I think I needed to get that off my chest—about my mom and the endless succession of men in her life.My mother doesn’t bother hanging out in expensive wine bars anymore when she needs to find another boyfriend.She goes online and uses dating apps.The men who show an interest in her have gotten older and less inclined to discuss marriage, but they have been kind and as generous as their circumstances allow them to be all the same.
I wish I could say the same.
“Let’s go.”
Theron’s head brushes against the rafter beam on the sloped ceiling when he stands up.“I’ll meet you at my motorcycle.Can you remember which one it is?”
“Sure.”Giving him a wave, I head out.Ben Magoo’s pickup truck is swinging into the parking lot in front of the inn.He gives me a cheery smile and touches his cap.
“Morning, Miz Aila.Is your momma ready?”
That stops me short.It crosses my mind that my mom might have finally found a husband on an isolated island in the middle of a backwater creek.Not very glamorous, but kind of cool if it’s true.
I know my mom very well by now, so I feel confident enough to say, “She should be with you in a jiffy, Ben.”My mom never fucks up a first date by being tardy.
“Can I give you a lift anywhere?”Ben offers and then points to a small wooden structure painted red on the near horizon.“That’s the Heiners’ general store if you want to buy some candy.”
What did my mom tell this man about me?How old does he think I am?
“Er, no thank you.I’m good.”
Another brief wave and then his view of me is obscured by the clubhouse.I see a small sign above the door.It’s in German:
“Denn die Todten reiten Schnell”
What the heck kind of a motto is that?But then some of the pieces fall into place.The trace of a foreign accent when Theron speaks.The odd syntax and grammar he sometimes uses.
The clubhouse door opens.I take an involuntary step back.If this dark stranger is Theron, then he is dressed like a spaceman.No, an astronaut.The helmet is totally black, and the visor reflects my surprised face back at me.There’s a black bandana round his neck, and he’s wearing full biker gear: leather jacket, jeans, gloves.
“Whoa!I hope you’re not expecting me to wear an outfit like that.It’s summer.”My hopes of treading cool water next to Theron as he indulges me with a preview of how he looks in swimming trunks goes out the window.“Is there a tarmac highway on Landslide that I should know about?What’s with all the protective gear?And do I need some?”
The mirror surface of his helmet glares back at me.“I don’t make the rules, Aila.I just follow them… and I would never let any harm come to you.Trust me.”
“What does that mean?”I point to the sign over the door.
“‘The dead ride fast.’Or you can translate it to say ‘the dead travel quickly.’Both are adequate.”
Shoot.If they ride that fast, I can see why there’s a rule to wear protective gear all the time.
He holds out his hand towards me.
What the heck.Live a little.He must already know that I’m not here to say no.
I take his hand and we walk to the motorbike together.Our shyness at what we are about to do makes us kinda polite and bashful, at least as far as I’m concerned.
The writing is on the wall—and this time it’s in my handwriting!I really want this.
He helps me onto the raised seat and waits for me to get comfortable before straddling the rider’s seat, too.
“Hey, what does the ‘H’ stand for?”Last night, the patches on his jacket said “Midnight Riders” and “Landslide” on the back and “T.Rabane” on the front.Now, it says “H.Rabane.”
The black helmet turns.Again, I can see my face in the reflection.I look… wild.No makeup, hair mussed, tank top pulled tight across my breasts.
“It is—was—my father’s.”
I want to ask him what happened to the jacket he was wearing last night, but he guns the engine and shuts me off.
Am I giggling and gasping as the wind whips my hair behind me like a mad cat’s tail?Yes.We’re not riding that fast; there’s just enough speed to keep my skin cool from the rising heat.
