Any crumbs leading to her would allow me to go sniffing around again. She doesn’t want that. Eventually, once this misguided lust dissipates, I won’t either. It’s best for me to forget about her altogether.
And here I go, spinning my tires bald again.
A car creeps by me, probably wondering why I’ve been straddling my parked bike for ten minutes. No, I’m not a stalker. This is what the unraveling of a man’s mental health looks like. I give them a choppy wave and they drive along.
This situation is dire enough to force me to make the hour-long trek to Gulligan Haven. My mother moved to a cozy suburb of Cheyenne after my dad discovered her infidelity. I dismount my bike and stride up the driveway. The woman waiting beyond these walls is my best, and only, bet to clear my conscience—not that I’ll tell my mom why I’m seeking retribution. Those fine-print details aren’t important.
The door swings open almost immediately after I knock. The woman responsible for raising me stands in the foyer, wearing a paint-splattered dress to match her crooked smile. “I was starting to wonder how long it would take for you to get up here.”
I scrub over my mouth, hiding a grin. “You knew I was here?”
“Only from the moment you pulled up.” Her laugh spreads warmth through my chest.
Of course she did. My mom is nothing if not observant. It probably works in her favor that no one in this cul-de-sac drives a motorcycle. “I was just enjoying the scenery.”
She peeks outside from over my shoulder. “Anything interesting?”
“Your lawn looks good.” I’d noticed the manicured grass during my so-called period of reflection.
The lightest shade of pink dots her cheeks. “A friend handles those chores for me.”
I snort at her choice of label. Friend, my ass. Kellie Carver has always caught more than her fair share of male attention. Unfaithful to her worthless ex-husband or not, my mom is a bombshell. Maybe I should hold some resentment toward her for breaking apart our family, but all festering hostility is reserved for father dearest. I can’t really blame her for escaping him. “Is that all he’s doing?”
My mom parks a hand on her hip. “Are you going to continue questioning me or finally come inside?”
A loose chuckle rumbles out of me as I step over the threshold. A pungent fog of varnish and primer greet me, the mix of strong odors burning my nose. My mom must be kicking off a new project. “Are you in the middle of something?”
“A few oil canvases. Nothing that can’t wait a bit.” Any artistic talent I have is because of this woman.
“Commissioned or for you?”
My mother glances at me while I follow her into the kitchen. “Both, actually. Looking to buy a piece?”
She earns another laugh for that. The walls of my micro loft are already decorated with her pictures. Aside from appreciating her talent, it’s another way to fuck with my father. Whenever he stalks into my apartment, always uninvited, a colorful gallery from his greatest loss meets him. That’s the biggest middle finger if I’ve ever seen one.
“Even if I wanted more, I don’t have the surface space.”
“You are my best customer,” she muses. “Take a seat. Have you had lunch?”
My ass hits a chair before the words are out of her mouth. “I could eat.”
“As always.” There’s humor in her voice as she turns to the fridge. “So, what brings you by?”
I drum my thumbs on the table. “I was out for a ride. Ended up nearby, so I figured why not? The oil in your car is about due for a change, right?”
My mom moves to the counter with an armful of sandwich supplies. “An hour away from home?”
“Barely opened up the throttle.” I study her while she begins slicing a cucumber. “Do you need help?”
My mom tsks at me. “Let me take care of you since no one else does. You’re always driving all over this state alone without a companion.”
“You act as if that’s unusual.”
She makes another sharp noise. “I wish you’d find others to roll with. The road isn’t always a friendly place.”
As the mother of two diehard machinists, she has firsthand knowledge of that. Well, only one of us still is. But Grant taught her that lesson. The familiar sting lashes across my torso. It takes all of my willpower to school my expression. Maybe it’s a good thing she doesn’t have to think about him out on the open road anymore.
Listening to her speech, it’s almost difficult to remember that she’s responsible for our motorcycle craze. During the summers while I was growing up, we spent almost every weekend at the motocross track or a biker event of some kind. Sturgis is still my favorite rally.
We were garage junkies and couldn’t wait to have a ride of our own. I saved every cent in a piggy bank until I could open an actual bank account. It was an ongoing joke that my dad would eventually wise up and crush our dreams. But that never happened. He was always too busy with work, and didn’t care enough anyway. When Grant turned sixteen, he got his license and bought a bike the same afternoon. I still remember the envy that tingled in my gut. Two years later, we were coasting down the highway together.
Those were the best damn months of my life. Nothing that great can last, though. Grant dropped off the broken parts of his once-beloved hog without batting an eyelash. I haven’t had the strength to touch that pile of rusting wreckage since he dropped it. One moment can change several lives.
I wade out of those dark memories and glare at a water stain on the ceiling. My mother’s “friend” needs to improve his game. I’m about to tell her so when she plops a plate in front of me. The juicy aroma of smoked turkey and toasted bread tempts
