The Pastor's Wife Wears Biker Boots (18 page)

Reba leaned in to Lily’s ear. “Opal? Hugged someone? A man? She kissed a man?
”

Atticus gave a laugh that reached clear to my bones, making them smile. He lifted Opal into the air and swung her around. “Well, boy howdy, if you want, I’ll set him loose and go pick him up again if rescuing him gets this kind of response.” He chuckled again, exactly like Santa Claus.

Lily grabbed Atticus next and gave him a big bear hug. “Where was he?”

“It was strange. I thought I saw a flashlight off to the side of the road. Something told me to stop and take a look. I tried going on, but that voice told me again to stop. I looked around in my cab to see who said it. And then, my truck started backfiring. It’s never had one mechanical problem like that before. So, I pulled over, and went toward that flashlight. I found him walking along the edge of the creek, singing like a little bird, not a care in the world. Strange, though. He didn’t have a flashlight.”

Goose bumps crawled up the back of my head. I knew, without a doubt, God had answered our prayers. He somehow led Atticus right to Timmy. He’d kept Timmy safe. Even when I lacked faith, God was faithful.

I felt weak, and my view of the truck tilted a little. My legs buckled, and I fell against Atticus’s big belly.

“Whoa there, Nelly. Let’s get you inside.” He grabbed me around the waist and led me toward the room. In my weakness, my warped mind took note of the fact that he didn’t pick me up and carry me like he did Opal.

Lily and Reba bribed Timmy with an episode of
Cops
to get him out of the truck. By the time we got to the porch in front of our room, my legs were back. I stood on my own.

“Atticus, I don’t know how to thank you. I really don’t. I…”

“So, did the retard finally come home?” one of the young bikers, drunker than before, hollered at us, and the girls and young men standing around drinking with them found his rudeness hysterical.

“What did you say?” Atticus bellowed. Other bikers standing around began a slow descent upon the mouthy young man.

“I said…” The cheeky young buck rocked his head side to side and sauntered toward Atticus like a peacock. “Did you find the retard?”

My blood turned to ice. I’d never heard anyone call my son such a despicable name.

Atticus and other bikers closer to our age slowly crowded around the group of youngsters slinging back cold ones and laughing.

“I’m not sure I heard you right.” Atticus wasn’t backing down.

“Get lost, old man.” The boy laughed.

“I thought I heard you call my friend a disparaging name.” Atticus reached into his boot, pulled out an expandable, and began hitting his mighty hand with it.

“No, Atticus.” I pulled on his elbow but the limb was as immovable as a concrete post. “Don’t do something stupid. The police are still around. It’s not worth it,” I pleaded.

Opal and Lily steered Timmy toward our room, while Reba and I, on each side of Atticus, tried to reason with him.

“Atticus, don’t be stupid, man.” Reba stood in front of him.

His eyes glistened with fire.

“These young squatters come in here every week and throw their weight around thinking they’re something special because they ride those sports rockets. No one calls my friends names.” He walked faster toward the boy, and his friends leapt to his defense.

Before we knew it, Reba and I were caught in the middle of a biker melee. Fists and hands flew, and Reba and I were crushed in the middle, ducking and weaving for our lives. I got two punches to my right eye before I squatted on the ground and covered my head with my hands.

It seemed like an eternity passed before blue lights, and the piercing sound of sirens cut through the air. A cop pulled the guys off of the pile and me out of the middle of the riot. He pushed me back on the ground
and placed me in handcuffs.

If only someone was filming it.

Timmy would love to see it
on
Cops
.

25

“You
are
going to call Aaron now, aren’t you?” Reba paced in front of me. “I need a cig. I’ve gotta get outta here.”

I rubbed my wrists, sore from the handcuffs. We shared a holding cell with other bikers and three young women who sold their talents on the street.

“Aaron will flip out.” I turned around and grabbed the cell bars to look out through them—at nothing. “And Bernice—I can’t begin to think about what she’s going to do. I’m toast.”

“Hey!” One of the “gifted” ladies walked up beside me and yelled at the officers in the hall. “I want my lawyer!”

“Shut up!” One of her friends walked over and smacked her on a bare shoulder. “You don’t even got a lawyer.”

I rested my forehead against the bars and groaned. 
”My head is killing me. How long do you think we’ll be in here?”

Reba turned her back to the bars and leaned on them. “I don’t know, but maybe you can tell the D.A. who you are and it’ll help.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Reba.” I whined like Eyeore on an extremely bad day.

“I know. Me, either.” She elbowed me. “But hey, how many pastors’ wives can say they got canned on a motorcycle trip, huh?”

I didn’t answer.

Reba situated her face in front of mine and stuck out her tongue. “C’mon, when you think about it, it’s pretty funny.”

“Stop.” I sounded like a four-year-old. “I don’t want to feel happy right now.”

One of the street girls overheard Reba. “Preacher’s wife? You a preacher’s wife?” She strutted to where I
’d parked myself against the bars.

I raised my head and looked sideways into her mascara streaked face. Her hand rested on a tiny hip, and the gum she popped in her mouth matched the burgundy lace teddy she wore. Her olive skin looked ravaged, pocked with needle marks and mosquito bites, and
she was missing several side teeth.

“Yes, I am.” I
kept my head steady, fearing what would come next.

“Hmph.” She tilted her head back and scratched it. “So, preacher lady, I s’pose you think you’re better than us.” She motioned to her two friends who marched toward us, clicking stilettos on the cement floor. Their hips swung wider than the pendulum on my Aunt Mary’s old cuckoo clock.

I turned to face them. “Of course I don’t think I’m better than you. Why would I?”

They laughed.

“Well, listen to the preacher lady. She doesn’t know why she thinks she’s better than us.”
The tallest of the three girls cackled and pulled on her gum.

“I don’t.” My voice croaked.

Reba draped her arm around me and led me to the other side of the cell. We sat down on a bench against the wall. Other female bikers sat grouped in threes and fours around the large room, talking, but watching the confrontation out of the corner of their eyes.

“Leave her alone.” Reba plopped her arm across me. “She hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” One of the girls in a short denim skirt, lace leggings, and spiked hair crossed her arms and stared at me. I pulled in my breath. She was beautiful and looked twelve years old.

I gathered up all my gumption and spoke, “What’s your name?”

“What do you care?” She smirked
and unfolded her arms.

“Well, if we’re going to talk, I’d like to know your name, that’s all. We’re going to be in here together for a while, and we might as well be friends.” I offered my hand. “My name’s Kirstie.”

She hesitated and then shook my hand. “Blossom.” She pulled her hand away and pointed to her friends. “And this is Meli and Bel.”

“Hi.” I reached my hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah.” The three girls answered together and rolled their eyes.

Blossom blew a bubble and popped it. “So, if you’re so good, how’d you end up in here?”

I shrugged. “I was trying to stop a fight and the police thought I was at fault, I guess.”

“That stinks.” Bel frowned. “You got a lawyer?”

“No.” I shook my head. 
”I wouldn’t know where to find one.”

“Me, either. Don’t worry. They’ll give you one.”

Reba held out her fist. “Hi, there, I’m Reba, Kirstie’s friend.”

“Hey, Reba.” The girls bumped fists with her.

“So, Reba, you get in a fight, too?” Blossom sat on the floor in front of us.

Reba leaned back against the wall and pushed her hands into her pockets. “Someone called her kid a bad name, and our friends there”—Reba motioned toward the other biker gals—“tried to take up for him. We got caught in the middle.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. You preacher ladies are too perfect to be getting in trouble.” Blossom sneered and the other two girls
sat down on each side of her.

“Why do you think that?” I leaned down with my elbows on my knees and my hands under my chin. “I make mistakes all the time.”

“Yeah, right.” Bel giggled. “I’ve heard that one before.” The girls laughed.

“Bel’s dad’s a preacher.” Meli smirked. “So we know all about y’all making mistakes.”

The girls looked up at me with empty gazes.
They’re too young to be so old
.

I sat up. “Tell me about your dad. What church does he pastor?”

“He’s got a little church close to the Qualla Boundary. All the churches high up in the mountains are tiny.”

“That’s OK,” I said. “I’m from rural Indiana, and our church is small, too.”

Bel’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? How small?”

“About seventy people, or so
.”

The girls snorted.

Bel laughed. “My dad’s church? It’s about twelve people, or so. It’s dumb.”

“Why do you say that?”

Bel rolled her eyes. “Because, if he was a real preacher, he’d have more than twelve people coming to his church, wouldn’t he?”

Reba clucked her tongue. “Seems to me I remember something about Jesus only having twelve people in his church
.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, well, my dad ain’t no Jesus Christ.” Bel stood up, and the girls followed her to the other side of the cell.

Some of the bikers gathered around me. I couldn’t tell if the lumbering group wanted to beat me up or talk to me.

“Hey.” One of them with tattoos on her neck tilted her chin up at me. “Sorry we got you into this.” She held out a large hand stuffed into black fingerless gloves. Her fingernails glistened with orange and black nail polish. “My name’s Trixie. But my biker name’s Flygirl.”

“Hi,” I said. “My name’s Kirstie. I guess my biker name is?” I looked at Reba.

Reba cleared her throat. “Queen Bee. This here’s Queen Bee, and I’m Reba, but you can call me Mama Diamond.”

I sputtered. “Yeah, uh, Mama Diamond helps me out with my son, Timmy.”

“This here’s Donna, also known as Ex-Cargo, and Wendy, otherwise known as Gypsy,” Flygirl said.

“Hi.” The gang shook our hands.

“We’ve been watching you with your boy,” Ex-Cargo said. “You’re a good mom. And well, we just couldn’t let those jerks get by with saying what they said. You got a real nice boy there.”

“Thanks.” I
didn’t know what to say, really.

“Don’t worry about getting out of here.” Gypsy settled a light hand on my shoulder. “We’ve all talked and agreed to take care of any legal expenses you might have. I’ve got a great lawyer—my brother. He’ll take good care of us. Don’t you worry.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s really nice of you, but…”

She threw her hand up, and the other women gathered around closer.
“Hey, we won’t take no for an answer, will we, girls?”

“That’s right.” Gypsy, wearing a doo-rag with pink skulls, nodded. “Besides, we’re from Indiana, too, and we Hoosiers gotta stick together.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”
The conversation felt surreal. I was sitting in a jail cell, talking to bikers about lawyers.

Flygirl sat down beside me. “For starters, you can tell us where you live so we can ride together sometime.”

“I’m in Eel Falls.”

Gypsy gasped. “Really? I live in Wabash, and these two are from Huntington. We’re really close to where you are.”

Before we could exchange addresses, I heard familiar voices. I looked up to see Opal, Lily, and Atticus walking down the hall behind the sheriff.

“OK, biker chicks.” The sheriff pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. “Your friend, Atticus, here, talked to the D.A., and she dropped the charges. You got lucky this time. No more fighting in my county, ya hear?”

The cell door swung open and the bikers cheered and barreled through it. Each one hugged a blushing Atticus as they passed him on their way out. I didn’t move.

“What are you waiting for?” Reba hollered and motioned with her arm. “C’mon!”

I shook my head
. “I’m gonna stay here until these girls get their bail posted.”
I jerked my head toward the three young women sitting in the corner of the cell.

The sheriff looked up at Atticus, and the biker chicks all shrugged
and walked away.

Atticus looked at me and sighed. “I’ll cover their bail.”

“OK.” the sheriff shook his head. “It’s your money.”

The three girls snorted as we left the cell.

“Ingrates,” Reba mumbled.

On our way out of jail, I felt anxious. “Where’s Timmy?”

“He’s fine,” Atticus said. “My mom’s watching him in your room back at the inn. He’s fast asleep. Finally.” Atticus laughed. “He was plumb wore out pushing all those buttons on the truck and fell right to sleep
.”

“Are you sure he’s OK?” I felt exhausted but shook inside from worry.

“He’s fine.” Atticus patted my arm.

“Let’s hurry,” I said. “I want to
kiss his beautiful face.”

26

Early the next morning Atticus called and roused me out of a blissful sleep.

“Do you have any earthly idea what time it is?” I squinted to see the alarm clock.

“It’s time to rise and shine, girlie! C’mon, time’s a wastin’. And I’m hungry. Breakfast’s on me. Meet me at the Dragon Café in twenty minutes.”

I groaned. 5:30 AM. Timmy wasn’t even awake yet. “OK, OK. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again.

Reba threw a pillow at the annoying beast. “Don’t answer it.” She rolled over and threw a pillow over her head. Timmy sat up and rubbed his eyes.