Deserter

by Myers, Shannon

  He watched me quietly, and I knew he was working out how to tell my old man what a failure his son was. He surprised me when he smiled and reached into his desk drawer. “You callin’ me a sissy?”

  He slid an issue of The X-Men over to me and my mouth fell open. “This is the first one! Why do you have it?”

  “Why do I have it? Because I fuckin’ love comics. Don’t let anyone tell you what you can and can’t like, you hear me? Look around you, Jamie—men are dying every day for a war that we didn’t start. Life’s too short to let someone else dictate how you live it.” Wolverine raised his voice as he talked, but I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

  “I like you, Mr. Wolverine. You’re very nice and I want to get to know you better.”

  I stopped myself from apologizing again. Mr. Rogers on television was always saying we should share our feelings, but my old man had told me that was bullshit. Hopefully, Wolverine didn’t see it that way.

  He stubbed out his cigarette and grinned. “You do, huh? Don’t you go telling anyone outside this room how nice I am. It’s our little secret, okay?”

  I had a secret with the president of a biker club.

  I realized as he walked me back outside that I’d forgotten all about my mother while I was with him. I had to be more careful next time.

  The car was quiet as we drove back home, with my old man drunkenly slumped over with his head against the window in the passenger seat. Ma looked like she had when we arrived; only her cheeks were a little pinker, and she kept smiling to herself like she had a secret too.

  Chapter Two

  Jamie: 1974

  “Jamie? Wake up, baby. We need to go.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. It was still dark outside. “Ma, what’s wrong?”

  She let out a soft groan as she helped me out of bed. “We have to go right now. Okay, baby? Get your shoes. Hurry.”

  I found my tennis shoes and slipped them on before following her out the back door of our small bungalow. “Ma? Where are we going?”

  She hadn’t been herself since the phone rang yesterday afternoon. I knew that it was an important call when she took the avocado green handset and disappeared from the kitchen, leaving a trail of curly phone cord that ran to the coat closet in her wake.

  Ma unlocked the passenger door of the wagon and helped me in. “I’ll tell you once we’re on the road, okay?” Her voice sounded like it did when she was trying not to cry, and I knew that this was his fault.

  It was always his fault.

  Angel said that people were about as happy as they made their minds up to be. If that was true, then my old man must’ve made up his mind early on to be a miserable human.

  Not long after the gathering, Silent Phoenix said he could wear the patches on his vest like the other guys. He’d worn it around the house, bragging about how Wolverine had seen his true potential.

  I knew what had gotten him that three-piece patch, and it wasn’t his potential. Ma had earned it for him; Wolverine had said as much that night in his office.

  Ma had offered her congratulations before giving him a hug. He’d shrugged her off and stated that he was going to pick up his bike—a 1964 Harley Davidson Sportster that Phantom, one of his new brothers, had been restoring in his body shop.

  It was all he’d talked about since the day he found out about Silent Phoenix. The old Hummer that had sat covered in the garage while he was gone was no good anymore.

  He’d started with trying to convince her why he needed it before disappearing one day and returning home that evening with it. When she got upset, he’d slapped her around until she apologized and agreed that it was a good purchase. I’d stared at her for a long time after, wondering how she did it.

  My ma was a beautiful woman. When my old man was in Vietnam, she was constantly turning down offers of dates from men at the supermarket and women were always coming up to her after mass to compliment her long blonde hair or the clothes that she’d sewn herself.

  Ma could’ve thrown a stone and hit a good man, but she stayed with my old man. I didn’t understand it. Wolverine didn’t treat his Ol’ Lady that way, and neither did a lot of the other bikers; just another thing that Donald Quinn hadn’t agreed with.

  I’d asked Wolverine once at a gathering why he didn’t smack Lucy around and he’d told me that she’d never given him any reason to. “You treat your woman right and she’ll stay loyal. I know Lucy would take a bullet for me if it came to it.”

  My old man disagreed and had announced to me one night while he was drunk that Ol’ Ladies were unnecessary. “A club whore can take care of a man’s needs without all the bullshit. Your ma would do well to remember that.”

  I’d told Angel about it when he came by a few nights later. My old man had been sent on a run. The thought of him running anywhere seemed strange, but bikers had a different set of rules. I thought with Angel being a brother that he would agree with what I’d been told. Instead, he’d gotten really quiet and his jaw looked funny.

  It was exhausting, trying to keep up with what was right and what was wrong. I’d gone from having no men in my life to having too many, and they all had an opinion about something.

  The wagon jerked, and I opened my eyes to see Ma gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands.

  “Are you alright?” I asked softly, and she nodded.

  “Yes, Jamie. A wild hog just ran across the road. Go back to sleep.”

  I watched as the headlights illuminated the countryside until my eyelids grew heavy. I awoke with a jerk outside of a small motel.

  “Are we here?” I yawned.

  She pressed her lips into a flat line before nodding. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

  I carried the small suitcase into our room once she checked us in and sat on the end of the small bed, kicking my shoes onto the bright orange carpet. “Why did we leave, Ma?”

  She pulled her prayer candles from the suitcase and set them on top of the wooden nightstand, taking the time to light them before answering. “It’s safer for us here right now, Jamie. There are things happening inside the club right now and we just can’t go back.”

  With that, she added the Immaculate Heart of Mary figurine to the candles and knelt with her Rosary beads. “You’re welcome to join me or sleep. I know it’s very late for you.”

  I stifled a yawn and sank down beside her as she recited her Hail Marys. Instead of going into the Litany of Mary, she began praying to a saint we’d never called upon before. “Saint Michael, the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. You are a fighter… please fight for us now.”

  I looked up and watched as tears streaked down her face while she clutched the beads so tightly, I was sure her hand would bleed.

  I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just sat beside her, repeating the prayer to Saint Michael over and over in my head. If Ma felt we needed protecting, then I’d do everything in my power to keep her safe.

  When she cried out, I almost jumped out of my skin. “Ma?”

  Her body curled forward toward the carpet and she held herself up with her hands. “No, no, no,” she moaned.

  I helped her to her feet, and she immediately doubled over in pain again. “Jamie,” she panted. “Just get some sleep. I’ll just—I’ll be in the bathroom.” She winced and took two steps before dropping to her knees.

  “Ma, you need my help. Please let me help you. Are you sick? Do you need medicine? I could drive you to a doctor!” I was only ten, but I would figure it out if it would make her feel better. I looped an arm around her shoulders and tried to get her to her feet, but she screamed out again and sank to the carpet before crawling toward the small bathroom.

  Sweat began to bead on her brow and she stripped her red turtleneck sweater off with a growl. “Jamie, close this door and do not come in under any circumstances, do you understand me?”

  I stared in horror at the black and purple bruises covering her chest a
nd upper part of her stomach. “Ma? Did he do this to you?”

  More tears fell as she closed her eyes. “Listen to me, James Quinn. Close this door and do not come in. Yes, ma’am?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reluctantly agreed as she bent in half with a low groan again. I closed the door and sat down at the foot of the bed, feeling more helpless than I had in my entire life.

  Ma’s cries of pain grew louder until I couldn’t stand it any longer and picked up the handset on the nightstand, dialing a number I’d come to memorize.

  The Mary figurine watched me from beside the candles and I glared at her while the phone rang. “You were supposed to keep her safe,” I snapped before roughly wiping my eyes.

  * * *

  “Where is she?” Angel stepped around me and into the motel room.

  I pointed toward the closed bathroom door. “In there, but she said not—”

  He threw the door open. “Jesus Christ! Mary, baby, open your eyes!”

  I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but I walked closer to the open door, anxious to see my mother. What I saw instead was blood. My mother was leaned against the side of the bathtub, her blonde hair soaking wet, like she’d just gotten out of the shower. Her plaid skirt was bunched up around her waist and the bottom of it was covered in bright red blood.

  I searched her face and arms, but I couldn’t see any cuts. I wondered if maybe she’d fallen and hit her head while I was waiting outside for Angel. The thought and sight of her in so much pain made me feel sick to my stomach.

  He ran a towel under the faucet and pressed it to her cheek, causing her to jolt awake with a moan.

  “Charlie? No, you can’t be here,” she wept against his chest before sitting up with another cry of pain. I watched in horror as bloody fluid gushed from between her legs onto the tile, spreading toward him.

  Angel didn’t run out or get angry with her for making a mess on his motorcycle boots, he just rocked her in his arms with the towel pressed to her forehead. “I’m here now, baby. I’ve got you.”

  Ma sobbed and gripped his vest in her hands as the pain twisted her body in half, forcing her eyes closed again. “Charlie, I’m so sorry.”

  I didn’t understand why she kept calling Angel the name Charlie or why he hadn’t bothered to correct her.

  They were good friends, weren’t they?

  I wouldn’t start calling my neighbor, Susan, a different name just because I skinned my knee. I was almost certain that she’d fallen and hit her head while I was gone.

  “Don’t you apologize to me. This is his fault, I can see the marks,” Angel’s voice was low and made me feel sleepy just listening to it, but his eyes didn’t match. His eyes looked angry, like my old man’s when Ma and I messed up.

  Instead of swinging his fists, Angel brushed Ma’s long hair back off her face and continued rocking her while she cried. He looked up and caught my eye. I backed away, knowing I was going to be in trouble for breaking the rules.

  “Jamie, can you help me?” he asked instead, and I nodded immediately. “Good. Look in the suitcase and see if there’s a gown for your mother.”

  I scurried over to the luggage and dug through it until I found a nightie with a ruffled neckline. It was periwinkle, her favorite color. I handed it off to Angel, and he began unzipping the bloody skirt, gently tugging it down her legs, so he didn’t hurt her. Her eyes stayed closed, and I decided that she’d fallen asleep again.

  I looked away when I realized that she wasn’t decent and waited for him to tell me what to do next.

  “Okay, Jamie. I’m going to carry her to the bed, but I want you to run a bath for me, okay?” Angel had placed the nightie on the edge of the sink and had wrapped Ma up in a towel. He lifted her up into his arms and stepped through the mess.

  When I stared down at the blood for too long, he spoke up again. “It’s alright, Jamie. She’s going to be okay; I swear to you.”

  I nodded shakily and stepped into the bathroom. The smell clung to the inside of my nose and I had to breathe through my mouth when the room began to spin. I sank down onto the side of the tub and plugged the drain, doing my best not to see the product of my old man’s anger.

  Once it filled, Angel lifted Ma off the bed and carried her to the bathtub, giving me strict instructions to get more towels and bleach from the front office, before closing the bathroom door behind him.

  I scrambled to do as he asked and returned with full arms minutes later. When he didn’t come out to meet me, I cracked the bathroom door open, instantly feeling like an intruder.

  Angel knelt beside the tub, keeping one arm wrapped around my mother’s back as he washed her hair with the other. She was awake and sobbing again, but he just kept working the shampoo into her hair while whispering about how strong he thought she was.

  They didn’t notice me, and I stayed crouched outside the door, watching a biker bathe my mama like she was a small child. He rinsed her hair and wrung it dry with his hands before lathering up his hands with a bar of soap and rubbing it onto her skin.

  He’d pause and rub her back when the pain came, making her fold over and cry harder, before gently cleaning her skin again.

  Angel’s hand carefully moved across her bruises before coming to rest on her stomach. She opened her eyes to look up at him. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and I frowned.

  She had nothing to be sorry over.

  Angel shook his head and warned, “Don’t.”

  Ma reached down and gripped his hand before the pain came again, changing the water from pink to red. It wasn’t until it passed, and Angel helped her stand that I realized her stomach was different than I remembered it.

  She’d always been thin, but now she was rounder, like our neighbor, Mrs. Moss, was before she had baby Emily. She’d worn long flowing dresses to hide it, but I’d noticed it one day when she was out sweeping her front porch. Ma looked the same.

  I turned away and went to sit on the bed again. It didn’t feel right to see my mother like that, but I hadn’t wanted to leave her when she was hurting.

  I just needed to make sure she was going to be okay.

  The bathroom door opened wide a few minutes later and Angel carried her out. She was in her nightie and starting to doze off again when he laid her on the bed next to me. He placed one of the towels I’d gotten from the office underneath her body before turning to me.

  “Gonna run out and grab some supplies. You watch her and don’t open that door for no one but me. I’ll knock three times.” I nodded, and he paused to squeeze my shoulder. “You did the right thing, Jamie. I’m proud of you.”

  I nodded and quietly replied, “Thank you, sir,” but I was bursting with pride on the inside. For the first time all night, I didn’t feel helpless.

  I lay down next to Ma and took her hand in mine. Her eyes were swollen and splotchy from crying, but she squeezed my fingers in hers and gave me a small smile. “You’re my man, Jamie.”

  I fell asleep with my hand held tightly in hers until Angel rapped on the door. He carried in a brown paper bag and gestured toward a man in the doorway. “This is our club doctor. He’s just gonna look your ma over.”

  I stood outside the door, shivering from the cold and the doctor’s words.

  Spontaneous abortion.

  I didn’t know what it meant, but Angel immediately sent me with the doctor while he drove Ma to the hospital. If she was having to go in there, then it was worse than I thought.

  Instead of taking me home, the doctor drove me to Wolverine’s house and Lucy met us outside. She’d wrapped me up in a big hug before making me a bed on the sleeper sofa.

  Over the next week, Wolverine would come in from being out on club business, giving Lucy updates that were too quiet for me to understand. As the days dragged on, I’d convinced myself that my mother had died, and that I was going to be forced to live with Donald alone.

  One evening, Wolverine came in with a big smile on his face. “You’re going home today, son.”
<
br />   When I began to cry, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Well, aren’t you happy?”

  When I explained why I was upset, his eyes went dark. “She’s alive, Jamie. She’s home, resting, and waiting for you. You’ve got to take care of her for a little while. Do you think you can do that?”

  I’d nodded happily and raced him out to his pickup truck. I would’ve agreed to wash the dishes for the next one hundred years if it meant I got to see her again.

  When we arrived at my house, I raced in to find my mother curled up on the couch in the den. She was staring blankly through the picture window behind it and didn’t even turn when she heard my voice.

  “Ma?”

  She was pale, and I worried that she was still hurting when my old man walked out of the kitchen, whistling. “Hello, James. Did you have a good stay with your friends?”

  Wolverine nodded to him and left while I continued to stare up at my father in shock. I heard his truck start up and almost ran back outside to stop him. I didn’t want him leaving us here alone with my old man.

  His whistling grew louder, and I suddenly wished that I was Cyclops from The X-Men. I would’ve loved to have watched him turn to a pile of ash in front of me.

  He walked over to my mother and the hands at my sides clenched into fists. “Don’t,” I warned, and he turned around.

  “Don’t what, son? I’m trying to take care of your mother. She had a bad fall down the stairs at work. There’s no easy way to say this, but she lost our baby, James. You and me, we’re gonna take care of her until she’s back on her feet, aren’t we?”

  He stroked her hair before pulling the afghan up around her shoulders while she continued to stare into nothingness. After ensuring that a glass of water was within her reach, he stood up and faced me.

  “Did you hear me?”

  I felt like my whole body was vibrating with anger. “You,” I forced out. “You did this to her!”

  He yanked me out of the den. “What did you just say to me?”