“She did?”
“Yes, but don’t worry. I’ll make sure she stays safe and makes good choices from now on.”
“Thanks. Don’t be afraid to call if something happens.”
She sat up straighter. “I’m not afraid to call you. Why would I be afraid to call you?” He does know something. I knew it.
“Uh, no reason. Good luck tomorrow.”
Calm down, she told herself. The only reason he rattled her was The Humiliation, which, so far, he seemed to have no memory of.
“We’ll be fine,” she said confidently. That much she knew for sure.
“All right then. Bye.”
“Bye.” She hung up and bolted to the kitchen for a glass of ice water. She held the frosty glass against her forehead. How could the man get her worked up over the phone? It was ridiculous. She closed her eyes and did some deep breathing until she found her usual calm composure once more.
~ ~ ~
Liz drove to Mrs. O’Hare’s house shortly before nine a.m. the next day as per the older woman’s text. She seemed to be very tech savvy. She’d already sent Liz a friend request on Facebook last night. Her Facebook page had a lot of pictures of her knitting projects—sweaters, shawls, hats, scarves, mittens, blankets. Her grandsons were well kept in wool from the look of things. Maybe Mrs. O’Hare could teach her how to knit and they could spend some time this summer knitting together.
When she pulled into the driveway, Mrs. O’Hare was already standing on the porch, dressed all in black—black T-shirt, black shorts, black socks pulled up to her knees. A pink scarf tied around her neck and white sneakers stood in stark contrast.
“Right on time,” Mrs. O’Hare called, making her way down the front steps. She got into Liz’s car. “Good morning!”
“Good morning, Mrs. O’Hare, cute outfit. Where are we heading?” She’d mentioned something in her text about some “serious shopping,” so Liz figured it was either the mall or the outlet center about a half hour away.
“Please call me Maggie. We are friends now, right? No need to be so formal. Head over to Eastman.”
Must be the mall. “You got it.”
“How’s your family?” Mrs. O’Hare asked.
“My parents are good; business is good at Garner’s.”
“And I heard you’re going to be an aunt! Congratulations!”
Word is definitely out. Guess I don’t have to keep it secret anymore.
“Thank you. How’d you hear about it?”
“My friend told me after church on Sunday. Babies are a lot of work, but, oh, what a blessing.”
Liz pulled up to a red light. “Well, yeah, but don’t they sleep a lot?”
“It depends what kind you ordered. I ordered a sleeper, but I got a colicky, up-all-night brand. Can’t return ’em though.” Maggie laughed.
Liz smiled. “My mom always said Daisy and I were easy babies, so hopefully this baby will be too.”
Maggie patted her arm. “You keep thinking that, dear.”
They chatted amiably as Liz drove, about babies and some of the cute hats Maggie had knitted for friends’ babies over the years: strawberry hats, pumpkins, watermelons. Liz told her about the baby registry she was setting up for Daisy, and the importance of buying items that were BPA- and phthalate-free because babies put everything in their mouths. She’d already read two books on babies, and it felt good to share her new knowledge with someone. Daisy never wanted to hear it.
Before she knew it, they were at the mall.
“What are you doing?” Maggie asked.
“Parking.”
“No, I didn’t say go to the mall. Turn around. We have to go further up on the highway over by the car dealers.”
Liz pulled out of the parking lot and turned around to the exit. “So we’re car shopping?”
“Even better. There’s a Harley dealer right next to the Honda dealer. You’ll see the signs.”
No! “O-kay. That’s a surprise.”
“Why? I told you yesterday I wanted a pink Harley.”
“Yes, but I didn’t suppose I was the one taking you. Do you think…” She stopped herself. She was thinking they should check in with Ryan first, but she didn’t want to make Maggie angry. “Do you think you’ll just be looking, or do you intend to buy today?” Liz asked smoothly. “With big purchases, it’s usually wise to shop around.”
She pulled onto the highway. Maybe she could convince Maggie to sit on a couple of bikes and then go home, where Ryan could talk her out of buying one.
“Oh, I’m buying,” Maggie said. “I don’t have time for lookie-loos.” She pulled a check out of her purse with a flourish. “I’ve got my insurance money. I’m just gonna leave that messed-up Toyota at the body shop. Maybe they can use it for parts.”
Liz swallowed hard. “But aren’t they fixing it?”
“I called and told them not to.”
No, no, no!
Chapter Five
By the time Liz parked at the Harley dealer, she still hadn’t figured a way out of this. It couldn’t be good for a woman in her seventies to ride a motorcycle. It was dangerous, plain and simple.
A semi-threatening-looking salesman built like a linebacker, with a shiny bald head and grizzly gray mustache and soul patch, approached. Liz grabbed Maggie’s hand. “I don’t know about this.”
Maggie squeezed her hand. “It’s fine. I’ll do all the talking.”
“Hello, ladies, what can I help you with today?” His short-sleeve Harley Davidson shirt said his name was Mike.
“I’m looking to buy a hog,” Maggie said. “Can you show us your best bikes?”
“Right this way.” He gestured for them to follow. An eagle with the Harley Davidson logo was tattooed on the back of his beefy neck.
Liz whispered fiercely, “Motorcycles are not as safe as cars. Your body is completely exposed.”
Maggie patted her arm. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll wear a helmet.”
“But that’s not the…” She trailed off as Maggie hurried ahead to a pair of red and green metallic chrome bikes “…point,” she said to no one.
Maggie climbed on top of the red bike and handed Liz her cell. “Here, take my picture.”
Liz stood in front of the bike and snapped a picture of Maggie grinning widely, then took one from the side of Maggie gripping the handlebars.
“Let’s get one on the green bike now,” Maggie said.
Liz took a few more pictures. Same pose, different color bike.
“I’ll post it on Facebook later,” Maggie said. “Boy, will my friends be surprised.”
As will Ryan. She’d lose her job if Maggie left here on a motorcycle. She had to find a way to stop this disaster. But Maggie was like a rock rolling merrily downhill, picking up speed and strength, heading for an inevitable crash.
They moved on to an oversized monstrosity of black leather and chrome that looked like it’d kill her if it tipped over on her.
“What about this one?” Maggie asked.
“That’s Fat Bob,” Mike said, rubbing his soul patch. “Lot of power in Fat Bob, not sure if a rookie can handle it.”
This didn’t sway Maggie a bit. “Help me get on Bob.”
Mike boosted Maggie up to straddle the seat. Maggie posed while Liz dutifully took the photo.
Maggie patted the bike. “You’re not fat, you just got a little meat on your bones. Mike, how fast can we go on this chubby hog?”
Liz grimaced and glanced around. Thank goodness we’re the only ones in the showroom.
“How fast you wanna go?” Mike asked with a grin. “Let me tell you something about Fat Bob. You’ve got the Twin Cam one-oh-three engine, six-speed cruise drive. An experienced driver can have a lot of fun cruising with this chopper on the open road. You planning on taking any long road trips?”
“Sure!” Maggie looked delighted with this possibility.
“Maggie, come on.” Liz urged her off the bike. Maggie did climb down, but only because she’
d already spotted another one she liked. “This one’s not for us,” Liz told Mike.
She followed Maggie to a shiny red and chrome bike with a seat so low she didn’t need help getting on. “How do I look?” she asked, leaning way forward to reach the handlebars.
You look like a happy little elf riding a stallion. Liz snapped the picture and gave a thumbs-up. Her thumb was a better liar than she was.
“Stylin’,” Mike said with a nod.
“Maggie, you can’t buy a bike today,” Liz said. Then she came up with a stroke of brilliance. “You should take lessons before you buy. Make sure you know what you’re doing. Ryan could probably—”
“We have a New Rider course you could sign up for,” Mike said. “A new session starts up in a couple of weeks. Should I sign you up? You ride one of our bikes while you get the feel for things; then you can make your final purchase at the end.”
Surprised, Liz stared at Mike. They actually have classes for that?
“No need,” Maggie said. “I already know how to ride. I took out my grandson’s bike, and it was easy-peasy. Is this one going to shake me up or give me a good vibration?” Maggie winked.
Mike chuckled. “This one will give you a smooth, comfortable ride.”
“I need to use the ladies’ room,” Liz announced. She pivoted toward the restrooms, took a few steps, and turned back to Maggie. “Don’t buy anything without me.”
“I won’t. There are still more bikes to try!” Maggie handed her cell to the salesman. “Here, take my picture.” She raised her hand in a salute and smiled for the camera.
Liz speedwalked to the ladies’ room.
It was time to regroup. She had a little time while Maggie tried all the bikes, but then she’d whip out that check, and it would all be over. She stood by the sink and dialed Ryan’s number.
“O’Hare,” he said by way of a hello.
“Ryan, it’s Liz. Your grandmother asked me to take her shopping, and I didn’t know she meant the Harley dealer, but here we are—”
“What’s the address?”
“You don’t need to come here. I just wanted some advice on talking her out of it.”
“Tell me the address,” he demanded.
Her nerves jangled at his tone, but she told him. What if I lose my job after just one day?
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Do not let her hand over any money.” He hung up.
She looked at herself in the mirror. She was flushed, and a piece of hair had come out of place from her usual smooth, straight, shoulder-length cut. She soaked a paper towel and applied it to her neck. Then she pulled a brush from her purse and quickly brushed her hair back into place.
When she came out, Maggie was sitting on top of a trike. “What do you think?”
“Well…” Liz searched for the right words. The bike was a huge three-wheeler, and Maggie looked like a little kid on top of it. “It seems stable,” she finally said.
“That’s what I was telling her,” Mike said.
“It’s not as cool, is it?” Maggie asked, adjusting her pink scarf.
“Trikes are big with the boomers,” Mike said. “If you take a fast turn, you won’t skid out.”
Liz’s eyes widened with alarm. Maggie could get seriously hurt if she fell off a bike. “You’d still be riding a motorcycle,” Liz pointed out. “A trike seems safer. Not as safe as a car—”
“I don’t want to settle,” Maggie said, carefully peeling herself off the trike. “You got anything in pink?”
“Nothing in the shop,” Mike said. “We’d have to custom order it, but we have some jackets and helmets with pink.”
“Let’s see ’em,” Maggie said.
Mike brought them to the far corner of the showroom to the apparel section, where Maggie ignored the windbreakers with pink stripes in favor of black leather jackets with pink satin lining. She happily tried one on and admired her look in the mirror. The jacket looked like a huge leather nightgown over her shorts and skinny legs.
Liz stifled a laugh. “Try another one, maybe a smaller size.” Hopefully she could keep Maggie occupied trying on jackets until Ryan got there.
Maggie took her time, with Liz’s encouragement, searching for the perfect biker chick look. So far, she’d decided on a black helmet with the pink Harley-Davidson logo that didn’t mess up her hair too badly, a soft black leather jacket with pink satin lining and just the right amount of pockets, and black leather gloves with pink logo and stitching.
Liz checked her phone to see if she had any messages from Daisy. With an almost eerie sixth sense, she looked up just as Ryan yanked open the showroom door, striding with purpose right for her. Her throat went dry at the thunderous look on his face, but before she could squeak out a word, Maggie emerged from behind a rack of clothing with a pair of leather chaps over her shorts.
Liz bit her lip to keep the hysterical laugh bubbling up inside her from bursting out.
Maggie hadn’t yet noticed Ryan. “I think these might work better with jeans, don’t you?” she asked Liz. “Maybe with a little butt padding. I swear I used to have a booty.” She patted her butt. “Now it’s flat as a pancake.” She caught Liz’s jerk of the head and turned around to see Ryan standing there, arms crossed. “Oh, hi, Ryan. What are you doing here?”
~ ~ ~
Ryan couldn’t believe his eyes. Gran wearing leather chaps in a Harley shop, talking about her ass. It was a living nightmare.
“What am I doing here?” he asked Gran. Before he could read her the riot act on safety, Liz stepped in front of him. Her pink shirt was buttoned all the way to the top and tucked into ironed white pants. Her hair was straight and perfect. He had the strangest urge to muss her up.
He looked over the top of her head. Gran had gone behind the rack of clothes to remove the chaps.
“I was helping her pick out the perfect outfit,” Liz said.
He blinked. She said she was going to help Gran make good choices, and they’re shopping for a Harley. And why is she talking about outfits?
“Is that supposed to be helpful?” he asked in a low, controlled voice.
She lifted her palms. “It’s not a motorcycle.”
He leaned in close and caught a scent of vanilla. “Why did you agree to drive her here? You’re supposed to be looking out for her.”
Liz flushed red. “I didn’t know that’s what we were doing at first, and then I was just so busy trying to figure out how to talk her out of it that I—”
He held up a hand. “You have to take charge with her. Watch and learn.”
Liz crossed her arms and watched.
He gestured to Gran to come over. She did.
“Isn’t this place great?” Gran asked.
He exhaled sharply. “Gran, a bike is out of the question. They’re dangerous. One crash and you could be in a wheelchair for life.”
Gran gave him a pointed look that could have meant Back off or just You’re an idiot. Either way, she headed to the checkout to pay for a jacket and helmet that sat on the counter. He considered that a victory.
He raised his eyebrows at Liz. See, that’s how you handle her.
Liz met his eyes and quickly looked away, picking a piece of lint off her shirt. He glanced over at the register and almost told Gran to put the helmet back—she’d never be using it—but Liz had a point that at least it wasn’t a motorcycle, and he could always use an extra helmet. A few minutes later, Gran walked past him, nose in the air, and headed toward the exit. Good. She could be pissed off as long as she was safe.
Liz followed, hips swaying as she booked it out of there. Barely there panty lines. Probably silk. He was starting to appreciate the white, ironed pants.
The salesman caught up with Gran. Liz was already out the door.
“Mike, thanks for your help today,” Gran said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“No problem.” Mike pulled a business card from his pocket. Ryan shook his head, and Mike slid the card back in.
When t
hey got outside, Liz stood by her car, a practical white Honda Civic, but Gran kept walking in the other direction. What the hell? Is she confused? He was about to call Gran back when he realized where she was going. The Ducati dealer—another motorcycle shop—two doors down.
“Wait!” Ryan caught up to her and blocked the path with his body. “I said it was too dangerous.”
Liz appeared at Gran’s side, flushed and slightly out of breath from running. He had a brief vision of Liz flushed and panting for a very different reason. Don’t go there. He focused back on Gran.
“I want to feel the wind in my hair when I’m on the road,” Gran was saying. “It’s exhilarating.” She shook her head, and the short tufts of white hair barely moved.
“Then open the windows,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “Move out of the way.”
He didn’t budge. “Gran, no motorcycle.”
“Young man, you are not the boss of me.”
Thirty-four years old and I’m still young man.
“Someone has to look out for you,” he said through clenched teeth.
Liz looked back and forth between them like she was watching an intense tennis match.
“I look out for me!” Gran said, lifting her chin.
“It’s not safe,” he said in an even tone, reaching for calm.
She jabbed him in the chest. “It’s safe enough for you!”
“I’m not your age!”
“So I’m supposed to just sit in a plastic bubble until I die?”
“No,” he said quietly. He didn’t like to hear her talk about death. She’d been there for him and his brothers when no one else had. Nothing could happen to her. “Gran, come on. Let’s just go home.”
Gran crossed her arms mulishly.
Liz piped up. “What about that?”
They both turned to see where Liz was pointing. Across the street, the Ford dealer had a shiny red Mustang convertible displayed on a second-floor pedestal. “You could feel the wind in your hair even better with a convertible. No helmet.”
“Brilliant!” Gran proclaimed. “I’ve never had a convertible. Let’s go.” She headed back toward Liz’s car.
Amazing. Ryan looked at Liz. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
She blushed.
The Opposite of Wild Page 4