Page 7 of Reaper
“How’d you end up with them? The MC guys?” I’ve known Reaper forever, but this is the first time we’ve had a real conversation. Most of the time, we talk through my dad.
“I was a poor kid, got mixed up with some dealers out in Kansas City, and I got dragged under. Started doing some crazy shit after that. Shit you don’t want to know about.”
“I do. I want to know!” I know I’m naïve and this conversation doesn’t need to happen, but I push forward anyway.
“You want to know about the time I had to kill a man because he was pressuring my boss?”
I drag in a staggered breath. Sometimes I forget that Reaper is as different as he is.
“How’d you do it? I mean, did you hate it?”
He glances toward me and shakes his head. “I don’t like killing men, no. So, I don’t do it unless I have to,” he exhales loudly, “which is why I’d rather be working a farm.”
“Well, I’ve never killed anyone, but there has to be a happy medium. Something between murder and brushing horses.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Well, I’ll let you know if I find it.”
Silence ensues for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m out of my mind. Why would I think a man who’s murdered people is attractive? It’s not. It’s wrong. That said, I know there’s so much more to Reaper than that. I’ve watched him help my family with whatever they needed. Hell, I watched him give a stranger an entire bounty payout once. Nearly twenty grand, all because they had a sick kid who needed treatment they couldn’t afford. A bad guy doesn’t do those things.
“You sure tonight is a good idea, little cat?” Reaper glances toward me then back at the road. “I could sneak you out for a few more rides. Or better yet, talk to your dad about how you feel. I got thinking, maybe we should find him a girlfriend. A new relationship would keep his mind off you and on something else.”
Thinking about my father with another woman makes my stomach turn. It shouldn’t. Mama has been gone for years. People move on all the time. Rationally, I know this, but the thought of someone else in her kitchen, baking, cooking, breathing… I hate it.
“I don’t know. Mama was everything. They spent their whole lives together, Reaper. I mean, they literally met in the first grade. How do you move past that?”
He pinches his lips together and turns onto the main road toward the feed store. They have the barbeque pit out today and the warm scent of brown sugar and spice fills the air.
“Smells so good,” I suck in a deep breath, “but it seems cruel to be cooking the chickens and selling them in the same place.”
Reaper laughs. “Yeah, kinda. That’s the world, though. It’s fucked up. Your mom should still be here, your dad shouldn’t be mourning, you should be out living your life, and these chickens shouldn’t be cooked in front of their babies.”
I narrow my brows and toss him a playfully horrified look. “Wow! Maybe I don’t want to go with you tonight.”
He nudges my shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
I know he’s being ridiculous, but it gets me thinking about my mama. She was my biggest supporter and I know she’d be proud of me for looking after my dad, but she’d also hate that I didn’t run after my dreams. At night after everyone went to bed, our favorite thing to do was sneak into the kitchen and have a second helping of whatever pie she’d made that day.
Everyone on the mountain knew my mama for her pie. She had this crust recipe that her grandma gave her that used both butter and Crisco, and it made for the flakiest dessert. She’d make it in one huge batch at the beginning of the week and portion off little squares to use in pies as the week went on. Apple, cherry, berry, rhubarb, banana cream, chocolate, you name it… she made it. I took her recipes and made them my own. Every time I bake a pie, I think about the time we spent together eating, baking, and talking.
The pie was delicious, but I think the talking was the most important part. She used that time to get to know me in a way no one else did. Not only that, but she helped me get to know myself. I don’t think there’s a mom in the world that doesn’t wish that type of relationship with their child, and I’m lucky to have had a mother who executed it so well. So, I understand how hard it is for my dad to let her go, because in our eyes, Mama was perfect.
I blow out a heavy breath as Reaper’s hand lands on the small of my back. “You okay? I lost you for a second.”
“Yeah. Just thinking about mom. I don’t think there’s any way Dad would ever move on.” Now that I think about it, maybe I stay because I don’t want him to. I mean, I could’ve rebelled against this at any point. It’s in my nature to be defiant. At least it used to be. Now, I’m stuck in this cycle of inaction.
Who am I kidding? I’m just looking for excuses.
Reaper reaches down and squeezes my hand in comfort before he opens the door to the feed store. The scent of barley and oats take over as baby chicks chirp in the background. I’ve always loved coming here. It feels like the local watering hole to me. It’s where people like my dad and I come to stock up on supplies and we always run into someone unexpected on every trip. Today, I see my friend Clementine. Well, technically she was my mom’s friend, but she’s my friend now.
I glance up at Reaper. “You mind if we say hi? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
He nods his head and lands his hand on my back again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it there. Sadly, I do know better. If he wanted to confess his undying love for me, he’d have done it in the truck when I was asking about the kiss. Instead, he clammed up like the whole thing was embarrassing for both of us.
Clementine turns toward us. She’s younger than my mother would be now, but they found a close friendship in each other. They met at the rodeo in town a while back. I believe they bonded over feathers in cowboy hats. Mama was yea, Clem was nay. I’m not sure where I sit on the issue. I’ve never been a fan of cowboy hats in general. Given the option, I’d take a backward trucker hat any day of the week… minus any feathers.
Today, Clem wears scrubs with puppies all over them, and her long blonde hair is tied up in a bun. “Hey! What’s up? Long time, no see.”
I wrap her in a giant hug and squeeze. She even wears the same perfume my mom did. A light and airy floral scent with a hint of freshness. I hold on to the hug a second too long, pretending my mom is hugging me again. This is probably another sign that I’m holding onto the past, but I drive past it in favor of the moment.