by RB Hilliard
“Hey, you!” Meg greeted.
LuLu’s brow rose at the pieces of popcorn scattered across her desk. “Aren’t you on a diet?”
“I’m always on a diet, but thanks for reminding me.” She left out the word, bitch, but LuLu knew it was inferred. Smiling, she held up the bag. “Want some?” A student entered the office asking for copies and she offered her popcorn. LuLu shook her head. Meg was a nut.
“Well, other than to remind me that I have a fat posterior, is there a reason you’re here?” Meg asked once the student had taken off with the copies and half a bag of popcorn.
Meg was the resident know-it-all. Her actual job title was receptionist, but she was also known to stand in when a teacher had to leave early, give last-minute tours, fetch coffee, aid the principal, aid the vice principal, and teach gym class when necessary. She was the cheerleading coach, the head decorator for all school functions, and LuLu’s dearest friend. Meg had been there when her dad died. She’d also been there two months ago, when LuLu had completely fallen apart.
“Posterior?” LuLu asked, trying not to laugh. Meg was on probation for her use of foul language. Last month she shouted the word motherfucker loud enough for the entire school to hear. In her defense, there was a dinosaur-sized roach crawling across her desk. According to the powers that be, that was no excuse for using such foul language in a place of learning. Any more infractions and they would be forced to take action. Ever since then, she’d had to think outside the naughty- word box. “I need you to call Tad’s mom and find out why he’s missed a week of school.”
Meg’s face scrunch told LuLu exactly how she felt about that idea. She thought LuLu was too invested in her students, which was rich coming from the woman who let two students camp out on her apartment floor for a week because their parents had the flu and they didn’t want to get sick. “He’s seven months away from graduating and can’t miss anymore school or else he’ll have to sit hours. You know Marta, there’s no way she’ll pay. If he’s sick, she can get a doctor’s excuse. At the least, I can get a copy of his medical records to show he went to the doctor. Please call for me. I’ll pay for our next night out.”
“Make it the next two nights and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
The little sneak. LuLu’s eyes narrowed. “One night out and one home-cooked meal.”
Meg smiled. “Done.”
Sadly, no one answered at Tad’s house. LuLu told her the deal was off, and Meg tried to argue that she’d made the call, and therefore, the deal was very much still on. Ignoring her, LuLu walked out the door, and smiled when Meg shouted, “We’ll talk about this later!” after her.
On the way home from work that night, she decided to take matters into her own hands. If the mountain wouldn’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad would have to go to the mountain. Tomorrow was Saturday. She could stop by unannounced, claim she was visiting friends in the area and wanted to check in on him. She thought about making him chicken soup, but then recalled the time Marta ate all of the chocolates from her candy dish while trying to convince LuLu that her son didn’t need a college education. As Tad probably wasn’t sick, LuLu opted for cookies. Cookies could cure any ailment. They could also help bribe a junkie with a sweet tooth.
The next morning, as she stood at her kitchen counter waiting for the cookies to come out of the oven, she stared at her partially renovated walkthrough. This was the last time she hired someone off the internet. Shouty—the guy’s real name was Brian, but because he talked so loud and so much, she’d nicknamed him Shouty—had stellar reviews on the internet. Lesson one, stellar on the internet didn’t mean stellar in reality. Stellar on the internet meant paying half up front and listening to him shout his credentials for forty minutes while ripping a hole through her wall, before breaking for a three-hour lunch. Stellar on the internet meant him not returning for a week on account of his bad knees. When he did show, he spent ten minutes staring at the mess he’d made before declaring that he would need more money to “Get ‘er done right.” Needless to say, she’d fired him. Her eyes drifted to the living room carpet, then over to the sofa, her heart squeezing in her chest as all thoughts of Shouty were replaced by Sexy Biker Man. Her biggest regret. Meg referred to him as “The one who got away.” To LuLu it was more like the one she’d let go. The one she couldn’t get out of her head, no matter how hard she tried.
While the cookies cooled, she ran upstairs to change. Her stomach danced with nerves as she practiced what to say. She needed to win over Marta and get Tad back in school. That was the plan.
The drive took longer than expected. Nice houses turned into not-so-nice houses as she crossed the railroad tracks, and she began to feel uneasy. The further she drove, the worse it got. Manicured lawns changed to dirt patches, and front yards became used car lots. Finally, she pulled in front of Tad’s house. Unlike the houses surrounding it, Tad’s front yard was free of cars. Patchy-brown, ankle-high grass separated the driveway from the front walkway. At least it was an attempt at a lawn, which was more effort than anyone else in the area had given. Glancing down at her super cute sweater and designer jeans, she no longer felt that the “I was visiting a friend” excuse would work. No one with any sense would believe she had friends in this neighborhood, much less this side of town.
Her eyes grazed over the truck and motorcycles in the driveway, before coming to the front of the house, and settling on the man leaning against the front railing. He was tall, tatted, and skinny, with long, black hair—at least she thought it was black, but it was hard to tell under all the grease— and a scraggly-looking goatee in desperate need of a trim. Ewww, she thought as he lit a cigarette and took a drag. Marta’s new boyfriend was nothing to write home about. Then again, neither was Marta. LuLu tried to recall his name. It was something with a D, like Daniel or Darnel. Dario! That was it! Tad had spoken of him, said he’d been wrongly accused and had spent some time in prison, but never mentioned what he’d been accused of. She could only guess. Dario watched her, the frown on his face far from welcoming, as he sucked on his cigarette. Her instincts told her to leave, but as he’d already spotted her, she didn’t want to seem rude, so she killed the engine.
“You’ve got this,” she whispered. Something told her it wasn’t going to be that easy. Cookies in hand, she turned her eyes back to the creepy-looking man, whose frown was now an open scowl, and exited the car. Maybe she should give them to him instead. He looked like he could use a few hundred.
“Hi, I’m Luciana Ferina,” she called out from the middle of the sidewalk. At his blank expression, she added, “Tad’s teacher.” She was going to say counselor but felt that teacher would be better received. A cloud of cigarette smoke greeted her as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and she tried not to cough. Waving her hand through the air, she held up the tin. “I heard he was sick and brought by some cookies.”
The man stared skeptically at the object in her hand, and in a deep, raspy, smoker’s voice, said, “Boy’s got the runs. He’s had ‘em all week. Those’ll make ‘em worse.” Talk about something she didn’t want to know.
“Oh, well, okay, then maybe I should leave them here with you.”
His eyes scanned her body, the oily look on his face making her skin crawl. “You married?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?” Surely, she’d misheard him.
Before he could answer, which was a good thing as she didn’t particularly want to hear his answer, the door opened, and a healthy-looking Tad stepped onto the porch.
Glaring at Dario, he said, “Don’t listen to him, Miss F. I don’t have the runs.” Oh, thank God, she thought as the creeper broke into a crazed fit of laughter. She held up the tin of cookies at the same time Tad asked, “What are you doing here?”
Ignoring his sharp tone, she replied, “I was worried about you and came to bring you cookies.” Dario muttered something that sounded like stupid snatch, before heading down the steps and around the side of the house. LuLu’s shoulders instantly
relaxed. That man gave her the creeps.
Tad waited until he was gone to speak. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“You shouldn’t have missed school all week,” she snapped back at him.
“Don’t be rude, Tadeo, invite the puta in!” Marta yelled from inside the house. LuLu had heard enough Spanish in her time to know what puta meant. It was because she cared about this kid and genuinely wanted to see him succeed in life, that she didn’t turn around and march her ass back to her car. Tad pulled open the door, and she stepped inside.
Marta was lounging on a dingy brown sofa, a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and her eyes glued to the television, where Jerry Springer was preaching about infidelity. In front of her sat a coffee table piled with empty beer cans and cigarette butts. She thought the thing on the floor might be a bong but couldn’t be sure. The carpet looked as if it had never met a vacuum, and the walls were a sickly tar-yellow color. The place smelled of body odor and things LuLu didn’t want to think about. A commercial came on and Marta gave them her full attention.
“We’ve never had a house call from the school counselor before, have we, Mijo?” Except for the slight slur in her voice, LuLu would never have known she was drunk. The look of resignation on Tad’s face made her heart ache.
She held up the tin. “I was worried about Tad and thought I would bring him some cookies.”
Marta’s eyes went all squinty. “His name is Tadeo.”
“Mom—” Tad warned.
“What? Tad is a rich white boy’s name.” Her blurry gaze twisted back to LuLu. “Why are you really here?” LuLu had to give it to her, even drunk she’d figured it out.
“The school tried to call. When they didn’t get an answer, I said I’d stop by to check on him.” Marta’s lack of response irritated her. “If he misses any more classes, he will have to sit hours in order to graduate.”
“So?”
“Seat hours cost money, Miss Peña.”
“So? He’s eighteen. Plus, school is stupid. I keep telling him this. He can get a job with Dario anytime he wants.” That’s what LuLu was worried about.
“Do you have any idea how smart your son is? Are you aware that he’s applied to seven colleges? That he’ll not only get in to all seven but will most likely get a free ride? Do you understand the enormity of this?”
“Seriously?” Tad exclaimed. LuLu’s brow shot up. Yes, she was being serious. The woman needed to know how amazing her kid was.
The look of indifference on Marta’s face made LuLu’s stomach drop. It also made her angry. “Tadeo won’t be going to college, Miss Ferina. He’ll be staying here, where he’s needed, and will be working for his soon to be stepfather. I warned you not to waste your time. Thanks for the cookies, now get the fuck out of my house.”
LuLu saw red. School wasn’t stupid; this woman was. LuLu started to tell her this, but then realized she’d already said too much. Coming here was clearly a mistake.
“I’ll walk her out,” Tad told his mom but she’d already dismissed them for Jerry.
LuLu placed the cookie tin on a mound of cigarette butts, and followed him out the door.
The moment they hit the porch, he turned on her. “Why did you do that? I had it all figured out. They’ll never let me go, now.” His whispered desperation made her want to strangle that woman and her greasy boyfriend.
“You’re eighteen, honey. She can’t stop you. You have to make it to graduation, though. That means you can’t miss any more school.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know them. You don’t know what they can do.”
His words concerned her. The television was too loud for Marta to hear, but just in case, she grabbed his elbow and pulled him off to the side. “Talk to me. Are they hurting you, because if so—”
“No, it’s not like that,” he interrupted. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“Is the puta gone yet?” Marta shouted from the nasty sofa. “I need you to get me a beer from the fridge!” LuLu closed her eyes and prayed for patience.
Tad started for the door. “You need to leave.”
“Tad—”
“You shouldn’t have come here. Now, please, go.”
Pushing for more, she asked, “Will you be at school on Monday?”
“Maybe, I don’t know.” The door slammed behind him, and LuLu was left standing on the porch. Anger and frustration beat at her as she moved to leave. She hoped the evil bitch choked on the cookies. Not really. Well, kind of really. After all of his hard work, Tad deserved to find success. That Marta wouldn’t support her own son infuriated her beyond words.
She was almost to her car when she heard the yelling. Her first instinct was to ignore it, but the thought that it could be Dario laying into Tad about her visit made her change her course. Mumbling under her breath, she marched down the driveway in the direction of the noise. She rounded the side of the house and came face to face with a six-foot, solid wood privacy fence. An iron gate offered her a view into the backyard. There were four men. Dario and another guy stood facing her, whereas the other two men had their backs to her. Thankfully, Tad wasn’t one of them.
Realizing that she was in a precarious position, she began backing away. That’s when she saw the gun. The blond-haired guy standing next to Dario had it trained on the man standing across from him. Her instincts screamed for her to run, but she couldn’t look away. The guy with the gun pointed at him held up his hands, but it was too late. With a loud pop, the gun discharged. A strangled cry burst from her lips as the man dropped to the ground, and she took off running for the car, her heart thrumming wildly in her chest with each step.
Questions chased her the whole way home. She didn’t know what to do or what to think. Who were those men? What were they doing there? Was the guy dead? She barely made it through the door before she was running for the bathroom. Dropping to her knees, she ejected her breakfast into the toilet. Guilt ate at her. Why didn’t she stop them? Why didn’t she do something? What was she supposed to do now? Teeth chattering, she crumbled to the floor and cried.
Chapter Five
LULU CAME OUT of the womb knowing who she was and where she was going in life. She was a capable and self-assured child with a clear understanding of right and wrong. This, along with a heavy dose of common sense and gut instinct, followed her into adulthood and helped her to make smart decisions. Informed decisions. Decisions she stood firmly behind and rarely second-guessed. To her, life was black and white. Gray didn’t exist. And then a sexy biker stepped into her world. She’d seen him enter Salvatore’s that first night, pretended indifference as she secretly watched him from across the bar. In his worn jeans, faded Henley, leather vest, and biker boots, he stood out, not in a bad way, but in a dangerous way. In an intriguing way. One look and she could tell that he didn’t live by the same rules. She doubted he lived by rules at all.
As she got to know him, she found that his life wasn’t black or white, but a smear of both. That alone should have been a warning. They were nothing alike. But that didn’t stop her from wanting him. It didn’t matter to her that he was different, or that his lines weren’t straight and narrow but blurry with rough edges. She didn’t care that he wasn’t clean cut or immaculately dressed. What mattered was that he was smart, seductive, funny, and gorgeous; the exact definition of what a man should be. His only downfall was that he was also unreliable. He said he would call and didn’t, then showed up uninvited and took advantage of her. When she got angry, he used his magical mouth to tear down her defenses. With a touch of his rough, callused hands, he stripped her bare and dirtied up her perfectly constructed life. She didn’t know which was worse, that he did it, or that she let him. He made her feel wanted—made her want to step outside her perfectly lined existence and join him inside his gray-smeared world. He made her want to take a chance on something different.
As time went on, his reliability decreased even further, and she began t
o doubt him. Who was this biker man with no last name—this man with a million secrets who’d stolen her heart? Who was he really? She became tired of playing a game she didn’t know the rules to. She began to lose perspective, to doubt herself. And because of this, she did something regretful. She let him go.
The night her Biker Man walked out of her life, he took her black and white existence with him. Life wasn’t so easily definable anymore. The difference between right and wrong and good and evil were no longer clear. She began to see things differently. Take today, for example. A few months ago, she would have marched her ass straight to the police station and martyred herself, because it was the right thing to do. She would have lost her job and who knows what else, because it was the right thing to do. Not now. She loved her job, and right or wrong, she would do whatever it took to keep it. That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared. She was terrified.
While lying in bed that night, she broke down what she’d seen and tried to make sense of it. Focusing on the shooter, she thought about his sandy blond hair, aviator sunglasses, tan skin, broad chest, black t-shirt, tattooed biceps, and khaki cargos. He was the polar opposite of greasy, unkempt Dario. He looked almost military. LuLu’s uncle was in the Army. This guy had that same stiff, uptight look about him. Her thoughts wandered to the dead guy. All she could recall was his black hair and the cross tattoo on his neck. What if he wasn’t dead? She’d assumed the shot was fatal, but what if it wasn’t? For all she knew, they could all be sitting on Dario’s back porch chugging beers and laughing about his flesh wound. Then again, what if they weren’t? She saw the guy drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes. What if they were outside, just waiting for her to open the door? Nausea flared in her stomach as she flung back the covers, stalked across the room, and peered out the window. Other than the neighbor’s ugly yellow Camaro parked across the street, there was nothing. No cars, no men, nothing. You’re okay. They didn’t see you. You’re safe, she told herself on the walk back to her bed. Plumping her pillow, she crawled under the sheets and considered what her next move should be. Should she involve the police? The staunch moral code that she’d once lived by said yes, but that rebellious part of her—the part that had her hooking up with a biker and throwing caution to the wind—said no. No to going to the police and no to telling anyone about what she’d seen. Her last thought before drifting to sleep was the same as every other night. It was of the gray-eyed, silver-haired biker who’d walked away with her heart, and how much she missed him.