Page 3 of Weatherman

One of my biggest joys in life was this time at night with my little girl. We splashed and played while I gave her a bath, and she fell asleep as I rocked her and hummed whatever song was in my head. Mama J—Janice—taught me so much about how to bea good mom. Reading, singing, playing games, being involved. So much of this time was precious, and I hoarded every minute.

I held my sleeping daughter and listened to the rhythmic squeak of the plain wood rocking chair as I moved it forward and backward. I had some money in the bank, but I needed to stretch it out as long as possible, keeping some back for emergencies. Kimmie’s family had shipped us some living room pieces and kitchen stuff that was used but in good shape. Goodwill supplied the rest. I’d spotted the wooden rocker when Pearl and I spent a day puttering around the local flea market. The first piece of furniture I ever bought just for me. It was old and a little rickety, but a little wood glue and a cheap cushion fixed it up nicely. Some people might find it a little weird, but I loved that rocker. I wondered how many children had been soothed to sleep by its back-and-forth motion. How many bedtime books had been read in it? How many quiet nights had the rhythmic creaking calmed a troubled mind?

I transferred Pearl to her crib, which took up most of my bedroom. My next splurge had to be a new mattress and box spring, as the one I used now was worn and dipping in the middle. A twin-sized this time—no need for anything bigger, and the current double took up too much space. I had plans to save up and eventually get us our own place. One with a yard and a fence and a dog. My dream house. Something I once touched with the tips of my fingers long enough to imagine the possibility before it was torn away.

Pain ripped through me, and I stifled a sob. Pearl fussed and squirmed to find a new position, and I held my breath. She farted and quieted down. I smiled.

“She’s getting big,”an invisible voice whispered in my ear. Its warm tone spoke with caring admiration and a bit of pride.

“Yes, she is,” I whispered out loud.

Silence answered back.

I changed into a sleep shirt and carefully climbed into my bed. Pearl was such a good baby and seldom woke at night, but I still didn’t want to make any noise to disturb her. I settled on my side, mentally sorting tomorrow’s schedule and tasks on repeat until I fell asleep.

I did not acknowledge the two tears that tracked down my face.

CHAPTER 2

Weatherman backedhis bike into a spot in front of the garage and cut the engine. He lifted the heavy helmet from his head and shook out his sandy blond hair. His job at the news station had him keeping it stylishly short at all times, even though he preferred to have it longer.

I guess I won’t have to keep to a dress code soon.He only had a few weeks left at that job. It wasn’t a bitter ending to this part of his career, but a necessary one.

The custom paint and spray booth was at the far end of the garage complex. They did everything at this facility from simple oil changes to complex restorations. It started as a ramshackle dump and grew into a thriving business under the leadership of Brick, the current president of the Dragon Runners MC. Over his lifetime, the club had acquired a number of diverse businesses besides the garage and bar, including a campground, a tattoo parlor, and a hair salon.

He opened the door to the building where the spray booth was located. Dodge was bent over a car, taping off another part of an elaborate spider on the hood.

“That’s gonna look damn good at night. I bet it scares the shit out of someone.”

He stepped into the spray booth and closed the door behind him, keeping a good distance away. Dust and other particles could ruin a good paint job, and from the intricate detail of the spider, Dodge would probably throat punch anyone who messed it up. The booth’s exhaust was off for now, so the two friends could carry on a conversation.

“I hope so. I’m charging him enough.” Dodge peered at one of the arachnid’s black legs and swore, peeling off a section of blocking tape and repositioning it. “You just get into town?”

Weatherman chuckled at the man’s fastidious attention to detail. He slipped his hands into his jeans pockets and leaned back against the coated cement wall. “About a half hour ago. No one’s up at the Lair, so I thought I’d stop here before heading to the house.”

“How’s your mom?”

Weatherman sighed. This was his reason for leaving a promising career as a meteorologist at the station. He hadn’t set out to become a TV personality, but the station plucked him up as an intern before graduating. Later, they hired him straight out of school, claiming his good looks and articulate voice were what they needed to draw their audience. It helped that the camera loved him. He had a slim, athletic swimmer’s build, along with piercing eyes and wavy blond hair. He’d had to live in Knoxville in order to take the job, but he was okay with that, as it wasn’t too far away from home. All was well until his mother got sick. “She’s taking her first chemo in the morning.”

“Good luck to her and to you, brother.”

Weatherman dipped his head in acknowledgment. “She’s got a long way to go, but the doctors say it can still be beat even at stage four. As soon as I finish my contract, I’ll move back permanently. Until then, I’ll keep commuting.”

Dodge tapped the tape in place and checked again, satisfied with its placement. “Sorry you have to give up your dream job.”

He shrugged. “It’s my mom.” Yes, it sucked, but for his entire life, it had always been just the two of them. His dad left long ago, before he was born, and he could count on one hand the few times he’d seen or spoken to the man. Child support had been paid regularly, at least, and his mother had squirreled it away into some high-yield money market investments. They ended up being a nice-sized nest egg for school and whatever future he wanted to claim. Not rich by any means, but comfortable enough not to worry.

It didn’t matter to him, because he’d never lacked for anything growing up. Natalie Turner had worked as a bank teller all her life to make sure he never had to suffer. When he was a young child, she would come home every night to cook dinner with his “help.” He remembered the fun he had shaking chicken legs in a bag of seasoned flour as she cheered him on. Later, they would play a game together, and she’d read to him before bed. She never closed his door or hers, so he could hear her breathing from her room. As he grew up, she chose to never date anyone, even though men asked her out a lot. Almost every activity she did was kid oriented. School book fairs, swim meets when he made the team at the Y club, science projects—everything in his life, she was involved. Some kids might consider that to be smothering, but Weatherman regarded those memories as precious.

“I can always get another position. The station said I could come back when I want.IfI want.”

“I hope it works out,” Dodge said as he straightened. “I’m almost ready to spray. You wanna stick around for a bit, or you got other stuff to do?”

“I gotta go get a haircut, and then I’ll head over to the house. Moving sucks.”

Dodge chuckled. “I hear you. Take care, and I’ll see you at the Lair later.”

Weatherman blew out a breath. His afternoon plans didn’t include going to the Dragon Runners’ headquarters tonight for any length of time, but he might stop in to see his mentor. Of all the Dragon Runners, Table was his biggest influence. He’d met the man by chance one night back in high school when he and his mom lived in Asheville. He’d been out with his girlfriend at the time and two other friends when they spotted a car barreling down one of the many twisting mountain roads. The shiny line of fluid trailing behind the vehicle told him why.

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