Nick

She thrust her hip into the door of her Jeep, and swung it closed. I watched as she walked into the shop, a plastic bag dangling from her right fist. She swung it back and forth comically, as if to bring attention to the fact she was carrying it. I hadn’t seen her for an entire week and I didn’t like it much, but she told me she’d come around as soon a she was able.

By the look on her face, she must have been a little more than able.

Smiling from ear to ear, she continued to walk toward me, the grin all but covering her entire face. Watching her walk was a treat in itself, and I could do it for as long as she would let me.

Her jean shorts, Chuck’s, and Jimi Hendrix tee shirt were a reminder of the way things once were.

“Here,” she said, tossing the bag toward me.

I wasn’t expecting her to throw it, but caught it before it fell to the floor, nonetheless. It wasn’t heavy, but it was heavier than I expected. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

I opened the bag and removed the box that was inside. Covered in Harley-Davidson wrapping paper, the 12-inch by 12-inch box was perfectly wrapped.

“Did you wrap it?”

“No,” she said. “I got some random lady to do it.”

I nodded and glanced down at the box.

“Yes, asshole. I wrapped it.”

“Oh. It looks nice.”

“Open it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a fucking gift, you big goon.”

She’s only been gone for a week, and it seemed in the time that she was away, she’d got her spunk back. Surprised, and feeling like I was feeding off of her playful nature, I tossed the box on the workbench and spun her around by her arm. As soon as I did it, I realized I probably shouldn’t have. Her reaction told me otherwise.

She bent over and pointed her ass at me. After a few seconds of hovering there bent over, she stood up.

“I thought you were going to spank me. Fucking tease.”

“I was just fucking around.”

She brushed her hair away from her face. “Open it.”

I peeled the paper away from the box carefully, and placed it aside. After opening one of the flaps to the cardboard box and looking inside, I laughed.

“You know what it is? she asked.

I nodded. “Yep.”

“So, you’ve been aware all along that they existed?”

“Yep.”

Her eyes narrowed. “When were you going to tell me?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Dick.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a dick.”

I opened the other end of the box. “That’s kind of harsh.”

“Really?” she snapped back. “Why don’t you ride on that steel fender for a few hours and then find out they make a little suction cup seat for it. I fucking swear. I was so mad.”

I couldn’t do anything but laugh. “Sorry.”

“The guy at the shop said it was a one-size-fits-all type affair. Is that right?”

I nodded. “Sure is.”

“Asshole.”

“Enough with the names, you little fucker. Jesus.”

“I just can’t believe that you’ve had me on the back of that thing sitting on a bare fender. And, there’s another thing I realized after I was looking at some motorcycles at the dealer.”

“What’s that?”

“You turned it into a hardtail. It doesn’t even have fucking shocks.”

I chuckled. “Yep.”

“Yep it does, or yep it doesn’t?”

“It’s a hardtail.”

“Fucker,” she hissed.

“Thanks for the gift, reporter.”

“You’re welcome, outlaw.”

She looked remarkable. The way she was acting led me to believe she was feeling better about everything. I had no way of knowing if the deaths of the four men contributed to her state of mind, but I really couldn’t ask, either. The newspaper had their names listed in the obituaries, but other than that there was nothing on the news, in the newspaper, or on the internet.

Further proof that their lives, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t really matter.

“Why are you so fucking giddy today, Peyton?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. Just happy. Maybe it’s the seat.”

“Quite a bit of excitement over a little seat.”

“That little seat’s going to make a huge difference. That’s what the guy said.”

The thought of having her on the back of my bike excited me. Especially as happy as she was. “Only one way to find out. Have dinner yet?”

“Not yet, why?”

I tossed her seat in the air. She caught it and grinned.

“Let’s roll, reporter.”

“Music to my ears, asshole,” she snapped back.

And hearing her smart-assed remarks were music to mine.