Page 41 of Nuts

“You mother died when you were what? Ten?”

I shrugged. “Nine.”

“Who taught you to cook?”

“Same person that taught me about Harleys.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“I taught myself,” I said. “I use the internet.”

“Well, you’re a damned good cook.”

“Thank you. Again.”

He shoveled more lasagna into his mouth and then looked at me. “What about your pop?”

“My dad?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“What about him?”

He took a bite of lasagna. “How old were you when. You know. When he passed. You’ve never said much about him.”

“I was really young when he died.”

“I was just wondering. You’ve told me a lot about your mom,” he said. “But you’ve never really said much about your pop.”

I never talked to anyone about my father. Having a high degree of admiration for a man I never knew seemed silly to me. Nonetheless, I clung to the stories my mother told as if they were my own.

“I never really knew him. Not that I remember anyway.”

“Your mom never told you anything about him?”

“Oh. She said a lot. She loved him. Not like Josh. She really loved him. He was like you.”

His brow furrowed. “Like me?”

“Uh huh.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was a biker. He’s the real reason I like Harleys and stuff.”

He laughed. “I thought I was the reason.”

“I mean. You are. Kind of. But I think hearing the stories my mom told about my dad started it all. I grew up admiring him, and heck, I never really knew him.”

“That’s cool. What did you admire about him? What’d your mom tell you?”

“he was the most kind, caring, loving man on earth. Yet. He didn’t take crap from anyone. My mom said no matter where they went, she felt safe. She said no one ever messed with her, or gave her a cross look, they knew better. He had a moral code that he lived by. He didn’t lie, his word was as good as gold, and he’d stand up for anyone that couldn’t stand up for themselves.”

“Sounds like a good man.”

“He was,” I said, my voice thick with pride. “He died trying to protect one of his brothers.”

“You’ve got an uncle?”