Bikers and Pearls (14 page)

As she unlocked the front door and took a step inside, he said, “Wait.”

Dropping her head again, she turned.

How was he going to say this?

“I don’t want you to be worried anymore. I’m going to take care of the Harley. After
I find a buyer for it, I’ll give you the money and you can do what you want with it.”

She looked up and past him.

Something caught in Bull’s throat. “I’ve got to be honest with you. I started out
with the wrong intentions. I thought you were being…shallow. I guess I didn’t really
understand.”

Still she didn’t say a word.

“And then I saw something in you, and I wanted to spend time with you.” He paused
and looked at the old moss-covered bricks in the walk. “I simply wanted to help you.
Instead, I’ve done the opposite.”

He waited for her to respond. All she could do was look at him through liquid eyes.

“I know our backgrounds don’t exactly align. That I’ve got stuff in my past. I’ve
worked on all that, and I’ve made apologies where I could. If that’s what’s still
bothering you, then I don’t know where that leaves us. Or the rally.” He wanted to
work with April on the rally. Badly. Though more than that, he wanted to see if there
could be something more. For himself.

Tears leaked down her face.

Yeah, he was good at fixing things, but he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to fix this.

…

A shiver went through April as she stood in her doorway on that cool March night.
The evening had been a roller-coaster ride of strange emotions. Bull’s suave appearance
had jerked her to the left; his flattery of her had snatched her to the right; her
feeling truly beautiful for the first time in her life had taken her to the top, but
having all that attention on her with that motorcycle had plummeted her to the bottom.
She’d arranged things to distance herself from motorcycles and carelessness and tragedy.
Her career. Her friends. All safe choices. Nothing controversial.

Funny thing, though. She didn’t know if she was ready to get off the ride that Bull
had her on just yet, even though she had never truly liked roller coasters.

Bull bent down and gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek—nothing like the generously
sweet one he had given to her in the parking lot of Marvin’s—the one that nearly made
her topple over—the one that tunneled to her core and warmed something deep inside
her. “Good-bye,” he said.

It sounded so final. “Wait a minute,” she said as she reached out to grab his arm.
“I’ve made some promises about this rally, so I’m going to finish what I started.”

“Are you really?” he asked. His question was loaded.

Though everything inside her wanted to throw her arms around him and see where it
all led, she knew that in the end they could not be together. She’d lose herself and
the safe life she’d created. He’d probably pull her away from all that was familiar
and into his world. Then there were her parents. No. This was leading nowhere.

“I’m not making any promises beyond the rally. I’m sorry,” she said.

He stepped outside, looked back, and said, “I see.”

Now she had joined Bull and Hog with her own animal nickname. Hers was “chicken.”

And like the scared chicken she was, she closed the door.

Chapter Nine

April spent the rest of the weekend recuperating from her ordeal at the country club
and trying to figure things out—every one of her crazy, incongruous emotions. Most
of all, though, she thought of Bull. How he looked when he picked her up for their
evening. How he gazed at her and made her insides tickle. How he’d rescued her from
her paralysis in front of the country club crowd.

Though she hadn’t planned to, she drove to see her parents.

“Hey, sweetie,” her mom said. “This is a surprise. I thought you said—”

“I needed to get out of town,” she said and hugged her mom.

“Let’s go sit in the garden,” her mom said and headed to the back door in the kitchen.
“Darrell, look who’s here.”

“Well, honey…” He tried to stand, but his cane was on the other side of the breakfast
room table. Her mom handed it to him, but he struggled with it. “Thanks, Shirley.”

“Don’t bother standing, Dad,” she said and bent down to hug him. “Mom and I are going
to sit in the garden for a while. You want to join us?”

“No, honey. I’m still feeling kind of tired. Don’t know what’s going on.”

“Well, you stay inside. In the cool,” April said.

He nodded and April and her mother headed out.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” her mother asked after they’d settled into the wrought iron
chairs.

She shook her head. “You know, Mom, I’ve tried to do everything in my power to be
strong. Independent. Not let the past affect who I am now.”

“I know, sweetie,” her mom said. “Otherwise, you would have left Summerbrook, too.”

“I don’t want to be known by what happened. It colors the way people deal with me.
Like, they feel sorry for me.” She shook her head. “I met some new people who are
working with me on a fundraiser for Ben, but they don’t know what happened, and it’s
me who’s screwing things up.”

She pulled in a long breath and exhaled. “I feel like a lot of that is my fault. And
Mimi’s. We’ve always overprotected you. You were our only child, and we could have
lost you in that accident. You won’t understand until you have a child of your own.”

“Well, if I keep being afraid of everything, that’ll never happen,” April said.

“Oh, it’ll happen one day, sweetie. When things are right. You’ll know,” her mom said.

“I really hope so, Mom. Sometimes I feel crippled like Daddy. Only on the inside.”
April looked into her mother’s eyes and back at the house where her disabled father
sat. Things were never going to be right.

Her mother put her hand on April’s. A breeze rustled the leaves in the magnolia tree
above them, and she heard doves call to one another from a slight distance away from
them.

April inhaled. “Well, I’ve got to hit the road to Summerbrook soon, but before I go,
I wanted to help you and Dad. I know he’s had a rough week. What can I do?”

She ran a few errands for her parents and then drove back to Summerbrook.

When she realized she didn’t even know what time it was, she checked. Shoot. Almost
four o’clock. She’d miss the ladies’ tea party. But April didn’t feel like donning
a fancy hat and playing dress-up this afternoon. How she was going to finish this
thing she’d started was more important. She had to figure it all out. Her parents.
Her fears. The rally. Ben. Bull.

…

At the office on Monday morning, April settled in and got herself a cup of coffee.
Elevator music piped in from a CD changer in the break room, soothed the air around
her. A track from an old Carpenters song played a musical rendition of “We’ve Only
Just Begun.” Boy, was she ever glad the weekend was behind her. She couldn’t wait
to get to the numbers and reports on her desk. Normal stuff.

As she walked back to her office with her cup of coffee, all eyes were on her. Mandy
gazed as she whispered to one of the new receptionists. What on Earth was going on
now?

Maybe they’d heard about the company insuring the rally. They couldn’t still be concerned
about Bull picking April up for lunch last week. And she hadn’t seen a soul from work
at the country club like she had thought she would. It had to be the lunch thing last
week.

At her desk, she picked up the folded
Summerbrook Gazette.
The custodian always placed it there when she arrived to open up the building. The
bottom of the newspaper had an article about the new zoning going on with the school
district and another piece about the town’s animal-control problem.

April turned the paper over to check out the headline story. It fell from her hands
and she was sure that a soft noise escaped her mouth before she covered it with her
hand.

There she was. A picture of her in the motorcycle jacket in front of that dangerous
bike. Looking completely disconcerted, like a pig in a butcher’s shop.

Oh, wait. There was a caption. “Hometown woman dons leather to ride her new Harley.”
Nothing could be worse. Everyone in Summerbrook and beyond would see her in that miserable
photograph. April Church in her fancy French lace dress, wearing her fringed jacket,
about to mount her hog.

Then, it hit her like a ton of bricks.

She’d been kidding herself this entire time—believing that everything—all her fears—could
be traced back to that one night in her father’s car. But that wasn’t the whole truth
of it in the end.

Every one of those former fears had festered. Had transformed. And there it was—staring
her straight in the face on the front page of the paper. She simply hadn’t been able
to admit it to herself before.

It had been more than the accident. More than the fire. More than even her father’s
heart.

She was just like those people back at the country club. Not only did she not want
to be around motorcycles. She didn’t want to be associated with bikers. She couldn’t
fool herself and call it fear or caution any longer. It was a big, black stain upon
her heart.

She needed far more than to merely overcome her anxieties to help with the rally.
This whole thing was about something way bigger. The photograph in the paper revealed
the whole truth to her. There she was—smiling one of those polite Southern belle smiles
she’d been taught to smile by her Mimi and her mother. The whole world could see how
uncomfortable she was.

Even worse than that, though, was that she was losing Bull for the same reason.

But how could she reexamine everything she’d ever come to believe? Everything she
thought she knew about herself? And everything about the bikers who didn’t fit into
her prim-and-proper view about who and what was safe and acceptable?

She sat down and tossed the paper onto her desk. She could never reorganize her entire
world.

After growing up in her parents’ home after that accident, dismembering her beliefs
and arranging them according to some other paradigm might not even be possible. Even
if everything she had learned about bikers was wrong.

Words from a Sunday school lesson she had been taught as a small child popped into
her head.
Love thy neighbor as thyself
.

But most of the motorcycle people were not like her. Well, except for maybe a few—like
Mr. Houseman—who were weekend bikers. But not the rest. Not Bull. He worked in T-shirts
and jeans in a garage. She in a business suit in an office. He ate chili in places
like Marvin’s, and she dined on standard Southern fare at nice restaurants like Oscar’s.
He wore leather and risked his life riding motorcycles, and she wore Ann Taylor and
drove a sedan. A safe sedan.

It was an ugly truth. All spelled out in that photograph.

She was a fake. And she had to repair the dreadful shortcoming. Now.

The elevator music stopped. A different CD played from the changer. The words to the
new song started out at a higher volume than the Carpenters’ song. “Get your motor
running. Head out on the highway.”

The volume rose to way beyond elevator status.

It was Steppenwolf’s “Born to Be Wild.”

April knew that she’d been born for a purpose, and if she had to be a little “wild”
to accomplish it, well, she supposed she’d just have to.

And no one was going to get in her way. She was really going to step up to the plate
with the rally like she should have done in the beginning. No more working quietly
behind the scenes. Though they were different, it was time to fully embrace the kind
and generous people who were giving so much to help Ben.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was time to get to work.

Chapter Ten

“April.”

Her head popped up. It was Charles, her boss. He was holding the paper with her picture
and said, “Look at this. Got a call from headquarters. Somehow they got wind of this.”
He tossed the newspaper onto her desk.

Great. Just what she needed—a
second
copy.

“They want to see me in Columbia—first thing in the morning. Said they have some…concerns,”
he said.

“About insuring the rally?” she asked, tapping her pencil on the edge of her desk,
wondering how much of what she was hearing was fact. Or was he simply being jerky
as he was prone to be?

“I really don’t know. Could be. Or it could be your involvement. You are our risk-assessment
specialist.” He paused. “If you are supposed to be in charge of minimizing our uncertainty
in insurance situations, I guess they might have some apprehensions about your ability
to do your job. You know. Conflict of interest. But I really don’t know. They didn’t
say.”

“I’m not putting the company into jeopardy. I won a stupid motorcycle. In a raffle.
I couldn’t help that,” she said.

“Well, I don’t think the raffle is the problem. They’ve had some calls. We’ll see
what they have to say,” he said.

“But I’ve put my whole life into my career. I can clear up any misunderstandings they
might have. I’ve never made any mistakes concerning the company.” This couldn’t be
happening to her. She had hardly ever dated. Spent tons of hours working overtime.
Who would she even be if she weren’t a risk-assessment manager with The State and
Casualty Insurance Company?

“It’s all in their hands, kiddo. Nothing I can do about it,” he said with his palms
in the air as if to signal his absolution.

Mandy walked by April’s cubical. “Oh, there you are, Charles,” she said. In her hands
was a folder, and in the folder was another copy of that stupid paper. The edges were
extended from the pathetic attempt at covering.

Like April wasn’t supposed to see it. She was sure about how headquarters got the
news of her winning a Harley so soon. Mandy, the mouth of the South.

“Mandy, give me a few seconds and I’ll see you in my office,” Charles said. “Uh, you
can wait there with that report. ’Kay?”

Mandy smiled. “That’s fine. I have everything I told you I’d bring.”

That little…mouth. April wasn’t prone to cursing, but a few words popped into her
mind.
Humph
. She’d like to take Mandy out behind the building and share a few with her.

“Yeah, as I was saying. So, I’ll be out of the office tomorrow.” He hesitated. “Albert
Morrison will be covering for me.”

April couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Albert Morrison was a human ottoman—a
useless piece of furniture that the people in the office could kick their feet up
on. She had always been Charles’s go-to employee when he was away. She had the experience
and the seniority over most of the people there. Headquarters’ lack of confidence
in her must be worse than what she’d first imagined if Albert Morrison was standing
in for Charles instead of her.

She spent the rest of the day on autopilot, thinking of Ben, thinking of her mistakes,
thinking of Bull. It was her turn to close the building, so when Hanna Marks in finance
left, so did April.

It was time to confront her fears and put all this right. And Mr. Houseman’s would
be her first stop. He, above all others, would understand because he had one foot
in the biker world and one foot in the business world just like her. She trusted that
he’d advise her how to maneuver through the next days. Even if she lost her job.

“April, dear, come on in.” Mr. Houseman turned and called out to his wife. “Velma,
look who’s here to see us.”

Miss Velma came out and gave her a big hug. “Sweetie, we missed you at the ladies’
tea yesta-day afta-noon.” Her voice lilted, like the accents from downtown Charleston
gentry. “You should have seen all the hats and gloves. Miss Adree came with a pretty
pink one with feathers that looked like it would have been fit for the queen. We sure
had us a time.”

April smiled. “Sorry.”

“We missed you, sweetie,” Miss Velma said.

April didn’t respond.

“Dear, I don’t think April’s mind is on tea parties,” Mr. Houseman said. “In fact,
I think she came over for another reason entirely.”

“Oh,” Miss Velma said. “I’ll be in the kitchen, finishing up with suppa. You can eat
with us if you like, sweetie. I’m frying some catfish and hushpuppies and making some
coleslaw. Bertie’s favorite.”

“Thanks, honey,” he said. “We’ll see about that later. You think you can put on a
pot of coffee, though?”

“Yes, dear,” she said and smiled. Her smile was filled with something beautiful. Love.

Miss Velma disappeared through the swinging door leading to her kitchen. April and
Mr. Houseman settled down on two worn green chairs in the living room.

She didn’t speak for a moment, and neither did he—probably to let her have the time
to gather her thoughts.

“I’ve made a fool of myself,” she said.

“And what has led you to that profound conclusion?” He leaned forward and reached
into a magazine rack beside his chair and pulled out today’s paper. “Was it this?”

She nodded.

“Well, I’m not pleased to admit it, but I think I saw something in that photograph
today—something I’m not at all proud of.”

Mr. Houseman leaned back.

“I know. I saw it, too.” He lowered his eyes and shook his head once.

He tossed the paper on the coffee table. “I’m so glad you saw it for yourself. That’s
the only way you could really change it.”

She nodded again. “I haven’t given these people a fair shake, Mr. Houseman.” She stared
out the window. “I’ve let some old fears keep me from stepping out from my comfort
zone. And I’ve used the fears as an excuse. I’ve been a phony—working for the rally
and feeling kind of distant from these people.”

“Let me ask you something.” He steepled his hands. “What’s really important to you?
Sweetie, I’ve seen you walk down a path that few have traveled—helping with the Humanity
Projects, assisting Miss Adree when she needed help, and even playing the instrument
you chose.” He crossed his legs.

She leaned her head back. “I always played to a short list of people, though. Friends,
family, and the Humanity Project volunteers.” She shook her head. “I’ve been a fool.
I’ve let appearances and superficial things guide too much of what I’ve done.”

“You haven’t been a fool, April. What you really are is a victim of the culture in
a small town—a town that’s been through its share of troubles in the past.”

Miss Velma came in with two cups of coffee, placed them on the table in front of them,
and disappeared behind the doors again.

“You called yourself a fool earlier. If you are, it’s because of your haste. Fools
don’t wait. They act and speak without thoughtful consideration,” he said. He took
his cup, brought it to within an inch of his lips, and then put it back. “Sometimes
we need to bide our time. Wait on things to cool down, wait on inspiration.”

Wait on things to cool down? The spicy, hot world she had become entangled with was
burning her bland insides, and she needed a fire escape to extract her from the flames.

“I know I need to repair things, but I don’t know quite what to do,” she said.

“I
do
,” he said. A phone rang in the background.

In moments Miss Velma came bursting through the doors. “Bertie, that was Patch from
the hospital. Ben’s taken a turn for the worse. They’ve put him in intensive care.”

April’s heart sank. “Oh, my goodness.” She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head.

“April, this will have to wait. I’ve got to go,” he said as he walked backward toward
the door. “Dear, I’ll have to have cold fish when I get back. I’m so sorry.” He shut
the door.

April grabbed her keys. “I’ve got to go, too.”

“Just a minute, dear,” Miss Velma said.

April heard the growling sound of Mr. Houseman’s motorcycle as he cranked it and watched
as he pulled out the drive.

“My, my, my…” Miss Velma looked wistfully out the window. “He’s such a good man.”
She shook her head. “And to think I almost missed getting to know him.”

“What do you mean?” April asked.

Miss Velma transferred her coffee cup to her other hand. “My parents. I grew up in
downtown Charleston. My world revolved around cotillion and debutante balls. When
Bertie came rolling into our drive on Tradd Street on a motorcycle, my parents nearly
fell off our front porch.”

April could picture it—the absurdity of a Harley parked outside one of the old antebellum
homes.

“My motha fanned herself furiously, and my fatha stood at attention like some Yankee
with a carpetbag had just stepped on their prized gardenia plant.” Miss Velma shook
her head. “Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm.”

“How’d they get beyond it all?” April asked.

“They nevva did, dear. He was a poor carpenter. I met him while he was waiting tables
at a party at Hibernian Hall. Only person who understood how I felt about Bertie was
my best friend, Millie.” She took a sip from her coffee cup. “Watching how he lived
his life led me to change everything I’d been taught. My family nevva quite got over
the fact that I didn’t marry money and become the president of the Daughters of the
American Revolution or something.” She smiled at her own thoughts. “I’ve nevva regretted
a minute of being married to that man. Not one minute.”

“But what about the life you were living—all the balls and parties and your friends?”
April asked.

“What are those things to an old woman? After the life I’ve lived, caring for people
and helping, what are pearls and a pretentious social calendar compared to my work
with Bertie, really? I don’t care who I would have impressed if I had chaired the
Charleston Ladies League’s cookbook committee.” She smiled.

Yeah, that would have impressed April at one time. But now she didn’t think so.

The older woman turned again to look out the window. “The things some of my friends
and my parents’ friends said about me were so shallow that I can hardly rememba a
word of any of it.”

April hadn’t heard her coworkers talking, but she knew some of them were. She was
supposed to be the risk-assessment manager. They probably viewed her more like a risk-advocate
manager. No wonder the brass was meeting about her tomorrow. But even that paled in
comparison to what she had realized about herself.

“Years ago, I forgave them all—for everything they said and did,” Miss Velma said.
“April, I remember what happened years ago to your family. To this town.” Miss Velma
paused. “Have you forgiven the people involved?”

April stared out the window. “I’ve held on to the pain and have used it as a shield
to keep myself safe. An excuse not to take risks.” She took in a deep, cleansing breath.
“I see it’s time for me to let it all go. Now.”

…

On the way to the hospital, she thought about exactly how she was going to accomplish
what she knew she needed to. Right now she needed to get to Ben’s bedside.

As she drove, she realized there would be no peace tonight for her. And on top of
everything else, Ben was gravely ill.

Carpetbaggers and gardenias. Ben and cancer. Coffee and cotillions. Tea parties and
motorcycles.

Miss Velma seemed to have reconciled them all. She was happy and still in love. And
she was living her life according to what made her content.

April wished her happiness involved something less scurrilous. Like tea parties and
pretty hats. She didn’t even care that much that it involved an accordion now. Why
was she so worried about what the world thought of her? Why had she cared so much
that they saw her as careful and safe and not standing out in any way?

April had hidden some things away in her heart. Painful things. After the fire, she
felt isolated from everyone in town. She felt she had something to prove—that she
was cautious and conservative. And belonged.

All the newspaper headlines and gossip had left a dark stain upon her heart.

But it was time to remove that stain.

As soon as she entered through the door of the intensive-care waiting room, she saw
Bull pacing in front of a large window. She couldn’t believe
he
was here. She thought he had an aversion to hospitals.

“Bull?” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Ben’s real sick,” he said. His face was strained. “I had to drive Patch here. He’s
taking it kind of hard. He was in the garage when we got the call.”

“I can see that he gets a ride home if you need to leave,” she said, wanting to give
him a way out as he had tried to give her Saturday night—even though now she wasn’t
going to take it.

“I need to be here for Patch. It would be selfish for me to leave.” He continued pacing.

She knew how hard it must have been for him to hang around. As hard as it was for
her to be near him. It was time he knew just how hard it was. She touched his arm.
“Bull, I want to tell you something.”