by Porter, Cat
His face darkened. “You … you see her? Does she—”
“No, I haven’t seen her since the day your dad took you to Pine Ridge.”
“That’s a long time.” His fingers fiddled with the salt shaker.
“Yeah. I’ve heard from her. Christmas cards, a postcard from some vacation she went on once. I can’t say we’re in touch on a regular basis. I know she’s alive.”
“Oh. I thought … oh.” His lips flattened into a hard line, and he let out a breath. He averted his gaze to the parking lot out the window, fingers tightening around the salt shaker.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think that you’d—”
His gaze remained outside. His jaw firm.
“You remember her at all?” I asked, my voice softer.
“I remember her hair. Blonde. I remember her tickling me and us laughing. A lot of laughing.”
“Yeah.”
“You got her blue eyes. I remember those too.” He held my gaze, and my heart beat rattled under his scrutiny. He was searching, searching for answers, for a feeling, more specific memories. All fleeting. I couldn’t begin to imagine how he was feeling, all the thousand questions that must be eating at him. Feeling unpegged, lost.
Easy, one thing at a time, Isi’s voice told me.
“I’ve got a new place I’ve been fixing up,” I said. “It’s a small house in the woods a little back from town.”
He rested his head in his hand. “Where’s that?”
“South of Rapid, in the Black Hills. A town called Meager.”
That smirk again.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Meager doesn’t sound too promising. Means slim pickings, don’t it?”
I laughed. “Yeah, yeah it does.”
* * *
I’d called Dig and Boner from the coffee shop to check in. They were both excited about the shopping, like teenage girls having been let loose at a mall with Daddy’s credit card.
Jesus.
“You two are freaking me out.”
“We found a fluffy comforter and matching curtains in a really nice midnight blue color. You believe that shit? Matching curtains?” said Dig, his voice pitched high.
“Midnight blue?” I repeated.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s real cool. And we got a rug in a contrasting color. Silver gray, right, Bone? A bunch of towels for the both of you in blue and dark green. Got a small TV for his dresser. Oh yeah, found him a dresser too. And we got Dee to wash and dry everything in her washing machine. I didn’t think of that, but yeah, who wants to sleep on sheets that aren’t clean and don’t smell of Downy, you know what I mean?”
“Let me talk to him—” Boner’s voice rose in the background. Muddled shuffling. “Wreck?”
“Yeah, Boner.”
“Got him a whole line of T-shirts in white and black, socks, boxer briefs, shower gel, deodorant…”
Dig took back the phone. “We got you cookies and chips, apples, oranges, a bunch of cereal, milk…”
The excitement pouring out of the two of them was palpable. They knew what to get Miller because they were only a handful of years older. They knew what to get Miller because they hadn’t had it in their own lives. Or had it and lost it.
My heart thrummed in my chest. “We’ll be there in an hour and a half.”
“We’ll be ready.”
We finally got to Meager, and my stomach started churning as I guided the truck up the road to my house. Dig and Boner’s Harleys were parked out front.
“Whoa, nice bikes. They yours?” Miller asked, his voice low. He’d fallen asleep on the road.
“Those two belong to my friends. Mine’s out back.”
He adjusted himself in his seat. “You got a bike? Cool.”
“You know how to ride?”
“I’ve been on a few bikes in my time.”
“Oh yeah? Good. ‘Cause you’ll be doing a lot of riding around from now on.”
“Cool.” Miller shoved his hands in his pockets and followed me up to the front steps. At the door, he ran his fingers through the wind chimes and they jangled, tinkling and swaying. The door blew open.
“Hey!” Dig smiled huge. Miller froze.
“Dig, this is Miller. Miller, this is Dig. And this is Boner.”
They extended their hands to him, and Miller took Dig’s then Boner’s, and they shook. “Hey,” Miller mumbled, his shoulders tense. We entered the house, and Miller’s eyes darted around the space. He stood transfixed in the center of the living room.
Dig slanted his head at me, grinning, Boner winking. The two of them were excited to show off their project.
“Let me show you your room, Miller,” I said. Everyone followed me down the hallway to the second bedroom. Would he like it? Would he panic? Did those two do a good job? I hit the light switch.
Exactly like the boys had described it.
Fully furnished room, spartan but comfortable for a teenage boy. My gaze landed on a shiny desk lamp, a pile of notebooks and pens and pencils were stacked on a small rectangular table they’d taken from the garage, cleaned, and slapped up against the wall as a desk. A poster of a Harley-Davidson bike was tacked on the wall. And yeah, everything matched, midnight fucking blue and silver grey.
The air in the room sharpened over the lemon scent of the cleaner they’d used on the walls and the floor as we waited for a response. We turned to Miller. He took it all in. Every section, every detail. He didn’t move a muscle. He only stood stock still next to me, swallowing this wonderland whole like an animal that swallows a creature double its size and you can’t believe he’ll ever be able to digest it.
He couldn’t digest it.
A strange noise flew from him, and he smashed his face in my chest, his arms flying around my middle. A sob escaped from him, his body twisting into me, gripping me tighter. Dig and Boner’s breath caught, and I swallowed this feeling. This child who needed. This child who couldn’t believe his good luck, for a fucking change. And I was that good luck, which wasn’t much luck at all. It was just me. Me doing for my baby brother, a hungry, sad, lonely boy.
In that desperate, grateful embrace, my heart pounding in my chest, any question of if I was doing the right thing vanished. There were no more questions. There was only, yes. Yes, this is right, Yes, this must be, Yes, this is as it should be.
Miller needs badly, and so do I.
The memory of his chubby smiling face as his father took him from my trailer, the buffalo falling from his grasp, filled my head. We were done with that shit, disappointment, disillusionment. The both of us. I wrapped my arms around my brother’s bony, thin body, and squeezed tight. I would be his rock, and he would be mine.
Dig and Boner placed their hands on my back, and their footsteps receded, the front door closing behind them, the roar of their bikes taking off.
“Welcome home, little brother. It’s you and me now, you got that?”
Another sob escaped him as his head moved against my chest. “Got it.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Miller started school, and I told him there was no cutting classes. He was in school to learn. End of story. He agreed.
We functioned well in the house together. I made him breakfast every morning. Gave him some money as an allowance. Took him to school, and either Dig or Boner or Jump would pick him up in the afternoons. He was fascinated by the washer and dryer and insisted on doing our laundry every week. I’d never had whiter whites and such an organized sock and underwear drawer.
I noticed he hung those colorful beaded necklaces he’d taken from his dad’s house on his desk lamp, and two photographs of an elderly Native woman were on his desk. His grandmother.
I went to the five and dime. I hadn’t stepped inside since … for a long time.
“Wreck, hey,” said Georgia.
“Georgia.” My feet planted firmly in the front by the cash register.
A sad smile quirked her lips. We didn’t ask each other how we were, that was a
fucking given. “What do you need today?” Georgia’s voice was unusually soft. “Can I help you find something?”
My insides stiffened. My feet wouldn’t move. “I need three small photo frames. Squares. For some old photos…”
“Sure. We have those. I’ll go grab them for you.” She darted down an aisle.
That once familiar smell of candles and plastic overwhelmed me. Threatened me. My gaze darted down the central aisle, but that girl with the tentative smile that launched into a full-on smirk wasn’t standing there adjusting souvenirs on the shelf. No, no, my Isi wasn’t here.
“These good?” Georgia showed me three small black metal frames.
“Perfect.”
“Great.” Her voice had jerked into cheery mode. “You need anything else since you’re here?”
I swallowed against the thickening, sour, tidal wave in my mouth. “A red bandana.”
* * *
Later that day, when Miller got home from school, he headed straight for his room and dumped his backpack on the floor by his desk. I stood in the doorway. He was still, his gaze riveted to the framed photos of his grandmother on his desk.
I said, “Those photos needed protecting, so I thought…”
He rubbed the edge of the black metal frame. “They look real nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. What was her name?” I asked.
“Kim. My grandma’s name was Kim.”
He didn’t talk about the reservation or his grandmother. Too raw, too soon. But I trusted that slowly, in time, we would be able to have those conversations. He’d seen the picture of me and my dad on our bikes that I kept on the refrigerator, and asked me about my dad, and I’d recounted lots of good stories. Today I’d also framed that picture of my dad and me and set it on the fireplace mantel in the living room.
“Got you this too.” I pointed to the bandana I’d hung on his chair.
“What’s that for?” he asked, fingering the soft cotton.
“Can’t ride a bike without one, bud.”
He grinned, and this time, his large dark eyes lit up with that grin.
Chapter Sixty
Dig was doing well with Leo’s greenhouse operation. With a small crew of our brothers, they stepped up production and got our sales in gear. Slowly, our chapter was finally making a steady stream of money. Our own money. We were beholden to no one.
The need for a permanent clubhouse gnawed at me. We’d outgrown the old shed in Pete’s parking lot in a big way, and we were keeping a lot of stuff in my shed. And now that Annie was no longer sleeping with Willy and getting married to some guy in Rapid, she’d sold the bar to her former husband’s brother, Pete, Jr. It was time for us to move on.
“I have this vision,” I said to Dig and Willy. “We have our own property and another legitimate business. I want to quit my job at Steve’s and fix bikes and cars under our own name, on my own time. Mick and Jump are top notch automotive repairmen, we know what we’re doing. It’s time to do it. Make it real.”
It got made real, all right.
Ryan called me. “Meet me at the go-kart factory.”
I met him there. “Hey, Ryan, what’s up?”
“You like this place, don’t you?”
“You know I do.”
“Our fathers put it in their kids’ names, that’s how close those two brothers were. Mine and Georgia’s and Leo, Isi, and James’. We all owned it together. Our fathers wanted us to have the business, the property to work on together one day, keep the Dillons solid as they’ve always been. But now it’s only me and Georgia. Georgia’s trying to keep the General Store alive, but the writing’s on the wall, especially with that superstore opening up over in Dumont. Who needs an old fashioned five and dime anymore?”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said.
A brisk wind blew, and the ash and beech trees shuddered left and right, their green leaves and branches shuffling against the popcorn cloud sky.
“Isi and Leo dying was the last straw really. There’s nobody else to carry the burden of running that store. Me and my dad got our hands full with the feed store. Georgia’s got her two girls, and her husband’s family needs her at the cafe. Anyhow, Georgia and I talked about it, and we want you to have the factory.”
“What?”
“We want to sell you the factory. At a fair price, of course.”
“What are you talking about? Your dad hated that we’d even used it for that Halloween party. You all were against us renting it out, now you want to sell it to us?”
“It’s been sitting here collecting dust, rusting, crumbling at the seams all these years like my grandparents and parents left it.” He took in the old building, a slight smile crossing his face. “My grandpa used to love to bring us here to show us how the business was run, but all we wanted to do was get into the go-karts, pretend to drive them.” He gnawed on his lip. “Only Leo would sit with Grandpa in his office and help him, listen to his explanations, his production ideas.
“When Grandpa passed, my dad and uncle couldn’t afford to do much with it, but they didn’t want to let it go or let it get into the wrong hands. But one of these days the bank is going to take it, the IRS, it’ll go to auction, fuck knows. It’d be a goddamn waste of epic proportions. For what? For principles and ideals?
“I don’t want it to go to waste. Now, now that I still own it, still have a say, I want to use that say, so does Georgia. The Hildebrands have been after it for a long time. Fuck them. I don’t want developers coming in, filling Meager with overpriced shitboxes and people who are only interested in clearing more land and filling the air with smog as they drive into Rapid for work. I can’t let my family’s failure get consumed by yet another Hildebrand victory.”
“It’s not a failure. You tried. Things were good for a while, weren’t they?”
“Once upon a time, but the golden age of Meager has long passed. I refuse to feed the beast with my family’s blood and honor and generations of hard work and dreams. All that’s gotta count for something, don’t you think? It’s gotta mean something at the end of the day.”
“It does Ryan. I believe it.”
“That’s not very modern of you, Wreck. Today’s generation keeps consuming, keeps trashing, and going on to the next flashy flavor, ’til they’re convinced they need another flavor.”
“One day they’ll want to hold onto something that’s meaningful, that they’re connected to.”
“Well, I’m choosing now.”
“You’re serious? You’re sure Georgia feels the same?”
“Isi loved you fierce. That counts for something to me and Georgia. We want to honor that. Isi would’ve liked that. If she’s listening now, I know she’s smiling.” He averted his gaze, a hand wiping at his mouth. “I want the One-Eyed Jacks here in Meager. I want people to know they can’t come blowing through our town and fuck with it. You did right by Isi and Leo. You did what I could only imagine doing. You did it.”
I held his gaze. The leaves and branches of the trees shuddering and cracking in the breeze over us. The Shepherd’s sudden disappearance had caused pandemonium at his commune and at the Rapid PD. Everyone assumed he’d gotten taken by a Latin American cartel whose movements were on the rise in the American Southwest. The Shepherd’s flock had dispersed—his minions, girlfriends. The cops and the FBI had finally raided his property, shutting the empire down forever.
“I don’t need to know details about how you handled shit, but”—he leaned in closer and whispered—“I’m fucking glad. I appreciate it.” His hands settled on his gun belt. “I wanted to show you and your brothers respect and a promise of goodwill between us for the future. ‘Cause if we don’t have that, we got nothing. And this town needs a chance at a good future.”
* * *
I asked Mick to call a meeting, and I informed my brothers about Ryan’s offer.
“That would be the dream, huh?” said Willy. “That building has so many possibilities. The property is big enoug
h to give us room to grow, do what we want, and on top of it all, have privacy. It’s on the edge of town, no people driving by for a look-see. Any intruders would be easily noticed. We’d have the freedom to be loud and crazy without anyone complaining.”
“We secure the boundaries of the property with a new fence, set up a security system, lights, cameras, a few dogs,” said Boner.
“There’s enough square footage for rooms for all the members, a gym, meeting room. Party room. Big yard for bikes, cars, trucks, the van,” added Dig.
“Terrific, sounds real nice, but where are we going to find that kind of cash?” Mick folded his hands on the table.
“I got the money,” said Dig.
“What? What are you talking about?” I said.
“It’s an inheritance.”
“Who’d be stupid enough to leave you a lot of money?” said Jump clapping his hands together.
The grim, haunted look on Dig’s face told me a dark story.
“Shut up, Jump,” I said.
“My parents died a few years ago, and whatever they had was left to me. I want to put that money to good use,” he continued. “Let me buy the go-kart factory for us. Then it’s ours, all clean, and no one can come gunning for us. Not the law, not nobody.”
“And that track, oh man, that track is so damn sweet,” murmured Kicker. “We could fix that up, couldn’t we?”
“Wouldn’t be hard,” said Willy.
“I could set up a repair shop of our own right on the property,” I said. “Open to the public.”
“Well…” Willy leaned his elbows on the table. “The Tingle, a repair shop. We’d be respectable as all fuck.” We all laughed.
“You sure, Dig?” Judge asked. “You got to be a hundred percent sure. Otherwise…”
“Totally sure. I could’ve blown through that money real easy already, but I didn’t want to do that. This is a choice full of purpose,” Dig said. “We need to do this now, have something of our own.”