Ace was easy to love, and not so easy to leave.
It had only taken those first initial weeks for Ma to decide she didn’t want to be separated from him. She encouraged me to move in permanently, to leave him with her while I sorted out a job. She refused to let me seek childcare.
As it turned out, finding work wasn’t a problem. I was an Army-trained mechanic, able to turn my hand to anything with an engine. It had been at the auto shop where I’d first met members of the Kings of Anarchy.
After my first introduction, when they offered, I didn’t hesitate to join the MC. Ma didn’t criticise. She knew vets often returned seeking out a familiar regime. She didn’t blink when, as a prospect, I was expected to spend my nights at the club. Turned out she was better at nurturing Ace than she’d ever nurtured me. Though she still wanted her own time, and didn’t have any desire to monopolise him.
When I was finally patched in, Ace was a little boy, no longer a toddler. I often had him stay with me in the clubhouse, to give her a break for whatever she spent her free time doing, bingo or time at the shooting range, or even out plotting world domination. There was nothing I wouldn’t put past her. But when he wasn’t with me, he stayed with his nana. It was an arrangement that worked.
There! I sit up fast, putting the past firmly back in the box where it belongs. The downstairs curtains have just been drawn. Now there’s no need to stay hidden.
I’ve gotten to know my ma better while we’ve been sharing custody of my son, so much more so than when she’d been raising me. Now I question whether I got my fierceness and strength from my dad. It could well have been something I’d inherited maternally. She sleeps with a shotgun by her bed, hasanother by the front door, and numerous other weapons all over the house. You can bet I made sure all were safely secured and hidden where Ace couldn’t get to them.
While I was initially unsure of how much to share with her about the problem that turned up at the gates of the compound yesterday evening, I realise I’ve already decided to tell her everything. And if, like me, she thinks Ace has been an idiot sharing his DNA and awaking ghosts from his past? He’s not going to know what’s hit him.
Having learned my lesson years ago and not wanting to risk a bullet, I shoot off a quick text telling her to expect me, then get out of the SUV and go around to the back door. As soon as I rap on it, she lets me in.
“After yesterday’s celebrations, I thought you’d be partying and wouldn’t emerge until midday at least.”
“Ma, we got a problem.”
Immediately, she stops what she’s doing and puts her hands on her hips. “Tell me.”
I oblige.
“That stupid little…” She swallows the last words that I can easily fill in for her. “This woman? She’s that bitch’s twin?”
“If her story checks out. And, Mom, I told you, Josie couldn’t help what she was.”
She points her finger at me. “Yeah, she could. She should have kept up with her medication. Do you know how many nightmares I’ve had, thinking what would have happened if you hadn’t gotten there in time? Ace would be dead, or at the least, fucking scarred for life.”
I acknowledge her comment with a raise of my chin. I’ve shared those same bad dreams, waking up in a cold sweat more times than I want to count.
“Isn’t bipolar genetic?” She knows it is. She’d researched it alongside me.
I grimace. Apart from reminiscing, during the hours waiting outside, I’d also googled to refresh my memory. “There’s a forty to eighty percent possibility. But it depends on whether Josie’s affliction was due to genetic predisposition, or whether it was environmental, stress, or other factors that caused it.”
“It’s a strong possibility,” she repeats. “And son, that’s a no-no as far as I’m concerned. That bitch ain’t having anything to do with our boy.”
Arguing against myself, I retort, “If she has it, she might be taking her meds. If she is, there’s no risk. And Ace is coming up on sixteen,” I remind her. “It was he who put his DNA out there. He’s been in contact with her, and according to her, wants to meet her.”
She turns to me, holding up a spatula. Remembering how she can use it as a weapon, I step back. Mentally, my six-year-old self is placing a hand over my ass for protection.That had stung.“You mollycoddle that boy. He gets away with too much.” That’s fucking rich, coming from her. I successfully resist rolling my eyes. “What he wants, and what’s good for him, are two different things.” She pauses, then queries, “Does she know the truth about Josie?”
“Fuck no,” I reassure her. Certain because, unless she’d lied, she’d only recently learned about her birth mother and her twin. And Kelly, the only witness at the time, is no longer breathing, so couldn’t talk even if she would have had the inclination.
“It wasn’t your fault, son.”
How the fuck can she read my mind?I tell myself I don’t need it, but her reassurance does actually matter. If I hadn’t been there to remove Ace from Josie that night… the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Dad? You here already?”
Two pairs of footsteps thump down the stairs. Ace appears, followed by Trip, Short’s adopted, and his old lady’s son. Howcould I have forgotten he was staying here? The joint wedding was only yesterday, but with everything that’s happened, it seems long ago. Trip and Ace had stayed for the ceremony and reception, but when the adults had started partying, one of the prospects had driven them to Ma’s.
Ma and I exchange glances, and she swiftly turns to completing cooking for two growing boys. I do notice she’s the fucking child whisperer, treating Short’s autistic, and while gradually starting to use words, still mostly non-verbal son, as if she’s an expert.
“Words, Trip. Do you want waffles or eggs?”
Momentarily looking like a deer stuck in the headlights, Short’s son eventually swallows hard and finally says, “Eggs, waffles, bacon.”
