Chapter 5
Smokey
I was doing alright. I thought my life was good, but nonetheless, as I held my father’s letters in my hand, I found myself doubting the choices I’d made. I ran my fingers over the letters of my name and wondered just how differently things might have been if I had followed another path. My parents were older when they’d had me and my sister. They were in their late thirties when Mom had me, and almost forty when they had Emily. I never really understood why they ever even wanted kids. My Dad’s world was wrapped up in the farm, and my mother spent her entire life putting him before anyone else. They were okay parents, but I always felt irrelevant, like I didn’t really matter to either of them. Sure, they’d always made certain we both had clothes on our backs, name brands and all that, and there was always a warm dinner on the table, but it was just so mechanical. My father was obsessed with the crop, and my mother was always right there beside him, doing whatever she could to make him happy. I just couldn’t compete with the harvest, and I was left feeling unimportant to either of them.
There was nothing worse than being at one of my football games, standing on the field and looking over only to see that no one was there cheering me on. I remember the day we won the state playoffs. I was just a freshman at the time and was excited that’d I’d made the winning touchdown. When I got home, everyone was already in bed, so I waited until morning and rushed out to the barn to tell my father the news. When I walked in, the apple sizer was running wide open, sorting and cleaning the apples as it passed through all the different rows as it checked for any bad ones.
My dad was busy working on one of the apple presses, so I walked over to him and proudly said, “Hey, Pop, we won the game last night.”
“Uh huh,” he mumbled without even looking up.
“I made some really great plays. Even made the winning touchdown. Coach says I’ve got a lot of potential.”
Like he hadn’t even heard what I said, he ordered, “Bring me one of those empty barrels, then run out to the back and tell Wes that I need him. The backyard needs mowing. Be sure to take care of that before dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” I told him, trying to hide my disappointment.
“There’s lots of work that needs to get done around here, son. Already behind.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you’re finished with that, check with Wes and see if he needs a hand with picking today. Earl called in sick.”
“Yes, sir.”
His reaction wasn’t surprising, but it still hurt nonetheless. I just needed some kind of acknowledgement. A good job, son or well done. But, as usual, I got nothing from him. I brought him the barrel, and after talking to Wes, I thought I might try to tell Mom the news. I walked into the kitchen, and she was busy talking on the phone to someone about a late delivery that my dad had been expecting for days. I tried to wait her out, give her the time she needed to finish talking because I knew it was important to her, but after a half-hour of trying to be patient, I gave up. I knew it was pointless. Neither of them had time for me.
It had been like that with my friends, with school, with sports—anything that was important to me just didn’t matter to them. Even when Danny, the neighbor’s kid and one of my closest friends, was killed in a car wreck, I got nothing from them. The two of us were inseparable, and it fucking broke me when he died, but they were too busy to care. They never even mentioned his name, and they sure as hell didn’t come to the funeral. His death wasn’t even on their radar, much less how hurt I was. That was when I just gave up, so by the time I graduated, I wasn’t the least bit surprised that neither of them were there to see me get my diploma. I’d learned long ago that nothing was more important than the harvest.
For reasons I’d never understood, my dad had it set in his head that I was going to take over the family orchard and make a home for myself in the small town of Sequim, Washington. He expected me to go to college, get a business degree, and follow in his footsteps. Unfortunately for him, I had no interest in taking over the business, and by the time I was eighteen, I’d had enough of the apple orchard. I wanted something more. I wanted an adventure, a life filled with unexpected twists and turns, danger, and intrigue.
So I started to venture out, to explore the neighboring town, searching for the life I truly wanted. In order to get away, I’d told my dad that I was checking out colleges, but I spent the long weekends checking out jobs, doing a little drinking and partying, and finally, when I was just about to start home, I ran into Clutch. I stopped for lunch at a local diner just outside of Clallam County, a few miles from Sequim, and he was sitting in the booth next to me. We struck up a conversation about bikes and the best places to ride and ended up talking for hours. When I asked him about his cut, he could see that I was interested and offered to take me by the club and show me around. As soon as Clutch introduced me to the brothers of Satan’s Fury, I knew I’d found what I was looking for. Within a few weeks, I was prospecting for the club.
Then came the day I decided to pack my bags and leave. Summer break was over, and I finally broke the news to my dad that I had no intention of going off to college like he’d expected me to. With my bag full of clothes, I headed out of the house with my dad following close behind. As soon as I walked out of the back door, he started shouting, “You’re making a mistake, son.”
“I don’t see it that way, Dad. This is what I want.”
“What about the farm?”
“What about it? That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” I shouted.
“This farm is what puts food on the table and clothes on your back.”
I shrugged. “Did you ever think about asking me if I wanted to take over the farm? Did you even care if I wanted it?”
“I thought you loved it like I did,” he said softly, almost sounding wounded by my response.
“You were wrong. I don’t love it like you do. This farm has taken over your life. Every second is wrapped up in this place, and I don’t want that. I have other plans.”
“This club—Is that your plan?” His voice was filled with anger.
“It is,” I snapped.
He stepped in front of me, blocking my path as he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Think about this, Evan. These people aren’t like us. They are criminals! They are thugs that know nothing about honor.” I could see the anguish in his eyes, the pain that my actions were causing, but it just didn’t matter. I’d made my choice. I wasn’t going to let him change my mind, because over all the years, he’d never given in on one of our arguments—and I wasn’t about to either.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I argued.
“This is a small county, son. There’s talk, lots of it. I’ve heard what people say about those men. They don’t work for what they want… they just take it. They take and take without even thinking about the people they are hurting in the process… and that’s just the beginning. These biker friends of yours kill innocent people. You have to know that these are bad guys. They have no ethics… no pride. That’s not who I raised you to be.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, but you’ll never see it any other way. It’s always your way or the highway. You never listen, so what’s the point in even talking about it?”
“Evan… don’t,” he pleaded. “This is the rest of your life we’re talking about.”
“Exactly, this is my life, and I can make my own decisions!” I shouted.
“Yes, you can make your own decisions.” He took a step back and his eyes lit up with anger as he said, “But just know… if you leave… if you choose to join that godforsaken club, then consider yourself cut off. No more handouts. No more rescues. I’m done. There will be no coming back.”
I threw my hands up in the air and shouted, “Why would I want to come back here? All you’ve ever cared about or ever will care about is that damn crop. Period. Nothing I’ve ever done has ever mattered to you, so I don’t see why this should be any different. Just go tend to your harvest and forget about me. I’m done.”
I tossed my backpack in the passenger seat and got behind the wheel. As I started the engine, I noticed my sister standing on the front porch. Tears rolled down her face as she watched me pull out of the driveway, but I was too angry to give her a second thought. I just wanted to get out of there. I didn’t stop to think how she’d feel about me leaving, much less my mother. I knew she’d beg me to stay and try to convince me that my father loved me and just wanted the best for me. I didn’t want to hear it, any of it. He’d fucked it all up.
Later, I’d tried to mend what was broken between us. I’d tried going by the farm to see him, but he’d turned me away. I tried calling, but he said I’d made my choice. He would remind me that I was not the son he’d raised, and I was throwing my life away running with lowlife thugs and criminals. Disappointment constantly dripped from every word, until I finally gave up trying.
He should’ve tried to see things my way, talked to me, worked it out, but he was just too damn stubborn. He stuck to his word and cut me off in every way possible. Mom did what she could. She’d call from time to time or meet me for a quick lunch. She tried to make the best of it, but I could see that it was hurting her that Dad and I weren’t speaking. When she stopped coming to see me, I figured that she’d gotten busy with the farm, or Dad was making things hard on her. It wasn’t until later that I found out she’d gotten sick—very sick. Her heart was giving out on her. I had no idea it was as bad as it was. When I managed to get a call in to her, she’d tell me she was getting better. I had my doubts, but I couldn’t make myself believe that she was dying. I’d managed to convince myself it wasn’t the end, until the day Emily called to tell me that she’d died. Despite my denial, I would’ve been there if I’d known. I would’ve told her I loved her. I would’ve told her goodbye. My father had stolen that chance from me, and I’d never be able to forgive him for that.
I looked down at the postmark, seeing that it was sent a year before my mother died, and I wondered what in the hell he’d have to say to me after so much time. Didn’t he know there was nothing he could say that would change what had happened? I almost tore it into shreds, but the longer I sat there staring at it, the more curious I became. I finally ripped it open and unfolded the letter. I sat there staring at it for several minutes before I actually read the words. Finally, I let the letters blend into words, and read what my father had written me seven years ago.
Evan,
Your mom isn’t doing well. I know I’ve contributed to that by driving her son away. Your being gone has taken its toll on her, and I know that is my fault. All of it. The very thought that I might lose her makes me realize the true depth of losing you. My son. My own flesh and blood. It’s hard to accept the fact that I’ve been such a selfish, domineering father and husband, but I have. I know that. I know I haven’t been one to listen. I know that I’ve always wanted things my way and haven’t been one to budge. I was a stubborn, old fool. I want to change. I want to make things better for both of you.
Come home. Give me another chance. I will listen this time. I give you my word. Do it for your mother.
Dad
I sat there holding that letter in my hand for over an hour. I couldn’t stop staring at it. He’d done it. He’d tried to fix things between us, but I wouldn’t let him. I’d just assumed that the letter would be another jab, another condescending mountain of words telling me I’d screwed up. I was wrong. I let my own fucking pride ruin the one chance we had to make things right. I looked at the other letter lying on the counter, and I just didn’t have it in me to read it—not yet. I needed time to clear my head, to sort through the shit storm that was raging through my mind.
I grabbed my cut, put the unopened envelope in the side pocket, and headed out to my bike, knowing that being out on the open road was the only thing that was going to get me through this. As soon as I started up the engine, I pushed the throttle back and rode out to Cape Flattery. It was almost noon when I pulled up to an old secluded trail I’d ridden a thousand times before. When I got to the end of the wooded path, I parked my bike and walked out to the cliff overlooking the ocean. I watched in fascination as the sun flickered across the water, and the huge vastness of the ocean made my problems with my father seem small and almost insignificant. My father had made his mistakes, both of us had. And even though I didn’t regret my choice to become a brother of Satan’s Fury, I did regret not opening my father’s letter sooner. I had fucked up.
After mulling over everything for several hours, I had an unexpected need to just go to the house. I needed to be there, to be in the last place my father was alive. I knew it wouldn’t change anything, but I needed to feel some kind of connection. I turned the bike around and headed back to the place where I grew up, hoping to find some kind of resolve before I opened that second letter. As I drove down the long, gravel driveway that led to my parent’s house, I was overcome with memories of my sister and I playing in the orchard, the smell of pie floating through the air, and all the nights we’d sat out on the porch together.
I was lost in my thoughts when I finally made it up to the house and was totally taken off-guard when I found my sister standing on the porch. She was cradling her newborn son in her arms, and Shelby, her three-year-old daughter, sat in one of the old rocking chairs with her little feet dangling over the edge. It had been a while since I’d seen Emily—months, in fact—and by the expression on her face and the tears in her eyes, I could see that she was having a hard time dealing with Dad’s death.
I got off my bike and headed towards her. Looking at the baby in her arms, I asked, “Hey, Em. Who you got there?”
“This,” she said as she moved the blanket gently away from his face, “is Grant Stephenson, the newest love of my life.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the hospital to see you. I knew you were close to your due date, but I thought you had a few more weeks.”
“Well, my little soccer player here decided to come early. He surprised all of us. That’s why I was at the hospital for so long,” she explained. “There were a few complications.”
“What kind of complications?” I asked as I made my way up the steps. I looked down at my nephew, seeing how beautiful and innocent he looked wrapped up in his little blanket. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. It was me,” she started. She looked down at her son with a touch of sadness and said, “I won’t be able to have any more children.”
“Damn, I’m so sorry. I know you wanted a big family.”
She smiled and said, “I’m okay with it. I’ve got two amazing children. I can’t really ask for more than that.” My sister had my father’s determination and my mother’s good nature. She was the one who tried to take things in stride, but I could see the hurt in her eyes. A big family was important to her, and I hated that she couldn’t have one.
“Still… I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed.”
Her eyes welled up with tears as she said, “I’m so sorry, Evan. I tried to call to tell you about Daddy. I even sent David to go and find you, but—”
“It’s my fault. All of it,” I interrupted her. “I’ve been gone. I should’ve checked in, and then I would’ve known about the funeral.” I sighed. “I’m so sorry I missed it.”
“Wasn’t much to it, Evan. Some people from the church did a little memorial, but I wasn’t able to go. I feel so guilty about it,” she explained. “He had no family there with him.”
Shaking off my own ill feelings, I looked up at her and said, “Nothing for you to feel guilty about, Em. Not a damn thing.”
“Maybe not, but I still do.” She looked down at the baby. “Would you like to hold him?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” I smiled as I took him from her arms. “You were clinging on to him pretty tightly there.”
“Momma won’t let me hold him unless I’m sittin’ down,” Shelby complained.
“That’s because I’m afraid you might drop him,” Emily replied sweetly.
With an overstated pout, she grumbled, “Uncle Evan should have to sit, too. He might drop Baby Grant.”
I smiled and started walking to the empty rocking chair next to her and said, “You’re probably right. I better not take any chances. Your momma would have my hide if I dropped him.”
As soon as I got settled, I pulled the blanket back so I could get a better look at him. While Shelby looked more like her dad, Grant was the spitting image of his mother, right down to the cute little button nose and chubby little cheeks. He was perfect. I looked over to my sister and found myself amazed that she’d been able to create two perfect kids. I had no clue how she managed to do it, but she made it look easy.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re pretty awesome,” I told her just as I noticed a car coming down the driveway. With a closer look, I realized it was a familiar car, one that I’d seen sitting in my driveway just a few hours earlier.