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18
JAK. Although it wasn’t necessary, I felt I had one more thing to do for my peace of mind. I pulled my ball cap tight onto my head and lowered my gaze to the floor as I walked past the security camera. I really had nothing to hide, but I didn’t want Karter to know what I was preparing to do. With the bag over my shoulder now filled with a few tools and a flashlight, I pressed the security code on the keypad. As the magnetic lock on the front door buzzed, I pulled it open and walked to the elevator.
As the elevator door opened into the lower floor parking garage, I stepped around the corner and into Karter’s parking stall. Her motorcycle was parked right where she had left it before she went to the art show. As it was two o’clock in the morning, I had very little doubt Karter was doing anything but sleeping - something I clearly needed to join in on, as I had not slept in days.
I stood beside Karter’s bike and stared. The past I had spent two decades forgetting was all too clear now. Graham had worn a helmet religiously and I never quite came to an understanding of why he wasn’t wearing a helmet on the day of his accident. We had been drinking, but neither of us would have been considered drunk from a legal standpoint. Post mortem toxicology tests on Graham did indicate he had consumed alcohol, but supported the fact he was not drunk. As Graham and I had the same amount to drink, and we were the same size and weight, I always assumed I wasn’t legally drunk either. I never really drank before the accident; and I had not one single drink of alcohol since. As Commander Warrenson always said, men who don’t drink always have a story associated with why.
It seemed I had one too many.
We were not racing, but it was difficult for anyone to believe it. We were riding back to town on a twisting road. Both of us were knowledgeable about where we were riding and the layout of the road. As I came around the second corner, Graham shot passed me at a high rate of speed. I was traveling approximately 60 m.p.h., and I expected Graham’s speed was in excess of 100 m.p.h. When I got to the fourth curve, I saw his bike in the ditch. He was against a tree beside the road, dead at the scene. His head impacted an eighty-year-old oak tree without a helmet to protect it. To explain the accident scene as grotesque would be an understatement.
It wasn’t the first time Graham had wrecked his bike. A terrible wreck almost a month prior to his death smashed his bike up pretty bad, but his helmet saved his life. We had spent nearly two weeks solid repairing his bike prior to the second wreck, and almost immediately after the repairs, the second wreck took his life.
The damages to his motorcycle from the first accident required a repair to the exhaust port of the motor. A bolt had been pulled from the exhaust flange and out of the cast iron head during the collision, stripping the threads. A permanent heli-coil was added to repair the damaged exhaust bolt hole. At the time, it was much cheaper at ten dollars than a two-thousand-dollar engine. If my suspicions were correct…
After removing the bolts from the head, I pulled the exhaust to the side and pointed the flashlight in the bolt hole. Even though it was over twenty years old, the heli-coil repair we had made in my mother’s garage was unmistakable. I lowered myself to the floor and pulled my knife from my pocket. On the underside of the frame in a location where it would never be detected, I began to scratch the paint from the frame. After scratching through two coats of clear coat and a few of the black away, I didn’t even need my flashlight. The dark green paint was undeniable.
Karter was riding Graham’s old bike.
And she had no idea of the bike’s origin or who used to ride it. Two things still lingered in my mind and troubled me. I didn’t need the answers immediately, but my curiosity was killing me. For one, I wanted to know why Shelley told me Karter was my daughter. I could see no real reason to support her making such a statement, especially when she knew who the father was. Secondly, I wanted to read the letters Shelley wrote. I stood in an almost trance-like state and recalled what Shelley had said prior to me asking about Karter.
“Why didn’t you respond to my letters, Jak?”Shelley asked when I was preparing to leave.
“What letters?”I had responded.
I stared at Karter’s bike and considered Shelley’s response.
“The letters, Jak. Don’t be stupid. I wrote you for a year. You never responded. Maybe once a month for a while, then I wrote once a week for a few months. I never heard from you.”
I wondered what the letters may contain. I didn’t need to know immediately, and they wouldn’t change a thing. As far as I was concerned, Karter needed to know nothing of any of my recent findings. My secrets should remain just that, secrets. There would be zero value in Karter finding out her mother had cheated on her high school sweetheart with his best friend and became pregnant. There was a reason Shelley had never told Karter who her father was. To do so would be to admit she was a liar and a cheat. Undoubtedly, Shelley’s knowledge of Graham being the father had haunted her for a lifetime. In a town of 900, to admit what she had done would cause the small city to brand her a whore and a cheat.
Regardless of who her mother may have been, I loved Karter and would always love her. I knelt down, quickly placed the two bolts back into the exhaust flange, and stood. After wiping my fingerprints from the chrome exhaust, I walked to the elevator. As I waited for the doors to open, I tossed my rubber gloves into the trash.
As the elevator reached Karter’s floor, I sighed a sigh of relief.
In an almost sleep like state, I slowly stumbled to Karter’s door. She was a light sleeper, and I expected she would wake up from my phone call. I scrolled to her number, pressed the icon, and listened as I heard her phone ringing through the thin walls.
“Oh my God. Jak?” she answered after two rings.
“Honey, I’m home,” I sighed.
“I thought you were dead,” she breathed into the phone.
“I’ve never been more alive,” I responded, “unlock the door.”
The squealing I heard from the apartment followed by the thundering steps was enough to bring me out of my sleep like state. Having no knowledge of the last four days of hell I’d been through and what I had considered, I would be far more excited by holding her than she would be by being held, that much was certain. As the door opened, I stared into the eyes of the only woman I had ever truly loved.
As she collapsed into my arms, I lifted her from the floor.
And I let her legs dangle.
