Motorcycle Man (17 page)

Aunt Bette’s eyes turned openly curious.

Uncle Marsh’s face wiped blank.

Aunt Bette did not judge. She was who she was and you took her as she was. She returned the favor.

Uncle Marsh had been a fighter jock in the Air Force. Now he was a golf pro. He wore Ralph Lauren and Tag Heuer watches. He still had a military haircut. He also didn’t judge. That was, I learned in that instant, until a big, badass, scary biker dude with an arm covered in tattoos, wearing faded jeans and a tight tee, needing a haircut and needing it four weeks ago and who Uncle Marsh just witnessed manhandling a raving woman who assaulted my front door and hurled obscenities at it curved his painted arm around his much-loved niece’s chest. On those occasions, he judged.

Oh boy.

Tack’s other arm moved in the direction of Aunt Bette. “Kane Allen,” his gravelly voice declared, I blinked, twisted my neck and looked up at him.

Elliott had said that name and apparently that was Tack’s real name. It was a cool name. Though, I wished he’d given it to me directly.

“Hello, Kane,” Aunt Bette took his hand and shook. “I’m Bette, Tyra’s aunt.”

“Bette, you can call me Tack,” he told her.

Her eyes slid to me, her brows went up declaring we were going to have a conversation later but I knew this conversation would be so she could get all the juicy gossip then spread it widely throughout my extended family, all the way down to the cousins. Unlike Uncle Marsh, Aunt Bette was a communicator. She thought family was the most important thing on earth and thus made it her mission to be the hub of family information. If you needed to know anything, you asked Aunt Bette and if she didn’t know it, she sure as heck found out.

Tack released her and his hand went to Uncle Marsh.

Uncle Marsh studied it. And while Uncle Marsh studied it, he also, I reckoned, was wondering if he should call all his fighter jock buds in order to spirit me away Mach Three. Then he took Tack’s hand and shook it.

“Marsh, Tyra’s uncle,” he introduced himself.

“Right,” Tack replied and let his hand go, stepping us back and to the side. “These are my kids, Tab and Rush.”

“Yo,” Rush said, coming forward to shake hands.

“Hey,” Tabby said, following her brother. “Cool to meet you. We love Tyra. She’s the shit.”

Aunt Bette smiled. Uncle Marsh studied Tabby then Tack. I tried not to feel the warmth sliding through my system at being “the shit” after meeting Tabby and Rush once. I also failed in not feeling that warmth.

“I’m waiting!” Naomi screamed from outside. The hammering at the door had stopped but apparently she hadn’t gone.

“This is so cool!” Lanie entered the huddle and she did this to hug Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh while gushing. “Ty-Ty talks about you guys all the time. Says if she wasn’t related to you, she would have launched an investigation at the hospital to see if she was switched at birth. It’s awesome to finally meet you!”

Lanie stepped back and smiled brightly at them. Aunt Bette smiled back at her. Uncle Marsh directed another shit-eating grin at me.

Lanie wasn’t lying. I loved my Mom and Dad but all evidence, except the existence of Uncle Marsh, pointed to there being a mix-up at the hospital. My Mom and Dad were Republicans. My Mom and Dad were religious. My Mom and Dad were both born in Ohio. They vacationed in Ohio State Parks. They considered themselves seasoned travelers because they’d been to Cooperstown and the Indy 500. They cheered for the Buckeyes. Their TV room was decorated in red, gray and white. And, last, they intended to die in Ohio and I knew this because they told me so.

My Mom had a successful career as a housewife. She baked fabulous pies and listened to showtunes and gospel. My Dad had a successful career as a cabinet maker. He ate Mom’s fabulous pies and bragged about them to all and sundry and he watched football, cop shows and action movies, the more bad guys blown up or filled with holes, the better.

Even at my age, my Mom still lectured me that women should wear skirts, heels, never leave the house without makeup and earrings and lamented, often, through every means available (including phone, letters, e-mails and during visits) the fact that I had yet to give her grandchildren. My Dad lectured me that I spent too much time working and socializing, not the right kind (the right kind being at church mixers where I found myself a good, religious boy who liked football and God and had a job where he worked with his hands), and that I should find that boy and make sure his handkerchiefs were always perfectly ironed. This, as well as keeping a clean house and my boy in meat and potatoes, being my only reasons to exist.

My Mom and Dad had somehow managed to get thrown back to the 50’s, they liked it, stayed there and, as with the great state of Ohio, they were never, ever leaving.

My Mom and Dad were nothing like me.

Suffice it to say that if it was not Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh in my living room at that very moment while Tack (still) had his tattooed arm around me, and it was my Mom and Dad, things would be going very differently. Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh had the ability to hold their tongues and act with decorum. Mom would be tight-faced. Dad would be asking Tack to have a chat on my deck where he would explain I was a “good girl” and probably go into detail about how he felt about tattoos and the importance of regular grooming and the only grooming that was acceptable left your hair in a buzz cut and not a single whisker on your face. Then Tack would likely refuse Dad’s demand that he never have anything to do with me ever again. And finally Dad would promptly go to the nearest gun shop and buy a shotgun because Dad might be religious but he had no aversion to firearms.

I forced my mind from these reflections and introduced Lanie to my aunt and uncle. “This is Lanie, my best friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aunt Bette said. “Tyra’s told me about you too, all of it good.”

Lanie beamed. Uncle Marsh transferred his shit-eating grin to Lanie.

“Family reunion! Awesome!” Tabby cried. “And you’re here just in time. You don’t have to go out to breakfast with Tyra. Dad’s making his world famous pancakes.”

Both Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh turned eyes to Tack and even Uncle Marsh couldn’t hide that he was startled at the idea of scary biker dude making pancakes.

“Reminds me I gotta get that done ‘cause I got shit to do,” Tack rumbled from behind me, still not having let me go. “Tabby, darlin’, get these folks a cup ‘a joe. Rush, plates, forks, set Red’s table.” His arm gave me a squeeze and his mouth came to my ear where he said quietly but I knew my aunt and uncle could hear, “She’ll go away and I’ll deal with her. She doesn’t and you see her again, you call me. She is not your problem, baby, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly back.

That got me another arm squeeze, he let me go and I felt his heat leave my back as he sauntered to the kitchen.

“I have to go finish my shower,” Lanie announced. “All that ruckus, I jumped out and I still have conditioner in my hair. I’ll be back.” Then she whirled around and raced down the hall to the bathroom where she disappeared behind the closed door.

I turned to my aunt and uncle, finding myself alone in the living room with them.

“Seems you missed some things in your last e-mail,” Aunt Bette remarked.

I bit my lip. Aunt Bette grinned. Uncle Marsh looked at his shoes.

“How do you guys take your coffee?” Tabby called from the kitchen.

“Milk, two sugars,” Aunt Bette called back, moving toward the kitchen.

Uncle Marsh looked at me.

“Deck. Explanation. First chance you got,” he ordered quietly.

“Okeydoke,” I whispered.

His hazel eyes bored into mine.

Then he looked away and started toward the kitchen.

I sucked in breath.

Naomi shouted through the door, “Fuck you! Fuck
all
of you!”

Damn.

Um… No

“Spill,” Aunt Bette demanded while slapping hangers on a rack in Nordstrom’s.

I had escaped the Uncle Marsh chat on my deck because my day had started as mayhem and descended into bedlam.

Tack made pancakes for five people and Rush was again right, they were fantastic. Definitely better than his fajitas and his fajitas were spectacular so his pancakes being better made them silver dollar miracles. Then he took Rush and Tabby out on my back deck and talked to them for five minutes with this culminating in Rush shouting, “Fuck yeah!” and Tabby squealing in delight, rushing inside, looking at me and yelling, “Guess what, Tyra? We’re movin’ in with, Dad!” Then she threw her hands up in the air with fingers in devil’s horns and screeched nonsensically.

I had some concerns about this announcement mostly due to a fact that a judge usually decided something like that in a courtroom with lawyers in attendance. Not Kane “Tack” Allen deciding it on my back deck with only his kids in attendance. But it wasn’t my business so I just smiled at Tabby and returned her big hug when she gave me one.

Then Tack announced he had to go. He did a bunch of chin lifts but approached me in my chair at my dining table, fisted a hand in my hair, tugged my head gently back and laid a long, wet one on me in front of my aunt and uncle, my best friend
and
his children.

I scowled in his face after he was done (and after I recovered) to which he muttered to me, “Wherever the fuck I want, Red,” gave my hair a playful tug and then he was gone.

I luckily could avoid the variety of looks I was getting from my audience because Elliott took that moment to call Lanie and she took that opportunity to give him a piece of her mind. She did this loudly, for a long time and while alternately pacing and stomping through my living room, kitchen and up and down the hall. Therefore conversation was difficult but Tabby found the opportunity to explain to my aunt and uncle (when she could be heard) that the raving redhead in my living room earlier was her mother. Tabby also found the opportunity to go into detail about how she felt about her mother and further how gleeful she was she was moving in with her father.

My aunt had to go to her meetings and my uncle had a tee time at the Wiltshire because I might be his favorite niece and we hadn’t seen each other for a while but he didn’t miss the opportunity to golf. We made plans to meet up later for shopping with Aunt Bette while Uncle Marsh recovered from golf by drinking in the clubhouse and then later, dinner.

Rush and Tabby left soon after Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh. I got ready to face the day and while I did this Lanie decided she was moving in with me until she figured out what she was going to do. I didn’t mind this but it took a while because while she was packing at her place she frequently stopped to take calls from or make calls to Elliott where she yelled at him loudly or sobbed hysterically.

We finally got her packed and moved in with me whereupon it was time to go pick up Aunt Bette and go to Cherry Creek Mall. Whereas Uncle Marsh rarely missed an opportunity to golf, Aunt Bette rarely missed an opportunity to shop.

Which brought me to now, in Nordstrom’s, with Lanie and Aunt Bette.

“Spill what?” I asked though I knew exactly what.

Aunt Bette’s big blue eyes hit me. She knew I knew. Aunt Bette also wasn’t a big fan of bullshit.

I bit my lip.

“Are you talking about Tack?” Lanie asked and Aunt Bette nodded to her and looked back to me.

“Let’s start with that. Who’s called ‘Tack’ and why?”

I slapped some hangers on the rack and replied, “Tack’s called Tack and I don’t know why.”

“His kids are in your kitchen and he sticks his tongue down your throat as a good-bye and you don’t know why he’s called Tack?” Aunt Bette asked, her eyebrows to her hairline.

“Uh…” I mumbled.

“He’s her boss,” Lanie shared at this juncture, Aunt Bette’s eyes got huge as her brows stayed glued to her hairline and her gaze stayed glued to me.

“Uh…” I repeated and Aunt Bette tipped her head to the side in a go on gesture. I knew I had her undivided attention because she was standing in front of a rack of clothes at Nordstrom’s and paying no attention to it but I had nothing more to give.

She looked back at the rack and started slapping hangers but I knew she wasn’t looking at the clothes.

“Your uncle and I understood your need to check out, Tyra. Sometimes in people’s lives, they need to check out. But I gotta tell you, your uncle isn’t fired up about how you’re checking back in.” She slapped a hanger across the rack. “The tattoos, he could handle.” Hanger cracking. “The needing a haircut, he could handle.” Another hanging cracking. “The grown kids, he could handle.” Another hanger went. “The grown kids cursing freely without him saying a word, he could handle.” There was another hanger crash. “The hot and heavy make out session as a good-bye in front of your uncle and Tack’s kids, he could handle.” And yet another hanger. “Even his ex shouting the house down, he could handle.” No hanger as her eyes cut to me. “All of that together?” She shook her head. “Um… no.”

“Things are confusing right now, Aunt Bette,” I said quietly and Aunt Bette’s gaze grew sharp.