Page 52 of Single Mom's Mountain Men
I don't respond. I keep stacking.
“This isn’t the time to be mute, Charlie. Y’all need to figure out your shit because your conflict is starting to worry Patty. She’s thinking about leaving.”
That gets my attention. Not that he hadn’t had it before, just that I hadn’t really known what to say to him.
“She is?’
He nods. “Yesterday, she came to talk to me and told me she feels bad about being intimate with both of you. She thinks that she's making you fight.”
“That’s not her fault,” I say. “She did nothing wrong.”
“That’s what I told her. But if the two of you keep giving each other the silent treatment she’s going to keep thinking that it is her fault, and she doesn't want to be the woman that tore two brothers apart. So if you guys don't figure your shit out and make up, she's going to keep feeling like she's the oneto blame, and eventually she’ll leave. You don’t want that do you?”
I shake my head. That’s the last thing I want.
“Good. Then you and Wes get it together. Work it out however you see fit. One of you is going to have to apologize first, and it's likely going to have to be you because you’re older and we’ve always known Wes is a little pill since he was a kid. Ma spoiled him too much. But he’s going to have to grow up and start taking responsibility for his actions. For starting the fight, I've upped his quota, and he better finish it tonight. He's been slacking off more than usual lately and it's pissing me off.”
I chew my lips. I hate to defend Wes when I'm still irked at him, but I don't think upping his quota is the right move here. Wes isn’t lazy, but he’s made no qualms about the fact that he doesn’t like spending all day working in the forest. And neither do I. The more I do it, the more I start to chafe under this role.
I didn’t think about how much I don’t like it until Wes mentioned the thing about the garage. That's when I realized I would probably be a lot happier doing that instead. The fact that even Patty noticed my love for cars while barely knowing me is additional proof, if any is needed.
I've always been comfortable with outdoor work, so I didn't mind working here, but now… I would rather be at a garage fixing cars than in a timber yard cutting and planing lumber.
Of course, I know I can’t tell my brother this. He’s all about us running the family business as a unit until we turn it into a thriving business. He'll probably want us to keep running it beyond that too, just to keep a family legacy. He’s so busy trying to prove everyone wrong, and honor Mom andDad, that he can't stop to think that maybe the rest of us have other goals.
And if we let him, he's going to run us all into the ground.
“You ever thought about selling part of the land?” I blurt out and I immediately know it’s the wrong thing to say. Mitch’s expression changes instantly from his usual staid annoyance to damn near fury.
“Banker got to you?” he snarls and I flinch at the insult.
“Of course not. I wouldn't go near that man with a ten-foot pole.”
Mitch relaxes but only a little.
“I don’t mean sell to Banker, I mean put it up for sale. We could do without the acreage near the road since it’s poor quality land and there aren't many trees there anyway. If we sold it, we would have more than enough to hire a few new employees.” That way we don’t have to work ourselves to death and we may have money to do the stuff we want to do.
But Mitch is already shaking his head before the final words leave my mouth. “We need that land because of its proximity to the road. Without it, we'd have to go clear across the other side of the mountain to get to the highway, and that's more time-consuming. With it, we’re close to the road and the yard is much more easy to access."
“So? Going around is not that big a deal, it would only add what fifteen or twenty minutes to our journey into town. It’s not like anyone comes here anyway. And we could work out a deal with the new owners to use the front of their land for signage to direct people to where we are.”
“We start selling now, when does it stop? What if the new buyers sell to someone else and we don’t like what they do with the land, or they become our competition?” Mitch says. "There’s a reason Dad never considered any of the offers he received over the years.”
That’s because he was a stubborn old man. Just like you're turning into.
But I don’t say anything further. It’s clear that I’m not going to get through to Mitch, and it’s not the first time I’ve tried. Once my brother sets his mind either for or against something, it takes an act of God to get him to see reason.
So I simply nod, swallow the restlessness I’m feeling, and get back to work.
Later that evening as the sun sets, with a sunburn sitting on my back and new calluses on my fingers, I finally trek back to the main house. But I don’t go inside.
Instead, I go around the house and into the garage where we keep the bikes. Wes’ Harley sits dramatically in a shaft of remaining golden sunlight that make sits way in through the windows. It’s all gleaming chrome and glossy paintwork, the skull and crossbones custom paintjob prominently displayed on the teardrop-shaped gas tank. It's Wes’ pride and joy but to me it’s a real eyesore that sits between my equally powerful but much more understated Indian, and Mitch's bike, an all-original 1973 Harley-Davidson Electra Glide Police Special. It even still has the siren. I move over to my Indian and lift the dust sheet, run my fingers over the shiny hardware. I haven’t found time for riding in ages, but I need to clear my head, and driving around in my truck isn’t going to cut it.
I need to feel the wind in my hair and the feel of the road underneath me. I need to feel each bend and curve, and to control the slightest motion of my movement.
I slip into my room to put on my leathers, hearing Patty working in the kitchen. I almost stop by to talk to her, but I hesitate. Every time I’ve wanted to talk to her, I’ve been held back by a couple of factors. A sense of shame for one, for having her see me fighting like an animal. I was also worriedthat I scared her, but then I smile as I recall her fierce expression as she had thrown a large pan of cold water over us. To be fair, she looked more furious than scared. But still, I don't imagine she wants me around much right now.
The second reason I avoid her is because every time I'm in her presence, my heart feels like it's melting and it’s everything I can do to keep from grabbing her and kissing her again. From begging her to allow me to get on my knees and eat her out again. I still taste her on my tongue. Every time I close my eyes, I can smell her, see her,almost tastethe musky sweetness of her kitty.
