Page 5 of Roxy's Independence
“I don’t know about that, Foxy. But that motherfucker was a bully and you know how much I loathe people like that. They’re cowards who have to pick on those who are too vulnerable to stand up for themselves.”
“Like a twelve-year-old girl?” I query.
“Yeah, like a young girl who shouldn’t have had to live with a monster who wanted to tear her down because he needed to compensate for the fact that he had a little penis.”
Canyon begins chuckling at his dad’s description. I shoot Weston a scathing look which he pretends he doesn’t see. Our boy is going to hear a lot of things he shouldn’t at his age living where we do, but we don’t have to be the main perpetrators in that.
“Don’t look at me like that, Foxy Roxy. He gets it, don’t you son?” Weston says before directing the follow up question at our teenage son.
“Yeah, Dad. I do,” Canyon responds. And again, my heart soars at the affection in his tone. “Don’t worry, Mom, I won’t use what I hear at school.”
Tears leak from my ducts as I sigh. “You better not.”
CHAPTER
THREE
Saber
The fourth,we end up in Blue Ridge’s valley to do some hiking, mountain biking, and kayaking. A mini family vacation that doesn’t have us too far away from the club. Even though we could’ve driven here, we decided to rent a log cabin not far from the cliffside town. Roxy drove the SUV with the mountain bikes hooked to the back and the kayaks strapped to the top. Egypt was her passenger but Canyon, who’s learning to navigate a motorcycle himself, rode with me. He’s not ready to hit the road yet, he’s still learning on the backroads, but like his father, he loves the rumble of the bike.
First up on the agenda, is doing some local shopping to support the ma and pops’ shops. Roxy is determined to get not only groceries for our week-long getaway, but to get the kids and herself new suits and other water gear. On top of that, we have a list of people we want to buy thank you gifts for. It's a damn good thing the hospital just renewed my contract because my wallet is going to be feeling awfully thin after this escapade.
“Dad, look,” Egypt squeals as we walk down Main Street. It takes a lot for her to get that enthusiastic so I stop and turn to where she’s pointing. “Can we go in, please?” Those puppy dog eyes and pleading are my downfall. Where she wants to go is into a local artist’s studio. I watch as a woman sits at an easel in the alcove of the front window, lost in whatever masterpiece she’s painting.
“Of course we can,” I respond and chuckle when she starts shaking her hips and pumping her hands through the air.
“Yes!” she shouts, reaching out and grabbing my hand then hauling me in the door’s direction. “Mom! Dad and I are going in there.” She points at the entrance and as I look over at my old lady, her eyes are sparkling with humor.
It still humbles me to hear the words ‘Dad’ and ‘Mom’ slip so easily from her lips. It took a while to break down her walls and get her to sit in a room with us without daggers being shot at us, but eventually, she started to relax and let us in. Once she did, bonds were formed and the universe aligned.
As the bell rings over our heads once we walk through the threshold, the woman’s head swivels in our direction and she smiles. “Welcome. Are you here for supplies or to sign up for camp?”
“Camp?” Egypt gasps out the question, and I can hear her heart sing at the prospect of taking classes.
“We’re here on vacation,” I explain to the woman. “My daughter is an art enthusiast.”
“I’m Emerson, and offer a camp for young adults every month during tourist season. It’s two hours a day and starts tomorrow. I still have a few openings if you’re interested.”
“Think Mom will let me?” Egypt whispers, the anticipation in her voice has me wanting to give her everything her heart desires.
“What am I, chopped liver? Don’t I get a say in this?” I ask, acting offended that she referred to Roxy instead of me.
She cups her hand over her mouth as she giggles. “We both know that what Mom says goes. You always go along with whatever she says, Dad.”
“You’ve got me there,” I mumble, twisting back around and looking at Emerson. “How much does this camp cost and what are the times?”
“I’ll go get Mom!” Egypt shouts as she disappears from sight.
“I guess that means she’s interested in joining the camp. I have a brochure over there that highlights the techniques they’ll learn during our sessions.” As she grabs the stock paper that’s folded in threes, I take a minute to scan the store. I blanch when I see wires for cutting clay and other dangerous looking tools. Is all this necessary for the trade? If so, I’m going to have to build a shed and put it under lock down. It’s a serial killer's one-stop shop for all his murderous endeavors.
Upon further inspection, I see a sanitization station that has me taking a step back. It’s a butcher’s wet dream. Scalpels, paring knives, ice picks, cleavers—what the actual fuck? As she passes me the pamphlet, I quickly open it and check it out. If Egypt is expected to touch any of those items, we’re outta here.
As Egypt comes back in, towing her mom with her, Roxy and my eyes meet. I widen mine and angle them toward the items that have my heart palpitating. When she notices where they shifted,mirth dances on her face. I shake my head because this doesn’t seem to faze her in the same way it does me.
“Mom, look!” Egypt grabs the paper from my hand and shoves it in Roxy’s chest. “Can I do it, please?”
Roxy smirks in my direction as she starts a conversation with Emerson. I take a moment to walk around, and everything I find is normal outside of the sharp instruments that I avoid like the plague. There’s something dark and eerie about being in their presence. Butcher would have a field day shopping here. That thought has me huffing out a small cackle because that’s an understatement.
