Bikers and Pearls (11 page)

He yawned and pulled up the white sheet over his pajamas that were decorated with
tiny trains. His slight body was barely a bump under the covers.

She walked to the window, fighting the tears from falling. “Did you know that Reese
lost her other front tooth? Blake broke his arm playing soccer, and Riley has a new
baby brother,” she said. “Did that tooth of yours ever come out?”

He didn’t answer, so she turned around. He was asleep. The deadly disease was eating
away at him and his spirit. Not much was left of the blithe boy she had grown to love.

At his bedside, she picked up his small, skeletal hand and closed her eyes. Her resolve
steeled. One day he was going to climb trees again. And play real football.

She’d do anything—anything—to help him.

…

Early the next morning, April woke and turned on the shower. It was Sunday, the day
of the dedication. Letting the warm water wash over the back of her tilted head, she
inhaled deeply. As the air filled her lungs, determination filled her heart.

Ben. Charity fundraiser. Riders? No, no. Participants
.

All she had to do was to choose her words carefully. Then she could help Ben
and
protect her father in the process.

She’d left the old accordion out of its case after she’d practiced last night, so
she put it back. She plucked a navy dress with lace around the collar from her closet
and dressed for the ceremony.
I can do this. For Ben, I can do this
. She simply had to find the correct words.

Fried chicken was easy to transport. And biscuits. The ladies could drop things off
at the small civic building—the place she was heading for the dedication dinner—and
April could cart everything to the square. Alone. Or maybe with a little help from
Bull. That is, if he wasn’t still mad at her for pulling away from that luscious kiss
he’d given her at Marvin’s. Flashes of the tingles that ran down her neck kept darting
across her mind. She had to push them away and get back to her speech.

She jotted down a couple of things to say on a notepad in her kitchen. No. That was
no good. Crumbling the paper in her fist, she pounded it on the table.

Nothing was going to stop her from making that speech. Nothing. It was the least she
could do to help Ben. And some way, somehow, she was going to do it—even if she had
to wing it.

As she pulled up to the old structure, she saw the sign:
Summerbrook Civic Center
. Before her was a solid red-brick building. The surrounding grounds were dotted with
old magnolia and dogwood trees. From their limbs, the Spanish moss that decorated
her town swayed like a child’s silken hair stirring in a breeze. She closed her eyes
and imagined Ben climbing them.

When she opened them, a sick feeling coursed through her stomach and hitched in her
chest. She didn’t know if she could go through with the request.

Josephine Brown and the women with Meals on Wheels had brought casserole after casserole
to her family while her father had been recovering and couldn’t work. Mr. Grainger
and Mr. Luther had cut their grass each week. Of course, there were all their donations.
How was she to tell the group that she was throwing caution to the wind and hanging
out with the same kind of people who’d brought so much destruction to her family—and
to the town—so many years ago? There’d be no time to tell them about how different
these new bikers were. How they were willing to help Ben.

Miss Adree, Miss Ethel, and Miss Ruth—the elder women from the Humanity Project—were
walking into the building together. April couldn’t imagine the old-fashioned ladies
serving lunch to a bunch of people clad in tattoos and leather.

Still in her car, she lowered her head and tried to gather more strength. Time to
pull out the old accordion. Thank goodness none of the ladies from the league ever
bothered to volunteer with the project. She guessed they’d worry about breaking nails
and getting dirty, so there was no chance anyone from there would see her with the
instrument. She really did need to stop leading such a double life, though.

April climbed the steps of the small stage and brought out the accordion and readied
it to play. Mr. Houseman took to the lectern and said a few words—most of which April
didn’t pay any attention to. She was still trying to sort out what she was going to
say while she waited upon Mr. Houseman’s cue to play.

From the lectern, he said, “We’ve come here today to dedicate the latest Humanity
Project house to the Williamson family. Each one of you has been an integral part
in making this happen for this deserving family.” He went on to thank each person
and business involved. “And now April will play our dedication song.”

She began to play “That’s What Friends Are For” and noticed the smiles that began
to emerge across the faces of the people in the crowd. These were good people. People
who wanted to help people. If she told them the cold hard facts—the statistics, like
the ones she used at work…well, they’d do her speaking for her. Surely, they’d help
then. Wasn’t that what friends were for? She finished the song and smiled.

“We have a very important announcement today that’ll concern you all,” he said. “April,
will you come over here and tell everyone what’s going on?”

She walked to the lectern and looked out over the crowd. There sat Mr. Turner, who
owned Turner Electrical. And Mrs. Journigan, Bud, Babby, and Beebe’s mother. Miss
Lucy, who—last count—had thirty-six grandchildren. Dr. Warner and Mrs. Warner, April’s
eighth grade teacher. And Mr. and Mrs. Davies, her family’s neighbors—until her parents
had moved about an hour’s ride away. Yep. There they were—friends and neighbors.

Was there any way she could keep them from calling and upsetting her father? What
if they did? What if it triggered something in his weakened heart? It would all be
her fault.

Words locked themselves up in the prison in her head, and she couldn’t parole any
of the ones that had been walking around on good behavior this morning.
Speak, woman, speak.

No matter what the consequences, though, she was going to do this for Ben. Finally,
she began. “Many of you remember one of our former Humanity Project families—the Evans.
Well, the little boy in that house needs us.” April went on to tell of his condition,
the statistics of his disease, and how many of the civic groups projects were going
to help. Then she went on to tell about the fundraiser.

“It’s a sponsorship fundraiser. We’re projecting we’ll raise quite a substantial amount
for Ben over that weekend. All profit, too.” Somehow—she didn’t quite know how—she
never used the words biker or motorcycle. She was proud of herself. In her little
Sunday school dress and draped in her pearls and accordion. It all sounded so palatable.
With renewed bravery, she pulled her arms from the accordion and set it just off the
stage. “What I need from you, mostly you ladies who cook, is lunch for the volunteers
on April twenty-eighth.” She glanced behind her.

Mr. Houseman was looking at the floor. She saw an almost imperceptible shake of his
head. His mouth was downturned. Miss Adree asked, “How many we got to feed?”

“We’re thinking between two and five hundred. I can let you know the exact count nearer
the date,” April said.

“Ooooo weeee,” a voice in the crowd exclaimed. Some people laughed.

“These would be volunteers for exactly what?” Mr. Thornton, one of the town council
members, asked with a look of confusion on his face.

As April started to devise an answer, the doors in the back of the building opened
quietly and in walked Bull. Behind him was his gang of leather-wearing friends.

There went her generic description with all her whitewashed statistics. She had almost
had it in the bag. As she looked over her shoulder, she saw a huge smile covering
Mr. Houseman’s face.

“Well, thank goodness. The visitors I invited today are here. And just in time,” he
said. “April seems to need a little help with explaining the kind of assistance we
need for the fundraiser.”

April knew her mouth was agape, so she closed it. This wasn’t the way she wanted to
see Bull after their last meeting.

“Come on up here, boys,” he said. “And ma’am.”

The group apparently had put on their Sunday spikes. They were dressed to the hilt
in their Harley garb.

“April was in the middle of telling our volunteers what you good folks are up to.”

Patch stepped up first, followed by Bull, Crank, Scooter, and a couple others. Mr.
Houseman hugged Patch, and April could hear the loud slap of the hide on Patch’s back
reverberate in her as she moved away from the lectern.

What must the people of the town be thinking?
Some would probably be calling her father as soon as they could get a cell-phone signal
outside the building. Mr. Houseman said, “This is Patch Evans, Ben’s grandfather.
Patch, why don’t you tell these people what we need?”

April glanced next to her. Bull was standing so close she felt the brush of his denim
shirt, and it sent an electric spark to her core. Patch stepped to the lectern and
lowered his head. Moments passed without a word, and then finally he reached up to
brush something off his face and backed away shaking his head.

She had to do something, so she walked to the front of the stage, looked back, and
said, “I can handle it from here.”

“Bikers for Ben is projecting to raise between ten and twenty thousand dollars. Maybe
more.” She explained everything in super detail—kind of like she’d approach a statistical
report at work—numbers, descriptions, projections.

The entire building clapped. Some people stood, and others whispered to one another.
April wondered what they were saying, but she continued. She had to be brave. For
Ben’s sake and to show Bull. She didn’t want him thinking that she was incompetent.

“The bikers are the volunteers we need you to provide lunch for on the Sunday of the
rally. They’ll be giving rides on the square and taking additional sponsorships for
Ben. Right after, they’ll be taking off for the Battery in downtown Charleston.”

Mr. Baker stood. “I’ll donate four of the pigs from my farm. If I had some help, we
could do a barbecue.”

Several of the men in the back raised their hands and someone said, “Count me in.”

Miss Ethel stood and said, “My women’s quilting group can make coleslaw and hash and
rice.”

“I’ll donate the rolls from my bakery,” said Mr. Putney.

Then, Aiken Hughes, the founder of the Summerbrook Humanity Project and a very well-respected
builder and businessman in the area, stood. “Anything you need Hughes Construction
to provide or build—tables, platforms, fencing—we will.” Charlene Timmons, her condo
neighbor, smiled tenderly at him. He’d just made big points with her. April could
tell.

She glanced over the audience again. They were the same people she’d known since she
was a little girl. And they were all volunteering like it was a cakewalk for some
Sunday school charity. She inhaled deeply and felt the air clear the tension she’d
brought in with her.

Patch walked back to the lectern and choked out a few words. “I can’t thank you enough.”
He lowered his head again and went to stand with the others.

The room was silent. April returned to her spot beside Bull. She’d done the only thing
she could do.

“I want to thank all of you,” Mr. Houseman said.

Bull grabbed one of her hands and Patch the other. She felt pity flow from her and
connect to Patch’s fingers, but what she felt gushing in Bull’s direction was indescribable.
She had never experienced anything like it before. Not ever. It was as if her heart
had opened up and its soft, secret contents were coursing toward Bull.

She lifted her head and glanced next to her again. Her head hurt with it all.

Patch let go of her hand. But Bull didn’t. They were still fastened together physically
and in some other way she couldn’t quite understand. And in front of everyone at that.

“These good people standing here are my friends. No matter what, when one of us is
in need, we gather together. I can think of no better song for us today than the song
April played earlier, ‘That’s What Friends Are For.’ April, could you give us a few
more verses?” Mr. Housman asked.

Miss Adree’s face beamed with pride.

April saw the affection and satisfaction in Mr. Houseman as he hugged Patch and Crank.

Mr. Houseman turned to April again. “April?”

Her accordion playing had been on the down low. Only Miss Adree and the regulars at
the Humanity Project knew her geeky secret. Now her secret would get out beyond the
walls of the project people. All of April’s good intentions were flying up and hitting
her in the face this afternoon, like a flock of feeding buzzards that had been disturbed
by speeding choppers.

She pulled her hand from Bull. Now he was smiling or smirking at her. He probably
thought she was a geek, too. No time to think about it right now, though. She had
to perform. She lifted the ungainly contraption from off the stage and put her arm
through the strap. Bull wore an even bigger grin now. There was nothing to do but
play.

Air filled the bellowing instrument and her fingers moved over the keys. Her humiliation
was complete. The bikers thought she was an accordion-playing nerd and the audience
thought she was a certified motorcycle mama. In truth, she was neither. She was only
trying to do the right thing. For her father. For Ben. And for herself.

She played “That’s What Friends Are For” once again, and all the while she kept repeating
two words in the song—“Keep smiling. Keep smiling.”

Why was this so hard?

Chapter Seven

Bull listened as Bertie Houseman asked if there were any more announcements. His wife
raised her hand.

Miss Velma stood. “Ladies, don’t forget about the Humanity Project’s Annual Tea Party
next Sunday. We’ve got a prize for the fanciest hat and some fun things in store.”

Mr. Houseman smiled at his wife and dismissed the dedication ceremony. As soon as
he did, April headed out of the building like it was on fire.

He had to get to her. Fast. Something perplexing had happened. His emotions were roaring
inside.

He wasn’t expecting the reception they’d received from the crowd. He assumed these
people would be like the ones his mother had encountered at that hoity-toity group
of women. Like the people who didn’t help them when Adam was so sick. They weren’t,
though, and April was a part of them. Helping them to build homes for poor, disadvantaged,
and disabled people. People like his family used to be.

Bull snaked his way through the crowd of people and out the door.

April could have already been with those other snooty young ladies, but, instead,
she was working with these Humanity Project people. And him.

He didn’t have her or this town as pegged as he thought, but he had a plan. A plan
to get to know who she really was. And it had nothing to do with the actual rally.

He was going to ask April on a date.

Whether or not she’d accept was a completely different story.

…

April had to get away fast—to figure things out. Everything was all confused.

The sun burst upon her face as she exited the door. Maybe the fresh air would clear
things up. Her mind tumbled.

And the most confusing of all was Bull. How he’d made her feel when he’d held her
hand. Then right after that he sort of grinned at her when he saw her go for her accordion.
One minute he was trying to kiss her and the next he was making fun of her.
What’s going on?

She was doing the same, though. One minute she was trying to resist what she needed
to do for the rally and the next she was embracing it. Like she had just done.

No sooner had she inserted her key in the car’s door, a man put his hand on it to
prevent her from getting in. It was Bull. He must have been following her, but she
had been oblivious in her attempts to escape.

“What’s the emergency?” he asked. “You got an accordion concert to play somewhere?”

“I’ve got to go,” she said.

“I thought you said that accordion was some old woman’s?”

“It was. It is. You wouldn’t understand,” she said, turning to open the door again.

“Try me. My grandfather used to play an unconventional instrument, too. A harmonica.
Played in a band with two other guys. One played a banjo, and the other played an
accordion, like yours,” he said. “The only one in the family interested in learning
the harmonica was Adam, my little brother. We used to listen to our grandfather’s
band practice after we got home from school. But after they both died…”

She turned to face him again.

He looked from side to side, then at her. “Anyway, it makes me smile every time I
hear one of those old instruments. I think of the two of them.”

She had thought that he was smiling sarcastically at her a while ago when she played.
Also at the steakhouse when he saw the accordion on her backseat.

Wait. Maybe he would understand why April played after all. Her accordion wasn’t merely
an instrument.

There was way more to this man than she’d first imagined. It was all too much for
her after her act of bravery or stupidity or whatever it was in the building a few
moments ago.

“I really do have to go,” she said. She wasn’t going to let him see tears spill from
her eyes from the release of having to address the volunteers. Or from being drawn
to him like a fish to a lure. None of this was going according to plan.

His lawless hair gleamed in the sun. He pushed the sides behind his ears. “Before
you do, I wanted to tell you that in there…it wasn’t so bad.” His low, course voice
ran through her.

He couldn’t possibly know how difficult it was for her in there.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like that. Since Adam died to be exact.
But those people weren’t like I thought they’d be,” he said.

She was confused again. He was talking about himself. He was moved by what had gone
on.

“I wanted to tell you about how difficult things were for me when Adam died, but I
couldn’t. This whole thing with Ben is hard for me. Hospitals and crowds are hard
for me,” he said.

Well, that made two of them. She hadn’t considered that before—that working on the
fundraiser was hard for him. Maybe because she’d always been so focused on her own
feelings.

He and Patch and the rest
had
seemed to be moved. And she thought she’d had all the motorcycle people figured out.
She’d had nothing figured out.

“I’m so sorry. About your brother, that is,” she said. She could tell from the way
he talked about Adam at the library that it was a particularly difficult subject for
him. She placed a hand on his arm. What she wanted to do was to put her arms around
his neck and pull him close. “Are you okay?”

He touched her hand. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Crank walked up to them. “It’s in your saddlebag, Bull. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I’ll get it there,” Bull said. “See ya.” He put up his hand to say good-bye
as Crank walked away.

Bull turned to her. “By the way, I was wondering if you could help me next Saturday,”
he said. “Crank is going to be busy that day, so he gave me that Harley bomber jacket
Scooter donated. He wants me to get it to that silent charity auction for Ben. It’s
at some place called the Oaks Country Club. You know where that’s located?”

“Of course. I’ve been there many times,” she said.

“Well, I haven’t. I know I won’t know anyone there, and I was thinking that you might
go—that is if you won’t mind being seen with me.” He smiled.

Was that a part of the problem? Or was it really all about protecting her safety—and
her father’s health? Even if she did mind going with him, she couldn’t tell him that.
It wasn’t right for her to even
think
like that.

His eyes smiled at her, along with his sexy, masculine lips. She wasn’t safe around
Bull at all. He dissolved her.
Turn away. Turn away. Turn away
.

But she didn’t want to turn away. She was going to have to deal with the whole safety
thing later, because she couldn’t seem to refuse an invitation to look into his enchanting
eyes some more. “Yes, I’ll go.”

“Then it’s a date,” he said.

It thrilled her to hear those words. She had a date with him. A real date. Not simply
an impromptu kiss in a parking lot. She was actually dating a biker. This was getting
super complicated, but she wasn’t ready to analyze it yet. All she wanted to do was
to give in to him. To kiss him again. Even though it could never end well—she’d never
put her father through all the old trauma. Moreover, she’d never ride with Bull on
his bike. And he’d already said that was a requirement for any woman he’d ever be
with. That made things simple.

She’d simply never be with him. Not beyond the rally. A string in her heart strummed
a single melancholy note that reverberated through her body.

…

When April got home from work the next day, she called Jenna.

“How about dinner tonight? I’ll pay,” April said.

In addition to being conservative, Jenna was cheap. April knew her friend couldn’t
say no.

“Well…” Jenna dragged out the word in an attempt to hesitate. “I guess I can.”

“Meet me at Oscars in twenty minutes,” April said. She had a plan that might mitigate
Saturday night.

April got out at the restaurant. The evening had mild hints of spring in the light
breezes. The palmettos and palms that lined the road by the restaurant’s sign had
grown crooked and their fronds bent gracefully over the parking lot. Not wanting to
miss a moment of the pleasantness in the air, she waited for her friend at the fern-lined
entrance.

When Jenna arrived, they exchanged air kisses and went inside.

“We’d like a table on the porch,” April said.

After they were seated, they looked at their menus. When the waitress arrived with
their bread, Jenna spoke up. “I’ll take sweet tea and the pee-teet shrimp and grits.
She will, too,” she said.

“She means the small portion.” April hesitated. “Ummmm. I don’t know. Let me see.
I think I’ll try something different tonight. How are your chimichangas?”

“Chimi-what?” Jenna protested. “What’s gotten into you, girl? We’ve never ordered
anything other than shrimp and grits here. It’s our fave, remember?”

The waitress stopped writing and put a hand on her hip.

“That’s what I want. Chimichangas,” April said. “And sweet tea.” She closed the menu.

The waitress walked away and Jenna looked at April like her eyes were going to pop
out.

“What is going on with you?” Jenna sat back, stared straight into her face, and crossed
her arms.

“I’m helping a little boy who’s dying. That’s what. I’d do anything for him,” April
said, and she meant it.

“He didn’t look good when I saw him last, but I didn’t know it was that serious,”
Jenna said.

“He’s very sick,” April said.

Jenna reached for April’s hands. “I know how important he is to you.”

When the waitress came with their tea, they pulled their hands back. The woman placed
the glasses on palm green napkins on top of the matching tablecloth. “Your orders
will be right up.”

“May we have some extra napkins?” Jenna asked.

The waitress reached into her apron, dropped several on the table, and left.

“Well, isn’t there something else you can do to help? I saw an advertisement in the
Summerbrook Gazette
that there’s going to be a silent charity auction for Ben. And the ladies at the league
are putting on a golf tournament. By the looks of things, I guess you’ve given up
on joining the Ladies League now.”

April ignored Jenna’s last comment. “That’s just it. I’m going to help with as many
things as I can. This biker fundraiser is the event that will make the most money
for Ben, and I can’t get out.” She folded her napkin. “I shouldn’t get out. Dealing
with all the motorcycles and the reminders of the accident is the most emotionally
taxing thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I know it’s what I need to do. And I wanted
to meet you here tonight to ask for your help.”

“There is no way I’m helping with anything with a motorcycle gang.”

“They are not a gang.” It was merely a few days ago that she thought they were a gang
as well. “I want you to go to the silent auction at the Oaks next Saturday. To be
there for moral support for me and for Ben.”

“Well, that’s easy enough. I had already planned to. My boss asked me to be there.
We donated some things from the dress shop—some really nice jewelry and bags and accessories,”
Jenna said.

April knew Jenna would have given in. Shop or no shop. In the end, Jenna was always
there for her.

The waitress brought their orders. Jenna’s meal lay in her bowl—all white and creamy
and soft. And April’s steamed and sizzled on a cast-iron skillet plate. Steamed and
sizzled like her insides did around Bull.

Jenna raised her eyebrows and said, “You gonna eat that?” She leaned in to get a whiff
of the hissing.

“Someone told me recently that different can be fascinating and delicious,” April
said.

“Perhaps,” Jenna said and settled back down to her shrimp and grits. After taking
a few bites, she put her spoon down. “Sweetie, I’m going to talk to Mrs. Legree and
see if there’s anything else our shop can do for Ben.”

April smiled. Her friend always came through for her. Though, sometimes not until
the end.

“Okay. Saturday. I’ll have to meet you at the country club, though. Mrs. Legree wants
me to work until six,” Jenna said, picking up a spoonful of grits.

That was just as well. April couldn’t quite muster up the courage to tell Jenna that
she was going with Bull. At least April would have a friend there.

April kept taking delicious bites from the Mexican fiesta on her plate. All the while,
she was thinking of Bull. His spicy blue eyes, his scandalously sexy hair, his risqué
black jacket. The peppery food in front of her had nothing on that man. And she couldn’t
get enough of either.

“Let me taste that,” Jenna said as she pierced a few pieces of April’s food with a
fork.

“Mmmmm. That’s really good,” Jenna said with her mouth full. She went for more.

Even April’s cautious friend appeared to like a little spice in her life.

When April finished the last bite of her dinner, her stomach sizzled. She had better
get used to it, though. Because she was about to jump off the hissing skillet and
into the fire with Bull.

…

The week passed by quickly for Bull. It was spent in an endless coming and going of
cars, trucks, and bikes. The men in his garage fixed them all quickly and sent them
on their way. It was good that he’d stayed busy. When he wasn’t, April and her Humanity
Project people kept clogging his mind with contradictions.

Surely, some of the people there remembered the trouble the Rebel Angels had caused
in town years ago. However, no one uttered a word about the gang. The reception from
her group was not what he had expected. But what did he expect? To have tomatoes thrown
at them? Instead, they opened their arms and their farms and their bakeries and welcomed
all his friends like they were a bunch of bank presidents or something. And they’d
offered them help—real help.

Help like his family had never received for Adam. Maybe he’d had the whole situation
with Adam figured out wrong.