34

 

Even though I didn’t promise to pray for Bernice and Norman, I found myself praying a lot for them.

“Please, God, don’t let them catch me cleaning up this spilled pot of chili in the fellowship hall.”

“Please, God, don’t let Bernice see Patrick feed hot dogs to Goliath from his teeth at the motorcycle rally.”

“Please, God, let Bernice come before the bikers get here and leave before they get here, and don’t let Norman see any of the Harley Honeys in halter tops.”

By the time the day arrived for the church motorcycle rally, I was exhausted from planning and organizing the events, food, lodging, and bands. Thankfully, the church ladies came through with heaps of salads, desserts, and plenty of frosty cold drinks for the hot and thirsty bikers.

We’d pounded the last stake in the ground for the food tent when Atticus and his gang rolled up. I was so happy to see him and his buddies that I jumped up and down like a little girl.

Fortunately, none of the more dignified ladies in the church saw me. They were too busy watching Opal run toward Atticus and throw her tiny arms around his cedar tree neck.

“What on earth does she see in him?” I heard them whisper. Deep down I knew love was one of those things for which there was no explanation. Those two were smitten the moment they saw each other.

“He says the nicest things, and he always treats me with such respect,” Opal told me a few days before the rally. “I never knew bikers were nice.”

“To be honest, Opal, neither did I. I’m guilty of preconceived notions myself when it comes to bikers.”

“He always asks before he gives me a kiss.” Opal blushed. “Like an old-fashioned beau. I love that.”

“Me, too.” I couldn’t be happier for little Opal. If anyone deserved a nice man, she did.

More bikers arrived, and the ladies served food and drinks. Then, without warning, the skies opened and rain poured in gentle streams on everything we’d set up. It was a warm rain, so no one was too upset, but the deluge made the lot where we were going to play our games all muddy.

“Hey, Kirstie! Pastor!” Atticus yelled at us from across the alley. “Come over here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I helped Aaron adjust his rain poncho, and we splashed over to where Atticus stood beside a tiny little fellow with a Tweety Bird tattoo on his arm. “This here’s Clarence Rifkin. He’d like to represent Patrick pro bono at his court hearing.”

The man certainly didn’t look like a lawyer. From the looks of the whiskers on his face, he hadn’t shaved in days, and he wore a leather vest over the hairiest set of shoulders I’d ever seen.

“P-pleased to meet you,” I said. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m all dirty from hauling stuff out to the tents. Not to mention the mud from all this rain.”

Clarence laughed. “No problem. I don’t normally look like this myself. Now listen. I’ve got Patrick’s court date covered. I think things will go well.”

“You can practice law in Indiana?” I looked at his tattoo and decided anyone who tattooed Tweety Bird on their arm had to be on the good side of things.

“I live in Indiana. I’m a friend of old Atticus, here. When he rang me up and told me your quandary, I was more than happy to help. Don’t worry.” Clarence shook his finger at me playfully.

“I’ll try not to, but you know how mothers are.” I shook his hand. “I can’t thank you enough, I…”

Aaron shook his hand, too. “Yes, as my wife said, we’re terribly grateful.”

Clarence smiled and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Just pay it forward. From the looks of things around here, you do that every day anyway.”

The rain picked up and poured from the sky in sheets. The shower felt wonderful after a hot sticky day of hard work, but it was definitely going to make our plans for the day difficult.

“So much for a burnout pit,” Atticus joked.

“What’s that?” Aaron asked. Here I was a biker chick married to a man who knew nothing about bikes and bikers.

“Basically, Pastor, it’s when stupid biker dudes burn off the rubber on their back tire and ruin it. But boy is it a blast.” Atticus laughed his great bellowing belly laugh, slapped Aaron on the shoulder with great enthusiasm, and nearly knocked him over.

Aaron tried to laugh with gusto, too, but I could tell he had no idea what the joke was.

“Maybe the sun will come out,” I said. “So I can see you burn that rubber.”

I didn’t know what I was more concerned about—the smell of burning tires filling the street of Eel Falls or the mud that would get tracked inside the church. Tomorrow was Sunday, and there wasn’t going to be a whole lot of time to clean up. But I would stay up all night if I needed to in order to avoid Bernice and her minions.

Dear God, why do I care so much about what she thinks? Why should it matter?

Aaron and I headed to the front of the church to get something to eat in the food tent. I could hear Opal, Lily, and Reba’s laughter from where they stood getting wet and muddy over by the water balloon toss. I recognized Ex-Cargo, Gypsy, and Flygirl, our cell mates in North Carolina.

“I’m going to go join the fun, Aaron. C’mon.”

Aaron shook his head. “You go ahead, I want to grab a sandwich and get back inside to work on tomorrow’s service.”

“OK, sweetie.” I kissed him on the cheek. “See you later.”

The Lady Eels were having a great time supervising the water balloon toss. The biker’s passenger had to toss a water balloon over a crossbar and catch it on the other side without breaking it. Even with all the rain, riders and spectators seemed to be enjoying it.

Ex-Cargo nailed it but Flygirl’s balloon burst every time.

Gypsy coughed from laughing so hard.

“Asthma.” Ex-cargo coughed, and Gypsy tossed an inhaler from out of her saddlebag.

“If you’d stop smokin’ like a chimney you wouldn’t have that problem, girl,” Flygirl chastised her and slapped her on the back.

“I try! I try!” Timmy clapped his hands with glee. Mud flew everywhere, and Goliath barked and ran beside the bikes. He looked like a giant mud pie on steroids.

“No, Timmy, it’s too dangerous. You have to wait until you grow up.” I tried to wipe the mud from his face, but it was pointless.

“Aw, let him try,” Flygirl yelled, and bikers joined in and clapped. Timmy had fans.

“Hop on up here, fella.” A biker named SlowRide patted the back seat of Ex-Cargo’s bike.

“Helmet, Timmy.” I handed him a nearby helmet I saw sitting on the table with the water balloons. SlowRide helped him strap it on, and Timmy climbed on the back. Timmy grinned and looked silly with that muddy face, but everyone smiled at his enthusiasm.

Ex-Cargo started the bike. The rain slowed and fell like soft feathers on Timmy’s joyful face. He squinted to look up at the crossbar. He didn’t come close to throwing it across the bar, but he thoroughly enjoyed the mud bath and the ride.

“Bernice is going to throw a fit about this lot being torn up.” I pointed toward our feet.

The Lady Eels stood in a soup of mud and blades of floating grass.

“You worry too much,” Reba said. “Stop it.”

“I can’t. You have no idea the trouble one person can make. I’m reminded on a daily basis that this land was donated by her ancestors.”

“There’s the operative word,” Lily chimed in.

“Ancestors?” I asked.

“No,” Opal growled. “Donated.”

By the time all the relays were over, everyone was covered in dark muddy goo. We sat under the big white tents scraping the glop off our legs and arms with plastic knives. It was delicious to feel alive and living in the immediate present. I smiled thinking of how soft our skin would feel tomorrow.

When I went into the church to use the restroom, my heart fell. Participants had tracked mud all through the foyer, down the stairs, all through the fellowship hall, and out the door that led to the back lot. The carpet was fairly new—donated by a family in memory of their loved one, and I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me that night before I went to bed.

“God,” I prayed. “Please give me the strength to do it.”

I also noticed a nick in the woodwork by the door. Apparently, someone had tried to carry something too big through it. Normally, I never cared about marks on the walls. Living with Timmy meant living with plenty of marks on walls. But my eyes were trained to see such things at church where people took pride in the building.

Norman wouldn’t be happy because Bernice would make him come over and fix it. Why a little nick mattered in the whole scheme of life, I didn’t know. But for some reason, in their world, nicks and mud and imperfections of any kind mattered a whole lot.

I studied the notch and thought about Reba’s advice. I decided to ignore my anxious feelings about Bernice and enjoy myself. I went back outside to hang out with the bikers under the tents. We played cards, told stories, and swapped testimonies for hours. Finally, when it was time for the band concert, the rain stopped, allowing an open-air concert like we’d planned. I just hoped they’d stick to their promise of quitting at midnight. If they didn’t, I’d get a call from the mayor in the morning.

While people got ready for the concert, I started to straighten up in the food tent. Atticus gave me a shove toward the open flaps. “Go home and take a shower and clean up purdy for that preacher of your’n.”

“Are you saying I’m not presentable?” I knew I looked a mess. My face was smudged, my hair was matted, and my clothes were stained with some of the darkest, richest soil on God’s green earth—Indiana corn-growing mud.

“I ain’t touchin’ that one with a set of ape handle bars. I learned a long time ago those kinds of questions have no right answers.” Atticus’s loud booming voice carried far, and the entire tent laughed. “But I know you’re tired. Go on home. We’re big kids. We can take care of ourselves. Besides”—he pointed to Timmy—“I think someone’s tired.”

I looked over to where Timmy sat on Atticus’s bike. He’d fallen asleep draped over the gas tank.

“Can you keep an eye on Daniel and Patrick for me?” I asked. “You know, keep Patrick out of jail and all that?”

“Count on it,” he said. “Go on.”

“I’ve got pizza coming in about thirty minutes.” I handed him a check made out to Pedro’s Pizza. “Here’s the check. Opal!” I yelled across the tent. “Atticus has the check for pizza. Make sure he doesn’t go out and buy himself another bike with it.”

“Got it,” Opal said.

“What do we need pizza for?” One of the bikers, Kickstand, approached me from across the tent. “We got tons of food here.”

“Yes, I know, but I also know you guys party all night, and I don’t want you waking me up raiding my refrigerator.” I heard laughter as I made my way to Timmy to rouse him and take him home. No wonder bikers liked to hang with bikers. People who rode motorcycles were simply some of the most pleasant folks one could ever meet.

In or out of the church walls.