The Dust and the Roar Page 32

  “The kid’s good,” Ronny said to me as I handed him a beer.

  “Yeah? You think so?”

  “Wreck, you wouldn’t have insisted he help me out if you didn’t think so.”

  “Well … he’s always sketching. Helps him work through shit. I thought working on an art project like this might light a fire for him. Show him he could pursue it one day. Maybe.”

  “You did good. You should get him into an art class. There are a couple of good ones in Rapid. I’ll get you the info.”

  “That would be great, Ronny. Thanks.”

  “You bet. Hey, you taking care of your tat? I got some packets of ointment on me if you need extra.”

  I’d had Ronny design a special tattoo for me, and he’d completed it a few days ago. “I’m good,” I said. “I appreciate all the work you put into getting it right. It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted.”

  “Let me look at it—”

  I tugged down the collar of my tee, and he inspected the skin of my pec.

  “Looks good, keep it up.” He grinned at me. “Fuck, I do good work.”

  “You do man. I’ll be back for more.” We high-fived and Ronny took off.

  I helped Miller roll up the canvas that protected the floor. “Great work, bud.”

  “Came out good, huh?” he said.

  “Really did. I’ll be staying here at the club tonight for the party, you good for tonight?”

  “I can’t stay?”

  “No, bud, not yet. Another few years.”

  “Few? Oh, man, you’re going to say that next year too, aren’t you? And then the year after that—”

  We laughed. “I already told you. When you’re legal drinking age.”

  “Fine. Have a good time.”

  “We will.”

  “Hope you get some.”

  “Shut it, Miller.”

  “You don’t have a girlfriend, but you had one. I heard about her.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “That you were real tight. Then she left. Then she died.”

  There it was in a Reader’s Digest version. That sense of failure rose up in my throat like simmering sick. I didn’t want to talk about it, bring the words and the feelings up out into the air. Not even with Miller.

  “She … she didn’t want to be part of a bike club. It’s a hard life for a woman. It’s not for everybody. She left and ended up getting killed in a convenience store robbery a few months later.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “What’s crazy is you got nothing but girls on the brain. You got a girlfriend you haven’t told me about maybe? Some girl at school you got a crush on?”

  He made a face. “Lay off.”

  “Never.”

  * * *

  Scout and his chapter showed right on time. All twenty of them on amazing bikes roaring up the drive.

  “Good to see you!” We hugged.

  The music blared, a whole pig was roasting in our new barbecue pit. Willy and the men had set up an outdoor bar that we could use for years to come. Around that, the women had set up tables and chairs, and plastic dishes and cups, and a good spread—a ton of cold salads, bread, mac and cheese. “This is amazing, man!” Scout declared, arms outstretched, a line of men and women behind him.

  A lot of the girls from The Tingle were here as well as some new groupie chicks. Jump, Dready, Dig, and Boner had inspired a cult following the past few months. They’d inspired a non-stop parade of women vying for their attention. Brothers were comparing knives, checking out each other’s bikes, jamming around the track. This was like the parties in Colorado we used to go to and be in awe of. Now here we were at our clubhouse at our party. We ate, the music got louder, we got drunker, higher.

  Scout pulled me down next to him, his old lady, Sarah, on his lap. Sarah was a very sexy woman around his age, looked amazing in tight black leather pants and high heels, giving the really young girls a run for their money.

  “You doing okay, man? You know, since…” Scout’s lips tightened. He didn’t want to say it. Who did?

  “Most days, not sure, but getting there, getting somewhere. Wherever that is. I got my little brother living with me now. That helps.”

  “That’s good. That helps, for sure.”

  “I was real sorry about what happened, Wreck,” said Sarah. “Isi and I got to hang a little when she’d come to Colorado. I really liked her. She was good people.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. She was.” I drained my large plastic cup of beer.

  “Real good singer, too,” she said. “We went to all the Silver Tongue concerts.”

  “Yep. She’d told me. Meant a lot to her.”

  Scout kissed Sarah, whispered in her ear. She kissed him again, got up. “See you boys in a bit,” she murmured and sauntered off.

  Scout said, “You guys are doing real well if this clubhouse is any indication. Your members are up. Business going good. You’ve amped up your product? Not just distributing for us anymore?”

  “We got to find ways to keep our heads up. Can’t rely on the same old. Got my repair shop officially up and running now, which keeps us town friendly. We bought into the Tingle. The air is much cleaner in the Hills these days.”

  Scout laughed, a rolling barrel. Cleaner without The Shepherd polluting our pastures.

  “Your fucking weed is damn fine,” he said.

  “I’m glad you like it.

  “I hear your other product is damn fine too.”

  “It is. I can give you a gift bag to take home with you. If you got a market for it, we could certainly work with you on providing the goods. Although, you should probably be discussing this with Mick, being our Prez and all.”

  “I will. But I like talking to you, Wreck.”

  Like everybody else, our eyes were glued to two topless women wearing high boots and tiny shorts standing on top of a table, gyrating along to an Aerosmith song.

  The party had gotten wilder and looser as the hours wore on. The sounds of fucking, flames lapping, crackling in metal cans, laughter and shrieks howling, engines gunning, tires dragging. I spotted Willy getting head from one of the young girls who’d come up with the Colorado Jacks. On her knees between his legs, she finished, and he helped her to her feet. He slapped her ass, and she laughed, her head falling back. He took her in his arms, kissed her on her tits that were sticking out of her tiny tank top. They hugged, and she took off.

  “Having fun, huh?” I passed him the last of my hand-rolled doobie.

  “They know how to suck cock in Denver,” He inhaled the smoke deeply. “Let me find you a chick—”

  “Stop.”

  He turned bloodshot eyes to mine. “You got to live your life, man. She would’ve wanted that for you.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You gonna be a monk for the rest of your days?”

  “A monk?”

  “Yeah. Ain’t no way—”

  “And you? You ever gonna settle down with one woman?”

  “What for? I’m having too much fun.”

  Fun was Willy’s code word for “Don’t need to fix what’s not broken.”

  “You keep fucking the younger and younger ones.”

  “That’s right. Got to get ‘em in now, ‘cause one day they won’t want me no more.”

  “They’ll always want you. You’re all buff, got those hot military tats, and you’re one charming son of a bitch.”

  “I am. I am indeed, my brother.”

  We laughed.

  He laid a hand on my back. “Get yourself laid, man, that’s all I’m saying. Do it and get out, no harm, no foul. And who knows, one day, you might like one of ‘em and fuck her again. And again. And before you know it…”

  I laughed.

  “What the fuck is so funny?”

  “Your logic.”

  “I’m practical. Where’s the problem?”

  “Why doesn’t that apply to you?”

  He let out a low rumbling laugh. “Look, that’s how
it was with me and Annie. Neither of us were looking for a long-term thing, and we were honest about it from the get-go, and we got along great in the sack. But one day she decided she wanted a real relationship, so that was it, and that was fine. Look at her now, remarried, happy as fuck.”

  “Yep, it’s good to see.”

  “It was nice with Annie, I have to admit. There’s something to be said for being sweet on a girl and her being sweet on you. But, Wreck, it doesn’t have to be something deep, man. Not all of us want deep, not even the women. Not all of us need it.”

  I’d always thought I didn’t want deep either. Too complicated, too nuts. Too painful. Warning: Danger of Drowning. But the deep I’d had with Isi had been something unexpected. A pirate treasure that she and I had stumbled on and unearthed together. No maps, no compasses. A treasure that glittered, offering its own brand of excitement, adventure. And comfort. It was magic. Wild magic. I couldn’t imagine having that magic with anybody else. If I tried, I knew it would fall short, and I’d be out in a hot second, and that wouldn’t be fair to anybody.

  That treasure chest was sealed tight, and I was good with that.

  I slid my hand over the ink now branding my chest where Isi’s lipstick knife had once cut me. That cut had healed, leaving no mark behind. So I put her mark there myself. Over my heart now galloped a fierce, wild mustang in a cloud of dust.

  Yeah. Sealed tight.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  “What’s this?” Miller asked his eyes widening at all the food on the table. “Special occasion?”

  “A real dinner.”

  “Looks fancy.” He settled into his chair at the table and took in the plates and bowls of food. “Wow, roasted carrots. Mixed greens salad. So many vegetables all at once. Yikes. Vitamin shock ahead.”

  “Wiseass.”

  “What is it?” He pointed to the two pans I’d taken out of the oven.

  “A red wine beef stew and scalloped potatoes.” The stew was homemade, but the potatoes were from a box.

  He took the serving spoon and dipped into the thick stew, steam escaping from the top.

  “Careful, it’s hot,” I said.

  “Smells amazing.”

  “House specialty,” I murmured, biting on my lip. I was hungry. I’d lost my appetite, but I would eat. I had to. That’s why I’d made it. Miller dug into the stew in his dish with gusto. I scooped up the creamy potatoes and set a wedge in his dish and in mine.

  I took a bite. It was good. Rich, earthy, sweet mellow flavors.

  “Did she make this for you?”

  “Huh?” I swallowed past the fiery tempest in my throat.

  “Your woman. The one who died.”

  “Yeah, it was my favorite.”

  “It’s real good.”

  “You like it?”

  “A lot.”

  Somehow this kid always knew the right thing to say. I owed him more. More of me.

  “We met one night at a party,” I said, cutting into a piece of the caramelized beef. “She pulled a knife on me, and I kissed her.”

  “Whoa, she cut you?” he asked.

  “Eh. Just a knick.”

  “And you kissed her after that?”

  “I got style, boy.”

  “That her lipstick knife in your drawer?” Miller asked.

  “You going through my drawers?”

  “I was looking for an extra pair of socks. And that her shampoo in the cabinet? The green bottle with the girl on it?”

  “Yeah.” I let out a breath, staring at my dish.

  “Glad you made this. You got to make it again.” Miller scooped up a forkful of creamed potatoes and ate.

  “I will.”

  * * *

  By late Fall we’d finished the Indian. Willy would come by and help, offer suggestions, toss in his own elbow grease.

  We’d tested it many times on the club track. But today—today we’d ride together on the open road. Me on my Harley, Miller on his Indian Chief.

  That sounded really good.

  I fit my gloves on my hands. “Let’s do this.”

  Miller slid onto his saddle, adjusting himself. He looked good. No, better than good. Fine, sleek. Fucking perfect. The old Indian logo was clear and sharp now on one side of the tank that my dad had in his stash, and Miller’s own eagle flared over the other. His long legs straddled the machine, his hands bracing the handlebars. The handlebars my dad had found, treasured, and pinned to his wall like a yet unwon trophy to what could be. One day.

  That one day is now, Dad. Right now.

  “Ready?” he asked, his eyes flashing. Molten dark metal in the sun. Oh, he was ready, he was excited. He should be, my young warrior brother. He was about to have the experience of a lifetime. Of pure adrenaline and something greater, something magnificent filling his veins, his lungs, his heart.

  “Get your goggles on,” I said.

  “Oh, right,” he said, quickly fitting his goggles in place.

  I took in a breath to steady myself as I turned the ignition, my bike ripping to life underneath me. I needed that breath. How crazy was that?

  He waited for me, my brother. For a sign—for an okay, let’s do this. I lifted my chin at him, and that grin lit his face. We took off down our gravel driveway and onto the road, Miller behind me. I picked up speed, Miller beside me.

  I glanced at him. He was focused, a bit tense in the shoulders, legs stiff. He caught my look, and I smiled at him. His shoulders eased.

  Miller and I would ride together. Years of us riding stretched out before us on that road that cut through the dense pine trees towering around Meager. He picked up speed, I followed.

  I knew his brain was trying to make sense of all the sounds going on around us as we rode, the other vehicles, other bikes. Trucks. Trying to distinguish one from the other. His austere features began to relax, his whole body easing into the rhythm of the Chief. He’d let go. His soul and body had wrapped around the ride at last, mind cleared, and all the noise turned into a kind of music he’d never heard before. A music he will hereafter always crave.

  With more experience, he would glide around corners, take twists up and over mountains while shifting his weight slightly, counter steering, changing gears. In total harmony with the world.

  We stopped at a bluff high up in the granite hills where the thick evergreens gave way to a view of the twisty road below and a deep blue reservoir beyond.

  “Wow,” he said. “Beautiful.”

  “Isn’t it—” My voice cut in my throat at the sight of two eagles swooping overhead. “Holy shit.”

  “Whoa,” whispered Miller.

  “My dad and I used to ride and hike in Spearfish, go fishing,” I whispered. “Only once in all those times—only once—did we see an eagle together. I’ll never forget it.”

  “We were just talking in school about how the government had finally banned eagle hunting and the use of DDT—it’s made a difference.”

  We stood together, my brother and I, and admired the eagles in silence, our breaths forming vapors in the cold air.

  I whispered, “In the army, the eagle means something to you. It’s more than some cliché national symbol. You’d see our eagle on a banner, a poster, a button, a piece of official paperwork. It meant home, honor, pride. A jolt of battery power for your tattered heart and soul.”

  “For the Lakota, the eagle’s the Great Spirit. My gran had a couple of eagle feathers from her ancestors. They’re like trophies or war medals given to the braves. I think my dad lost them, though, sold them, who knows.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “It is.”

  We got back on our bikes, and my heart beat hard in my chest as we rode on, side by side. My vision blurred and cleared.

  It was like a stitch on a flesh wound. There is a flood of relief that you’d gotten help, that you’re on your way to mending. Even though you still have a long way to go, even though the pain still radiates from that wound, a ray of hope had lit insid
e you. Just a bit, but it was there now.

  The road before Miller and me was empty. It belonged to us. I twisted my throttle a little more, and Miller did the same. The pounding of the wind became a little fiercer and cooler as the ascent of the road grew steeper in the Hills.

  The clouds shifted over us, casting shadows, shadows which moved with the light. The deep greens and the granite grays grew sharper, the fragrance of the pine and aspen sweeter, the air crisper. The slopes of dense evergreens took us in their secret embrace, we entered their cathedral, we flew into their hush with our roar.

  Epilogue

  This story ends here, but it doesn’t ever end. Don’t look for it.

  I can tell you this—

  What we leave behind us counts. I know it does. Those we leave behind weave a fabric made from our strands, our colors. It counts.

  She touched my soul, and I touched hers.

  She showed me that to love is good. We taught each other that in the nick of time. We lived it. We loved hard.

  What she gave me, then and after, I don’t have words for. She would have, in one of her songs. I know it, I feel it still, that grace, and that’s what matters. It’s Miller who binds all those pieces together. He thrives, and that counts for us.

  Isadora, I can feel your smile branded across my beating heart. Even when it finally ceases, your smile will burn there, sending its fragrant smoke up on high.

  One day, when my own blood shall surely be spilt, I know I’ll hear you in the clip of a gun, the burning screech of tires, feel you in the pounding on my flesh, see you in the glint of a knife. Whichever it is, I know you will be there. I’m sure of it.

  Make sure you are, baby.

  I’m waiting. Oh, I’m waiting.

  When I least expect it, I will be expecting you. That’s the way this life has treated us, hasn’t it?

  And so it goes.

  Baby, we flew.

  We fell.

  I see you now. You’re waiting there for me,

  Where the grasses tangle in the wind,

  Where the eagles soar