Motorcycle Man

“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.

Chapter Thirteen

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 f**k 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.

“I see this,” she replied, hesitated then finished, “Clearly.”

“I like him,” Lanie announced, pulling out a top and holding it down her front as I stared at her in shock. “I think he’s lush.”

“I thought you wanted me to give notice,” I said to her.

She stopped looking down at the top and looked at me. “I did, until he made me pancakes. Now I think he’s lush.”

That feeling I had that morning swept through me as Aunt Bette muttered, “Gotta say, those pancakes are definitely in the plus category.”