Kara

 

“Who was that man?” asked Kara’s mother. “Why were you riding around with some guy on a motorcycle?”

 

Kara wrung her hands as she sat in the living room with her parents, a fire crackling in the fireplace. She’d hoped to keep everything about Ryder as hidden as possible, ideally to never mention it to a soul, but after the conversation with Ryder it was clear that this wasn’t going to happen. Still, she considered, she didn’t need to tell them all of the details.

 

“He, um, well, when I was coming over here last night, I found him on the side of the road. He’d crashed, and I helped him get to a hospital.”

 

“Oh my God,” said her mother. “You just found him lying in the snow?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“These motorcyclists are maniacs,” said her father. “I rode a bike when I was a young man, you know, and I never even once thought about riding it in the snow like that. Especially during a blizzard.”

 

“Is he okay?” asked her mother, now seemingly invested.

 

“He was fine,” said Kara. “Just a few scrapes and some bruised ribs; nothing too bad.”

 

“He should’ve lost a finger or something to frostbite,” said her mother. “Maybe that would’ve taught him a little lesson about not driving around like a lunatic in weather like that.”

 

“Susan,” said her father in a chiding tone.

 

Kara let an amused smile form on her face.

 

Her mind flashed back to the exchange she and Ryder had had as he dropped her off. Kara had rushed to the bathroom as fast as she could, washing his number off of her hand before her parents could see it—not before putting it into her phone first, however. But the more she thought about it, the more she didn’t want to call Ryder about this or anything else. Even if that other biker—Franco? she tried to remember his name—showed up and wanted to cause trouble, Kara decided that calling the police was the far better option. She imagined Ryder and Franco, two leather-bound bikers, fighting with each other on the lawn of her parents’ house, swinging chains or tire irons or whatever it was that bikers fought with.

 

The whole conversation had left her with a sick, disturbed feeling in her gut. Part of her even wished she’d never stopped for Ryder, that she’d just pretended she hadn’t seen anything. That struck her as a very bad thing to think, but she realized that it was just her way of wishing that she wasn’t a part of this conflict. She wanted normalcy, to simply sit in her living room with her parents in front of a roaring fire and to sip tea while listening to her parents bicker about one thing or another.

 

She tried to pass the time as best she could. Picking up one of her mother’s old cozy mystery books, Kara curled up on one of the easy chairs and tried to lose herself in the words. However, she found herself getting distracted over and over again by the idea of the biker who followed her. She imagined him down the block, hiding behind some bush or car, watching the house and waiting to make his move. Closing the pages of the book over her finger, her mind’s eye played with perfect clarity a short film of some leather-clad thug kicking down the door of the house and opening fire with a sawed-off shotgun.

 

Kara set the book aside, the crackling of the fire and the soft classical music her father was playing blending together in a soft din that swirled around her.

 

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” she said almost robotically as she stood up.

 

“Are you kidding?” asked her mother, who was currently curled up on the couch on the other side of the room, an iPad on her lap. “It’s freezing out there.”

 

“I just need some fresh air,” said Kara as she picked up her scarf and coat.

 

“You want some company?” asked her father, who was busy with a book of his own.

 

“Nah, thanks,” said Kara. “Just need to walk around and clear my head.”

 

Her parents shared a somewhat suspicious look, as if they didn’t quite believe that everything was copacetic. Once Kara was bundled up, she stepped out onto the front lawn. Above her, the sky was turning a dark dingy gray as the sun went along its low evening descent. The block was just about barren—a middle-aged woman walking her dog was the only sign of life.

 

What am I even doing? Kara asked herself as she started down the block. Am I looking out for that biker? What would I even do if I found him?

 

She knew just how silly she was being, but also knew that sitting around was doing nothing more than causing the anxiety in her gut to build to a slow boil. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Kara walked slowly down the block, thinking about just what a turn for the insane her life had taken over the course of the last 24 hours.

 

Her walk ended up stretching out into a half-hour, and by the time she approached her house once again, her face was starting to feel a little numb. The activity had cooled her worry some, and she was ready to get back next to the fire. Still, she couldn’t shake that feeling she’d had several times during her walk, that tingling sensation in the back of her neck that made her certain that someone, somewhere, was watching her.

 

As she stepped up to the front door and placed her hand on the cold knob, a rumbling sounded off in the distance—she recognized the sound right away as a motorcycle. Kara’s heart began to pound and she pulled the door open as fast as possible. Stepping inside, she shut the door hard, much to the surprise of her parents.

 

“Honey, you okay?” asked her father.

 

“Fine,” said Kara. “Just, um, saw a weird guy and got a little paranoid—that’s all.”

 

“What kind of weird guy?” asked her mother.

 

Before Kara could response, the sound of the motorcycle revving cut through the living room like the buzzing of a massive bee. Kara rushed to the window just in time to see a bike rush by. But it wasn’t some strange man on the back of it—it was Ryder. Her eyes locked onto his as he turned his head. Moments later, he was gone, along with the tension in Kara’s belly.

 

“Damn bikers,” said her father. “Next time one of those clowns revs his engine down the street, I’m going to call the cops—and you can count on that.”

 

Kara’s mother waved her hand through the air dismissively, her eyes focused on her iPad.

 

Stepping out of the living room, Kara entered the bathroom and pulled out her phone. Hesitantly, she opened up Ryder’s number and fired off a text.

 

Was that you?

 

The response came almost instantly.

 

Yep. Just keeping an eye out.

 

Kara’s thumbs hovered over the keypad for a moment before typing out her reply.

 

Thanks.

 

Then the response.

 

Don’t mention it.

 

Kara sat back on the seat, realizing that her anxiety was nearly completely gone. Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she went back to the living room.

 

“Everything okay?” asked her father.

 

Kara plopped down in her easy chair and grabbed her book, now feeling completely at ease.

 

“Everything’s great.”