Chapter Thirty-Seven
Selena
We make a quick stop through the drive-thru of The Tasty Freeze before we get back on the road. Because nothing calms a kid’s nerves like a chocolate milkshake. Jake slurps it through the straw with total ferocity. He gets so into drinking it that, somehow, he gets some on his nose. I wipe it off and, in the late afternoon sun, I can’t help but smile looking down at him.
After all that he’s been through, he’s grinning and happy because of something as simple as a milkshake. It makes me think that he didn’t see the worst of it and that, maybe, when this is all over, I’ll still have my son as I remember him.
God, I wish I could be the same.
As I take us back onto the highway, I can’t shake the feeling that, along with this freedom, my life is never going to be the same. It can’t be the same.
I need to change.
For Jake. For Jarrett.
Shortcuts and selfishness have no more room in my life.
I’m a mom now.
And, maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be an old lady, too.
Just the thought of that boggles my mind. Never did I think I’d be happy to be the ball-and-chain of a man — especially an outlaw — but then, never did I think I’d meet a man like Jarrett.
No matter what he said back there, no matter how reassuring he tried to sound, I know staying behind was a hard decision. He put on a brave face, but going back into that blood-spattered, nightmarish house, had to have stirred up some of the same memories that have haunted him for years. The kind of memories that would wake him up screaming at night. The kind of memories that drove him to drink and chase death more than anyone I’ve known.
But he went back. He went to face his demons. He did it with a wink and a smile because he puts my life and my son’s life over his own.
It’s utterly selfless.
I need to do the same. I have two people now to live for: him and Jake.
Pulling off the freeway into East Portland, and navigating the side streets looking for the brewery, I make a decision: I will change. I’m going to put down roots. I’m going to raise my son right. I’m going to take the harder, longer path to a better life.
I park the bike on the crowded street in front of the Cascade Brewing Barrel House, and shove my gun into the back of my pants, pulling my shirt over it, before heading in. There’s a big crowd inside. It’s a beautiful day and people of all ages fill every table — from the booths inside to the picnic tables outside lining the sidewalk. There are even dogs out, some tied by their leashes to bike racks and others lounging at the feet of their owners.
Right away, I spot Sam. She’s got a table all to herself and a conspicuous five-foot clearance around her table, which is probably the result of the steely “don’t fuck with me” look on her face. She looks on the verge of chewing nails and spitting tacks.
I wave at her from across the bar. The only acknowledgment I get from her at first is a curt nod. Then her eyes flicker to see Jake at my side and she lights up with a grin.
“Jake, I want you to meet Samantha. She’s a friend of Jarrett’s,” I say.
Jake stands quiet at my side. Then he waves.
“Well, hi Jake, it is so nice to finally meet you,” Sam says. “Why don’t you and your mom join me? The grub here’s pretty good. There’s a food truck parked out back that’s serving organic, fair trade grilled cheese sandwiches.”
I frown. “What makes it fair trade?”
“Ego,” Sam answers. “The guy making them has three man buns.”
“Three? Are you serious?”
She nods. “Two for his hair — kind of like pigtails, except buns — and one for his beard. When I went back to order, I caught him doing yoga. At least the beer here is good. Their sour red is on point, and suits my mood right now.”
“Just what are you doing down here, Sam? Jarrett told me they’d sent everyone except the men away.”
She fixes me with a cold look, but behind the steely gaze, I see fear. Her voice is rough, raw and cut through with the desperation of a woman teetering on the edge of fearful heartbreak. “I have my rifle in Gunney’s truck. If I don’t hear from my husband — if they take him from me — I’m driving down to Salem and I’m going to put a bullet in every Jackal I find. And once I clear out Salem, I’m driving to Reno. I will wreck every clubhouse I come across on the way. He’s my husband, and anyone who hurts him is going straight to hell.”
“Gunney’s going to be fine, Sam,” I say, and I reach across the table and take her hand. “They’re all going to be fine.”
“He’d better. I don’t want to think about life without my heart.”
A waitress appears at our table. She has a cheery smile, curly red hair, and freckles. And young. She’s barely into her twenties.
“Hi, I’m Cassie, and I’ll be taking care of you. Are you ready to order, or would you like a few minutes?”
Above the bar, there’s a big chalkboard with different specials written on it; at least a dozen different beers, with descriptions of their flavor profiles, aroma notes, alcohol by volume, and even some kind of IBU number.
“Cassie, I’ve had a day. One of those days that really, really sucks. What’s going to be the best beer to put this day behind me?”
She crinkles her nose a second, thinking. “We have a Russian Imperial Stout. It’s really chocolaty and really, really strong.”
“I’ll have one of those,” I say.
“Me too,” Sam adds.
Cassie nods, then looks down at Jake. “And what would you like, little guy?”
“Can I have a grill cheese, mom?”
“Yes, honey,” I say. Then, to Cassie, “One grilled cheese, please.”
“I’ll be right back with your beers, and it’ll be about fifteen minutes for the grilled cheese. Chef Margan is almost done meditating.”
“He’s meditating?”
“The bread toasts more evenly when he’s got his aura focused.”
“Are you serious?” Sam blurts out.
Cassie nods. “Chef Margan recently got back from a trip through Thailand. It was pretty eye-opening. He went to Bangkok, Chiang Mai, and Phuket and learned a lot about focusing his energies and keeping in the moment.”
“You mean he went backpacking and got drunk on a beach with a bunch of other twenty-year-olds?” I say, rolling my eyes. “Does Chef Margan play guitar, too?”
Cassie nods. “He’s very talented. He’s in two bands.”
I decide to drop it and forgo asking if the Chef will play ‘Wonderwall’ for us. “Ok, well, whenever the chef feels like he’s present, we’ll take a grilled cheese for my son.”
Cassie leaves to grab our beers and comes back quickly with two full pint glasses. Sam and I spend a minute contemplating our glasses. I’ve never been in this position before: totally free, able to run anywhere I want, and yet not wanting to leave. I’m chained here by choice. I feel so out of sorts and just lost.
“Hun, you look like you’re already planning a funeral. Cut that s-h-i-t out,” she says, eying Jake as she spells through the curse word.
“How many times has the club been in a situation this bad, Sam? I feel like I might’ve seen some of these guys for the last time.”
She shakes her head. “A club is as strong as its weakest member. And every single one of those men has steel at his core. Some might have their head in the clouds — bless Ozzy’s heart — but every single one of them is a force to be reckoned with.”
“If you really believed that, would you be here?”
“We’re a family, hun. And in a time like this, even the women in the club are ready for a fight. These Jackals took one of our own. Not a one of us is going to just grab our ankles and take it.”
“So what do we do now?” I say. I can’t help but think about Jarrett trapped in that house. Surrounded and out-gunned, bleeding from that wound in his shoulder.
How is it that I finally got the courage to open up to him, to really accept him in my life, to want to make a change in who I am, and now I might lose him?
It’s the cruelest joke in the world — I finally get my shit together, only to have everything but my son stripped from me.
“Are you a praying woman?” Sam says.
“No.”
“Good. Because you don’t need to put your faith in some figment of your imagination. Those men of ours are all the holy vengeance we need.”