Motorcycle Man

Chapter Twelve Family Reunion

“You might wanna step aside,” Tack growled at Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh.

Aunt Bette stared up at him but Uncle Marsh shuffled Aunt Bette to the side just as Tack manhandled a struggling, spitting Naomi out the door. He slammed it in her face and locked it. And then he turned to face the room.

Pounding came at the door and Naomi could be heard screaming, “You did not just do that!”

With all that was happening and without having had that first cup of coffee, I was at a loss but luckily my feet weren’t. They took me to Aunt Bette while more pounding sounds came at the door and I knew, being closer to them, they came from fists and feet.

I ignored them and Aunt Bette, who was staring at the door, jumped when I got close.

“Hey, Aunt Bette,” I murmured and wrapped my arms around her.

“Open this goddamned door and send my kids out here!” Naomi yelled.

“Uh… hi there, Tyra,” Aunt Bette murmured back, giving me a squeeze.

I let her go and smiled at her.

Naomi screeched over continued pounding, “Open the fucking door!”

I kept ignoring it and turned to Uncle Marsh. “Hey, Uncle Marsh.” Then I wrapped him in my arms.

Uncle Marsh’s hug was different than his wife’s. My mother’s cool-as-hell brother loved me and he loved me a lot. Therefore, his hug was tight, it was warm and it spoke volumes, every word beautiful.

“Hey, honey,” he whispered in my ear.

“I said open the motherfucking door,” Naomi shrieked with more hammering.

I stepped back but Uncle Marsh kept me close with his hands on my upper arms.

My Aunt Bette was petite, had short, curly hair and big, blue eyes. Aunt Bette was the kind of aunt who was interested in everything you did, supported every decision you made, wanted nothing but your happiness and gave love without conditions. She was a call ‘em as she saw ‘em, did what she liked and liked what she did, said what was on her mind and if you couldn’t hack the honesty that was your problem, kind of person. I adored her.

Uncle Marsh looked like a shorter, but way cooler, Kevin Costner. Uncle Marsh got his news from Aunt Bette therefore communication with Uncle Marsh was sporadic unless you were sitting on his deck (where, the last fifteen years, we had spent the vast amount of our time together). That said, he supported every decision you made, wanted nothing but your happiness and gave love without conditions. He was also a call ‘em as he saw ‘em, did what he liked and liked what he did, said what was on his mind kind of guy but his way was that when he called ‘em, did what he liked and said what was on his mind, you listened and learned because he was wise and he wasn’t a fan of bullshit. I worshipped him.

“I’m here for some meetings,” Aunt Bette put in over the continued pummeling heard at the door. “Your uncle decided to come with me, surprise you and make it a long weekend with his favorite niece. We thought we’d pop by and take you for breakfast.” There was more pounding at the door and Aunt Bette gamely ignored it. “My meetings don’t start until this afternoon then we have the whole weekend.”

Uncle Marsh let me go and the minute he did, Tack was there, warm, lean body to my back, tattooed arm curved around my chest. When he did this, I was surprised for a variety of reasons. First, this was a claiming gesture. Second, it was meant to communicate, clearly, it was a claiming gesture. Third, it was a claiming gesture that was meant also to communicate togetherness and intimacy. And last, although we had been intimate, that wasn’t something I wanted my aunt and especially my uncle to know, I wasn’t aware we were “together” as such and I wasn’t certain how I felt about being claimed.

Aunt Bette’s and Uncle Marsh’s eyes immediately dropped to his arm. Then they shot to my face and I knew that neither of them missed a single thing Tack was communicating.

Aunt Bette’s eyes turned openly curious.

Uncle Marsh’s face wiped blank.

Aunt Bette did not judge. She was who she was and you took her as she was. She returned the favor.

Uncle Marsh had been a fighter jock in the Air Force. Now he was a golf pro. He wore Ralph Lauren and Tag Heuer watches. He still had a military haircut. He also didn’t judge. That was, I learned in that instant, until a big, badass, scary biker dude with an arm covered in tattoos, wearing faded jeans and a tight tee, needing a haircut and needing it four weeks ago and who Uncle Marsh just witnessed manhandling a raving woman who assaulted my front door and hurled obscenities at it curved his painted arm around his much-loved niece’s chest. On those occasions, he judged.

Oh boy.

Tack’s other arm moved in the direction of Aunt Bette. “Kane Allen,” his gravelly voice declared, I blinked, twisted my neck and looked up at him.

Elliott had said that name and apparently that was Tack’s real name. It was a cool name. Though, I wished he’d given it to me directly.

“Hello, Kane,” Aunt Bette took his hand and shook. “I’m Bette, Tyra’s aunt.”

“Bette, you can call me Tack,” he told her.

Her eyes slid to me, her brows went up declaring we were going to have a conversation later but I knew this conversation would be so she could get all the juicy gossip then spread it widely throughout my extended family, all the way down to the cousins. Unlike Uncle Marsh, Aunt Bette was a communicator. She thought family was the most important thing on earth and thus made it her mission to be the hub of family information. If you needed to know anything, you asked Aunt Bette and if she didn’t know it, she sure as heck found out.

Tack released her and his hand went to Uncle Marsh.

Uncle Marsh studied it. And while Uncle Marsh studied it, he also, I reckoned, was wondering if he should call all his fighter jock buds in order to spirit me away Mach Three. Then he took Tack’s hand and shook it.

“Marsh, Tyra’s uncle,” he introduced himself.

“Right,” Tack replied and let his hand go, stepping us back and to the side. “These are my kids, Tab and Rush.”

“Yo,” Rush said, coming forward to shake hands.

“Hey,” Tabby said, following her brother. “Cool to meet you. We love Tyra. She’s the shit.”

Aunt Bette smiled. Uncle Marsh studied Tabby then Tack. I tried not to feel the warmth sliding through my system at being “the shit” after meeting Tabby and Rush once. I also failed in not feeling that warmth.

“I’m waiting!” Naomi screamed from outside. The hammering at the door had stopped but apparently she hadn’t gone.

“This is so cool!” Lanie entered the huddle and she did this to hug Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh while gushing. “Ty-Ty talks about you guys all the time. Says if she wasn’t related to you, she would have launched an investigation at the hospital to see if she was switched at birth. It’s awesome to finally meet you!”

Lanie stepped back and smiled brightly at them. Aunt Bette smiled back at her. Uncle Marsh directed another shit-eating grin at me.

Lanie wasn’t lying. I loved my Mom and Dad but all evidence, except the existence of Uncle Marsh, pointed to there being a mix-up at the hospital. My Mom and Dad were Republicans. My Mom and Dad were religious. My Mom and Dad were both born in Ohio. They vacationed in Ohio State Parks. They considered themselves seasoned travelers because they’d been to Cooperstown and the Indy 500. They cheered for the Buckeyes. Their TV room was decorated in red, gray and white. And, last, they intended to die in Ohio and I knew this because they told me so.

My Mom had a successful career as a housewife. She baked fabulous pies and listened to showtunes and gospel. My Dad had a successful career as a cabinet maker. He ate Mom’s fabulous pies and bragged about them to all and sundry and he watched football, cop shows and action movies, the more bad guys blown up or filled with holes, the better.

Even at my age, my Mom still lectured me that women should wear skirts, heels, never leave the house without makeup and earrings and lamented, often, through every means available (including phone, letters, e-mails and during visits) the fact that I had yet to give her grandchildren. My Dad lectured me that I spent too much time working and socializing, not the right kind (the right kind being at church mixers where I found myself a good, religious boy who liked football and God and had a job where he worked with his hands), and that I should find that boy and make sure his handkerchiefs were always perfectly ironed. This, as well as keeping a clean house and my boy in meat and potatoes, being my only reasons to exist.

My Mom and Dad had somehow managed to get thrown back to the 50’s, they liked it, stayed there and, as with the great state of Ohio, they were never, ever leaving.

My Mom and Dad were nothing like me.

Suffice it to say that if it was not Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh in my living room at that very moment while Tack (still) had his tattooed arm around me, and it was my Mom and Dad, things would be going very differently. Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh had the ability to hold their tongues and act with decorum. Mom would be tight-faced. Dad would be asking Tack to have a chat on my deck where he would explain I was a “good girl” and probably go into detail about how he felt about tattoos and the importance of regular grooming and the only grooming that was acceptable left your hair in a buzz cut and not a single whisker on your face. Then Tack would likely refuse Dad’s demand that he never have anything to do with me ever again. And finally Dad would promptly go to the nearest gun shop and buy a shotgun because Dad might be religious but he had no aversion to firearms.

I forced my mind from these reflections and introduced Lanie to my aunt and uncle. “This is Lanie, my best friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aunt Bette said. “Tyra’s told me about you too, all of it good.”

Lanie beamed. Uncle Marsh transferred his shit-eating grin to Lanie.

“Family reunion! Awesome!” Tabby cried. “And you’re here just in time. You don’t have to go out to breakfast with Tyra. Dad’s making his world famous pancakes.”

Both Aunt Bette and Uncle Marsh turned eyes to Tack and even Uncle Marsh couldn’t hide that he was startled at the idea of scary biker dude making pancakes.

“Reminds me I gotta get that done ‘cause I got shit to do,” Tack rumbled from behind me, still not having let me go. “Tabby, darlin’, get these folks a cup ‘a joe. Rush, plates, forks, set Red’s table.” His arm gave me a squeeze and his mouth came to my ear where he said quietly but I knew my aunt and uncle could hear, “She’ll go away and I’ll deal with her. She doesn’t and you see her again, you call me. She is not your problem, baby, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly back.

That got me another arm squeeze, he let me go and I felt his heat leave my back as he sauntered to the kitchen.

“I have to go finish my shower,” Lanie announced. “All that ruckus, I jumped out and I still have conditioner in my hair. I’ll be back.” Then she whirled around and raced down the hall to the bathroom where she disappeared behind the closed door.

I turned to my aunt and uncle, finding myself alone in the living room with them.

“Seems you missed some things in your last e-mail,” Aunt Bette remarked.

I bit my lip. Aunt Bette grinned. Uncle Marsh looked at his shoes.

“How do you guys take your coffee?” Tabby called from the kitchen.

“Milk, two sugars,” Aunt Bette called back, moving toward the kitchen.

Uncle Marsh looked at me.

“Deck. Explanation. First chance you got,” he ordered quietly.

“Okeydoke,” I whispered.

His hazel eyes bored into mine.

Then he looked away and started toward the kitchen.

I sucked in breath.

Naomi shouted through the door, “Fuck you! Fuck all of you!”

Damn.