Page 63 of Bits and Pieces

“Did something happen to your bike?” I ask, lingering near the rock garden Woodrow put in years ago.

Blair watches me warily, yet I know she wants to fess up. “That girl who liked to ride her bike only got to come around for a few weeks each summer. I really liked playing with her. I got so excited that I didn’t want to stop. We were riding back and forth for a long time, and I needed to use the bathroom. I kept holding it because I was afraid if I went inside, she would decide she was done for the day. So, I held it until she went in. Then, I had to go so bad that I rushed into my house.”

Blair’s little shoulders sag inward like the memory’s dragging her into the mud. “I left my bike in the driveway. I wasn’t thinking because I had to go so bad. Dad didn’t see it when he came home. He drove right over it. When I started crying, he got mad at me. Mama told him it was her fault. How she left it out and forgot. He took his belt off. I thought he was going to spank me, but he went after Mama.”

Backing away from an unseen threat, she shakes her head. “Mama told me that people make mistakes. She promised she’d save up for a new one. She wasn’t mad at me at all. But I still think about that day a lot and wish I had been more careful.”

I realize a few things from the kid’s confessions. One, she got lucky with her mama and screwed with that shithead father. Two, she needs better friends. I can tell she got pushed around by that out-of-town girl who probably knew Blair didn’t have any other friends. Three, all her confessions during our walk revolve around her guilt over people getting punished.

“Do you think I killed your dad because of you?”

Blair lifts her gaze and nods. “Mama said it’s not my fault.”

“Look, kid, I’m going to be square with you,” I say and squat down. “When I saw your mama, I wanted her. She’s so damn beautiful, and I needed that in my life. But if she had been married to a nice guy she loved, well, then, I’d have learned to live without her. But your dad wasn’t good enough for her. Maybe I could have been nice and let him live, but that’s not how I’m wired. If I see a threat, I crush it under my boot.”

Blair’s blue eyes fill with tears. “I know my dad was mean, but I feel bad that he’s dead.”

“That’s normal. I never liked my parents. They died when I was way older than you, but I still felt bad. Not really sad as much as regretful over them being shitty and me never having a good time with them.”

“I like your house,” Blair mumbles, struggling against her tears. “I like how you’re nice to Mama. You’re nice to me, too. It’s better now. But I feel bad.”

“I’m not a smart guy when it comes to feelings. But I think it’s okay to feel bad. People wanted me to just get over shit that happened to me,” I explain, editing myself rather than admit how my club brothers insisted I fuck my way out of my rage and disappointment over Kati. “I was an angry man for a lot of my life. I own how I feel. And right now, you’re feeling bad, and you should own that. Don’t just smile if you’re not feeling it. Tell your mama if you need more hugs. I know she likes cuddling with you kids.”

Blair gives me a little smile. “She’s my favorite part of my life.”

“And she’s what you’re keeping. Those bad parts with your dad’s family and the school with no friends, that stuff is changing. But it takes time to get used to it.”

Seeming tired now, Blair nods. “I’m sorry I talked so much.”

“No, I liked that. How can I know people if they hide from me?”

“I’m sorry you don’t like most people.”

“Yeah, the world is full of garbage. Of course, if you find someone who isn’t trash, you should value them like you’ve struck gold. That’s how I feel about your mama and you kids.”

Blair’s tears are officially over. She even wears a smile as we reach the house. Not that her mom is fooled. Landry eyes me like I’m the damned devil. Before she can search for scissors, I ask Rosemary to chill with Blair while I talk to her mother.

The kid looks worried that I’ll rat her out, so I give her a wink. I don’t really think the gesture helps.

Landry follows me into the house, wearing the wild eyes of a mama bear ready to tear a motherfucker apart.

“Blair needs therapy,” I state before she can read me the riot act.

My words are like a slap across her face. Landry shifts into a panicked edginess.

“I know.”

“I’m going to find someone for her.”

“What happened during your walk?”

“She told me about her pervy cousin and the fucked-up bike and how she loves her shithead old dad who was murdered by her new better dad. That kid is dealing with too much guilt and insecurities.”

Looking so much like Blair minutes ago, Landry fights tears. “That money in my purse was you, right?” When I nod, she exhales shakily. “I thought about using some of it to get her a new bike. She deserved one. That brat Hailee would only play with Blair if she had a bike to ride. But I just couldn’t spend so much on one of my kids and not on the rest. Except maybe I wasted money I could have used for her bike. I should have been smarter. I really didn’t need new shoes.”

“What are you doing?”

Landry flinches as I move toward her. I notice she does that more now. Like my rule about honesty left her with no armor against scary shit like me.

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