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“I’m still here. But it won’t be long before I’m gone. Again, look at me.” She huffs out something between a laugh and wanting to slap sense into me. “Darlin’, though I’ll be leavin’ youbehind, I get to see your mom again. So when you do think of me, don’t be sad, 'cause I’m gonna be fuckin’ happy.”
A tear rolls down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away.
“I don’t want to talk like this anymore. Eat your dinner, and I’ll come back later. I said I’d help Emma with the kids.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s managing, keeping busy, but when she stops, she’s worried stiff.”
I didn’t trust Emma when she first came around. I wanted her to help Victoria learn to sign, but I didn’t like the talk about my granddaughter being depressed. She wasn’t. She was struggling with her new way of life, but when she found a purpose, she was okay. Now Emma’s the mother of my great-grandchildren, and she’s family. She’s suitable for Myles. And what’s good for him is good for me.
Another shot of pain rockets across my chest, and I’m grateful Kyla has just left the room. I’m grateful that Mason and the club have Myles back. I’m gutted I won’t be here to see the boys again, but they have each other. I’ll leave this earth content that I don’t leave them alone.
Come on, death, you motherfucker. Take me.
While I wait, I go back to happier times my life.
I don’t always take much notice of the weather unless it prohibits me from riding my motorcycle. Since Sally made the move to be with me in Willow’s Peak, I notice it every day for different reasons other than riding. I see the way Sally relaxes slightly more when the sun’s out. The way she’ll tip her head back for a moment or two and bask in the warmth shining over her. The way it makes her hair glow. Or when it rains, and she likes to sit out on the back porch and listen to the droplets pound the lean-to overhead as she sips the whiskey I keep on the top shelf. She never has more than a single finger. I don’t drink at home. I only had the bottle here in the first placebecause Bonnie got me it for my birthday. And now, when the bottle is finished, I replace it for her. When thunder rolls across the sky, she wears this small smile, which disappears before anyone can notice. She told me once that the thunder reminded her of me, an anger you can’t see. The lightning, however, is the one weather phenomenon she does not like and when there’s a bad storm, not even the club can keep me from her. I hold her in my arms as we sit or lie in the dark because she won’t have any appliances on until the storm is over. While she’s in my arms, there’s not one tense muscle in her body. I do that for her, and I’m the only one in the world which she feels safe with, and that shit, I take seriously as an honour and as my job as her husband. So yeah, the weather has become a part of my life on a deeper level than before her.
“There’s rain coming,” she murmurs as I walk up behind her.
No matter how quiet I am, and I can be as quiet as a mouse when I choose to be, she always knows when I’m close.
“Are you physic now, or did you hear the weather report this morning?”
Sliding my arms around her, I rest my chin on her shoulder and stare out in the backyard, all set up for our cookout later this afternoon.
“I could smell it when I was out this morning.”
I don’t even bother approaching that one.
“Shall I call Ky and let her know the cookout’s cancelled?”
She turns in my arms, and the crease between her brows has me wanting to kiss it.
“It’s not going to rain till this evening. No need to cancel.” Placing her hands on my chest, she presses a quick kiss on my lips and shoos me away. “Every time we offer to host, you have a reason to call and cancel. You think I haven’t noticed?”
“We? I distinctly remember it was you who suggested…”
“Hush now, sweetheart. Don’t deny you love having our daughter and grandchildren over.”
“I do, but the cooking. I don’t like standing at the grill and flipping burgers.”
“Well, I’ll do it then. There, problem solved.”
“Problem not solved, woman. I won’t have you doing my job.”
“Thomas! Stop being so obtuse. Kyla and Ricky will be here in ten minutes. Take the meat out and fire up the grill. I don’t want to waste any time in case the rain comes early.”
I do as instructed, and not fifteen minutes later, my grandsons are running out of the back door and racing for the tree house Rick and I built last summer.
“Hey, you little rascals! Don’t I get a hello?”
Just before they go to climb the rope ladder, they round themselves and race toward me.
“Sorry, Grumps,” they say simultaneously, adding, “Hello, Grumps.”
“You hug your grandma on the way in before darting out here?”
