Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition

by Elizabeth Knox

  The further she gets away from me, it’s like I feel some invisible string stretching between us, a connection. And suddenly I’m afraid it will break. So I follow her, the corner of my mouth tugging up.

  Now I stare at the ceiling, remembering that fall, twenty years ago. After that, I pretty much followed Sara anywhere she wanted to go. God, those were the days.

  I lift the bottle to my lips again and chug the balance down. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I set it down, close my eyes, and pass out from exhaustion.

  I come awake with a start. Early morning sun filters through the skylight, warming the room. I glance around and rub the heel of one hand in my eye, thrown for a moment by my location. I’m used to waking up in strange beds, but this one is my bed; only it’s not anymore. It’s a trippy sensation, an almost déjà vu like feeling that throws me for a minute.

  I roll to sit on the edge of the mattress, my elbows on my knees, and yawn. My head feels fuzzy, and my eyes land on the bottle of cabernet. I can drink liquor like it’s going out of style, but red wine fucks with my head every damn time.

  I push to my feet and stagger downstairs to rummage through the cabinets in the kitchen.

  “Come on, please have some damn coffee.”

  Gram has the old-fashioned automatic drip coffee maker. I find a can of grounds, wondering how old it is. I pull off the plastic lid to find it’s unopened.

  Awesome. Fresh coffee.

  I pop the top, and the aroma of the grounds fills the room. I inhale deeply, then scoop some in the basket, and fill the carafe in the sink.

  While I wait for it to brew, I wander down the hall past the laundry to the back mudroom. I push the curtain on the back door aside and stare out.

  I must have snuck out this back door a million times when I was in high school. After grandpa died, I sort of went through a fuck everyone phase.

  There’s a street behind the house that’s not much more than a glorified alley. Two blocks to the left and around the corner is Santa Cruz High School.

  I drop the curtain and go back to the kitchen to fill my cup, taking it to the front parlor. I look out the circular bay windows to see a school bus stopping. A boy of about eight runs out of the neighbor’s house and jumps on.

  Movement catches my eye, and I see a little girl of about six waving frantically to him from the bay window of the neighbor’s house. He doesn’t look back, and she stops waving, pressing her forehead to the window glass. She stays there long after the bus is gone, running her fingertip down the windowpane.

  She turns her head as if someone calls her and she runs off.

  I sip my coffee and drop into the over-stuffed easy chair where my grandfather always read the paper. There’s a phone on the side table. I stare at it a moment, then pick it up to see if it’s still connected. A dial tone sounds in my ear. Making my decision, I punch in my mother’s number and listen to it ring.

  “Hello?” She sounds weird.

  “It’s me.”

  “Son, Lord, when I saw this number come up on my caller ID for a moment it was like she was still alive. I swear, I still forget sometimes.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re at Grandma’s place kind of early, aren’t you?”

  “Rode out here last night after we talked.”

  “You didn’t waste any time.”

  “It was a nice night for a ride,” I say lamely.

  “Sure.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “Yard looks like shit.”

  “It needs some love.”

  “I don’t have a green thumb, despite what the guys may call me. I don’t know shit about keepin’ roses alive.”

  “They’re not roses. They’re hydrangeas and azaleas.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t want to sell it.”

  She laughs like she’s just had a weight lifted off her. “I’m so happy, Tim.”

  “You didn’t want to let the old place go, either, did you?”

  “Nope. Plus, you’ll be closer to me. When are you moving in?”

  I chuckle and lift my brows. “Hell, I don’t know. Soon as I can get the boys to help me load a truck full of my shit.”

  “This is the best news.”

  I smile at her reply, hoping she’s right. “Hey, Ma?”

  “Yes?”

  “You know the neighbors to the right? The ones with the kids.”

  “That’d be the Buchmans’ house, why?”

  “Saw a little blonde girl in the window. She looked kind of sickly.”

  “Oh, that’s little Anna. She has some type of severe autoimmune disease. She rarely leaves the house, poor thing.”

  “You mean she doesn’t go to school or out to play or anything?”

  “I don’t think so, except for doctor appointments. They’ve got her on some treatments and they’re very hopeful. Lovely couple. I met them last year. Why?”

  “Just wondered.”

  “So, how’d you sleep last night?”

  “Better than I usually do. Weird being back here though.”

  “Weird good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All the linens are clean, but the place has been closed up for a couple of months now. Might need to air the place out.”

  “Thanks.”

  My cell vibrates, and I pulled it out to look. Crash. Probably calling to remind me about the meeting tonight.

  “Gotta go, Ma.”

  “Okay. I love you, Tim, and I’m so happy.”

  3

  Green

  Two weeks later

  I unpack the last of my stuff and come across a box of motorcycle parts. I haul it outside to put it in the back of my pickup truck parked out on the street. I look up and spot little Anna in the window waiting for the afternoon school bus.

  I wave at her, and she waves back, smiling. I dance around like a gorilla, my arms swinging as I spin in a circle.

  She giggles and covers her mouth.

  Then I do a handstand on the sidewalk and walk a few steps. When I drop back to my feet, she is jumping up and down clapping, and I take a bow. Then I walk in a penguin waddle like Charlie Chaplin.

  I spot the school bus coming down the street, and I move to my mailbox as it pulls up. Her brother hops off and runs inside.

  Anna waves at me, and I blow her a kiss. She blows me one, and I catch it in my hand. She grins and runs off.

  In the weeks I’ve lived here, it’s kind of become our thing. I come out to get the mail at 3:30 when I know she’ll be watching for the school bus. I dance around and act silly; whatever I can to make her laugh. I don’t know why, but it makes me feel good. It’s a little thing and makes the kid happy. Now I’ve begun to look forward to it every day.

  I pull open the mailbox and take out the small stack, shuffling through it: a landscape advertisement, a home security advertisement, and more junk mail. I pause at an envelope for Gram, something from a children’s charity, probably asking for a donation. I’ve gotten several things for her over the time I’ve been here, and it never ceases to cause a twinge of pain.

  I go inside to add the mail to the stack Ma left on the kitchen counter, promising she’d be over to go through it all soon. I toss this one on top and notice the edge of a large envelope peeking out. The return address catches my eye. I pull it from the stack. Santa Cruz High School Class of 2001 Reunion Committee.

  It’s addressed to Timothy O’Leary c/o Dorothy Reardon. I frown, guessing Gram’s must be the last known address they have for me.

  I tear it open and read it.

  It’s an invitation to my twentieth reunion. Christ, has it been twenty years already?

  Suddenly I’m catapulted back in time to the summer of my graduation, when everything changed . . .

  Twenty years ago . . .

  I sit with Sara on a bench in front of the ice cream place down near the wharf. She’s got a double-dip cone she’s licking. I got a cherry slushy, but mostly I
’m just watching Sara lick that cone, thinking all sorts of filthy thoughts.

  Swinging her feet, she looks over and catches me, then grins and slugs my arm with her free hand. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Irish.”

  She’s taken to calling me that, and I can’t say I don’t like it. Anything’s better than Tim. I’ve heard all the Tiny Tim jokes I can stand. Besides, when she says that nickname she’s given me, it sounds sexy on her lips.

  “I make no promises on that,” I reply, grinning.

  We both go back to staring at the ocean.

  “Speaking of promises, I think we should make a pact.” She looks over at me.

  “A pact?” I take a slurp off my straw and toss the empty cup in the trashcan.

  “Yes. If neither of us are married by our twentieth high school reunion, we promise to meet there, and we date each other again.”

  “You going somewhere?” I ask with a lift of my brow.

  She shrugs. “You never know what life will throw at us. Just promise me, Irish.”

  “Okay. Fine. I promise.”

  “Cross your heart?”

  I roll my eyes and make the mark. “Happy?”

  She grins big. “Yes. I’m happy.”

  “Good, now can we go get some real food? I’m starved.”

  Staring down at the invitation now, I realize I had no idea the weight of the promise I’d made that day. Or that here I’d be, twenty years later, not married, and wondering if that promise still holds weight. I know the answer to that, because I think it may hold more weight than I ever expected. Right up there, actually, with the one I took when I swore an oath to the United States Marines, and then the oath I took when I became a patched member of the Evil Dead MC.

  Two days later—

  I’m standing at the fridge, staring inside, wondering if I want the half-eaten sub sandwich I bought last night or if I want to go out. The contents are pretty meager; I don’t even have any beer. Guess I’m going to have to break down and go grocery shopping.

  The sound of a pack of Harleys coming up the street draws my attention and I wander to the front of the house to peer out the window. It’s four of my brothers. They slow to make the turn into my driveway.

  I backtrack through the house and go out the back door to meet them. They park and dismount, pulling their helmets off.

  “Wondered how long it’d take before you found the place.” I smile. “I hope to hell you brought beer.”

  Red Dog grins, pulls a twelve-pack out of his saddlebag, and holds it up. “Like American Express . . . don’t leave home without it.”

  I fold my arms. “Okay, you’re allowed in. What about the rest of you? Do you come bearing gifts?”

  Wolf pulls a bottle of Jack out of his saddlebag. “Does this get me inside?”

  “You also may enter.”

  I look at Cole and Crash and arc a brow. “Well?”

  Cole scoffs. “Fuck off. You’re lucky we hauled our asses over the mountains to come see the place.” They both shoulder past me.

  Crash slugs me in the chest as he tromps up the steps. “Let’s see this Tyrolean Haunted House you’re livin’ in, Green.”

  Boots trudge inside, and four leather-clad men plus myself take up most of the space in the kitchen.

  Red Dog hands me the case of cans. “Don’t say I never gave ya nothin’.”

  I tear it open and pass them each a beer.

  They wander around the house, checking each room.

  “Christ, Green, what the hell are you going to do with a place this big?” Cole asks.

  “I know who’s having the next Christmas party,” Wolf says. “Bet you could fit a ten-foot tree in this entryway.” He stares up.

  “Look at that staircase, man. How old is this place?” Red Dog asks.

  “1889,” I reply.

  Red Dog looks up the stairs. “How many rooms you got in this place?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Some rich guy build it?”

  “Railroad baron or so I’ve been told.” I shrug. “Never really researched it.”

  Crash looks over at me, resting his elbow on the banister post. “Seriously, Green, how the hell you gonna pay to heat and cool a place this big, not to mention the upkeep and repairs?”

  “Gram left me some insurance money. If it gets to be too much, guess I’ll sell it.”

  We move to the dining room and sit around the big table.

  Cole slouches back in the chair at the head of the table, one arm hooked over the back. I sit on the opposite end. Wolf and Crash sit in the middle, while Red Dog leans a hip against the buffet.

  “You movin’ in probably lowered the home values of everybody in the neighborhood,” Crash jokes.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Drive over wasn’t as far as I thought,” Cole says.

  “Nope, just twenty minutes from the clubhouse.”

  “How you likin’ it so far?” Cole asks.

  “Better than where I was,” I reply, and wait for the jokes. My brothers don’t fail me.

  “Anything’s better than that fucking trailer, Green.” Crash grins at me.

  I can’t argue with him, so I don’t bother.

  Wolf leans his elbows on the table. “So you gonna hire a maid to keep the place clean?”

  I know he’s only half-joking. “Yeah. Gonna make her dress in one of those little skimpy French maid outfits.”

  Red Dog chuckles. “Good luck with that. Maybe you can get one of the strippers from the club to come and play house with you, Green.”

  Wolf swivels to him. “Haven’t you heard, bro? Our boy here has sworn off strippers.”

  “Nah, can’t be true. Say it ain’t so, Green.” Red Dog laughs and props a hand on the buffet. It lands on the invitation. He glances down, frowns, then picks it up and reads it. “What’s this? You’re cordially invited to the class of 2001 twenty-year reunion. Damn, Green, you’re gettin’ old.”

  I nod and take a hit off my beer.

  “Wait, you graduated high school? And you’re still that dumb?” Wolf teases.

  “He probably paid someone to take the test.” Crash grins at me.

  “Or slept with the teacher.” Cole joins in.

  “You goin’?” Red Dog asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re shittin’ me. Why the hell would you go to something like that?” Wolf asks. “Hell, we have better parties at the clubhouse any day of the week.”

  “I made a promise to this girl that I would.” That gets all their attention.

  “You got a high school sweetheart, Green?” Wolf teases, making kissy faces.

  “Grow up,” I snap.

  “What kind of promise?” Crash asks.

  I explain.

  Cole arcs a brow. “So you made a promise to show up at this thing, and if you’re both single, you’ll date this chick whom you haven’t seen in twenty years?”

  “I keep my promises, especially to Sara.”

  “You mean you suckered some high school girl into this pact? I think we need to rescue her.”

  “Ha ha. You guys are hilarious. I said I’d go, and I’m going.”

  Red Dog huffs a laugh. “No shit? You’re really gonna get all dressed up and go to this fancy ball?”

  “It’s not a ball,” I argue.

  “Says here it’s in the ballroom of the Fife Estate. Sounds like a ball to me,” he says, scanning the invitation. “Dude, did you even read this thing?” He proceeds to read aloud. “We’re recreating the magic of our Fairytale Prom at the Ballroom and gardens of the Fife Estate . . . a night of enchantment under the stars . . . Black Tie required. That’s a fucking ball, bro.”

  “Fife Estate? Where’s that?” Wolf asks.

  “Says here its thirty miles south of San Francisco, nestled on the slope of the Santa Cruz Mountains . . . blah, blah, blah . . . built in 1917 . . .”

  “Will you shut up about that,” Wolf grabs it out of Red Dog’s hands and looks at me. “Green, ar
e you serious about this shit?”

  “What shit?”

  “This pact or promise or whatever you made with this girl.”

  “Yeah. I’m serious.”

  “You realize this is like in two weeks?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “You RSVP?”

  “Yeah. Couple days ago.”

  “What were you plannin’ on wearing?”

  Laughter breaks out around the table.

  “Dude, do you even own a suit?” Crash asks.

  “Shit, hadn’t thought of that.”

  More laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  Wolf grins. “You. You’re like a reverse Cinderella. What you need is a fairy godmother.”

  “He needs like a pack of ‘em,” Crash adds, finishing off his beer, and crushing the can in his hand.

  “I think this calls for a run to the nearest tux shop,” Wolf says, looking not at me, but at Cole who grins and nods.

  “I think you’re right, brother.”

  “Oh, hell no,” I protest, but they’re already standing. Red Dog grabs me by the underarms and hauls me up.

  “Oh, hell yes. Come on.”

  Wolf is already pulling up the nearest location on his phone. “Ten minutes from here.”

  And so, in no time at all, I find myself standing in front of a mirror in a black tux, with some old man measuring my inseam.

  “While you got that tape measure out—” Red Dog starts to joke, staring at my crotch.

  “Shut the hell up,” I tell him.

  The man ignores him and measures my arm and shoulders. “Very good, sir. We’ll have it ready for pickup on Thursday, next week.”

  I slip the jacket off into his waiting arms. “Thanks.”

  The guys all move out to the street, while I pay at the counter and get my receipt. I shove it in my pocket and head outside where my brothers wait by the bikes parked at the curb. They’ve given me hell for the last hour, and no doubt won’t be letting up until the big day, but for a chance to see Sara again, I’ll put up with whatever they dish out.

  Cole is sitting sideways on the seat of his bike, smoking a cigarette. He grins up at me when I come through the door. “Remember, Cinderella, you turn back into a pumpkin at midnight.”