She Rode a Harley

by Mary Jane Black

  She seems happier, but we find it difficult to like John. He has helped Stephanie fit into her new town. I worry that she seems too anxious to please him. I know how that feels after being married to her father. Dwayne says he comes from a first family of Bryan, country club Catholics who own a big business in town.

  I press the pay phone receiver to my ear and listen to the ringing on the other end. I wonder where my daughter is. I hope she and John didn’t try to drive in the storm. A moment of mother worry washes over me. I walk back to the table and plop down in my chair by Dwayne.

  He lays his hand over mine on the table. “How’s Steph?”

  “She didn’t answer. I don’t know where she is.”

  Over the next hour, I call her several more times. Still no answer.

  I shake my head in frustration after returning to the table after the sixth call.

  Dwayne stands up and pushes back his chair. “Let’s go home.”

  We grab our leathers and begin to dress in the soggy chaps and jackets. My boots stick to my socks when I try to push them on. Pete and Doris join us. We mount the wet motorcycles, and the water soaks into our almost dry clothes.

  We ride into the wall of rain. I shield Dwayne’s eyes with one hand in an attempt to keep water from dripping into his eyes. His goggles keep fogging up, and I use my finger to wipe them. Pete’s motor mumbles beside us, but we are wrapped in a swirling gray mist and can’t see him. We can only see our headlight glowing a few feet into the thick haze.

  It is only five miles to our house, but it takes us almost an hour to get there. We stop to rest under trees and once under the awning of a closed gas station. As we turn onto the road to our house, Pete beeps goodbye and disappears into the murk and the water.

  We pull into the carport, and our wet tires leave a path on the concrete. The rain bangs on the tin roof above us. We run to the back door and fall through it. Darkness fills the house. Stephanie isn’t home.

  As Dwayne makes coffee, I call the number for John’s mother’s house, where he lives. Stephanie was reluctant to give it to me, but I insisted. There is no answer there either. I hang up the phone and rest my hand on it. I wonder where she is in the rain and wind howling outside the house.

  Over the next three hours, I call John’s house over and over. No one ever answers. Dwayne offers to go look for her in the truck, but I remind him we have no idea where to look.

  We finally lie side by side on the couch. The TV flickers in the dark room.

  Dwayne’s breath ruffles my hair. “John ain’t going to get away with this shit. He should know how much we’d worry about our daughter.”

  We drift off to a restless sleep.

  The bang of the back door wakes us. I sit up and look at the mantle clock. Two in the morning. Dwayne jumps off the couch and marches to the kitchen. I follow behind him. He flips on the light switch, and Stephanie stares at us in surprise at the burst of light.

  I grab her and hug her tightly. “Do you have any idea how worried we were? Where the hell have you been?”

  She pushes me back and tells me she was with John. They watched a movie at his house and fell asleep. “I’m going to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.” Her bedroom door slams behind her.

  Dwayne and I glance at each other.

  I apologize for my daughter’s behavior. “I guess being the parent of a teenage daughter is never easy. When you married me, you got another one in the deal.”

  He reaches out and grabs me. “She’s my daughter too, you know.”

  We stagger with exhaustion to bed. The alarm wakes us three hours later, since we both have to go to work.

  I take a cup of coffee to Stephanie’s room and turn on the light. She moans as she wakes up to the glare. She mutters, “Fuck, Mom.”

  I hand her the coffee and tell her to meet us at the kitchen table in five minutes. She stumbles into the kitchen and falls into a chair. She holds the cup of warm coffee against her chin to let the steam warm her face.

  “You know we love you, but you can’t treat us the way you did yesterday.” Dwayne reaches out and takes her hand. “We worry about you and need to know you’re okay.”

  I take her other hand. “I always worry when I don’t know where you are.”

  She blinks against her sudden tears. I reach up and smooth back her hair. She pulls down the sleeve of her shirt and wipes her nose. I smile at the childhood gesture.

  “I love you guys too. I’m sorry.” She takes a deep breath. “John and I decided last night we’re going to get married. In February.”

  Dwayne starts to say something. I stop him with a touch of my hand on his. I gaze into Stephanie’s eyes. “I married your father at eighteen, and it was a terrible mistake. You and your brother are the only good things I got out of it. Please wait until you’re a little older.”

  She sets down her mug with a thud. “I am not you. John is not my father. You can’t stop me.” She glares at me defiantly.

  Tears blur my vision. “You’re probably right. I never listened to my mom.”

  The three of us sit in silence as the voices on the TV news murmur in the background. She goes back to bed and leaves us both sitting at the table. I get up and sit across Dwayne’s legs. I wrap my arms around him and lay my head on his shoulder. He rocks me gently as the sun rises in a blaze of pink and gold. The clouds fade away from yesterday’s storm.

  Christmas rushes by in a rush of family dinners and holiday parties. We ride in the Toy Run hosted by Dwayne’s Harley shop and give gifts to children when the pack of bikers stop at houses. At the end of the Toy Run, we meet Stephanie at the country club for a dinner with John and his parents, Susan and John Senior. John Senior tells us to call him Johnny. They are divorced but announce they are still friends and parents to their boys. I can’t imagine saying that about Stephanie’s father.

  Dwayne and I sit in our Harley T-shirts and jeans across a starched white tablecloth from Susan and Johnny in their elegant suit and dress. John and Stephanie try to keep the conversation going. We eat a little of the expensive and tasteless food and go home to eat a bacon-and-fried-egg sandwich.

  On New Year’s Day, Stephanie calls her dad to tell him the news. Dwayne and I watch her through the door of the living room when she talks on the phone. We can hear his shouts through the receiver. We also hear Dwayne repeated multiple times.

  Finally, Stephanie raises her voice in anger. “You’re my father, so I want you to be at my wedding. Dwayne will be giving me away.” She slams down the phone and drops down by me on the couch.

  Dwayne asks her if she’s sure.

  “Yeah, I am.” She leans back. “Would you want to walk me down the aisle?”

  He jumps up and pulls her to her feet. He hugs her. “I’d be damn proud to do it.”

  The ring of the phone interrupts the moment. Stephanie’s hand trembles as she holds the clanging phone. She looks at the answer button, afraid to push it.

  Dwayne takes it from her hand and answers it. “We haven’t talked since that day at your house, but it’s about time we did it again.” He walks out of the room with the receiver against his ear. We hear the front door slap shut. Then the porch swing squeaks as he sits down.

  I squeeze her hand. “I’m happy but a little surprised you want Dwayne to walk you down the aisle.”

  She lays her head on my shoulder. “You know I was mad when you moved me here, but I started to notice all Dwayne talked about was what he could do for me. How he could make me happy. All Dad ever did was worry about himself. And me keeping him happy.”

  We sit and strain to listen to the murmured voice on the porch. Eventually, we hear Dwayne say he’ll call him back after we all talk.

  He walks into the living room and clunks the phone down on its base. He sits in his recliner and leans over his knees. “He will be at the wedding, and he will pay for it as your father.” He stops and looks at Stephanie. “He’ll only pay for it if he walks you down the aisle.”

&nb
sp; All of us sit frozen as we consider the ultimatum. Dwayne and I know that we can’t afford the wedding John’s parents will expect. I also know that Dwayne will sell and barter whatever he can to try to make it happen. But it will not be possible for us to find that kind of money.

  Stephanie sits down by me on the couch. “I don’t know what to do. I haven’t seen him in three years. Why does he even want to walk me down the aisle?”

  “It is all about the winning.” Dwayne sits up straight in his chair. “I never backed down from a fight, but I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Stephanie tells us she has to think about what to do. We agree she needs time.

  Two days later at breakfast she tells us she has made her decision. She asks Dwayne to talk to her about it. They go outside and sway back and forth in the porch swing. I hear the rise and fall of their voices.

  I look up from the morning newspaper when they return to the kitchen.

  Dwayne lays his hand on my shoulder. “She knows we aren’t able to pay for the wedding, but she refuses to let him walk her down the aisle. She’s going to walk down the aisle by herself.”

  I stand up and pull both of them to me. We hug each other for a long moment until it is time to go to work and to school. We know her father will not accept her decision without a fight.

  When we get home that night, we sit down to dinner. We don’t speak as we sit around the table. Dwayne lays down his fork with a clank. We look up at him in surprise. He pulls a bulky envelope from his back pocket. He hands it to Stephanie. She opens it to find a thick stack of money inside.

  He tells us he has pawned some of his tools to put together some money for the wedding. He grins at us. “Go buy yourself a wedding dress.”

  THE DANCE

  Two years have passed since I’ve seen my son Steven. On Stephanie’s wedding day, I do. He slips into the hard wooden pew in front of me with his daughter, Danielle, and keeps his face turned away from me and my mother, who sits by my left side. Now he sits directly in front of me. His rigid back in his black suit communicates his simmering anger.

  Danielle climbs up on the seat, and her small body leans across the back of it toward my mother. She does not know it is her great grandmother. Mom knows she is her great granddaughter. She reaches out and takes her tiny, delicate hand. Danielle laughs. She stretches out her arms.

  Suddenly Steven swerves around to face us. He jerks Danielle away from Mom. He plops her down on his lap. He turns his back to us again. Danielle cries loudly. The small crowd in the Catholic church stares at us for a moment. I glance at Mom. Tears drip down her face. I hand her a tissue, and she smears her makeup as she wipes them off.

  A voice whispers, “Mary, I hope you’re happy.” I look up to see Tom standing by me. His hand clutches the edge of the back of the bench, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

  I feel Dwayne on my right begin to rise, but I place my hand on his arm. He drops back down onto the seat.

  It is the first time I have seen Tom since the day I brought my new husband to his house. I stare at Tom without speaking until he moves forward to sit with Steven. He lays one hand on our son’s shoulder.

  Music fills the chapel, and the moment of tension passes. We stand and turn to face the back of the church.

  Two of Stephanie’s friends stroll slowly down the aisle. Their pale pink dresses glow in the candlelight. Stephanie steps into the doorway.

  The organ music rises in volume. Stephanie reaches down and pushes back the stiff white lace of her dress. She steps forward and paces down the aisle.

  When she comes to reach the row where we are standing, Stephanie stops. We look at each other and smile. Dwayne sticks out his hand, and she clasps it for a moment.

  In front of me, Tom turns and glares at me. I see his jaw muscles clenching beneath his skin. Dwayne and Stephanie let go of each other. She continues her march up to the altar. I hear the whispers as people steal quick glances at us, trying to figure out what just happened.

  She reaches the altar and puts her hand on John’s arm. The priest raises his hand. He asks who gives this woman in marriage. Dwayne, Tom, and I answer in unison that we do, but we avoid looking at each other. Tom keeps his back turned to us.

  The wedding proceeds without incident. Near the end the priest asks Stephanie and John to sit on the front pew. I tense. This is not part of the traditional wedding mass.

  The priest raises his hand as if he is blessing us. “I would like to talk about the sacred nature of marriage.” Both the groom’s and the bride’s side of the church hold their breath. Each side contains a divorced mother and father. “This new marriage will bring the pieces of two broken families together. Their love will unite all of them as one family.”

  I stare at my son and my granddaughter and blink furiously to keep the tears back. Danielle’s large blue eyes stare at me over Steven’s shoulder. Tears still fill them from her crying. They are her father’s eyes. They are my mother’s eyes. Dwayne reaches over and takes my hand. He gently rubs his thumb across my palm.

  At the front of the chapel the priest motions Stephanie and John to join him again at the altar. He firmly pronounces them man and wife. They walk quickly down the aisle.

  Still holding hands, Dwayne and I start to follow them. Steven and Tom push past us and exit the church. We follow them with Mom bringing up the rear. We drive in silence to the country club for the reception.

  The overpowering smell of roses fills the dining room at the club. Each parent of the newlyweds collects a small circle of family and friends around them. Our side contains several friends in black leather vests and motorcycle boots. Long beards are neatly trimmed today. They have slicked back their hair into tight pony-tails. Women in silk dresses with glittering diamonds and men in custom-fitted tuxedos fill the groom’s side.

  Nervous laughter rings out now and then. The bartender keeps busy filling up glasses from the margarita machine. Stephanie and John circle among the tables.

  Music soon fills the room from a small group of musicians who have set up at the front. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the bride’s dance with her father.”

  Tom and Stephanie stand in front of the band and then turn to face each other. The band plays a Sinatra song. Slowly, Tom and Stephanie dance around the floor in carefully measured steps. Stephanie’s stiff hand lies on her father’s shoulder.

  Suddenly, the music changes. “Amarillo by Morning.” George Strait. Stephanie steps away from her father. I realize Dwayne has moved to the front of the room. He and Stephanie join hands. They smile at each other. They gracefully begin to move rhythmically into the intricate steps of the Texas two-step. The white lace of her dress pools over his dark cowboy boots. Dwayne says something to her, and she laughs softly.

  Tom backs away and turns on his heel. The door slams behind him as he leaves the room.

  Steven begins to follow his father. I grab his elbow when he passes by me, and he swerves to face me. “You planned this, didn’t you? It’s not enough that you humiliated Dad by leaving him.”

  He adds that he will never forgive me for marrying again so soon.

  He shakes off my hand on his arm. His face whitens, and I recognize the fierce face of his father that I saw often during our marriage.

  “Steven, please,” I beg him. I keep my voice low, so it can’t be heard above the music.

  He pushes me back against the table. A glass falls and spills its contents onto the starched white tablecloth. He rushes out of the room, and I follow him. Behind me George Strait sings about being home by morning. My daughter and husband share a dance.

  In the hall Steven stops with a lurch. He turns to face me, and he clenches one hand against his leg. “How could you leave me?”

  “I didn’t leave you. I left your father.” I start to reach out to wipe his tears away but drop my hand.

  “Women,” he spits out. “You’re all alike.” I stare at him in confusion.

  He wraps his hand aro
und my forearm and grips it tightly. Pain shoots up my arm. “Didn’t you wonder why Danielle’s mother isn’t with us? Oh, yeah, probably not. You have your new husband to worry about.” He drops my arm. “Well, she left me too. Just walked out the door for a new man. Both of you. Whores.”

  He moves closer until his face is inches from mine. “Leave me the hell alone.”

  The outside door opens. Sunlight pours into the hall. We turn and see Tom in the doorway. He scowls at both of us, and I press myself against the wall. My heart beats loudly in my ears while an old fear fills my throat.

  Tom strides down the hall and into the dining room. Steven follows him. My son turns to look at me before he enters the room. His lips move. I want to believe he says he’s sorry.

  I rub my arm where his fingers have left angry red marks. I go back to the dining room. Dwayne and Stephanie are sitting at the table with my mom and his mother, Roberta. Dwayne waves his hands through the air as he talks. The margarita in his glass sloshes up and down the sides. Everyone is laughing at his story.

  Dwayne looks up and waves to me to come join them. I weave my way through the crowded tables. When I reach our table, Dwayne stands up and hugs me. He bends down and looks at my face closely, sensing something is wrong.

  “Did you see our dance, Mom?” Stephanie asks. I smile and nod.

  I lean and whisper in Dwayne’s ear, “Please can we get out of here for a minute?”

  Without speaking, he takes my hand and leads me out of the room. We sit in our car in the parking lot. I tell him about my confrontation with Steven. I calm his angry response. We just join hands for several minutes.

  He reaches for a cigarette. I fix my makeup. We go back inside.

  After Stephanie and John leave for their honeymoon, we stand at the front door and watch people leave. Tom and Steven are among the first to go. They pass us without speaking. Steven straps Danielle into her car seat, and then they drive away. I doubt I will ever see my son again.

  THE BRIDGE

  The old man rubs his head, which is barely covered by his thin, fine white hair, and then he waves his gnarled brown hand toward a highway sign. “The suspension bridge is down that road. Over by San Saba.” He removes the gas nozzle out of his truck and clangs it back into the pump. “I think so, anyway. Ain’t never been there myself.”