Page 4 of Life In General
Leaving the real estate office, I hang a right and head toward my Harley, which is parked a half-block down the street. When I got the call from my grandpa’s lawyer saying that he had passed the night before in his sleep, I dropped everything and headed for home.
Galena, Illinois, is where I hung my hat from ages seven to seventeen. When my mother got sick of hauling me around with her as she moved from place to place, wherever her current dealer boyfriend was living at the time, she dropped me off on her parents’ front porch and didn’t look back. I have no idea where she is now, or if she’s even still alive, but I could care less. If she didn’t want me, I don’t want to know a thing about her.
My grandma died in a car accident when I was ten, so it was Grandpa and me from then on. He was my best friend. He taught me how to hunt, fish, drive, and so many other countless things, I’ll never remember them all. He was the best. I joined the Army, just like he did, and left for basic training the day after I graduated from high school. I looked up to him so much, I wanted to follow in every single one of his boot prints.
I make it a few feet before a cloud of blonde hair plows into me out of nowhere. I’m stunned frozen when I get my bearings and realize what, or I should say who, I’m looking at.
It’s her!
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Still not looking up to notice it’s me, she zips up her coat and adjusts her purse. “I swear, these days I’m clumsier than an elephant walking a tight rope.”
I can’t believe it’s her. “Cherry?”
Her head snaps up, jaw dropped like she’s seeing a ghost. “General? What are you doing here?”
That’s when the gears in my head start rolling again, and I finally put the pieces together. Brittany, the woman I’ve been calling Cherry in my head for the last six months, is not in the same condition that I left her. Or maybe she is, just a few pant sizes bigger.
“Are you?” I can’t figure out where to look first—her pretty sky-blue eyes or her round stomach not hiding very well underneath her winter coat.
Brittany is pregnant.
“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.” Oh fuck, and she is not happy with me.
Thinking back now, I don’t remember putting on a condom. I never forget to wrap it up, ever. I guess that time I did. No wonder she’s staring at me like she wants to roast me over a spit and watch me burn.
I remember the day we met like it was yesterday. It was September ninth. Ninth month, ninth day. I guess I have a new favorite number.
Several times a week, I relive that night in my dreams. I remember seeing her walk into the bar, admiring her long blonde hair, wishing I could wrap it around my fist as I fucked her into whatever surface was closest. Later that same night, I got to do that very thing after she invited me to her apartment, and I guess I left her a parting gift.
That night, we rolled around in the sheets three times. After she passed out the first time, I woke her with my head between her legs. The third round was instigated by her. She tried to get out of bed to take a shower without waking me—it didn’t work by the way—and I had her wrapped around me two minutes later with the water splashing down around us.
About eight o’clock the next morning, after a shared cup of coffee, Brittany walked me downstairs. Although we knew what happened was most likely a one-night stand, we wanted to part ways with the possibility of seeing each other again if she was free and I was ever back in town. We exchanged cell phone numbers.
When she handed my phone back, I changed her contact name to CHERRY, kissed her lips one last time, then headed for my bike, which was parked around the corner, behind the bar.
I named her Cherry because when I first saw her, she had bright red lipstick on. I made it my mission to make it disappear. I succeeded.
I hated leaving her, but my lifestyle, being a Nomad in the Rebel Vipers MC, was not conducive to being in a relationship. I ride around, never staying in one place long, and sleeping in motels and various clubhouses is no real home for a woman like her, so I was the first to walk away.
I thought maybe if I didn’t look back as I was walking away, I could pretend it wouldn’t be the last time I saw her. But I couldn’t imagine the circumstances of our reunion would be like this.
“I’m six months pregnant,” she starts, hands resting on the sides of her beautifully rounded belly, “And before you even think of asking, yes, it’s yours.” Her tone of voice, along with the eye daggers poking at me, convey her growing anger. “Where have you been? Why are you here?”
“I’ve been all over.” Once I start talking, I can’t seem to stop. “Chicago, Texas, Arizona, California, Texas again, Missouri. I was up in Minnesota until three days ago. My grandpa died, he lived here in Galena, so I came down right away to deal with his estate stuff. His funeral is tomorrow and—”
“Stop,” she squeaks, hands now raised, palms forward. “Your grandpa? Do you mean Albert? Your grandpa was Albert Smith?”
“Wait.” Now, it’s my turn to be confused. “How do you know my grandpa?”
“I was his home health care nurse.”
“No way.” What a damn small world. “For how long?”
“Five months,” she sasses, shifting to cross her arms like she’s a mixture of proud and defending herself.
“Five months! That means . . .” I pause to think back a bit. “You’re the lady he kept telling me about? Every time we talked, he told me about you, but I guess I never caught your name.”
“That’s me.”