Bikers and Pearls (17 page)

Look at what had happened on the course. The group behind them rolled up like they
could be on the cover of
Golf Digest
, but they were anything but genteel and well mannered. While the two groups were
waiting to tee off, one of the men in the group behind them asked if they had been
associated with Rebel Angels. Bull anteed up.

He’d said, “That was long ago. When I was a kid.”

After the fourth hole, when the other guys had done considerable drinking, they kept
hitting into Bull’s group and saying stuff like, “Sorry about that, Easy Rider.”

Once was enough. Twice was too much. But they did it again and again. What a lot of
people didn’t know was that a golf ball could knock the wind out of a man, blind him,
or even kill him, if it hit the right place on his head.

Jerks. Drunken jerks. Funny. Now he was thinking like the risk specialist that April
was.

Good thing Bertie Houseman was with them because Bull and Hog might have taken control
of the situation and told them a thing or two if they had not been supervised.

Most of the golfers there were pretty respectable guys, though. It was just those
few. That was probably how bikers had ended up with a bad reputation years ago. A
few bad apples. Or rather, a few bad bikers.

When April and Jenna finished, they came over to the table.

“Let me get you lovely ladies a seat,” Bull said. He grabbed a couple of chairs from
the side of the room and put them between him and Hogan.

“I have to speak as soon as everyone eats. Before the awards. So how’d your team end
up?” April asked.

“Like I said before. We’ve got it in the bag,” Hogan said. “Wait and see. It’s big,
I’m telling you.”

Patch and Bertie shook their heads.

Hogan kept flirting with Jenna, and to Bull’s surprise, she was returning his attention
with smiles. He inched his chair closer to hers, and she took off her sweater. A glow
covered her face and softened it. Hog whispered something in her ear and her eyes
lit up like an electronic leaderboard at a golf tournament.

The club’s waitress brought out plates of fried chicken and Southern potato salad.
Cornbread and butter were already on the table. She refilled the glasses with more
of the delicious sweet tea. Bull was nervous. Things were going well, but the table
that was playing behind them was getting louder and louder the more they drank.

One of the guys tumbled by Bull’s table on the way to the restroom. He laughed and
asked, “You not know the way out of town with your friends?” The comment was directed
at Bull.

Hogan stood.

Jenna’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head.

Patch stood as well. “Don’t let him get to you, Hog. He’s had a little too much today.
That sun can make a man do crazy things.”

The golfer stumbled away, laughing. April looked at Bull with understanding in her
eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was to embarrass her this afternoon—especially
in the same place in which she’d nearly had a nervous breakdown the night of the auction.
That was why he had invited her—to let her get beyond the experience she’d had here
before. And, of course, to be near her.

Being near her felt so good. So natural.

He looked down at his arm. He hoped that April would notice the subtle changes on
his tat. The weapons had been covered with symbols for charity, light, and hope. For
charity, a heart replaced the gun. For light, a beam radiated from the sword. And
for hope, an anchor now hung from the chains.

Jenna and Hogan continued their glances and soon light brushes and touches followed.
Hogan was all too attentive. If Jenna needed the salt, he nearly knocked the centerpiece
over to get it for her. If her glass was low on tea, it was a national emergency for
the waitress to get to the table to refill it. Bull hadn’t seen him act that way before.

It wasn’t long before Hogan and Jenna started talking to each other in hushed tones.
He took one of those little golf pencils out of his pocket and grabbed a paper napkin
from the table. He sketched out one of the holes on the course and explained something
to her. Then she scribbled something and handed the napkin back to him.

They were almost finished with the meal when the lady running the tournament came
over and touched April on the shoulder. “We’re starting in three minutes,” she said.
She was one of those uppity kinds of ladies who’d shunned his mother—and her old family
recipes—recipes that wouldn’t see the light of day now.

April had hardly touched her chicken.

“You okay?” Bull asked.

She nodded. “I’ve got to convey how important it is for everyone to sign up. I didn’t
do so hot last time I spoke to a crowd.” She smiled, got up, and followed the woman
to the platform.

The woman welcomed the golfers, explained the reason for the tournament, and handed
the microphone to April.

“Many of you know that this is only one part of a fundraising effort by the entire
community. One of the most important things we’re doing is the donor-testing drive
for Ben.” April explained and told them about the sign-up sheet at her table. “Please
put your name down for a day and time before you leave. Your help could save Ben’s
life,” she said.

A man in the back of the room whistled at her, but she acted like she didn’t hear
him. Bull wanted to walk back there and give him a good talking to about catcalling
to women. But he wouldn’t embarrass her on purpose.

“The next organized fundraiser is Bikers for Ben,” she said in such a loud, confident
tone that Bull didn’t think she even needed a microphone.

The guys that had too much to drink talked during her announcement, but she continued.

“It will be April twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth, and we’re looking for your support
on both days. On the twenty-seventh, there’ll be a show and slow bike rides for anyone
wanting to take a few turns around the town square. On the twenty-eighth is the run
to Charleston.” She glanced down at the piece of paper in her hand. “We’d be so grateful
for any help you could give Ben. Thank you for your time.” She handed the microphone
back to the woman in charge.

She did well. Bull was proud of her, even with the jerks who’d made baboons of themselves.
The change in her was so material that he hardly recognized her as the same woman
he’d met at The Carolina Cow.

The coordinator said, “I’m going to turn this part of the program over to the club’s
golf pro to announce the winners.”

A man with a super short haircut and an Oaks golf shirt took the microphone. “I’m
Brice Grooms,” the man said. “Some pretty amazing things happened out there on the
course today. Give yourselves a round of applause.”

Brice Grooms continued. He announced the winner of the longest drive and closest to
the pin. Then he announced the third and second place winners. He was all about the
tournament and didn’t even make mention of little Ben. Pictures were taken, but all
Bull could think about was how the money for the prizes should have been donated to
Ben.

“Before I finish, thanks to Summerbrook Ford for the donation of the car. My next
announcement is nothing short of amazing,” Brice Grooms said. “The winning team shot
a sixty and also got a hole in one on number seventeen.” In a loud voice he said,
“Bullworth Clayton, Hogan Thorpe, Patch Evans, and Bertie Houseman.”

“Mr. Clayton, bring your team to the front for some photos,” Brice Grooms said.

Bull’s team looked at one another and smiled. Hogan stood first, the pride beaming
in his face, and led the way. He glanced back at Jenna and raised his eyebrows to
convey an I-told-you-so look.

The pro handed Bull a check for two thousand five hundred dollars and the keys to
the new car. Flashes all over the building went off, and people applauded, but Bull’s
eyes were glued to April.

A look of sheer amazement covered her face.

Bull took the microphone. His team had talked about winning earlier. “I’d like to
thank the committee for these gifts, but if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to donate
them both to Ben Evans.” He made a motion for April to come to him. “I’m placing both
prizes in the hands of April Church to see that they get into Ben’s general fund.”
He handed the check and the keys over to her. Flashes of lights from cameras went
off again, and intermittent cheers rang out from the crowd.

She held his gifts in her hands and kept his fingers locked in hers. For all to see.
In the act of handing her the check and keys, he felt that he was handing his heart
over to her as well.

All was going well, but he had one more hurdle. He had to get her on the back of his
bike if they’d ever have the chance to ride off into the sunset together.

Chapter Thirteen

When the last golfer at the country club signed up to test as a donor, April released
a long sigh. She looked over the list and smiled. Between the participants and the
club’s staff, she’d enlisted over two hundred and fifty potential donors. Ben was
going to make it. She was sure of it.

The little one-word mantra she had uttered had served her well today.
Strength
. She must have said it at least a hundred times. Under her breath and in her heart.

Bull walked over to her table as she was gathering her papers, pens, and belongings.
“Good job,” he said.

“Thanks.” She put on her sweater, noticed his tattoo, and touched his arm. “What’s
this?” she asked, running her fingers over the angel. Something was different.

He smiled, looking down at the picture. “I’d hoped you’d notice the changes. Charity,
light, and hope.” His gaze returned to her face.

“It’s perfect,” she said. It was in its own way. She got all the referents. He was
changing like she was.

“It suits you.” She smiled, held his gaze for a while, and then looked around the
room. “Where are the others?”

“They left already. Jenna said she’d call you tonight.” He shook his head. A smile
inched across his lips, curling more at the left side. “Did you see the looks that
were exchanged between her and Hog?”

“I think she was sizing him up for a haircut,” April said. Even if she had the chance
now to whack off Bull’s hair, she didn’t think she would. She liked the sexy way it
looked when it was unbound and all tussled, and she liked the way it slicked back
when he had it in a ponytail. “I had no idea you even played golf, much less that
you were a Tiger at it.” She smiled.

“Surprise, surprise, surprise. What is it they say? Never judge a book by its cover.”
He paused and bent down toward her. “Or a golfer by his means of transportation,”
he added. His eyes glittered in the low lights.

She reached up and brushed her lips across his. “I’m learning that as we speak,” she
said, searching his face for more secrets. “That was an amazing thing you did by giving
up your winnings tonight.” With one finger, she touched his chest right above the
spot that was buttoned on his golf shirt.

“It wasn’t such a big deal. Ben is the reason we’re doing all this anyhow, isn’t he?
I just wish someone had done something nice like that for Adam.”

“If I had known Adam, I would have helped him, too,” April said.

Bull nodded and glanced beyond her, staring at something that wasn’t even there.

“You ready?” she asked.

The two headed out the front door. The ancient live oaks for which the club was named
covered and protected the facade of the building with old arms. Thousands of yards
of Spanish moss hung from the appendages like a shawl draped from the limbs of an
old grandmother.

“We’re having the last meeting before the rally on Wednesday night. Are you going
to be there?” he asked.

She tried to hold back her smile, but she failed. “I am. Where’s it going to be?”

“Same place. Marvin’s.”

At her car, the antique trees enveloped them in a kind of Lowcountry fairytale of
permanence. She remembered an old saying about them from when she was a child. It
took them hundreds of years to get old and then hundreds of years to die. The idea
of that endurance sounded comforting to her. Bull felt comforting to her. She had
a sense of eternity at that moment.

Captivated by all that surrounded her, she stepped close to him and breathed in his
spicy scent. He placed his hands on her waist and bent toward her. She closed her
eyes.
If only eternity could start now.

Then her cell phone rang and broke the enchantment that the trees had spun.

“April, Bertie Houseman here.” He paused. “Miss Adree has been taken to the hospital
by an ambulance. Doesn’t look good, sweetie.”

Tears blurred her vision and made wet dots on her blouse. Her insides rattled as she
fumbled at her car door with her keys. An aching hollowness filled her heart. All
those days she’d sat in Miss Adree’s living room when she was a child and at her knees,
learning to play her accordion, learning her wisdom, and sipping her sweet tea. And
then there were the hours they spent together teaching Ben and others how to play.
“I have to get to her. She has no family in town.” The lonely, old woman in April’s
condo was her mentor and teacher. And friend.

“I’ll drive you,” he said. “You’re in no shape to get behind a wheel.” He took her
keys.

All the way to the hospital, April kept saying secret little prayers on Miss Adree’s
behalf. And each time she would get near the end of one, Bull would interrupt and
ask her a question. She knew he was attempting to take her mind away from worrying
about the old woman.

Mr. Houseman was standing inside the hall in front of Miss Adree’s room. “She’s got
an aneurism, and there are complications with her condition. It’s bad, April. The
doctors don’t think she’s going to make it through the night.”

April closed her eyes and inhaled all the worries she’d ever had about Miss Adree.
She knew this was going to be tough, and she wasn’t prepared to let the old woman
go. When her Mimi died, Miss Adree had filled the void.

“When can we see her?” she asked.

“When the nurse is finished,” Mr. Houseman said. “Velma went to get me a cup of coffee.
You want some?”

April shook her head and saw Miss Velma coming with two steaming cups.

She handed them off to her husband and hugged April. “I know how close you are to
Miss Adree,” Miss Velma said.

The nurse came out and allowed them to enter.

“There you are, April,” the frail woman said in a broken voice.

April moved in close and took the old angel’s velvet-soft hand in hers.

“I have one last favor to ask of you, dear,” Miss Adree said. “I’m not leaving much
behind when I go, you know.”

April’s eyes filled with tears and the one word she’d been whispering all day sprang
from her heart.
Strength
.

“The only thing I had of value was my music, and I gave all of it I could to my students
and to the Humanity Project. And I gave you the gift.” She closed her eyes, then opened
them again. “Thank you for allowing me to pass my gift on to you.” The old woman’s
lips were cracked and her mouth was so dry that her words almost smacked.

With all her might, April fought back the tears.
Strength
. She kissed Miss Adree’s hand.

“My accordion is yours now. Will you bring it in here and play me a couple of verses
of ‘Amazing Grace’?” The old woman’s eyes were gray and weak and almost closed.

April couldn’t refuse. “Of course I will, Miss Adree.” She turned. “Bull, it’s in
my trunk.” She nodded in the direction of her purse.

“I still have your keys, April.” He jostled them in the air for a second before leaving.
In moments, he was back with the case that held the instrument.
Strength
, she whispered as she readied the accordion.

She played the old melody as slowly and as mellifluous as she could.
Amazing grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost,
but now am found. Was blind but now I see.

The song was an old hymn that Miss Adree taught all her students. The verses could
be as long as eternity for all April cared. She wanted to make Miss Adree happy and
proud.

She finessed the accordion to allow the last note to float in the air, like the scent
of honeysuckle in the middle of summer.

When the note finally evaporated, she glanced around the room, which was filled with
people and medical personnel who had probably heard her playing from the halls. It
finally didn’t matter what anybody thought of her playing the antiquated instrument.

She looked at the bed. Miss Adree was gone.

Miss Velma grabbed April’s hand. Mr. Houseman took the other and then reached for
Bull’s. Silence echoed in April’s heart.

…

What in the world had Bull just witnessed? Maybe it wasn’t of the world. The moment
had the feeling of being otherworldly. And April, angelic.

The experience almost felt like she wasn’t playing the song. It was more like she
was…feeling the song.

And Miss Adree’s death wasn’t fraught with anxiety and anger. It was accepted with
peace and tranquility.

He saw it all with his own eyes.

The experience hadn’t been anything like his brother’s death. These people experienced
something that he hadn’t before. They saw the pain…felt the emotion…and didn’t run.
Like he had.

There was so much about Adam’s death that he hadn’t told April. Especially about the
part where he didn’t stand up for Adam at school like he should have. Bull was only
a kid, too. A kid that wanted to fit in as badly as all the others. If only he could
do it all over again.

He still had to drive back to the country club with April to pick up his SUV. As much
as he liked being around her, he suddenly wished he had some time to think things
through—by himself.

He drove April back to the Oaks—silently. That was good. When they arrived, he left
the car running and turned to her. “I need to go. You gonna be okay?”

She nodded her head. “Miss Adree and I talked many times about this day. She was ready.
In fact, she’d been ready for years. That sweet woman didn’t have a fear in the world.”
She paused. “I’m going to be okay, too.”

Bull couldn’t say that. In fact, he wasn’t going to be okay at all.

Now was the time to own up to the way he’d dealt with Adam’s illness and death.

“It wasn’t like that with Adam,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Truth is—” He drew in a deep breath. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I’ve worked really hard to show how I don’t care about what people think of my hair.
Or the way I dress. Or what I ride,” he said. “Thing is, though, I really cared about
fitting in when Adam was sick.”

“You were just a kid. We all wanted to fit in,” she said.

“That was no excuse. I turned my back when the others teased Adam. I didn’t even eat
lunch at school with him.”

She touched his arm. He didn’t deserve the compassion flowing from her eyes.

“I was ashamed, and that was the reason I left the town where I grew up. I didn’t
want all the reminders of what I’d done.”

“And it was why you got involved with the Rebels when you first got to Summerbrook,
right?” she asked.

He nodded.

She cupped the side of his face in her hand. “You’ve got to forgive yourself. For
Adam. For the Rebels. For everything that happened.”

She adjusted herself in the seat. “Don’t you see? That’s what Ben and this rally is
doing for me. I’m getting the chance to set things straight. To do the right thing.”

“And what about when the rally’s over? After you’ve proved yourself? Where will that
leave us?”

She stared through the windshield into the night and then back at him.

“We have about a week to figure that out.”

Were they really going to be able to figure things out in less than a week? She still
wore business suits and pearls. Surrounded herself in a cocoon of safety. And she
hadn’t purposely gotten near a motorcycle.

Yeah, she’d changed on the inside, but could she ever make the outside match? He’d
like to see her slip on a pair of leather pants, hold onto his waist, and cruise the
highways with him.

But the road he was on with her had dead-end signs posted all over it.

…

As April drove to the tackle shop, she tried to call Jenna again.

Something was going on with Jenna. Her stupid voice-mail announcement came on again,
and once more, April left a message. If this continued much longer, she’d have to
stop by the dress shop to see that her friend was okay.

April pulled into Marvin’s parking lot without the same trepidation she had pulled
in with before. She saw Bull. He sat on his motorcycle—without a helmet. A niggling
worry rose up in her, but it wasn’t anything like before. She had accepted the bikers,
but the motorcycles were another thing entirely. Nothing said she’d ever have to like
them. And she’d certainly never ride one.

She got out of her car in her beige business suit and headed toward the door.

He dismounted his bike. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? Perfect day for cruising.”

She tried to smile. It was a beautiful day, but no day would ever be perfect for cruising.

He smiled a calm, gentle smile—not snarky, like the grins he’d given her before they’d
come to an understanding.

She stepped toward him and searched his face. There was something different in it.
His eyes were open pools of blue.

Lowering her head and raising her eyebrows, she said, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said, brushing aside a wisp of hair that the warm wind had blown into her
face. “I mean, yes. I’m starving. How about we ask Marvin to make us a couple of bowls
of his famous chili before the meeting gets started?”

That sounded great to her. She had been looking forward to eating there all afternoon.
And she wasn’t even worried about the worms or the crickets this time.

He ordered two bowls of chili and two glasses of sweet tea for them, and they went
into the room in the back to wait for the rest of their group.

He was all smiles, and she couldn’t stop watching every move he made. She was glad
that no one else could see the war that was going on inside her. Her attraction to
Bull doing battle with the motorcycle world around him. She knew he’d seen her transformation
concerning bikers, but she didn’t think he got how fearful she still was when it came
to motorcycles. It was going to take all the strength she could muster to get through
that rally, but she was going to do it. After the rally, she’d never have to deal
with motorcycles again. Insuring them? Yes. Dealing with them or riding one? Never.