Page 21 of Forty

“Nah. You keep at him, girl. Give him what he needs, he’ll come around.”

“What is it that he needs?”

“You know, girl. You got that free spirit. You tell me.”

I turn and look up at Boots. His long, gray hair is tied back in a lank ponytail, and he’s wearing his cut over a motheaten undershirt. His jeans are safety pinned at the knees. His lazy smile reaches ear-to-ear.

“Crazy love?”

“Sweet, crazy love,” he agrees. “Remind him why the Lord made us.”

“I don’t know, Boots. I might be fresh out of sweet, crazy love.”

“Bullshit, girl. You can grow it yourself.”

“Like weed?”

“Like weed.” He chuckles, and then he hoots, pointing past me. “Bite! Bite! Pull up!”

I yank, but the fish is too quick for me. I lose the worm. “Damn it.”

“Cast again, girl. While the sun shines and you got bait, you got as many more chances as you’ll take.”

I do, and I get another nibble or two while Boots and I polish off two more beers a piece, but I don’t catch anything. He tells me all about Charge’s old lady, Kayla, and her son Jimmy. They live with him, but Jimmy’s at camp, and Kayla’s taking classes at Shady Gap State, studying social work.

Apparently, Shirlene doesn’t have to come over and look after him anymore, but Shirlene says Kayla has enough on her plate, and she doesn’t mind helping.

Boots thinks Shirlene’s carrying a torch for him. I doubt it, but the world is wonderful and strange.

After two hours or so, she hollers for me, helmet in hand.

“Want me to roll you back to the house?”

“How many beers I got left?”

“Two.”

“Nah. Leave me here. Hand me back that pole. You’re a terrible fisherman, wild child.”

“They always slip away.”

“’Cause your heart ain’t in it. When you’re all in, your hand’s more firm on the rod.”

“Well, the fish were lucky today, then.”

“Lucky fish,” Boots chuckles and tilts his cheek for a kiss. I drop one, and he slaps my ass for good measure. “Tell Shirlene I love her.”

“Will do.”

I grab our empties, crack another cold one and put it in the cup holder attached to Boots’ wheelchair, and I skip back to where Shirlene’s sitting on the trike, gloves, helmet, and sunglasses on.

“Ready for our next stop?”

“Yup.” I’ve got nothing else going on.

We head into town, stopping at the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, and then we visit Ray Bayliss, a real old timer. He was a founding member of the MC. He’s at least eighty-five, maybe older, and he’s a hoarder. After Shirlene makes him take his meds and lay down for a spell, she and I tackle a corner of his living room.

You can see that Shirlene’s been at this awhile. There’s a rental dumpster in the side yard that’s mostly full. She says Ray won’t let anyone else in the house, but she rolled the dice with me, since I’m pretty, and “he’s old and crazy as a shithouse rat, but he’s still a man.”

---