The Dust and the Roar Page 31

  In the month that he’d been in Meager, he’d filled out, gained weight in all the right places. He looked healthy, strong. Working out at our clubhouse gym helped him, and football was getting him in a groove at school. He mostly kept quiet and to himself, the school counselor informed me, but he was well-behaved, and his teachers had no complaints.

  “You’re the best, Dee. Thanks,” said Miller as he drank milk straight from the carton.

  “You bet, honey.” Dee squeezed his long arm. “You need anything, you call me. Do not hesitate. Any time. I’ll be calling you to check in, too.”

  “Thanks, Dee,” I said.

  “You bet, darling. Anytime. You be good out there,” she shouted out as she made her way down my front walk and into her car.

  A splat of color caught my eye among Miller’s mess of notebooks, textbooks, and papers spread out on the kitchen table. I stood still taking it in.

  “What?” he asked, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand. “What is it?”

  I pulled the slip of paper out from under a page of math equations. “You did this?”

  “Yeah.” He tossed the empty milk carton in the garbage can. He made a face. “Just a sketch. Got in trouble for doing it when I should’ve been listening in Social Studies. Man, that is one boring class. Did Mr. Carter call you or something?”

  It was way more than some sketch. It was a dragon setting a lake on fire. Or was he drinking the fiery lake? The water’s colors were vivid, bold, the lines of the dragon simple but the creature was full of emotion, full of rage, the lake of fire alive.

  “This is really good, bud.”

  He didn’t answer. Only made a pile of his notebooks.

  “I like it a lot,” I said. Still no reply.

  “You good with me going out of town, Mill? I can stay, if you—”

  “I don’t need no babysitter. I’m fine. You’ll be miserable that you didn’t get to ride your new chopper and show her off.”

  “She deserves showing off.” I grinned.

  “She does. I’ll be fine. I got plenty of food and plenty of fucking homework—”

  “Hey, language.”

  “Sorry.”

  I cupped his neck and slapped him on the back, taking in his scent of the baby shampoo we used and my manly deodorant soap on his skin. “I’ll be back Monday morning.” Best to keep the kid on his toes. “But you never know.”

  “Yep, I know,” he plopped himself back in a chair and got back to his homework.

  * * *

  I rode hard and fast, as hard and fast as being a Road Captain allowed.

  I found myself wishing for one of my brothers to have trouble with their bike so we’d have to pull over, and then, after I got that shit fixed, we’d ride fast, ride the line, weave in between the eighteen wheelers and the small Japanese cars that seemed to fill the road today.

  But no such luck.

  Everyone was in top form.

  Of course they were. We’d come a long way. The closer we got to the site, the more bike clubs were on the road in their formations. We didn’t have to weave between no trucks or buzz cars out of our way. We were the way. Best rush ever.

  Dig and the boys had brought plenty of product with them, having made hiding places in the gas tank. He sold it all at the campsite. Mick made plans to sell our new brand of meth, but we’d all agreed that a slow trickle of it was the best way to go. Just as slowly, word trickled out that we had good shit. We played dumb. We said our source was a mom and pop outfit in Minnesota. There were so many of those now, people bought it.

  Money was coming in, and we kept it tight. We put the money into the clubhouse, the property, security, the repair shop. Our bikes. Things were so good we’d begun discussing opening a new chapter in North Dakota to keep our territory tight. The party in Wyoming rocked. I hadn’t let go like that in a long while, and it felt good. Willy was giving me the stink eye, sending girls my way, but I never took it any further than a mild flirt. They’d get bored and find somebody else.

  I stuck to the bikes. I raced in a couple of showdowns and talked up brothers from other clubs who had amazing choppers. It was good to make new friends, to build on the old friendships. This was what it was all about. A chunk of me was missing, but I could still appreciate the good things in my life.

  Two days later, on the way home, I got a beep, and the next time we stopped for gas, which was right over the South Dakota border, I called.

  “Wreck? It’s Ryan.”

  My pulse quickened. The last time Ryan had called me…“What’s up? What is it?”

  “It’s your brother. Miller.”

  My heart stopped. “What? What about Miller? Is he okay?” I clenched the dirty, cracked plastic of the phone, my one hand jammed against the booth wall.

  “He’s okay, but he’s in danger of getting busted for driving without a license.”

  “What?”

  “And grand theft auto—”

  “WHAT?”

  “The car’s registered to Jake Quillen. That’s your boy, Dig, right? I know it is, I’ve seen him tool around in that gorgeous Camaro—”

  “Ryan, what happened?”

  “Miller was driving way over the speed limit, and highway patrol stopped him. A buddy of mine at the local PD contacted me. He only has a learner’s permit.”

  “Where did they stop him? Where the hell was he headed? Pine Ridge?”

  “Pine Ridge? No, no. He was halfway through Nebraska, heading south.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “They're holding him in Ripton, Nebraska. You on your way home now?”

  “I’m on my way. Should be in Meager in an hour.”

  “I’ll meet you and take you to Ripton.”

  “Ryan? Thanks, man.”

  “You bet.”

  Three hours later I was in the Ripton PD parking lot, Dig getting behind the wheel of his black baby, lifting his chin at us and taking off with Ryan following him back to Meager in his cop car.

  Miller’s gaze was glued to the asphalt. His long, dark hair hanging over his face.

  “You gonna talk to me now?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You said that already. Ten times.”

  “Dig must hate me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you. He gets it. And yeah, I get it. But you’re going to have to rebuild that trust with him and me. But something tells me this was no ordinary joy ride, bud. Where were you going?”

  “You going to hit me?”

  “No, bud, I’m not gonna hit you. I’m going to punish you. But not hit you. Where were you going?”

  He lifted his head, his eyes red, wet. “I wanted to find her.”

  “Her?”

  “Our mother.”

  My head hung, I let out a heavy breath. “Oh, Mill. Why?”

  “Why? Why?” His voice pitched. “‘Cause she’s my mom, and I don’t know her. I barely remember her.”

  “Miller, I know. I—”

  “You know! I don’t. I found this in a book at the house—” He held out an old photo of my mom and dad with me in the middle holding my Star Trek lunch box. My first day of school. “You told me she’s in Oklahoma. I wanted to go find her.”

  “Do you know how big Oklahoma is?”

  His head snapped to the left, his lips smashing together. He’d realized his recklessness. But he was running on pure emotion. Pure hurt.

  “So you were going to Oklahoma in Dig’s Camaro?”

  “The coolest, fastest car.”

  “Terrific. And what were you going to do if you found her? And that is one mighty big if.”

  “I don’t know. But I know I wanted to see her with my own eyes. What is she doing? Who’s she with? Does she think about us? Do I look like her at all?”

  “You got to not care, bud.”

  “I can’t.” His voice was thin, etched in pain. He ached.

  I took him in my arms and held him tight. And for the first time. I said it. “I love you, M
iller.”

  He buried his face in my throat, his arms encircling my middle, hands digging into my back.

  “Get in the truck,” I said. “We’re going to Oklahoma.”

  * * *

  Over seven hours later, I’d found her house in a town a ways north of Guymon in the panhandle of Oklahoma. A sprawling brown shuttered ranch house with two cars parked in the driveway. We sat in the truck and caught a breath. Miller rubbed his big palms up and down his jean covered thighs. I lit a cigarette, glanced at my watch. She should be back any minute.

  A dark-red minivan pulled up the driveway, and the door slid open. A little blonde girl jumped out, dragging a backpack behind her. A boy a little bit older than her sauntered to the front door. “Come on, Ma. I’m hungry!” he said. “You got that pizza you promised yesterday?”

  The driver’s seat door flung open, and out she stepped. Our mother. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. It was platinum now. She wore bright colored lipstick, a flouncy blouse and jeans, and big sunglasses. “Hold on, you two!” she said.

  “Come on, Mommy! I got to pee!” said the girl hopping up and down on her toes, her long blond braid flopping on her back.

  “Here we go, Buttercup—” Cindy said as she opened the door with her keys. They bounded in the house, Cindy slapping the door shut behind her.

  Neither of us said anything. But I knew I had to.

  “I don’t want you wallowing in coulda beens, Miller. There are no coulda beens with her. She broke my dad’s heart, and he never got over it. She upset your dad. She dumped you. I want you to see with your own eyes that she made her decision. She did. Over and over again, she kept making choices. You can’t go searching for something that isn’t there. Of course, you won’t know ‘till you get there. We got here.”

  I felt the heaviness of his gaze on me, and I met it.

  “You saw her like this with my dad and me, didn’t you? You on the outside.”

  “Yeah. She was all into Jason, and all excited about having you.”

  “You don’t have to lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying. He was her big adventure. You were her new chapter. But that didn’t last too long. Jason had to train, to travel, keep his head in the game, and suddenly he had two more people to support. Had to be hard for both of them. Anyway, she got a new idea in her head, a new itch, who knows. There’s no use trying to analyze it. This is her life now, and it’s got nothing to do with us. Frankly, I’m impressed she’s stuck it out this long and is actually raising her new kids. Two of ‘em. Who knows if she’s happy. Maybe she is, maybe not a hundred percent. Maybe she’s faking it. But that’s on her.”

  “You’re analyzing,” Miller said.

  “You’re right.” I tossed the cigarette onto the road.

  “Let’s go home,” Miller said, sliding down the seat.

  “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

  I pulled out of the road, and we left Oklahoma behind us.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  “What’s that?”

  “This is a bike frame.”

  “Doesn’t look anything like a bike.”

  “It’s a frame, Miller. You build the bike around it. And that’s what we’re going to do. You and me.”

  “We are? When?”

  “On the weekends.”

  I’d grounded him for a month. I picked him up from school, and I’d decided we needed to work on a project together. “I got the parts. We’re going to reconstruct this vintage Indian together,” I said.

  “I thought the club had a party to go to tonight, and a run to Idaho next weekend, and—”

  “We do. But I’ve taken time off from being Road Captain, so I’ll be home.”

  His lips parted. “This is ‘cause of me, ‘cause I’m a problem, right?”

  “You are not a problem. You’re my brother. I want to spend time with you. We only get today. No promises on much more. So I figure we’re in this together now. We should make the most of it. What do you think?”

  His mouth dropped open, eyes wide. “Y-you didn’t have to—”

  “I didn’t have to do anything, bud. I’m choosing to be here with you. There’s always another run and another party. Always. I want us to build this bike together, and one day, you’ll come on those runs with me riding this Chief.”

  “I will?”

  “Damn straight. I want us to do this. When I’m old and gray, and you’re off doing your thing, I don’t want to be thinking, what a shame, that would have been cool, we should’ve, we could’ve. I found this frame from this guy, Jed, whose dad always wanted to build her, but never got around to it. Then Jed wanted to, but didn’t. Then my dad had wanted to buy her off Jed and build her but wasn’t able to. All of them had the dream, none of them got it done for one reason or another. I don’t want that for us, Miller.

  “Plus, this Chief is worth big bucks now. It’s a real antique. They don’t make Indians anymore. And I want you to have it for your own bike when we’re done. To ride it with pride with me on the road because it’ll have your signature on it. That’s how everyone’s bike should be. Not something you buy and flick over the road. You’re going to get your license soon, and you’re going to get your bike license too.”

  He brushed a hand over the scratched and scraped gas tank.

  “And you know what? You can start with creating a design for the gas tank,” I said.

  “A design?”

  “Yeah, one of your drawings. You want that dragon there? Put him there. Whatever you want.”

  “How about an eagle?” he said.

  “An eagle?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze went back to the tank. “I’ll draw an eagle.”

  My chest swelled. “That sounds real good to me.”

  We organized the parts for the bike, and I made a list of stuff we’d still need. I called Boner at the shop and asked him to bring over my smaller toolbox that I’d left there yesterday. Miller ordered a couple of pizzas and by the time they arrived, Dig, Boner and Jump had shown up.

  “Here you go,” Dig handed me my toolbox.

  Jump set the two pizza boxes on a couple of crates I had stacked in my front yard. He opened a box and grabbed a slice. “How’s it going?” Boner took a slice for himself.

  “Good. Got a plan in gear for the weekend,” I replied.

  “Yep,” said Miller. “Real exciting, rubbing rust off of chrome.” He layered two slices on top of each other and shoved them in his mouth.

  “Got to start somewhere, bro,” Boner said. “Underneath that rust, it’s all shiny and sleek.”

  “You guys off somewhere exciting?” I asked, ripping off a crust, chewing.

  “There’s this Bike Night party at a bar in Spearfish tonight,” said Jump. “Should be good.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said.

  “First, we’re going to stop off at this keg party at a ranch northwest of town,” said Dig. “Make an appearance,” he winked at me. Meaning, he’d make a few sales of his homegrown green to the local boys and girls.

  “The Hildebrand ranch?” asked Miller, wiping at his mouth.

  “Yeah, how do you know?” said Dig.

  “He’s a senior at school. His parents are out of town, and he’s having this big party.”

  “Yep, Marshall Hildebrand,” Dig said, a smirk growing on his lips. Marshall was the local rich kid who liked to buy from Dig on a regular basis.

  “Everyone’s going,” muttered Miller.

  Dig tugged on Miller’s hair, making the kid groan. “Except for you, huh?” Miller shrugged and went back to shoveling pizza in his mouth.

  “Next time, young Skywalker. Next time,” Dig said. “Spring has sprung, summer’s around the corner, and there will be plenty more parties, trust me.

  “Have a slice, man,” I said to Dig.

  “Nah, I’m good, thanks. Anyway, we gotta go.” He clapped a hand on Jump and Boner’s backs as they wiped their hands.

  “Later gators,” said Jump as the three
of them headed for their bikes.

  “Hey—” I said. “Hold up.”

  “Yeah?” The three of them turned back to me.

  “No underage high school girls, you hear? Not even if they climb on top of you and beg you, you got me?”

  Miller laughed loudly, spitting out pizza.

  Dig chuckled gesturing at Jump “This one’s the problem. Can’t control himself.”

  “Aw, you jealous of my animal magnetism with the ladies?” said Jump, flicking at his long braid.

  “Yeah, that must be it,” said Dig, lighting a cigarette. “Get a grip.” Dig was good looking and had attitude. He had no problems attracting women, ever.

  “Hey, I’m not kidding,” I said. “Something happens, those Hildebrands will turn it around and blame the club for it. You got that?”

  “Yeah,” everyone grumbled.

  “Make an appearance, do your thing on the sidelines, leave,” I said.

  “That party’s only a pit stop anyhow,” said Dig. “We’ll be in and out for some cash, and then move on to the real party and the real women.”

  “That’s right,” said Jump.

  “Man, you put on extra Old Spice today, didn’t you?” Boner said to Jump. “Yeesh.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” said Jump.

  “You done?” snapped Dig.

  “Hey! Get out of here already,” I said. “Have fun.”

  “We’ll try,” said Dig, “but I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  We’d created a clubhouse we were proud of. All the private bedrooms were finished, including at least ten guest rooms. We were a regular fucking hotel. The kitchen had a big commercial sink in it now, cabinets and a pantry closet for food storage and another for storing sodas, juices, and booze. A long countertop zipped down one end, and a center island tied it all together. Willy had hired his tattoo artist buddy Ronny, from Deadwood, to paint a “One-Eyed Jacks, Meager South Dakota” mural on the main wall in the club meeting room along with the skull and his glinting eye. I got Miller in to help Ronny. They’d worked on it after school and on the weekends. Finally, it was finished, and it was spectacular.