Mac scoffed. “Me? In love? You must be sniffing your high-octane gas fumes.”
“Push the button. I’ll try to lower the kickstand.”
“No problem.” He held the bike steady and performed the kickstand ritual that he figured out after they’d hit a large pothole on a back road in Wyoming and knocked it out of alignment. It took a few yanks and a twist before it jiggled into place. “There we go.”
“You must really want to impress Miranda.”
“I admit that’s part of it, Annie, but I’ve never really made a difference in anybody’s life and this is a chance to do something special.” He opened one of the leather saddlebags, snatched a screwdriver and quick-scanned the area. Near the other end of the field there were some guys in shorts and another group wore football helmets, but no other pads. Track and spring practice, he assumed.
He squatted next to Rachel Johnson’s front tire, removed the valve cap and pushed the pin to let out the air. That done, he drove a scratched-up screw into the tire before he returned to the saddlebag to exchange the screwdriver for some polish and a rag. “All we can do now, Annie, is wait.”
Not long thereafter, the final bell announced the end of the school day, and a parade of students fled as if they were escaping a sniper. Before long, a few more athletes gathered by the football field and a spattering of teachers and administrators meandered toward Mac and Annie.
Eventually, Rachel Johnson stepped out. He recognized her from Miranda’s description—mid-to-late thirties, short dark hair and glasses. “Here she comes,” Mac whispered. Fortunately, she was alone.
Mac watched her out of the corner of his eye. As she drew closer he was surprised by how tall she was—nearly six feet, he guessed. He poured a couple drops of polish onto Annie’s tank and spread it around. When Rachel Johnson reached the driver’s side of her car Mac had his opening. “Hi, there. It’s none of my business, but I noticed you have a flat.” He aimed his jaw toward the damaged tire.
She looked at Mac, sucked in a deep breath and blew it right back out. “Great.” She threw her belongings on the driver’s seat before slipping around to check it out.
“You don’t look like you’re dressed to fix a tire,” Mac said, smiling. “Would you like me to do it for you?”
She sighed and shook her head. “You don’t have to do that. I can call somebody.”
He dismounted. “By the time they get here, I can have it fixed for you. It’s no big deal, and I don’t have anything else I need to do.”
She hesitated. ”Well, if you really don’t mind, I guess that would be nice.”
Mac dipped his head approvingly toward the back of her car. “You’ll need to open your trunk.”
A couple moments later Mac had secured a wimpy looking spare and the lug wrench. “This is one of those temporary spares. Are you familiar with them?”
“No, not really.”
“I can explain how they work, if you’d like. You never know when it might happen to you again.”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
He squatted down. “You know something,” he said while turning his head, “this might be easier if we knew each other’s names. Mine’s Mac.”
She looked out over the field. “Most everybody around here refers to me as Ms. Johnson, but you can call me Rachel. I’m one of the assistant principals.”
“Okay then, Rachel it is.” He plugged the wrench onto one of the nuts.
“Are you a parent to one of the students?” she asked as he twisted the wrench.
Mac snickered. “Nah, I was just driving by and noticed the football field. It brought back some old memories, so I pulled over to polish my bike.” He inserted the jack into the pinch flange and pumped the handle a few times. Moments later the front corner of her car, including the tire, was suspended above ground. He spun the tire so she could see the screw. “There’s your troublemaker. Any tire shop can plug it for you.”
“That’s good to know. How did you come to learn so much about cars and tires?”
“I was raised out in the country,” he said while he replaced the bad tire. “We had to fix things ourselves, because the conveniences of the city were too far away.”
Rachel smiled. “For a while there I thought you might work in a tire store or something.”
“Not me. I’m an in-house electrician at NASA’s Research Center across town. I just got the job a couple weeks ago.”
“An electrical engineer?”
“Not an engineer. A regular electrician. The guy who runs wires, builds circuits. Stuff like that. Those people are always changing things around and it’s up to me to get them set up and work with the building inspectors.”
“Sounds important.”
Mac shrugged. “If the lights don’t work, neither does anybody else.”
He put the damaged tire away and grabbed a rag and some sanitizer from Annie’s saddlebag. “That ought to do it,” he said as he wiped off his hands.
“This was awfully nice of you, Mac. What do I owe you?”
“I couldn’t charge a friend who I know on a first name basis just for changing a tire.” He hesitated. ”But there is something you could do for me—to return the favor, I mean. To tell you the truth, I don’t really know anybody around here, and I’ve enjoyed talking with you.” He aimed a finger over her shoulder. “What would you say to a quick walk around the football field? Perhaps you could tell me about Palmdale.”
Rachel looked toward the field where all athletes were going through their workouts. “Why not? It’s a beautiful day.”
As they strolled around the field Rachel told Mac a little about her career and mentioned being an only child of an only child. By that time their pace slowed and they’d reached the bleachers on the other side of the field. She raised her eyebrows. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“By all means,” Mac replied. “That’s what friends do.” The small talk seemed to appeal to her.
“I noticed the name Annie on your motorcycle. Is that your girlfriend’s name?”
Mac smiled. “We’d better have a seat,” he said, pointing to the front row. “When I was a kid my mom got me a book about Annie Oakley.” He shook his head. “I must have made her read that book to me a hundred times.”
Rachel grinned.
“Mom and I both liked how Annie could outshoot the men. It was a great lesson—anybody can be successful if he or she wants it badly enough.”
“I wish more of our students understood that.”
“I named my bicycles after her and then did the same thing with all my big bikes. That Harley is the fifth one.” He paused and looked into Rachel’s eyes. “But that’s not all. I even got a tattoo of her on my chest—stupidity and too many beers.”
Rachel laughed. “At least you realize it wasn’t the smartest thing to do.”
“Anyway, there’s something Annie and I do that’s pretty strange.”
“Oh really? What’s that?”
He looked around as if he was about to reveal one of NASA’s national secrets. “Do you remember that movie from about ten years ago called Cast Away?”
“With Tom Hanks?”
“That’s it. Annie and I are like Hanks and Wilson—the volley ball.” Mac paused again looked around the field. “I’m almost embarrassed to tell you.”
“Go ahead. You’d be surprised by some of the stories I hear in my job.”
“Alright then, but you’re going to think I’m nuts.” He glanced at the scar on the back of his knuckles. “About a year after high school I got my first Harley. Naturally I named it Annie. Our first long drive was down to Florida for spring break. Before I knew it we were going all over the place. Once in a while we rode with other bikers, but mostly I preferred to travel as a single. All of that alone-time enabled me to think through things, have internal debates to develop my philosophies and conscience.” Rachel nodded.
“Sometimes I talked out loud,” Mac continued, “but
eventually I just imagined I was literally speaking to Annie. Before long, I could make her respond by giving her the throttle or by downshifting or swaying. Then I started imagining she was talking back—just like Hanks and Wilson.”
“I can understand that,” she said smiling. “When I was a little girl, I used to play house with Barbie and Ken. I’d sit them around a little dinner table and we’d all have lengthy conversations about the day’s activities.”
“Yeah, but I bet you outgrew it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t play with dolls anymore, but I talk to my cat and talk back to the TV occasionally. Talk to myself when I drive too. You’re just like anybody else. Only most men wouldn’t admit it.”
“Whew.” Mac pretended to wipe some sweat off his brow. “I was beginning to think I’m nuts.” He pointed to her hand. “I see you’re not married. Is there a real-life Ken somewhere?”
Her hair swayed from side to side as she shook her head. “Not at the moment. Most of the men I’ve met drink too much, so I just quit looking.”
From off to the side a football bounced in front of them and settled at their feet. Mac rose and snagged it off the ground before motioning for the youngster who was coming for it to run to his left. Then he lofted a tight spiral right over the boy's shoulder as if they’d been rehearsing the exact same move for years.
“Impressive,” Rachel said as they resumed their walk. “Did you play?”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Ever been married?” she asked. “Had kids?”
“No to both, but I like older kids and they seem to like Annie. We get in all sorts of conversations about traveling.”
“Oh, really?” she said as they found their way back to the parking lot. “We’re looking for some summer activities for some of the students. Would you have any interest in discussing some of your motorcycle travels with them? They might like that.”
“Might be interesting,” Mac pointed his jaw toward her Toyota. “What would you say to meeting me same time tomorrow? Then we can take your broken tire somewhere and discuss it.”
* * *
After Rachel drove off Mac and Annie pulled away, too. “How’d it go?” Annie nearly asked.
“Good news, bad news, Annie. Miranda’s going to be very happy, and that’s what counts the most—for her brother’s sake—but it was harder than I expected.”
“Something go wrong?”
“A couple small things. She seems like a decent person. That might make it harder to cheat her out of the money.”
“I thought you said her family wouldn’t miss it?”
“That’s what Miranda tells me, but it’s harder when you attach a face to the plan.”
They swung around the corner. “What’s the other thing?”
“I’m almost ashamed to say it, but she’s not very attractive, especially compared to Miranda. It’s going to take time to get that money, maybe six months or longer. Until then every time I touch her, I’ll be thinking of Miranda. Same thing if I should see her naked. How am I supposed to ignore that?”
“Maybe you should just call the whole thing off. We can return to New York.”
“Can’t do that, Annie. It would disappoint Miranda and I think we’ve got something special going on.”
“Well then, it appears you’re like a piece of lumber. Sooner or later, you’re going to get nailed or screwed.”
“That old line, huh?” Mac eased off the throttle, tapped the breaks. “Pull into that driveway, Annie.” Up ahead, a Budweiser truck was jammed up close to the back of the bowling alley. “I could use a cold beer.”
Chapter Sixteen
“You wouldn’t believe how much better Dogg smells,” Jean said to her sister. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t lent me the money.”
Gerry had just dropped Cousin Willie off before going to her beauty parlor. “Glad to do it, Honey. But next time don’t wait so long. The poor thing must have been scared half to death.”
“At least he got most of his hearing back. I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you and Dirk. Not just for the loan, but for everything you do for us.”
Gerry smiled. “That’s what sisters are for. Are you prepared for your court date tomorrow?”
Jean nodded. “Lydia tells me that it usually takes four DUIs before they send you to jail. This is only my third and Stump will be there to tell them he needs me.”
“You’re cutting it awfully close. Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to stop drinking or at least to stop driving after you’ve had a drink?”
“I’ve already done that,” Jean said, while reaching for a cigarette. “In fact you’ll be surprised by what I threw away last night. Stump even saw me.”
Gerry glanced at her watch. “Oops. I’m sorry, but I’m running late for my appointment. Why don’t you tell me about it while you walk me to my car.”
* * *
“C’mon, Dude,” Willie said to Stump, who was scooping up dog poop. “Let’s go to the mall. I gotta get a new backpack.”
“Not right now, man.” Stump replied as he added full-sized dog turds to one of the bags. “I promised my mom I’d clean up the dog shit and then clean the outside of the windows. It’ll only take me an hour or so.”
“Windows? Doesn’t your mom clean the windows?”
“Just the inside. I do the outside. It’s part of a deal we cut. She agreed to throw out the last of her vodka if I’d do a couple things to help out. All I gotta do is get the stepstool, reach between the bars and wipe them down.”
“Don’t the bars have a release of some kind? That would make it a lot easier.”
Stump shook his head. “New ones do, but these were on here when we bought the house. She likes them because they make her feel safer.”
“So she threw out her vodka, huh? She must have meant it this time.”
“Yep. Right in front of me. I finally got through to her.” He plunged a few more doggie leavings into a sack. “I think it was also because of her court date. She wanted me to be certain that she’d straightened up so I could toot my horn for her.”
“I hope so, man, but my dad thinks they might throw her in jail.”
“Not according to her attorney. Especially after I get done telling them how well she’s doing.”
Willie gazed around the yard, let out an exaggerated sigh. “If I help you with the damn windows, will you go to the mall when we’re done? You can have my old backpack. It’s still in pretty good shape.”
Stump hesitated a second, then grinned. “But that leaves all the dog shit for me, and I’ve already picked up my share. Why don’t I clean the windows and you be the poop dude for a while?” He held out the shovel and grinned again.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
A moment later, the back door swung open. “I’m going to the grocery store, Honey,” Stump’s mom said. “You boys want anything?”
“How about some chocolate ice cream for later?”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“No, but we’re going to the mall when we get done. Okay?”
“That’s fine, as long as you have your work done. I should only be about an hour or so.”
The door closed and Willie whispered to Stump. “Hey, Dude. Did you ever find your birth certificate?”
Stump stopped and looked his cousin in the eye. They both knew what they were going to do as soon as Jean drove off.
The laundry room, or catchall room, as they sometimes referred to it, was in the center of the house. It contained the hot water heater, the washer and dryer, a broom and mop plus a collection of over-stuffed shelves. “She doesn’t throw anything away,” Stump said as they entered the room. “There’s boxes in boxes, stacks of sacks and enough junk for a garage sale.”
“God, what a mess.” Willie mumbled. “Where’s the metal box?”
Stump’s eyes turned skyward. “Used to be on the top shelf, but I don’t see it. I’ll hop up on the wash
ing machine.” An endless collection of boxes and paper products, including his old puzzle books, surrounded him.
To his side, additional shelves were stuffed with tax records, wrapping paper, old toys, and boxes of things that they no longer used. “I don’t know why we keep all this crap,” he said. He shuffled a few items around. Then, “Here it is.” As he stretched for the box, his hand scraped across some bags, thereby creating a miniature paper avalanche.
“Holy crap,” Willie said as he took the box from Stump and bounced backwards.
“Damn it!” Stump hollered out. “Look at this.” He grabbed an unopened gallon of vodka and showed Willie a quart-sized canning jar that also contained clear liquid.
Chapter Seventeen
Stump couldn’t confront his mom about the vodka for fear she’d want to know why he was messing around on the shelves in the first place. On a more selfish level, about all he knew for sure was the metal box was locked so he needed to locate the key. Sidetracked on both counts, he and Willie returned the laundry room to its previous condition and bolted to the mall, for which Stump got a better used backpack out of the deal.
Now it was a new day and Aunt Gerry had just pulled into the driveway to take him and his mom to her hearing.
In the courthouse corridor, Jean’s attorney, Lydia, hurried toward Jean. “Good news. We got Judge Vaughn. I’ve known her forever. She never breaks up families. All we have to do is play this the way we rehearsed and you’re guaranteed that extra chance you need.”
Fifteen minutes later a similar case was underway. The defendant, a Mr. Paxton, got busted for drunk driving and injuring a young girl in his neighborhood. The girl was in attendance, in a wheelchair, with her parents, who happened to be friends of Paxton. They said they were certain it was just an accident, and they hoped the court would forgive him. Then, when Judge Vaughn asked Mr. Paxton to step forward, Stump got a closer look at the injured girl. Both of her legs were in casts and she wore a neck brace.
“You darn near killed your friend’s daughter,” Judge Vaughn said to Paxton. “The court has elected to sentence you to one year in the county jail.” Mr. Paxton shifted his feet as the judge turned a page in her file. “Fortunately for you,” she continued, “there is some additional evidence to consider. The doctor’s report shows the victim is expected to have a complete recovery after a little more physical therapy.” She turned another page. “I see you’ve also gone to some AA meetings and seem to be working on the matter. Additionally, you’re the primary breadwinner in your family, and you’ve only had two DUIs. In view of these added circumstances, I’m electing to temporarily suspend your sentence.”