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A lot of women seemed to spread out and go soft after they had kids. But motherhood had been kind to Willa.
He tried to remember how old Marcella was. Pushing forty, he figured. Motherhood had been good to her, too. She looked exactly as young as she had when he’d met her. Not a damn wrinkle or grey hair. Good high tits and a firm, pert ass, too.
He’d called her from the road, to let her know he’d be in Tulsa and wanted to set something up. She’d told him she’d call and work out a time after she talked to the kid.
That had been two days ago. He was back, and feeling restless about the whole thing. In California, and on the road, he’d been sure. He wanted to know his son. A human being he’d had a part in making. But the longer Marcella went without calling, the more he felt the pull to bail on it and return to safe ground, in a life he understood.
The problem, however, was that he didn’t understand his life anymore. Everywhere he turned, it seemed empty and useless. Was this what a midlife crisis felt like? Well, it sucked.
Shoving all those thoughts aside, he went to JJ’s door. It was only ajar, the latch resting on the jamb, so he knocked first, just in case something private was going on. He had no need to see Rad’s kid on a bedpan or anything like that.
The door swung open and Rad stood there. He looked exhausted, and like he’d aged ten years in the past couple weeks—and he was no spring chicken anyway.
“Eight, hey. Come on in.”
“Hey. How’s our boy?” He walked in and grinned to see JJ sitting up in bed, still on oxygen, but just those little tubes in his nose. A deck of playing cards was on the over-bed table, with three hands dealt. The Jessup boys were playing gin rummy. That seemed like a damn good sign.
“Doing pretty good. Right, son?”
JJ was so pale he seemed to fade into the linens, and he was obviously weak, but he was holding a fan of cards, and he smiled to see Eight. “Hey, Prez.” His voice was rough, like he had laryngitis. ”Yeah, pretty good.” His smile faded. “I’m real sorry I fucked up so bad.”
Rad and Zach both turned to Eight, seeming eager to know what he’d say. “Don’t worry about that shit now, kid. Just get strong. I saw your mom outside—she said you might go home next week.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
Coming up to his side, Rad said, “Can we talk outside?”
He knew what that was about, and he nodded. Of course JJ’s father, retired, and esteemed, member of the Brazen Bulls, would be interested to know his son’s fate in the club.
Hearing that, Zach set his cards down. “Yeah, me too.” To his brother he said, “Don’t fucking cheat, cuntface.”
“Eat my sharts, bonerman.”
Eight and Rad laughed at the display of permanently adolescent fraternal relations, and Zach and his father followed Eight back into the corridor.
“What’s up?” Eight asked as Rad pulled the door to.
“There’s a room on the other side of the nurse’s station,” Rad said. “Let’s talk there.
He led the way, to a room not much bigger than a broom closet. Two tall rolling racks full of used meal trays were lined on one wall. A shelf full of bulk-size boxes of pudding and Jell-O cups, fruit cups, juice boxes, bottled water, and canned pops filled up most of another wall. There was a utilitarian fridge, probably full of chilled versions of all that, and a table with a microwave and several big boxes of microwave popcorn—the ‘lite’ version.
Three good-size men didn’t really fit in the remaining space. Not unless they liked each other a whole lot and all had showered recently. The three men in question qualified, more or less.
Rad jumped in as soon as Zach closed the door. “I know you’re talkin’ about takin’ Jake’s patch—and before you ask, nobody broke the seal. I just know. I sat at that table a lot of years. I know how it works.”
“Then you know I can’t talk about it with you.” It hurt to say it, and it clearly hurt Rad to hear it, but it was true: he’d retired. He hadn’t wanted to; his heart, and his doctor—and, most emphatically, his old lady—had forced his hand. He no longer had a vote or any right to know what went on inside the chapel.
“How about me?” Zach said. “I’m a full member.”
“And if we decide the question needs an answer, it’ll be put on the table, and you’ll have your say. We’re not there yet.”
The whole club but for the Jessup brothers had been gone for a week and a half. The only thing regarding JJ they’d talked about on the road was his recovery. Eight had said outright before they’d left Tulsa that anything about JJ’s patch was strictly off limits for the duration of the run.
“He was just tryin’ to make his dues,” Rad said. “He was a fuckin’ moron about it, but he wasn’t steppin’ out on the club.”
“He was, though. Maybe it was a one-off, but he was freelancing, Rad. And you and I know, if you were still at the table, and we were talkin’ about a patch that wasn’t your kid, you’d be leading the charge, pitchfork in one hand and torch in the other.”
The look on Rad’s face told Eight that JJ’s father really wanted to punch him in the face.
