I hadn’t wanted that for Alicia, had tried to instil in her a knowledge of her own self-worth and self-respect. That I might have failed had become clear when I’d caught her sending that photo to Owen.
Sure, Owen was hot, otherwise he wouldn’t have been a model, and Alicia wouldn’t have had her head turned if he were not. But what did she know about him, other than he was good looking? What kind of personality has he got? What was it he wanted? I suspect nothing more than the thrill of the chase and ultimate deflowering, or, could I be misjudging him? I think not. I can only hope some of what I’ve said to Alicia has sunk in.
I put the first load of clothes into the wash and switch on the machine. My phone pings with a text.
Grumbler: Got questions. Can I come over?
Well, why not? I’m doing nothing. I glance around. Everything’s fairly tidy, though the floor could do with vacuuming. I laugh at myself. I doubt Grumbler’s the type of man who’d notice. I suspect he’d be like my husband who’d walk in, kick off his shoes, or motorcycle boots in Grumbler’s case, leave them by the door, and not care how the house was looking.
Mary: Sure
If he’s got questions that probably means he’s gotten no closer to finding Devon Starr than he had been during our telephone conversations this week.
I decide the house is in good enough shape to welcome a biker, but that doesn’t stop me from picking up a duster and flicking away a few cobwebs I could see. Then mentally I give my wrist a slap. What do I care about Grumbler’s reaction to my housekeeping or lack of? I go to put a pot of coffee on instead.
I don’t even tidy myself. I’m wearing a t-shirt and capri pants, the comfy ones I wear around the house, my face unadorned with makeup, and the only jewellery I have on, my wedding band, now worn on my right hand.
It catches my attention for a moment. It had been three years ago when I’d taken the plunge, moving the ring that showed I was taken. Dave would always have his place in my heart, no one could remove him. But it had been the final acceptance I wasn’t married any more, I had no husband to lean on or come home to. It had been Kristen who’d pointed it out.
“If you ever want to find another man, Mary, no one is going to be interested if you show you’re still taken. If there is another Mr Right out there for you, he won’t come along while you’re committed to a ghost.”
She’d made me think. I’d reasoned however much I thought Dave was the love of my life, I had possibly four more decades, the second half of my own life, left to live. Did I really want to be alone for the rest of it? Eventually Alicia would leave and make her own path as she rightly should. So, I’d moved the ring to my right hand, unable to leave it off completely.
A loud roar of a motorcycle engine sounds, then abruptly stops. Looking out of the front window, I see Grumbler throwing his leg off the saddle and getting off. I watch as he bends, rubbing his thigh, then starts to make his way past my car that he’s parked behind. I notice him favouring one of his legs, limping slightly as he had before.
I’m opening the door just as he reaches it.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
We’ve spoken on the phone a few times, our conversation always flowing easily. Yet here, face-to-face, it feels awkward. I struggle to say anything, so settle for, “Do you want a coffee?”
He’s a biker. Should I have offered beer?
“Coffee sounds fine.” He raises his chin, and when I back up, enters the house, closing the door behind him.
I go into my kitchen, sensing he’s following me. Once I’ve checked how he likes it, black with two sugars, I make him a cup, then, pouring creamer and leaving out the sugar, prepare one for myself.
He takes the cup I hold toward him. Putting it down on the countertop, he turns and leans his back against it, folding his arms over his chest. Not for the first time, I notice the mass of tattoos he has.
I’ve never thought about tattoos before. Dave didn’t have any, and not many of my friends have them. Kristin has a pretty flower tattooed on her ankle, but that’s about it. Now I realise they’re intriguing, not off-putting, and I’d love to learn whether there was a meaning to each one.
I try to pull my mind away from the marks on his skin. “So, no news, I take it?”
“Asshole’s one damn fucker to try and find.” He gives me the confirmation, his eyes narrowed. “Need to try and smoke him out.”
“You said you had questions? What more have you got to ask me?” Frowning, I add, “I don’t think there’s anything else I can tell you.”
He half turns, picks up his coffee, blows on it to cool it, and takes a sip. “Not you, Alicia.”
“She’s told you everything.” I bristle slightly, thinking he’s accusing her of holding something back.
“She’s in touch with Owen, isn’t she?”
Reluctantly I nod. “Sadly, I think she is, though I’ve tried to warn her against him.”
Grumbler’s eyebrow rises, and he smirks. “You suspect he’s not got the character to match his pretty face?”
Huffing, I respond, “I’m worried that bad boy image he’s projecting might be exactly what he is inside.”
“I can’t argue with that. A pretend bad boy, at least. Club’s got plenty of the real ones.”
I wrap my hands around my coffee. “I need to know he’ll respect a seventeen-year-old girl, and I don’t get a good vibe about that.” I don’t mention
