“Don’t do this,” I plead on a whisper, pushing firmly against his chest until he’s forced to let me go. “Please don’t.” My voice cracks and my nose stings with tears I struggle to hold onto.
His arms drop to his side.
“Baby, I spent the last couple of days watching my father disintegrate before my eyes. I always knew Momma was a force all on her own, but I never realized she was what kept him standing. It scares me.”
“That doesn’t have to be us,” I try, even as I hear the resolve in his voice.
His beautiful blue eyes look pained when he says, “Last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
“Then don’t!” I yell, but he just shakes his head.
“I need to learn to stop myself from letting that darkness pull me under, without you there shining your light to guide my way. I have to find my own strength, Lissie.”
I lose the battle and tears stream down my face as I dart out of the office and run through the clubhouse, keeping my head low. I have to dig in my purse for my keys only to drop them from my trembling hands.
“I’ve got it, gorgeous.” Tse bends down and grabs my keys, hitting the remote lock before straightening up. “But I don’t think you should be driving.”
“I’m fine.” I wipe my sleeve over my eyes.
“Sweetheart, normally I’d agree with that, and I ain’t sure what that knucklehead said to you, but it’s clear you’re not okay. Hop in. I’m driving.”
Last thing I want is to stand here arguing in full view of the clubhouse, so I climb in and scoot over to the passenger side. I’m thankful Tse is silent when he starts my truck and backs out.
I look out the side window when tears well up again, and this time I let them fall. I didn’t expect I would hurt this much. Didn’t realize how deeply invested I already was.
The worst thing is; I understand his point. I’m gutted, even though I get what he’s saying: without a steady foundation there’s no way you can build something solid. After the day I had today, it’s a hard blow.
One that leaves me with nothing to hold on to.
“How are you getting back?” I ask when Tse pulls up outside my apartment.
“One of the guys will come get me.”
“I’m sorry about this.”
“Got nothin’ to be sorry about, sweetheart.”
He turns off the engine and jumps out of the truck. I do the same on my side and hear the lock click. He comes up the stairs behind me and reaches around to unlock my door before handing me the keys and heading back to the stairs.
“You can wait inside, if you like,” I offer, even though my heart isn’t in it. All I want to do is crawl into bed and forget this day.
“Nah, I’m good out here. You get some rest.”
“Thanks, Tse. I…I appreciate it.”
“No problem, and for the record; love my brother, but he’s a goddamn idiot. Just don’t give up on him yet; I’m sure he’ll smarten up. Give him some time.”
I don’t know about that, but I still manage to nod and throw Tse a watery smile before closing the door. I don’t even bother turning on the lights and head straight for my bedroom, where I strip and crawl into bed, but sleep doesn’t come until the early hours of morning.
Yuma
“You fucked up, brother.”
I’m sitting on the picnic table outside the clubhouse, trying to get away from the decent crowd inside when Trunk joins me.
The service for Momma this afternoon was simple, just like the woman she was. She didn’t much believe in organized religion, so there was no minister or pastor attending, but Ouray gave a eulogy that had a lump sit thick in my throat. My father was stoic, up to the point where we lowered her body in the ground. He broke down then, and it took both Ouray and me to get him back to the truck.
Lisa put on a big spread and some friends—both local and out of town—were already gathering when we got back to the clubhouse. After saying my hellos and making sure Nosh was settled in with some food—and eating a bite myself—I disappeared out here. Inside the booze started flowing and therefore the noise level started rising to the point where it was becoming uncomfortable. As were the meaningful looks Ginger was sending me. The irony doesn’t escape me, since not that long ago I probably would’ve been all over that, looking for an escape.
I haven’t really had a chance to talk to Trunk since the night Momma died. I’ve been holed up in the house with Nosh, only surfacing for a bite to eat. Usually by that time, Trunk would’ve left for home to have dinner with his family.
I’ve already been chopped into verbal mincemeat by Tse a couple of nights ago, which almost ended in a brawl had Ouray and Paco not stepped in, so I’m not exactly waiting for another dressing-down. Not fucking today.
“Trunk…”
“Warned you, brother,” he continues anyway. “Story goes you had her beelining it out of here in tears.”
“For her own good.”
“You the expert? On what’s good for her? You’re full of shit, my friend.”
I don’t need this now. Moving to get up, I feel his hand on my arm, holding me back.
“Running again?”
I shake my arm loose. “Not fucking running from anything, brother,” I sneer.
“Like hell you’re not. You’re always running and hiding. First in the bottle, then in that little apartment, and now in your father’s house. Fuck, you even hide your grief behind your father’s.”
“Let up, Trunk,” I growl in warning.
I’m seething—I came out here for some peace and quiet—but Trunk holds fast when I try to pull away.
“Fuck no. I ain’t done yet. You’re running from her too. Sobriety is more than not picking up that bottle. It’s having your eyes wide open. Hearing, smelling, tasting everything like it’s brand-new. It’s being stripped raw and every real emotion abrading your soul. It’s feeling every fucking thing like it’s the first time—good and bad. It’s overwhelming.”
He lets his hand drop from my arm but I don’t move, because what he says resonates. He continues in a calmer voice.
“You got hit with a lot, brother, and I commend you for not grabbing for that drink, but sending that woman packing was not the right move. Nothing but negative feelings left now. Nothing to help balance that scale, for you or for her. Don’t delude yourself.”
With that he gets up and saunters casually back inside.
I don’t know how long I stay sitting on that picnic bench, staring unfocused off in the distance, his words slowly burning the message into my bones.
Eventually, Ouray wanders outside; he doesn’t even notice me sitting there as he taps a cigarette from his pack.
“Bum one?” I ask and he whips around.
“Shit. Yeah, sure.” He walks up and hands me the pack. “Thought you’d left,” he says casually, as he lights my smoke for me.
“Nah. How’s Nosh doing?”
I’m still bleeding from that earlier lashing, I don’t need another one.
“Surprisingly good, actually. He’s hanging with the boys at the bar. How are you holdin’ up?”
“Don’t know,” I tell him with brutal honesty. “Can’t quite believe she’s gone.” I take a deep tug on the cigarette, the burn in my lungs a distraction as I blow out circles of smoke. “Was gone for a good while already, but I guess I always stupidly hoped she’d come back. She’d know who I am, could see I’m trying to turn my life around. Instead her last words to me were, ‘Who are you?’”
“Shit, Yuma.” Ouray’s voice reflects the pain I feel. He loved her too.
“Yeah. Kills me, man.”
“She loved you, brother. You’ve gotta know that.”
“I know. Woulda been nice if she could be proud’a me too. I never gave her that chance.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. Nothing to say. It’s the brutal truth.
We sit here smoking in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, when the clubhouse door opens and Lisa’s litt
le girl, Kiara, comes wandering outside.
“Hey, sweetheart. Where are you off to?”
She turns to face me, big tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Boys are stupid,” she says, with quite a bit of venom behind that singsong voice.
I hear Ouray stifle a chuckle before he shoves off the table and heads for the door, ruffling the little girl’s hair. “All yours, brother,” he says, with a grin in my direction before slipping back inside.
“Come here, honey,” I invite the little girl to come sit beside me.
When she’s close enough, I lift her on the table beside me. She immediately leans in to me and I leave an arm around her narrow shoulders.
“Tell me about the stupid boys.”
“Thomas says Momma ain’t a star, but my nana say she is, watching over us. Like my mama. When you’re gone you turn into one.”
“A star?”
She nods so vigorously; her curls bounce around her face.
“Thomas says it’s stupid, but he’s stupid. Thomas says his mama was put in the ground.”
I find it interesting that Thomas—the youngest of the two boys Ouray took in after the ANL raid in Moab last year—would say something like that. From what I understand, neither of the boys has ever talked about their real families. It was assumed because they were too young to remember when they were taken, but maybe the information was just buried too deep. I should mention something to Trunk.
“Well,” I start cautiously, wondering how in hell I’m gonna explain this to a five-year-old. “Maybe we can figure this out. Let’s have a look.” I lie down on my back on the picnic table, and Kiara copies me. Thank God for the clear weather tonight. At this elevation, the stars seem so close and there are plenty out tonight. “See that? Lots of stars. Which one do you think is Momma’s?”
“That one.” She points up at a bright one. Then she indicates another one. “And that’s my mama.”
“Huh, guess you were right. But you know, maybe Thomas is a little right too. We buried my momma in the ground, but now I can see her up in the sky. Maybe you’re both right.”
“It’s magic,” Kiara whispers.
Who am I to argue with magic?
I close my eyes and let some of the little girl’s magic soothe me. I don’t even realize tears are slipping from the corners of my eyes until I feel a little hand on my face. When I open them, I find a very worried Kiara leaning over me.
“Are you sad, Mr. Yuma?”
I smile at her. “I am, but you’re making it better.”
After I’m done eating a slice of pecan pie—Kiara dragged me inside because, according to her, the best cure for being sad is Nana’s pie—I check in on Nosh, who is nodding off on his barstool.
“Ready to go home?”
My answer is a nod, and he slides off the stool. He looks tired, old, and hangs on to my arm like it’s a lifeline. We forego doing the rounds, and with a quick thank-you for Lisa and a wave for the rest, I lead him outside.
The fresh air seems to do him good because by the time we get to the cabin, he’s walking on his own. The moment we step through the front door he turns.
“Your mother didn’t raise a fool,” he signs, taking me aback. “I appreciate you looking after me, but I know she’d want me to knock some sense into you. Had fifty or so good years with Momma, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Give up anything to have just a few minutes more.”
He steps close and clasps a hand around the side of my neck. Something he hasn’t done since I was a kid. His watery eyes burn into mine as he says out loud in his raspy voice, “Don’t waste time, boy. You’ll regret it later.”
CHAPTER 20
Lissie
I DIDN’T SLEEP much again, but at least I managed to keep my mind occupied, otherwise I would’ve spent it thinking about Yuma burying his mother today.
The past few days I hung in there, going through the motions, keeping myself as busy as possible with work. Being teamed up with VanDyken during the day, working on some cold cases and whatever new case comes in, hasn’t been bad. It’s when it’s time to head home to my pathetic loveseat—which I enjoyed so much more before I got used to Yuma’s large body lounging on it with me—I have a hard time.
I may no longer be on the Wildcat Canyon case, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to find out what happened to Dani. So the last couple of nights, I’ve just stopped in at home to change, before heading back out on my own time. It served the dual purpose of avoiding Lisa checking up on me as well. Both made me feel a little guilty, but not enough to stay home and risk looking for other ways to cope.
To be honest, I’m not quite sure where to start, so I had a few larger copies printed of the picture I have of Dani straddling a motorcycle. I’ve been knocking on doors at phase one of the Wildcat Canyon development, hoping someone perhaps has seen her.
One hundred and seventy-two houses on eleven streets. It’ll take more than a couple of days to cover them all, but at least I’m doing something.
Tonight I’m back at the new subdivision, marking off the houses where the owners are home on my little map. I don’t even have to identify myself as Durango PD, all I ask if they would mind looking at a picture. They don’t even question me with the heavy police presence in the neighborhood. So far no one’s seen her. I know it’s far-fetched, but all it takes is one person.
After about two hours, my feet are killing me. Every night, I park my car in the small, new strip mall on the road into the development and I do everything on foot. Mainly because, even though I’m technically not doing anything wrong, I don’t want to be seen by any of the DPD cruisers regularly patrolling these streets. I’ve seen them a couple of times, and would duck my head as they drove by, tugging on the bill of my ball cap down to hide my face.
Two more houses to do on this street and then I’ll call it a night. It’s getting a bit too late to be knocking on doors anyway.
At the first house a young kid—maybe fourteen—answers the door. His parents aren’t home and I don’t want to ask him anything without an adult present. I don’t mark the house, so I’ll remember to revisit.
There’s an SUV in the driveway of the last house but all the lights are off inside, so I decide to skip. Last thing I want is to get someone out of bed and have them pissed at me. Having a hard time not to feel defeated, I head back to my truck.
While I walk, I’m starting to wonder if I’m just spinning my wheels. Even if Dani is one of the two more recently deceased found on the construction site, the likelihood is she didn’t just happen to hang around this neighborhood: she was brought here. This is stupid.
The only other thing I can think of is taking her picture to any known biker hangouts, but other than the Arrow’s Edge MC clubhouse, I don’t really know any. Maybe Lisa would know, which would mean answering the questions I’m sure she has for me.
I get an idea when I walk up to the small plaza and step into the convenience store my truck is parked in front of. I’ve handed out a copy of Dani’s picture to two people who asked for it so they could ask their spouse later, and I jotted my cell phone on the back. I still have quite a few left.
Against the far wall of the store I find packing tape, a Sharpie, and scissors hanging from a pegboard. In the corner I spot a display with sheets of poster board and pick a white one. I take all my purchases to the counter.
“Did you find everything?” the middle-aged Asian lady asks, as she starts ringing in my items.
“I did, but I have a favor to ask. A friend of mine is missing and I was wondering if I could put a picture of her up somewhere in your store. Maybe on the window?”
I pull out one of the copies and show her.
“Sure. On the door so people see when they walk in. Fourteen thirty-five, please.” She rattles off what I owe her without breaking stride. “Pretty girl. How long she been missing?”
“Last I heard from her was the beginning of this year. So eight months.” I count out my bills
on the counter.
She hums and shakes her head. “So many bad things happen.”
Oh, I know all too well.
She lets me use the counter to cut the poster board in four equal pieces. I turn them into makeshift flyers with Dani’s picture taped to the front—the word ‘missing’ at the top and ‘please contact:’ with my phone number at the bottom—and attach one to the door.
“Thank you,” I call out to the lady before heading outside.
I’m allowed to hang one in the window of the pizza joint a few doors down as well, when I stop in to pick up a small meat lovers for a late dinner. I toss the box with the two remaining posters in the passenger seat of my truck and hop behind the wheel.
Once home, I change into my flannel pj pants and a tee, before sitting down in front of the TV with my pizza and a glass of tea. I’ve just found an episode of NCIS I haven’t seen yet, when a knock sounds on my door. Probably Lisa. I may as well get it over with
The last person I expect when I open my door is Yuma. That pisses me off, and I’m about to tell him so when I notice he looks wrecked. Then I remember the man just buried his mother today.
“Can I come in?”
Even his voice sounds tortured, and although I know it’s the last thing I should do, I step aside and let him in. He stops in the middle of the room and turns to face me. I close the door, leaning my back against it as we stare at each other.
“How are you doing?”
He shrugs. “Hanging in. Tough day.”
I nod my understanding as his eyes bore into mine.
“I don’t know what you want,” I finally say.
“Not clear myself,” he admits in a low voice. “I just know I want you, but I fucked it up, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
I hate myself for the flicker of hope his words invoke.
“I don’t know either.”
“What I said at the clubhouse…it’s true, you deserve much better, but who the fuck am I to argue if it’s me you want? Truth is, I was scared—am scared—of this feeling; I can’t breathe when I’m not with you.”
That hope blooms a little bigger, but then I remember how close I’ve come these past days to falling off the deep end. It would’ve been so easy to soothe myself with a bottle, and I had to fight so hard to resist. I’m not sure how strong I’d be if I had to go through that again.
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