Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition by Elizabeth Knox (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

my feet and stagger downstairs to rummage through the cabinets in the kitchen.

“Come on, please have some damn coffee.”

Gram has the old-fashioned automatic drip coffee maker. I find a can of grounds, wondering how old it is. I pull off the plastic lid to find it’s unopened.

Awesome. Fresh coffee.

I pop the top, and the aroma of the grounds fills the room. I inhale deeply, then scoop some in the basket, and fill the carafe in the sink.

While I wait for it to brew, I wander down the hall past the laundry to the back mudroom. I push the curtain on the back door aside and stare out.

I must have snuck out this back door a million times when I was in high school. After grandpa died, I sort of went through a fuck everyone phase.

There’s a street behind the house that’s not much more than a glorified alley. Two blocks to the left and around the corner is Santa Cruz High School.

I drop the curtain and go back to the kitchen to fill my cup, taking it to the front parlor. I look out the circular bay windows to see a school bus stopping. A boy of about eight runs out of the neighbor’s house and jumps on.

Movement catches my eye, and I see a little girl of about six waving frantically to him from the bay window of the neighbor’s house. He doesn’t look back, and she stops waving, pressing her forehead to the window glass. She stays there long after the bus is gone, running her fingertip down the windowpane.

She turns her head as if someone calls her and she runs off.

I sip my coffee and drop into the over-stuffed easy chair where my grandfather always read the paper. There’s a phone on the side table. I stare at it a moment, then pick it up to see if it’s still connected. A dial tone sounds in my ear. Making my decision, I punch in my mother’s number and listen to it ring.

“Hello?” She sounds weird.

“It’s me.”

“Son, Lord, when I saw this number come up on my caller ID for a moment it was like she was still alive. I swear, I still forget sometimes.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re at Grandma’s place kind of early, aren’t you?”

“Rode out here last night after we talked.”

“You didn’t waste any time.”

“It was a nice night for a ride,” I say lamely.

“Sure.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Yard looks like shit.”

“It needs some love.”

“I don’t have a green thumb, despite what the guys may call me. I don’t know shit about keepin’ roses alive.”

“They’re not roses. They’re hydrangeas and azaleas.”

“Whatever.”

“So?”

“I don’t want to sell it.”

She laughs like she’s just had a weight lifted off her. “I’m so happy, Tim.”

“You didn’t want to let the old place go, either, did you?”

“Nope. Plus, you’ll be closer to me. When are you moving in?”

I chuckle and lift my brows. “Hell, I don’t know. Soon as I can get the boys to help me load a truck full of my shit.”

“This is the best news.”

I smile at her reply, hoping she’s right. “Hey, Ma?”

“Yes?”

“You know the neighbors to the right? The ones with the kids.”

“That’d be the Buchmans’ house, why?”

“Saw a little blonde girl in the window. She looked kind of sickly.”

“Oh, that’s little Anna. She has some type of severe autoimmune disease. She rarely leaves the house, poor thing.”

“You mean she doesn’t go to school or out to play or anything?”

“I don’t think so, except for doctor appointments. They’ve got her on some treatments and they’re very hopeful. Lovely couple. I met them last year. Why?”

“Just wondered.”

“So, how’d you sleep last night?”

“Better than I usually do. Weird being back here though.”

“Weird good?”

“Yeah.”

“All the linens are clean, but the place has been closed up for a couple of months now. Might need to air the place out.”

“Thanks.”

My cell vibrates, and I pulled it out to look. Crash. Probably calling to remind me about the meeting tonight.

“Gotta go, Ma.”

“Okay. I love you, Tim, and I’m so happy.”

3 Green

Two weeks later

I unpack the last of my stuff and come across a box of motorcycle parts. I haul it outside to put it in the back of my pickup truck parked out on the street. I look up and spot little Anna in the window waiting for the afternoon school bus.

I wave at her, and she waves back, smiling. I dance around like a gorilla, my arms swinging as I spin in a circle.

She giggles and covers her mouth.

Then I do a handstand on the sidewalk and walk a few steps. When I drop back to my feet, she is jumping up and down clapping, and I take a bow. Then I walk in a penguin waddle like Charlie Chaplin.

I spot the school bus coming down the street, and I move to my mailbox as it pulls up. Her brother hops off and runs inside.

Anna waves at me, and I blow her a kiss. She blows me one, and I catch it in my hand. She grins and runs off.

In the weeks I’ve lived here, it’s kind of become our thing. I come out to get the mail at 3:30 when I know she’ll be watching for the school bus. I dance around and act silly; whatever I can to make her laugh. I don’t know why, but it makes me feel good. It’s a little thing and makes the kid happy. Now I’ve begun to look forward to it every day.

I pull open the mailbox and take out the small stack, shuffling through it: a landscape advertisement, a home security advertisement, and more junk mail. I pause at an envelope for Gram, something from a children’s charity, probably asking for a donation. I’ve gotten several things for her over the time I’ve been here, and it never ceases to cause a twinge of pain.

I go inside to add the mail to the stack Ma left on the kitchen counter, promising she’d be over to go through it