glanced furtively at Cassidy’s parents.
Aunt Lauren and Uncle Rick exchanged a telling look. Aunt Lauren smiled despite Uncle Rick’s stony glare. “That would be fine, Jeremy.”
Cassidy linked her arm through Jeremy’s with a pleased smile.
“What about me?” Sandy asked in a slightly whiny voice.
“You’re welcome to ride with us,” Jeremy said.
Sandy grabbed Cassidy’s arm a
nd the three of them raced toward the truck. We followed slowly to Uncle Rick’s Ram. Aunt Lauren climbed in and I followed so I sat near the door. Jeremy tapped on the window. I unrolled it and he handed me a bag with dark cloth inside. “Thought you’d want that back,” he said. Sandy honked the horn and he smiled. “Girls.”
“Good luck,” I said.
He laughed and jogged back to the car.
The ride to Jagger’s was quiet. I glanced at my aunt and uncle, wondering if they were angry about going to the hospital instead of working on the farm, but neither said a word. Aunt Lauren had her hand on Uncle Rick’s knee while his arm rested around her shoulders. They looked casual, as if they rode everywhere that way. I leaned against the door and watched them.
I wanted what they had. After seeing what my mom and dad went through, my thoughts on marriage and relationships were all messed up. I never knew what I missed before I saw Uncle Rick and Aunt Lauren. They fit, like the stars and the moon, or the geese on the lake last night. I knew it was silly, but somehow seeing them together felt right.
I had never wanted such a thing before. Maybe it was my aching head or the pain medication; it was easier to accept that my thoughts weren’t in order than to admit I wanted something so profound in my life. Perhaps the hardest part was debating whether I deserved it.
MICK CAME RUNNING OUT when we pulled into the junkyard. Jake jumped down from the back of the truck and trotted to meet him. I hadn’t even realized the dog was riding back there. Maybe the pain meds really were messing with my thoughts. The dogs circled each other stiff-leggedly, then Mick jumped at Jake and they both took off around the junkyard.
I eased out of the truck and waved. “Call us when you need a lift,” Uncle Rick said. He whistled and Jake came tearing back across the lot. The dog jumped without breaking stride and landed in the back of the truck. I waited for them to pull away before I pulled out the bag I had hidden under my shirt.
I hadn’t realized what Cassidy had held on my leg to slow the bleeding until Jeremy handed it to me. I pulled out the black riding outfit I had been admiring on Magnum’s table. I wasn’t a klepto, but I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about hanging on to it. I just needed to find out if Jagger had a washing machine.
Jagger shoved the door to the shack open. “I didn’t expect ta see ya here,” he said. “Thursdays’re usually saved for the high schoolers.”
“I got as much enjoyment out of it as I could,” I reassured him.
I limped toward the porch and he gave a crooked smile. “I guess you did. I heard ‘bout that wreck of yours.”
Something to his tone made me turn. He grinned as though he knew a secret. My stomach clenched. “What about the wreck?”
He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Well, it jus’ seems to me that someone who’d jump on a bike and do fair well wouldn’t wreck it so bad ‘less it was on purpose.”
I stared at him. “You think I did this on purpose?” I asked, gesturing to my leg.
He shrugged with a spark in his eyes. “I think someone with a grudge an’ smart as you might find a way ta make a bully pay without seemin’ to. That’s all.” When I didn’t answer, he continued, “If’n you didn’t come ‘ere to work, what brought ya back ta this humble piece of junk collectin’?”
“I thought I’d work on the bike today.”
He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Thought ya might say that.” He motioned and I followed him around back.
To my surprise, the motorcycle sat tarp-free and somewhat clean in the dim lighting.
“She needs a coat a’ paint, but I cleaned the carburetor, changed the spark plugs, and adjusted the timin’. She’ll run.”
A thrill of excitement ran through me at his last comment. I smoothed a hand over the seat. It was in surprisingly good condition, thanks to the tarp. Jagger crossed the porch, then came back with a helmet in flat black. “I knew I ‘ad one around ‘ere somewhere. Took me a while to dig et up.”
The helmet was an older style, but the visor was tinted dark, which I liked. No one would be able to see who I was. A pair of black gloves sat inside the helmet. I smiled and handed Jagger the bag. “Do you have a washing machine?”
“What’s this?” He pulled out the riding gear and his eyebrows rose appreciatively.
“A product of my eventful afternoon at the factory,” I replied.
“You don’t wanna throw this in a washin’ machine. I’ll spot clean it and ‘ang it on a line.”
At my raised eyebrows, he grinned. “What? Ya think I lived in a junkyard my ‘ole life?”
I laughed. “I guess I never thought about it.”
He tapped a finger on his brow. “I’ve some ambitions left. You just wait ‘n see.”
I grinned and swung a leg over the bike. It felt perfect. The paint was scratched and rusted in places and the chrome was dull with tarnish, but the frame was sturdy.
“I put new tires on ‘er.” He chuckled. “Thanks to you, they were easy ta find.”
I knew the tires. Dual compound with enough grip left for wet or dry riding. They fit the bike perfectly. I turned the key. The engine purred to life and the throttle responded immediately. I revved the engine, tempted to kick it in gear and test it out, but my leg ached enough to remind me that it might not be the best idea. I climbed off the bike with a grateful smile. “You do good work.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“Any ideas on paint?”
He grinned. “Thought you’d be wanting ta get her out quickly. I don’t think Sheriff Bowley’d recognize her if’n she wasn’t red.”
He pulled a box from the porch and dropped it at my feet. I picked up several cans of flat black paint. “Thought matchin’ the helmet’d look good.”
It would work perfectly for what I had in mind. I nodded and picked up a screwdriver. “Guess I’d better start taking it apart.”
“I ‘ope you’re not plannin’ on leaving me outta the fun,” Jagger said. I glanced at him and he shrugged. “Not much else ta do ‘round ‘ere.”
I couldn’t argue against an extra pair of hands. We set to work in comfortable silence. The sun set completely and darkness owned the lot. We worked by the light of several flood lamps Jagger had rigged along the back porch roof. His array of tools was impressive. For a junkyard, it was very well stocked.
“How’s life at the Ashbys’?” Jagger asked after about an hour of quiet work.
My first impulse was to shy away from the topic, but after all Jagger had done, I felt like I owed him an honest answer. “It’s kind of them to let me stay at their house.” I hesitated, remembering Uncle Rick’s attempt to talk at the hospital. It had been obvious since the beginning of my stay that he felt like I didn’t fit into their lives. From the look of disapproval for the farm jobs I failed, I definitely didn’t meet his expectations by far.
I stared at a bolt in my hand, but didn’t see it. “I think Uncle Rick’s ready for me to go home.” My throat tightened at the thought. I swallowed, but the knot wouldn’t go away. I blinked angrily, refusing to let the burning in my eyes turn to tears. I continued quietly, “But I’m not sure where home is anymore.”
Jagger was silent for several minutes with his eyebrows pinched together and gaze tight. He removed a bolt and pulled off the engine cover, then set it carefully on a piece of cardboard. When he finally looked at me, it was with the stark expression of a man who had seen too many things that were wrong in the world. That look made me realize for the first time why he might have chosen to work alone at a junkyard.
“Son, this place ain’t much, but if’n you ever need a home, you can always come ‘ere.”
I stared at him. Every emotion I had felt that day crashed together. Rage, elation, pain, frustration, and the desire to make things different than they were combined to fill my chest with a giant hole, a gaping void of defeated hope. I didn’t know who I was anymore, and my place in the world felt unnecessary at most. I was floating, but Jagger offered me a place I could c
all my own when I was lost.
I couldn’t speak, but Jagger didn’t require it. He worked for several minutes, then began to whistle a hearty tune. Mick gave up his vigil on the porch and settled down next to Jagger with his head on his paws.
I RODE HOME THAT night on the four-wheeler. Jagger said it was ridiculous to call the Ashbys when he had a perfectly good vehicle sitting idle in the lean-to. I think he understood that the less indebted I felt toward the Ashbys’, the easier it was to stay there. The bumps along the road made my leg ache, but it was nice to feel a little independent even if it was on a four-wheeler in the middle of nowhere.
The Ashby family surprised me with their concern when I arrived. Aunt Lauren made me rest on the couch with my leg elevated on a pillow while I ate beef stew and rolls loaded with honey butter in the living room, a usually off-limits location for food.
Cole hovered around the end of the couch when he was done eating. “Do your toes hurt?”
“No.”
“Does your knee hurt?”
“No.”
“How ‘bout your hip? Does your hip hurt?”
I smiled. “My hip’s fine. It really was just my leg.”
“Can I see it?”
His eager tone made me laugh. “I have to keep it wrapped so it doesn’t get infected.”
“If it gets infected, will they cut off your leg?”
“If they cut off my leg, you can keep it.”
He grinned and darted out of the room, no doubt to come up with plans on how to get my leg infected.
Aunt Lauren came into the living room shaking her head. “Sorry, Kelson. He should let you rest.” She picked up my empty plate.
“He’d make a good police interrogator,” I said, checking to make sure I hadn’t spilled any crumbs on the couch.
She smiled and looked fondly down the hall where her son had disappeared. “He’d prefer to build things.”
“Well, he has plenty of ideas.”
She nodded. “Can I bring you anything?”
