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Jaxson
When Jaxson awoke Monday morning, it was with a plan in mind. First order of business: getting his bike fixed. Then, he’d be taking a ride up to Sanctuary.
Harry was at the front desk again, his legs propped up, laughing at something on his phone screen with a box of convenience store doughnuts next to him.
“Do you know where I can find a guy named Zeb Stoltzfus?” Jaxson asked.
Harry chuckled and put down his phone. “Zeb? Sure. He’s out on Miller Lane. Why?”
“I hear he’s the man to talk to about bikes.”
“That he is.” Harry scratched at his scruff, leaving a dusting of powdered sugar behind in the process. “He’s not the friendliest guy though. Does he know you’re coming?”
Jaxson nodded. Zeb should know, if Penny had done what she’d said she was going to do. Penny seemed a little scatterbrained sometimes, but she also seemed like the type of person who did what she said.
“Go left two blocks, then down another three.”
“Thanks.”
As Jaxson turned to leave, Harry held the box of doughnuts out to him. “Want one? They’re included as part of the free continental breakfast.”
Jaxson grabbed one, thinking it might be a while before he had a chance to eat again. His pain meds were easier to tolerate when he had something in his stomach. He added a quick stop to the small grocery store he’d seen on Penny’s grand tour to his agenda.
The thought of yesterday’s drive-around as a grand tour brought a smile to his lips, as did the self-appointed tour guide. She really was attractive in a decent, hometown sort of way.
His smile quickly faded. He’d seen a gamut of emotions cross her expression over the course of the afternoon. Surprise and pleasure that he’d agreed to let her give him a ride. Pride and humor in the things she’d pointed out to him. Curiosity and interest in the questions he’d asked. Blatant disappointment when she’d realized the only reason he’d accepted her offer was to ferret out information.
The thing was, that wasn’t entirely true. Despite himself, he genuinely enjoyed her company. She was a ray of sunshine in a world that was otherwise gray.
Which was exactly why he had to be extra careful and keep her at arm’s length. He’d driven her away twice already. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to do it a third time because he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to anymore.
He shook off those thoughts and focused on the task at hand. The heavy rain was going to make getting his bike to Zeb’s more challenging, but he’d done harder things in far worse conditions. He put on his rain gear, ignoring the aches that seemed to magnify with the lousy weather, and started walking his bike out of the lot and down the street.
Jaxson followed Harry’s directions. Zeb’s place wasn’t hard to find. It was an older house with a collection of outbuildings, one of which looked like it might have been a legit garage at one time. It had two bays and an ancient pump that probably hadn’t seen actual fuel in his lifetime but was kept in good enough shape that it looked like it could, if anyone had a mind to make it happen.
Classic rock drifted out from one of the open bays, bringing bittersweet memories to the surface. His father had liked that stuff, too. Jaxson had grown up listening to it as they worked on engines together.
Inside, a fifty-something, bearded guy wearing suspenders watched him approach.
“Zeb Stoltzfus,” the guy said, extending his hand. “You must be Jaxson.”
“I am.”
Zeb’s grip was firm, his hand even rougher and more calloused than Jaxson’s.
“Penny said you’d be stopping by today.” Zeb looked at the bike and whistled. “A Willie G, huh? Don’t see a lot of them. How’d you get your hands on that?”
The guy knew his classics.
“It was my father’s.”
Zeb straightened with some difficulty and regarded Jaxson with narrowed eyes. “Your name is Adams? Your father wouldn’t be Bo by any chance, would he?”
Jaxson’s eyes snapped back to Zeb. “It would.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Zeb’s mouth widened to a huge grin. He looked out into the rain, as if hoping to see someone else. “I haven’t seen that old son of a bitch in years. Is he with you?”
Jaxson shook his head as a fresh wave of grief, only slightly dulled by time, washed over him. “He passed a while back.”
“Ah hell. I’m sorry to hear that,” Zeb said, sounding sincere. “He was a good man. Knew his way around an engine.”
“You knew him?”
“Yeah, I knew him. We went through basic together, both as green and wet behind the ears as they come. He was one of the best damn mechanics I’ve ever seen.” Zeb inclined his head toward the bike. “Like father, like son, huh?”
Jaxson nodded once, the lump in his throat requiring a moment before he said anything. “It shouldn’t take much to get her drivable again, but I need the right tools and equipment. Looks like you’ve got both.”
“That I do,” Zeb agreed. “I usually don’t let anyone touch my tools, but I suppose I can make an exception for Bo’s son. Use whatever you need.”
“Thanks.”
After Harry’s warning about Zeb not being a friendly sort, he’d been prepared for a colder reception. Then again, maybe Zeb just didn’t like Harry.
Jaxson removed his slicker and hung it on one of the many pegs on the wall, his hands itching to get to work. Three of the four bay walls were covered in equipment and tools, much like his own garage. Jaxson moved toward them, his eyes scanning for what he needed.
“Motorcycle accident?” Zeb asked, no doubt referring to Jaxson’s limp.
“Car bomb,” Jaxson answered without turning around.
“Ah. Followed in your dad’s footsteps and went into the Army, too, eh?”
Jaxson nodded and selected a couple socket wrenches and a small mallet. With luck, he wouldn’t have to replace the peg. Finding an authentic replacement could be a challenge.
“Only had daughters myself,” Zeb said, shaking his head. “Four of them. Just married the last one off. My oldest used to come by and tinker sometimes, but she’s got her hands full with her own kids now.”
Jaxson didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Zeb didn’t seem to mind. He eased himself onto a stool and carried on the conversation himself.
“Quiet guy, huh? Your dad was like that, too. Didn’t say much. Told me one time I talked enough for the both of us.” Zeb chuckled at the memory. “This used to be my dad’s place. I told Bo that if he ever needed a job, he’d have one here. He actually looked me up after he got out, too, but things had changed by then.”
Jaxson’s heart beat faster at the confirmation that his father had been in Sumneyville at one time. “What happened?”
“Life,” Zeb said with a shrug and a wry smile. “Back home less than a month, I was working on a truck. The lift gave out, and I got pinned. Ended up losing a piece.” Zeb lifted his left arm, revealing his prosthetic. “We didn’t have insurance, and the medical bills cut deep. Then, my dad got dementia. People tried to help, did what they could, but with my dad and me out of commission, the garage went out of business. I’ve had offers on the place, but ...” Zeb scratched his neck. “I guess I wouldn’t mind selling to someone, but they’d have to be the right someone, if you know what I mean.”
Jaxson nodded in understanding and carefully lowered himself to the ground to get a better look at the damage.
“What about you?” Zeb asked. “What are you doing now that you’re out?”
“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do,” Jaxson answered honestly. “I only got out about a week ago.”
“A week! What the hell are you doing in Sumneyville, son?”
Jaxson couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “Looking for someone. A woman named Ilsa.”
“Ilsa,” Zeb mused, wariness entering his tone. “Ilsa Appelhoff?”
“That’s the one.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you came all this way for nothing. Ilsa passed a long time ago.”
“I’ve heard.” Jaxson gave a hard turn on the wrench, removing the damaged shift peg. “Mind if I use your vise?”
Zeb waved his okay.
“Can you tell me how she knew my father?”
“What makes you think Ilsa knew your father?” Zeb asked, his voice curiously neutral.
“He kept her letters. I found them when I was going through his things.”
Zeb was quiet for a few minutes, as if thinking, and then nodded. “Her family had a bakery in town, and your dad had a thing for pie, if I recall.”
Jaxson debated on how much to reveal and then decided to put it out there. If Zeb was going to be forthright, then so would he. “The letters suggested there was something between them, but he never mentioned her.”
“I’m sure he had his reasons.”
Jaxson was sure he had, too. That didn’t mean Jaxson didn’t want to know what they were, especially since there was a very real possibility that he had family he didn’t know about.
“You wouldn’t happen to know what those reasons might have been, would you?”
“Why is it so important to you?”
“It just is.”
“You are just like your dad.” Zeb chuckled softly and then grew serious again. “I suppose you’ve got your reasons, too.”
Jaxson nodded.
“All right, son. I don’t imagine you’re likely to get the answers you’re looking for from anyone else, and seeing as you’re Bo’s son and all, I’ll tell you what I know. It’s not much, mind you.”
Zeb took a deep breath and several moments, as if gathering his thoughts.
“Ilsa was ... not like other girls. My mother used to say she walked to the beat of a different drummer. Worked a lot and kept to herself mostly. All the Appelhoffs were like that. Not bad people, but not very sociable.”
Jaxson nodded again.
“Ilsa took a liking to your dad though. Sometimes, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and I’d hear them talking out on the back porch.”
“And?”
“And nothing. After a week or so, your dad went back home.”
”That’s it?”
Zeb looked uncomfortable, like he knew more but didn’t want to say. Jaxson understood his reticence, but this was important.
“I read the letters,” Jaxson reminded him quietly. “I know there was more to it than that.”
Zeb exhaled. “In Ilsa’s mind maybe. Not your dad’s. I’m not saying he was totally without blame, but he didn’t understand what he was getting into, not right away. Ilsa mistook his attention for something more. Bo felt bad about that, I think, but he was still trying to find his way.”
That was something Jaxson understood all too well.
“What happened after he left?”
“Nothing much,” Zeb said on a shrug. “Ilsa stopped coming by. She left home not too long after, if I remember correctly. Next I heard was a couple years later, when social services showed up at the bakery with little Sammy in tow, saying Ilsa was gone and they were the next of kin.”
“You have no idea what happened?”
Zeb shook his head. “Not sure anyone does. Like I said, the Appelhoffs kept to themselves. There were rumors, of course. Always are in a situation like that, but that’s all they are—rumors.” Zeb pinned him with a look. “And nothing I’m willing to repeat, so don’t bother asking.”
“What about the daughter, Sam?”
Zeb frowned. “She didn’t have it much better than her mother from what I could tell, but she fared better. She’s got spirit, that one. Got herself a degree and was planning on buying out the café she managed before it burned down. I hear she’s up at Sanctuary now, married to one of them fellas. Have you been up there yet?”
“No.”
“You should take a run up while you’re in town. Good men, all military types. Run by former Navy SEALs, but then no one’s perfect,” Zeb said with a grin and then sobered again. “Who knows? Maybe Sam will have more information, but I wouldn’t count on it. She was pretty young when she came to town. Not sure how much she remembers.”
“Thanks. Maybe I will.”
Zeb continued talking about Sanctuary while Jaxson worked, telling him about Matt Winston turning his family legacy into a place for vets to transition back into civilian life. Like Penny, Zeb only had good things to say about it. It made Jaxson wonder again why Harry and the guys at O’Malley’s hadn’t.
Jaxson gave the wrench a final tug, then stepped back and admired his handiwork. He’d need to buff out some scratches when he got back to Campbell’s Junction, but at least he was no longer without transportation. “All done.”
“You do have your daddy’s knack,” Zeb said with approval.
High praise indeed. “Thanks. You’ve got a good setup here. When Penny said she knew a guy, I admit, I was skeptical.”
“Understandable,” Zeb said with a chuckle. “How is it you know Penny?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
Zeb shook his head. “Just said you were a vet and needed a hand, but I figure there’s got to be more to it than that.”
Oh, there was.
“She nearly ran me over. That”—Jaxson waved toward his bike—“happened when I was trying not to become a hood ornament on her van.”
Zeb’s eyes widened, and then he laughed. “She failed to mention that. Penny’s a good girl with a big heart, but she’s easily distracted. I try to get out of the way when I see her coming.”
Jaxson couldn’t help smiling, too. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind from now on.”
“Now that your ride’s fixed, how long are you planning on sticking around?” Zeb asked with a calculating gleam in his eye.
“I don’t know. A couple days maybe. Why?”
“I’ve got some things in the back you might be interested in. Don’t get too many guys around here that can appreciate the classics.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to decline, but Jaxson found himself nodding. He liked Zeb. Zeb reminded him of his father in many ways, and the smell of grease and motor oil was comforting and familiar.
“Sure.”
Zeb led Jaxson to a door at the back of the bay, out onto the rain-soaked pathway, and into another garage. This one was more along the lines of a typical detached garage, common to the area. Zeb had several old bikes in there. Harleys. Indian Chiefs. A classic Triumph.
Jaxson whistled. “Where’d you find these?”
Zeb shrugged. “Picked them up over the years. Most people look at them and see junk, but I see potential.”
Jaxson did, too. He paused, running his hand along the curve of the Triumph’s frame, appreciating the lines and craftsmanship. It needed a lot of work, but the bones were good.
“They’ve just been sitting here, waiting for someone to give them some love. You interested? You could stop by while you’re in town. I’d appreciate the company. I’ll even tell you stories about the trouble your daddy and I used to get into. He was something of a hell-raiser back in the day.”
He tended to think better when his hands were busy, and it’d beat sitting alone in his motel room at night. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”