CULVER: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (13 page)

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22
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Mom and Dad, mercifully, hadn’t waited up for me. I
guess that even with their misgivings about Boon, they knew I was an adult and
needed to be treated like one. I slipped quietly up the steps and into my room,
leaning against the door and trying to collect myself. The drive home had
seemed to take forever, and I’d tried my best not to think of anything as I
drove. The last thing I wanted or needed was to end up in a ditch because I let
my mind wander.

Now, bathed in the soft light of my bedroom, I thought
I’d be up all night, trying to figure out a way to talk to my dad about Boon.
You can imagine my surprise, then, when I woke to sun streaming through my
window and birds chirping. I’d underestimated the narcotic properties of
mind-blowing sex and passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I actually had work that day, and I could barely
believe that after everything I’d gone through the past two weeks, I was
actually going to don my silly pink-and-white striped uniform and dole out ice
cream to families on vacation and kids on summer break.

I spent my shift in a sort of haze, my mind constantly
bouncing back and forth like a pinball. What to say to my father, how the many
ways this could work out, my possible future with Boon, my possible separation from
Boon.

I’d spent a lot of time preparing my
meeting-Boon-at-the-lake speech, but the speech I wanted to give my father
would have to be a lot more professional and compelling, and I had a lot less
time to rehearse it in my mind.

I wanted to talk to Dad that night. If Boon agreed to
stick around for a few days, and if Dad needed some time to come around to my
way of thinking, then the sooner the better. As I scooped up cones of
strawberry ice cream, I thought of the many ways I could approach the subject.
We hadn’t even mentioned the incident since it took place, and I knew that what
I was going to say wouldn’t be easy for my father to hear. It had to be
perfect.

When I got off work, my heart and mind were both
racing. I knew Mom and Dad would both be home by the time I got there. Should I
just get it over with as soon as I got in? Should I wait until dinner? After
dinner, when we were all watching TV together?

The question was answered for me. As soon as I stepped
through the door, I knew something was off. Mom and Dad were sitting in the
living room without the TV on. That wouldn’t have been weird if they were
talking, but they weren’t. They were just sitting there. I knew Mom was usually
on the treadmill or doing laps at this time, so that was a big red flag, too.

“Um, hi,” I said, standing in the hallway and looking
in at them. Their faces were…concerning, to say the least. Mom looked uneasy;
Dad looked downright distraught. I threw my purse onto the floor and walked to
the loveseat, sinking in.

There was no use trying to avoid whatever they were
about to say. For a moment, I wondered if this could have nothing at all to do
with Boon: maybe something else had happened. Maybe Mom lost her job. Maybe we
were going to need to move. Maybe my Aunt Hilde died. I didn’t want any of
those things to be true, but I also didn’t want to have a conversation about
Boon unless it was
me
coming to
them.

I noticed the matchbook Boon slipped me sitting on the
coffee table and my stomach dropped. There was no question about it: they knew.

“I’m guessing you want to talk to me,” I said,
deciding that it would be best if I took control of the situation as much as
possible.

“Damn right we do,” Dad said, his voice harsh. I
flinched. I hated disappointing my parents, and I realized for the first time
how much I really had betrayed their trust by seeing Boon. I got that sick
feeling in my stomach that I only got when I’d really screwed up and had to
come clean to my parents. Guilt and shame mixed together. I consciously
reminded myself that while, yes, I’d definitely gone behind my parents’ backs,
I had a pretty good reason, and that this time, maybe, just maybe, I was in the
right.

“Why is there a ladder hidden in the backyard?” Mom
asked, glancing at Dad with concern.
Oh,
shit,
I thought. We’d forgotten the stupid ladder. In all the drama and
running around, Alicia, Becky, and I had all totally forgotten we’d hid the
ladder at my house. Mom always played ref between Dad and I, and I knew she was
trying to keep Dad from just blowing up before the whole story came out and I
had a chance to defend myself.

“I…I…we…”

“And where the hell did this come from?” Dad said,
picking up the matchbook and holding it in front of me, waving it in my face. I
started to feel something else stirring inside me: anger.

“Well, actually,
Dad,
it came from my
room
,” I said,
realizing that the only way Mom and Dad could have found that is if they’d gone
into my room. That would have been fine if I was still 12 and needed Mom to do
my laundry and put my clothes away, but I’d been taking care of my own wardrobe
for years, and there was, generally, no reason for them to ever go into my room
when I wasn’t there.

“Don’t get smart with me! I know where this came from,
and I know who’s staying there,” Dad said, throwing it onto the table and
leaning back in his chair, his eyes shaking with anger.

“Maybe it came from the hotel
originally,
but
you
found
it in my room, which means you went through my stuff, which you have no right
to do! I’m 18 now, I’m going to college this fall, I don’t want to have to lock
my door just to keep my parents from snooping!”

“It’s my house, young lady, and as long as you’re living
here, I have every right to do whatever the hell I want to your room or with
your stuff,” Dad shot back.

“Okay, okay, everyone calm down. Samantha, the only
reason Dad went through your things is because we found the ladder. We weren’t
born yesterday, Samantha, and we both thought you were being awfully quiet the
other night. All this stuff just confirmed what we already suspected,” Mom
said, trying to act as the voice of reason.

“Well, so what? So, you’re right, I snuck out, so
what? You can’t ground me anymore! I’m not your little girl that you can just
tell what to do! I can make up my own mind about who I want to see,” I said,
aware that my voice was louder than I meant it to be, my tone defensive.

“We can do whatever we need to, if you’re making decisions
that are going to hurt you!” Dad said, his tone and volume matching mine.

“He’s not gonna hurt me! He’d never hurt me! He’s not
who you think he is, Dad! He’s a good guy, he really is, and he wants out! He
doesn’t want to be like his father, he wants to be better, he just needs a
chance,” I shouted, tears coming to my eyes. They were angry tears, the sort of
tears that you fight like hell to keep inside because you don’t want to show
weakness.

“Like hell! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,
Samantha, and you’re neck-deep in trouble if you think….”

“You don’t even
know
him! You never even gave him a
chance!
You just judged him based on what his dad did, you don’t know. He’s sweet,
and he’s smart, and he came here to try and escape his life, try to make a new
life for himself, and you just want to shove him back down, back to a life he
doesn’t want, just because…because…because you’re…because you’re mean, and
petty, and close-minded!”

My last words seemed to echo through the house,
bouncing off the walls. I was breathing heavily, my father and I caught in a
staring contest, tears falling down my face. Dad leaned back, studying me,
anger still etched on his face. My mother was looking back and forth at us.

“Everyone needs to stop screaming,” she finally said,
breaking the silence. My mother’s calm voice made me ashamed of losing my
temper; my father must have felt the same, because we both dropped our eyes to
our laps at the same moment.

“Dad, did you ever…did you know that he was there?
Boon was there, in the room, when his mother died. And it
was
that cop who shot her. And he was crooked, he was helping
Boon’s dad. That’s why he was there, Dad. He was there to get one last cut
before the raid.

And Boon watched it all happen from the closet. He’s
not bad, Daddy, he’s really not. He didn’t choose this life. His
dad
did. And he wants to get away from
it all, put it all behind him, but he can’t do that if…if…if people are always
going to be judging him based on his father.”

“Who told you that? About Giordino being crooked? Did
he tell you that? That’s a serious allegation about a cop who was nothing but
loyal to…”

“Does it matter? Does it really matter, Daddy, why
Giordino was there, or why he was shot? Boon didn’t do it. Boon didn’t shoot
him. He was
12.
He was just a kid.”

Dad leaned back in his chair, his face dark. Mom and I
watched him as he sat there, turning over everything in his mind.

“Was it Alicia? Did Alicia help you get out, with the
ladder?” Mom suddenly asked, turning to me. I was a little taken aback by the
question, only because it seemed so irrelevant to the rest of the conversation.

“Becky, too. I think it was actually Becky’s idea,” I
said, almost relieved to be able to provide a straight answer to a straight
question. Mom looked at Dad pointedly, an “I told you so” look. Dad saw and
threw his hands up.

“Well, Becky Armstrong is not the goddam high
priestess of good judgment!” Dad said, exasperated. It dawned on me what was
going on, and it almost made me laugh, despite the seriousness of the
situation: my parents had their doubts about Alicia’s ability to make good
decisions, but they pretty much thought Becky could be President of the United
States.

If I wasn’t sure if Mom and Dad would let me go to a
party or show, all I needed to do was tell them Becky was driving, or would be
there, and they immediately relaxed a little bit. Obviously, if they thought
Becky had met Boon and supported my decision to see him, it gave me a little
more credibility. I thanked God, not for the first time, for my best friends.

“I’m just saying, Bill,” Mom replied. She turned back
to me.

“Samantha, we are very, very disappointed that you
would sneak out without telling us anything. That’s dangerous, no matter what
the situation. But I, for one, think I understand. And I’m not going to speak
for your father, but I think you have a valid point,” Mom said, speaking slowly
and clearly. I could have tackled her for a hug at that moment. For the first
time, she was looking at me
almost
as
an equal, instead of as her daughter.

“Jillian…” Dad said, his face clouding over again.

“No, Bill, that is my opinion, and Samantha deserves
to know that. She’s right. She’s not a little girl anymore, and she needs to
make her own decisions. I know you want me to just agree with you on
everything, honey, but that ain’t the woman you married, and I know that you
don’t want to raise a daughter who’ll just agree to anything
her
husband says. Now you can say your
piece, if you want. I’ve said mine.”

With that, my mother leaned back into her chair,
folded her hands over her lap, and pursed her lips together. She was actually
going to let Dad and I hash this out on our own, a first in my household. I
guess one of the things that comes with the territory of growing up is being
your
own
referee.

“Dad, will you please, just, please, give him a
chance? Just meet with him, once. I promise, you’ll see, he’s not like his
father. He’s got a chance to make a better life for himself here, and he wants
to try,” I pleaded, leaning forward, feeling more tears come to my eyes. This
time they were desperate tears. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little happy
about these tears; after all, there was nothing like me bawling my eyes out to
soften my father’s heart. It’s biological, I swear.

“Samantha, I only want the best for you. All the best.
Forever. It scares me that you’re getting involved in this…man. He’s older than
you, and he has a past, whether or not he wants to escape from that past…well,
it’s hard. It’s harder than you could possibly imagine to just leave your whole
life behind, start new. There are all these things you learn growing up
and…they just become second nature,” Dad said, obviously trying to remain calm.

“My only job on this whole wide earth, Samantha, is
keeping you safe. Everything I do, from going to work in the morning to going
to bed at night, that’s all just…it’s all just to help me do that one job. Keep
you safe. From physical harm, from emotional harm…I don’t ever want you to look
like that poor woman did on the floor of the hotel. I don’t want to see my baby
girl, pumped full of drugs, dead on a floor because she got involved with the
wrong man. Can you see that?”