Calm & Storm (The Night Horde SoCal Book 6)

by Susan Fanetti

  When Riley had almost fully retired, they’d simply settled in. This house had offered them every relaxation and recreation they’d wanted. Their best days had been spent in their own home.

  The one that was now empty. The one that they would never see again.

  For the first time, now that it was too late, real, stabbing doubt about the decision he’d made rose up and turned Bart’s stomach. He’d built his life with Riley in this house. How could he have thought to leave it?

  Because his children no longer felt safe.

  “Can we swim one more time before we go to Granny’s?” Lexi asked.

  “Yeah! Swim! I want to swim, Daddy!” Deck chimed in.

  Bart looked down at his oldest son. “Ian? You in?”

  With a shrug, Ian said, “Yeah, okay,” which was the most enthusiastic he seemed able to be.

  “Let’s do it, then.”

  ~oOo~

  That night, Bibi hosted a farewell party. The whole SoCal family came to say goodbye—including Ronin and his family: a wife, a grown son, and a daughter-in-law-to-be. Bart knew he’d been out of it around the club for a long time, but that had still shocked him to his toes. There had to have been a fascinating story in there. He wondered if Roe would ever tell anybody what it was.

  It was early October, but temperatures stayed warm late into the year in the Inland Empire, so they had a cookout and ate in the backyard. It was just like so many family parties they’d had over the years: people eating and drinking, talking and laughing, couples being affectionate, kids playing, babies passed from lap to lap. Muse and Sid had brought their dog, Cliff, with them, and Trick and Juliana and their daughters had brought their new puppy, a little white puff of a thing, a female they were calling Artie. Big old Cliff wasn’t quite sure what to make of the tribble at his feet, but he was gentle, and he herded the kids away when they got too rowdy.

  So much of the night was comfortable and familiar, recalling the best of times. But so much was different, was missing. Bart sat on the deck, nursing a beer, and saw a family that was strong, love that was healing.

  He saw it, but he didn’t feel it. He couldn’t heal here.

  Maybe Hoosier had been right for all those years. Maybe Bart had left a boot in Missouri. If he hadn’t, maybe he would have sought out the surrounding love of the people gathered to offer him and his children a loving goodbye.

  Maybe it had been only Riley who’d truly bound him to this place.

  Three months ago, he would have insisted that wasn’t true. But now he didn’t know.

  When it was time to say goodbye, there were tears and hugs. Lucie clung hard to Lexi, weeping. Lexi, older and always trying to be older still, patted her back and talked quietly to her until Lucie sniffled and let go. Then Lexi took off the little beaded bracelet she’d made from a kit and gave it to Lucie.

  Trick crouched at his daughter’s side and helped her put it on next to the charm bracelet she also wore. Then Lucie flung her arms around him. Holding her tightly, Trick gave Lexi a kind smile and put his hand gently on her arm.

  As more cracks formed in his chest, Bart collected his children. They had to get out. They had to put an end to loss.

  He got everybody buckled into their seats in the truck. When he turned, Bibi was standing right behind him.

  She grabbed his shirt in both fists and gave it a shake. “Don’t you disappear, Bart Elstad. Don’t you forget you got family here, too. We love you. You bring those kiddos back to see me every now and again.”

  “I will, Mama.” He hugged her hard. When he let her go, she blew kisses to the kids and walked away. Connor caught her and drew her close.

  The whole SoCal family stood on the lawn and waved as Bart pulled away.

  ~oOo~

  The next morning, as he got the last of their things packed into the Tahoe and he and the kids had done one final tour of their empty, echoing house, the world around them roared with heavy thunder.

  They’d been standing in their empty playroom. Knowing what they were hearing, all three kids hurried to the front and out the door. Lexi, with her limp, lagged behind. Bart followed just behind her.

  Every SoCal patch was arrayed on the street in front of his house.

  He knew what it meant, but he hadn’t expected it. They were riding with them out of town. It was an honor, all the greater because Bart was rockerless, without a charter until he reached Signal Bend. And since he was driving out of town, he wouldn’t even be wearing colors at all.

  The riders dismounted and gave his kids one last hug, shook his hand, grabbed his arm one last time. Then they got back on their bikes, and Bart loaded up his family.

  The Horde rode with them all the way to the border, then surged around his truck, waving as they passed, and pulled off at the last California exit.

  Bart held up his hand in farewell until he’d driven fully past the exit. Then he swallowed down the lump and blinked away the blur, and he drove on toward Signal Bend.

  Home.

  ~oOo~

  They had to stop every couple of hours for bathroom breaks, and to eat, and so Lexi and Bart could work the stiffness out of her leg, but they’d left early enough that the autumn sun was just starting its fall toward evening when they arrived at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.

  Before he checked them into the hotel, he parked and took the kids to the edge, hoisting Lexi onto his back when it hurt her too much to walk after the long ride. When they got to the guard rail, he started to set her down, but she held on. She didn’t say anything, but she clearly wanted to stay close, so he bounced her a little and stabilized her seat on his back and in his arms.

  It was October, the very tail end of the ‘season,’ on the chilly side, and at the end of the day, so there weren’t many people around. They weren’t entirely alone, but it was still peaceful, and it was impossible to stand at the rim, look down so deep and across so wide at the prehistoric magnificence of the canyon, and not feel at least a small portion of peace.

  Even Deck felt it. Holding Ian’s hand, he leaned on his brother’s arm and sighed. Ian, for his part, didn’t shrug him off. He, too, seemed transfixed.

  “It’s so pretty,” Lexi whispered, her chin moving on Bart’s shoulder.

  “It is. First time I saw it, I was about your age, Ian. My grandma had told me the tall tale about Paul Bunyan. You know that one?”

  Lexi fidgeted in his hold; she knew the story, too, and it was hard for her not to say so and show off, but he hushed her quietly, and she settled. He wanted Ian to talk, if he would.

  His gaze cast across the canyon, Ian nodded. “He was so tired after a hard day of work that he dropped his axe and let it drag behind him, and his axe was so big and so heavy that it made the Grand Canyon.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was he a giant?” Deck asked, standing up straight again.

  “Yeah, Deck,” Ian answered. “He had a giant blue ox, too. Named Babe. It’s just a story, though. Not real.”

  “Oh,” Deck sighed, disappointed. Then he pointed. “Daddy, look! Horsies!”

  The last mule trip of the day was coming up the canyon trail. “Yeah, Deck. I see.”

  “Wanna ride!”

  “Can we, Daddy?” Lexi asked at his ear.

  “Sorry, guys. I think those are booked up a long time in advance.” He turned his head so he could see his girl at the corner of his eye. “I don’t know if you could anyway, Lex. It’s a long time in a saddle.”

  He felt her long, sad sigh against his chest, and he saw her resigned nod. “Okay.”

  “Your leg’s gonna get better, baby princess. It’s still healing, and we’ll get you back in therapy when we get to Signal Bend.”

  She nodded again, this time a bit more brightly. Bart knew she was trying to be strong and brave. Knowing he needed to get them back to that little slice of peace they’d found, he said, “Let’s go check in, and then we can look around. There’s a lot of stuff we can do tonight, and tomorro
w, too.

  ~oOo~

  Their suite had a view of the canyon. They’d all stood and watched the sun go down before they went to the hotel restaurant for dinner. Bart had noticed that the sky, though mostly free of clouds, had a greenish tinge.

  So he wasn’t surprised when, in the middle of the night, a thunderstorm broke over the canyon, complete with spectacular light and sound and heavy sheets of pouring rain. His children, born and raised in Southern California, had never experienced real thunder and lightning, nothing more than a gentle flicker or a slight cough from the clouds.

  Deck had already been sleeping in the king-size bed with him and had flung himself against his father at the first thunderclap. Lexi and Ian had been in fold-outs in the living room. By the third strike and clap of a nearby lightning strike, Bart had all three kids in bed with him.

  Bart got up and opened the drapes as far as they would, then turned off all the lights.

  “What are you doing?” Lexi asked, worry sharpening her tone.

  As he climbed back in amidst his children, another strike hit, and they saw it—a long white blade slicing through the sky, breaking off into three branches as it neared the ground of the North Rim. Such a close strike, just across the canyon, brought thunder right with it. Deck squealed, Lexi gasped, and Ian whispered, “Whoa. Cool.”

  “Thunderstorms are one of my favorite things. Especially nighttime ones. My grandma and grandpa used to get me up and we’d all go out on their screen porch and watch. We’d get wet when the wind blew the rain through the screens, but that was fun, too.”

  “You never said that before,” Lexi said.

  “Haven’t seen a thunderstorm like this since before you were born, Lex. Guess I forgot how great they were.”

  Another strike hit, and the kids all oohed at it like they were at a fireworks show.

  “Do they happen a lot where we’re going?” Ian asked.

  “Yeah, bud. They do. Not every day. But often enough. My grandma and grandpa’s porch had a tin roof, and the rain made the coolest sound you ever heard on it.”

  “Are we going to their house?” Deck asked, climbing into Bart’s lap.

  Bart kissed his head. “No, little man. They died a long time ago, and their house isn’t there anymore, either.”

  “Are they in heaven with Mommy, too?”

  Someday, emotion wouldn’t rock him when his kids asked about their mom. But not this day. Bart took a calming breath before he answered. “Yeah, Deck. They are.”

  “Does the house we’re moving to have a screen porch with a tin roof?” Ian asked.

  He’d bought the house with Lilli’s help, and he’d bought it quickly, with only a few texted photos to orient him to which house it was and where in town.

  While the sky flashed outside and the air rumbled and rained, he reached over to the nightstand and picked up his phone. Scrolling through his photos, each photo of Riley as sharp as a blade, he got to the photos of the house. “It does. Look.” He handed the phone to Lexi, and Ian and Deck leaned over to see, too.

  “It’s not very big,” Lexi said.

  “Not like the one we just left, no. But it’s got four bedrooms, and a barn, and little house that can be like your playroom.” And, off the kitchen, a screen porch with a tin roof.

  “Look! Horsie!” Deck put a pudgy finger on the screen. On the side, almost out of frame, was a piece of rail fencing, a roan horse’s head hanging over it. The photo must have been taken while the previous owners were still there.

  “That’s somebody else’s horse. But we can have animals, if you want. Horses and goats and cats and dogs.”

  “And chickens,” Ian said. “Like at Uncle Deme and Aunt Faith’s?”

  “You bet. That’s the great thing about living in the country. What other things would you like in our new house?”

  Bart and his kids talked about their dreams for their new home until the night got quiet again and they could sleep.

  While all of his children slept, tangled together in his bed, Bart scrolled through his photos of their mother.

  ~oOo~

  There wasn’t much east of the Grand Canyon that Bart or the kids wanted to see, so they rode through the rest of the way, stopping only to refuel the Tahoe or themselves, and to rest for the night. By the time they hit Oklahoma, Deck had had about all he could take of road trips, and his querulous complaints made everyone else cranky, too. No amount of internet or video would distract him from the torture of his car seat. With all three kids in a row in the back seat, one kid getting his brat on turned the whole crew sour.

  When they got to Springfield, about an hour or so out from the end of their long journey, Bart stopped to fill the tank one last time. He took the kids into the mini-mart and let them pick out one of any snack they wanted, sending up a silent apology to his wife who, if she could see, would be appalled as Deck picked a big package of sour candy straws and Ian grabbed a King-Size Snickers bar. Lexi deliberated longest and finally picked a bag of trail mix. His good girl. Even her candy choices were thoughtful.

  She tried to make Ian and Deck make better choices, too, but they were both used to her bossing them around and had learned to tune her out. Well, not tune her out exactly; Deck waved his sour straws at her, stuck his tongue out, and wiggled his butt.

  Lexi turned and gave Bart an exasperated look. He smiled and returned a look that indicated she should let it go.

  While the kids were occupied making their selections, Bart called Lilli to let her know they weren’t far out and to ask her to meet him so he could get the keys to their new house. Isaac’s old lady said of course, she’d be there waiting for him.

  With that squared away, and the candy and fuel paid for, Bart piled everybody back into a truck that was beginning to smell a little weird, and made his way back onto I-44, a highway as familiar to him as the grooves in his own palms.

  The candy kept Deck, and his siblings, too, quiet for the remainder of the drive. Bart decided he could worry about the sugar crash when it came. For now, his children were content and quiet, and he was almost home.

  ~oOo~

  The Welcome to Signal Bend! sign was a fresh new version of the original, its colors bright and its welcome warm and sincere. For the first stretch past that new sign, everything looked as he remembered. When things started to change in the view, they changed quickly.

  Tuck’s looked exactly the same, he was glad to see. A roughneck bar should not undergo serious improving.

  He rode by the street to the Night Horde clubhouse and glanced in that direction. Signal Bend Construction, sharing the same property and owned by the club, had expanded dramatically; he could tell from this distance.

  Then he rounded the bend that led into the heart of town, and his jaw opened. The town he’d lived in had just begun to climb out of the open grave of its near death when he’d moved away, and the few times he’d been back since, he’d seen only the first stirrings of new life—a refreshed Main Street, a couple new businesses, a few old houses restored and lived in again. Around that fresh new core, though, the edges had still been tattered and decayed.

  But Signal Bend, a town that had been gasping its last, wheezy breath when he’d last lived here, was now prospering. He’d known that, of course. He’d been told about developments as they’d happened, anytime he’d talked to an old friend. But seeing with his own eyes was different.

  Main Street looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. It was bigger; the original clapboard buildings and wooden walkways had been extended by two blocks on either side, new construction built to blend with two-hundred-year-old history. The signs on those new storefronts identified several clothing and jewelry shops, a bookstore, a new barbecue café, a toy shop, a dentist, and a hair salon.

  The bar Valhalla Vin, another Night Horde property, had seemed to stand out like a diamond in dirt the last time he’d been to town. Now, other businesses in freshly restored or outright new buildings had grown up around it.

&
nbsp; Len’s wife, Tasha, a doctor, had started a medical clinic in the guts of an old burger joint. It had expanded to about twice the size of that old restaurant.

  The IGA, new since he’d moved away, had already expanded. Marie’s diner, an institution, had a paved parking lot.

  And, as he passed through that heart of town, he saw something that almost had him slamming on the brakes. Off to the left—a low stone wall, just forming a corner at the intersection of Main and Juniper, with a brass sign bolted to it: Signal Bend Station.