A Novel Epilogue by Craig Baumken
“Can you hand me the spark plug wrench, please?” she asked.
“Sure, which one?” I replied, looking down at the maze of tools in the toolbox.
“The 5/8, please.”
“The five-eight what? You’re not 58, are you? You don’t look at day over 34,” I said, poking at the tools.
“Oh geez, open your eyes! It’s marked on the side…here! Let me show you.”
She sighed impatiently, and straightening up, walked over to the workbench where I was standing, slapped my hands away from the toolbox, and rummaged inside until she found the 18mm spark plug wrench.
Flashing it in front of my face, “Here! See? Five-eights! Was that so hard?” she growled, rolling her eyes.
“Why didn’t you say so? It’s the same one I used on my Chevy,” I said innocently.
“You know at times, you remind me of…of…aw, forget it. Are you going to help me or not? You said you wanted to learn...”
I stood motionless. Looking up, “come over here, beside me, I won’t bite.”
Grudgingly, I walked over and knelt beside her. “Are you sure you won’t bite? You know you used to be so friendly toward me.”
“Yes, young and stupid does that, but I’m older and wiser. Now pay attention!”
I watched, fascinated, as she ratcheted the spark plug, deftly extracting it. She was good with tools and she certainly knew her way around a Harley. It reminded me of Mo and she was always tinkering with her bike. Until recently, I had no interest in bikes. I felt vulnerable, surrounded by metal and the two hunks of rubber underneath. But people change, times change, constantly evolving, and what I had been forced to do; keep pace with the changing times.
I found her, quite accidentally, one late, rainy night, deep in the BC interior. I had been driving all day, and following a dark, winding road in the mountains, I came across a bar called The Chateau. It was in the middle of nowhere, and I only saw it by chance; and as I passed by, I saw a familiar sight. Nothing surprised me anymore; random occurrences, chance meetings, unexplained happenings; now all part of my everyday normal.
Parked out front was a black and purple Harley-883. I slammed on the brakes, scaring Bandit half to death, sending him flying off the passenger seat and under the dash. I pulled a U-turn, parked beside the bike, and went inside. Standing in the entrance I did a double-take; Sharkees reincarnated, minus the dead body at the piano. But everything else was just like home away from home. And what should have surprised me, but of course it didn’t, was who was behind the bar, her back to me, buried in her phone. The place was empty and I quietly slipped on a stool and waited. Shivers ran up and down my spine as I was at a loss for words; I mean, what does one say considering how our last meeting ended?
It had been a long time, over two years. From behind, she looked the same, oh, maybe, a few pounds heavier, but I had gained some myself. My hair was longer now, clouded with specks of grey, my body a little thicker, and maybe the most significant change; my eyes and that spark missing. I watched her from behind, head down, her hands moving as she tapped on her phone, and I noticed her hair was the same, just like that first time at Sharkees and tied up in a bun on top, the bangs drooping down the sides. It was funny, I felt the same butterflies in my stomach as I did back then. I guess some things never do change.
“Excuse me, miss, I’m lost, and I was wondering if you could give me directions back to the highway?”
Her hands stopped moving, and she remained motionless, her head still down, and I could see her shoulders heaving gently. She reached up and rubbed at her eyes, then I heard a sigh, and she put her phone in her back pocket. I watched as she turned around, her eyes wide, mouth agape, clasping her hands across her waist to keep them from trembling.
She eyed me warily, her body rigid, feet glued to the floor. Her eyes moved up and down, searching, taking me in from the waist up until they finally locked with mine. I could tell I was the last person she was expecting. I forced a smile, hoping that would break the ice, but when she didn’t react, I just let her be. She wiped her eyes, her bottom lip quivering, and suddenly afraid, I spoke.
“I’m fine, thank you, thanks for asking. You look good. A beer would be great, please and thank you.”
She remained silent and reached down in the cooler and pulled out a beer, twisted the cap, and placed it down in front of me.
“Sorry, there’s no BS here, the locals drink this stuff, and beer is beer, right?”
She watched me down the beer in one long chug and reached down and got me another, smiling knowingly. She moved closer but still maintained just enough distance, watching me, wondering how I had found her. No doubt expecting the cops to come bursting through the door at any moment, and that I had led them to her. But that wasn’t what happened.
“How have you been, Sara?”
“How did you find me?”
“I wouldn’t say find is the right word, more like stumbled. I was driving by, saw your bike, and came in,” tilting my head and shrugging my shoulders.
Her eyes narrowed, frowning, crossing her arms, she glared at me.
“Come on, Pete, that’s bullshit! Don’t play me, this is not Sharkees, and this is not back then. I’ve changed. So please, stop the bullshit and if you brought the cops, just get this over with, ok?” she snapped, looking over my shoulder at the entrance.
I took a deep breath and shook my head slowly, “No, no bullshit, I was driving by and saw your bike. I have no clue where I am.”
“Seriously?” looking at me suspiciously, “you didn’t bring the cops?” she asked, twirling a drooping bang with her finger, staring hard and trying to figue out what game I was playing.
“No, Sara, I didn’t bring the cops,” I replied evenly. “It’s just me. I won’t deny I have been searching for you, and I must admit, running into you like this sums it all up, don’t you think?”
Sara shook her head, still twirling her bangs, trying to wrap her head around the randomness of the moment. She reached for the coffee pot, filled her mug, then reached down and pulled out the milk, poured some in, and stirred her coffee, tilting the spoon against the carton.
“That was you!” I blurted out.
“Uh? What?”
“That’s what you do,” I said, pointing at the milk carton, “you tilt things. I saw it at Sharkees, and Carlos told me you did that. I thought nothing of it at the time.”
I shook my head in disbelief, a huge knot forming in my stomach, thinking if I had figured it out then, would anyone of the rest of it have happened? I frowned, lost in thought, as I could not stop the VCR from powering on in my head, the tape instantly playing. Noticing, Sara stepped forward, reached out, and placed her hand on my arm, her touch soft and warm as always.
“It’s ok, Pete, we’ve both been through some rough stuff, huh? Here, let me get you a chaser for that beer.”
Sara placed the whiskey chaser in front of me. “And, I go by Amy now, ok?” she said, embarrassed. “I like that person better,” hoping I would understand and still working through it herself.
“Of course, Amy,” I smiled and reached over and gave her arm a squeeze, “I always liked her better,” I winked.
“It’s almost closing, and I have to clean things up, where are you staying?”
“I’m not, unless my backseat counts,” I replied wearily.
“My place is just down the road, I have a couch, it’s not fancy, but it is warm and dry and a little bigger than your back seat.”
“Is there room for Bandit?” I asked.
“Bandit? Who’s Bandit?” she asked curiously. “I’m not the best with dogs.”
Shaking my head, “No, it’s not a dog. It’s Mo’s…it’s…it’s my cat, Bandit. He’s quiet, low maintenance, just like me,” I smiled innocently.
Amy smiled warmly, “Well then, I have nothing to worry about, now do I?”
She let me be and went about cleaning up, then after closing, I followed her through the winding roads, down the mountain, and back to her place. I couldn’t help but think back to that night in Timmins, and here I was, Groundhog Day once more, following a biker-chick back to her place late at night. The only difference, or was it the same as before? Both of us running from our pasts and the law. Had nothing changed? Yet again, that same old normal. I slept fitfully that night on her couch with Bandit curled up in my legs.
§§§
“See? It’s easy, now you try it,” Amy offered encouragingly, handing me the wrench. She watched as I leaned in, connected the wrench to the plug, and started ratcheting. “You’re a natural, look at you go,” she smiled and patted me on the shoulder. She leaned over and, holding my hand, changed its position, “There, that should make it a little easier.”
Amy was right, I was a natural. It seemed I was a natural at pretty well anything I tried. I was also a natural at screwing up everything I touched.
When the light turned green that day, I honestly didn’t know which direction to take, so I let my subconscious decide, and left it was. I drove, having no idea where I was headed, as long as it was in a direction away from where I had been. Patty’s offer to open my own bar was certainly enticing enough, and I had the money to do it, but maybe as in life, it was all about the timing, and the timing at that moment wasn’t right. Stability, security, and that feeling of being grounded was what I had been searching for, more like craving, and, as I discovered, what I would kill for. But I needed to heal first, and for me, the only way to heal was to keep moving forward.
I drove aimlessly, in a westward direction stopping in Thunder Bay. From there, I continued on to Winnipeg then across the prairies. I was in no hurry, so I stopped when I wanted, stayed for as long as I wanted, then moved on. My money was fine, but I would stop and take odd jobs, just to remain connected to life, and the hard work was therapeutic. I met many new faces, made acquaintances, and I could feel myself changing, and most importantly, healing. What did stand out was the change in my aura. No longer did I naturally attract attention, or danger, and now instead, I attracted normal, nothing more than just everyday normal.
Once I had reconnected with Amy, it seemed my purpose was complete, my obligation to myself fulfilled in some strange way. So, I needed a new purpose, a new direction, along with continuing to heal. But, as I was getting older, I was getting wiser, and I knew just to stay put in one place and let things settle. Amy had bought a dilapidated farmhouse and was working at fixing it up and let me bunk there until I could find a place nearby. We shared a bed one night, after too much wine, and though we had a connection, neither of us was ready. At least we were smart about it, and despite the awkwardness of the next morning, we worked through it and became fast friends. I was at the farmhouse daily, helping her fix and repair. I took to it like a duck to water and marvelled at the irony of the time I put a fresh coat of paint on the white picket fence that lined her property. I tried not to think, too much.
Six months after settling in, Bandit gave out. He had been slowly going downhill, his back leg giving him problems again, and then one morning when I stirred and he wasn’t curled into me, I sensed something wasn’t right and I found him on the kitchen floor beside his food bowl. I called Amy, who rushed over, and together we took him to the vet and I had no choice but to put him down. I was inconsolable, and if it hadn’t been for Amy, I would have committed suicide by Jack. As it was, Amy had to forcibly take the keys out of my hand a few days later when I tried to get in my Chevy and run away, once more too afraid to face what I couldn’t erase. I guess life is weird like that, Amy stopped me from running away and forced me to face my pain, while that day in Sharkees, I had pushed her out the door to run away from her pain. And strangely, in both cases, it was the right call.
We buried Bandit in a shady spot at the edge of the forest behind the farmhouse and I knew that it was a sign that it was time to finally let go. Time to let go of everything that remained from back then, the final links to Mo and my dad. It didn’t mean I would never stop loving them, or forget their impact on me, but I couldn’t use them as a crutch anymore, and things happened for a reason. Even when I was driving across the prairies, I kept looking in the rearview mirror, the distance between there and here, growing, and I knew, as I always knew; the way was forward. I had to let go in order to move forward and carve out a life for myself.
And now, my everyday normal consisted of learning how to change the spark plugs and oil on my new Harley; the one I had purchased with Amy’s help. It hadn’t been as hard to let go of my Chevy as I thought, well if you consider two weeks of angst and sleepless nights that is. Amy was a trooper, she had lots of practice at it, and guided me through the process of letting go of my dad along with my attachment to his eight-tracks.
Shortly after, I moved back to the farmhouse, building an addition, a bedroom for me, and voila! Just like that, yet another version of the white picket fence life was born. Strange how it works.
Life was normal, everyday normal, the farm life burrowed in the ruggedness of the BC interior, agreeing with both of us. But there were moments when I was still restless and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something was missing, that final piece to the puzzle. Amy suggested I should take a trip on my bike. She said that always worked for her, the freedom of the open road helped clear one’s head and that it was a different feeling on a bike than I had with my Chevy.
We had developed a deeper connection, though things were still platonic, neither of us in any hurry, and it was comforting, though it wasn’t a case of misery loves company. We were working through our respective pain, our paths woven together through the tangled mess that it had become. It was just like Humpty-Dumpty, and that we had to put our lives back together again.
Amy said she had finally come to terms with her brother, Teddy, and her parents, and she even made peace with Dale. We spent many nights on the front porch, wrapped in blankets on rocking chairs, talking about everything that happened, sorting through and trying to make sense of the craziness that it was. I told her about Mo and what happened that fateful night; shooting Tony, and what Dale did after. The talking was good for both of us, and it was painful at times, the grief pouring out, but that was part of the healing process.
A year later, we had fixed up the farmhouse to the point that there was nothing left to do. Amy seemed restless in her own way, and I still was. Finally, one morning, sipping on coffee on the front porch, I knew I had to get on the bike and scratch the itch that would not go away. Amy understood, helped me pack, and stood in the lane waving as I pulled away; destination unknown. Once again though, some things were never meant to change; saying goodbye. Before I straddled my bike, we stood in the lane and held each other for the longest time, no words spoken, just holding each other. I worried that this was goodbye for good, as I had no idea what lay ahead. Amy did her best to reassure me that it wasn’t goodbye, and she said this was good for her also, as she needed space too.
I travelled down the coast, stopping whenever and wherever, until I reached San Francisco. I let my subconscious guide me, and it took me to Golden Gate Park and the Conservatory. I stopped along the curb and looked at the Greenhouse. That was it, that was the itch I needed to scratch. I don’t know how I knew, or why I knew, I just knew. I got off my bike and walked along the path, then stopped and stood looking at the building, my dad and his album cover. That was it. I felt this immense peace wash over me, and the sound of a loud click in my head, the connection to my past complete; I knew now I could go forward. I shivered, shuddered hard, and wiped away the tears.
“I love you, Dad. I love you, Mo, I love you, Bandit.”
I cruised down the Pacific Coast Highway, San Diego was beautiful, LA not so much, crossed into Tijuana, and then my subconscious kicked in again, it was time to go home. I had remained in touch with Amy and had sent her a selfie of me leaning on my bike in front of the Conservatory. She was doing well and was considering selling the farmhouse. I told her where I was headed, and her response was telling; she changed the subject.
Three months later, on a dark and stormy night, lightning flashing across the sky, to the sounds of rolling thunder, I pulled into Sharkees. So apropos, don’t you think? The parking lot was empty as it was near closing time. I parked beside the patio and looked through the large window and I could see Patty behind the bar and another server I didn’t recognize. My heart pounded and a knot formed in my stomach. It had been what, four years? Would Patty even remember me? What if Thomas Wolfe was right?
I knew there was only one way to find out, so I got off my bike, tucked my helmet under my arm, and went inside. The loud bang of the double doors and the whoosh of air was comforting, and as I passed through the entrance, I could hear the soft crackling of the fire. I shivered and could feel tingles up and down my spine, but these were the good kind; of comfort and warmth. I looked for Patty, but she must have gone into the kitchen, and the other server was behind the bar, the one I had seen from outside, but didn’t recognize. I moved to my left and started around the bar, the server’s head was down, but she looked familiar; remember how I said nothing surprised me anymore? I was wrong.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” the voice said, her head down, the ding of the till opening as she reached in and pulled out the tray.
Smiling, I tiptoed the rest of the way and carefully placed my helmet on the stool, and slipped quietly onto the one beside it. The server’s back was to me, and I could tell she didn’t hear me. I recognized the hourglass figure, though her hair was longer now, coloured a dark shade of red, but the rest remained the same. The emotion of it hit me like a rogue wave, washing over me, tears forming, goosebumps sprouting all over my arms and the back of my neck; Bree.
She still didn’t know I was behind her, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I didn’t realize how much I had missed her. Was this what was guiding me back here all this time? Bree?
I watched as she emptied the till, counting the money out loud like she always did, separating the bills and change, licking the tips of her fingers as she plowed through the receipts. I leaned forward on the bar with my elbows, careful not to rustle my leather jacket, rested my chin in my hands, and smiling like a Cheshire cat, I waited. A few minutes later, Bree turned, took one look, and fainted.
When Bree came to, Patty hovering over her like a mother hen, Adrian and I giggling and pointing, she started swearing a blue streak, which made Adrian and I laugh even harder, and of course, only made her madder. When she finally settled down, and not before throwing in my direction, wet rags, cutlery, and anything else she could lay her hands on, Bree hugged me tightly refusing to let go. At one point, Adrian said to get a room, it was embarrassing. I was home.
We sat around the bar that night catching up, and just like that, a new tradition was born. The four of us, myself, Patty, Bree and Adrian, would sit around the bar after closing, then on weekend mornings, holidays, you name it, just the four of us; family. Interestingly, we never reminisced about the good ‘ol days, instead, we remained in the present, with only an occasional reference to the past, and even that was in a jocular manner, poking fun at someone, usually me.
Bree told me after I left, Tony’s cousin took over the Club in Timmins, and it was instantly filled with nefarious activity, with gambling, drugs, and prostitution their everyday normal. She knew they had to get out the night she and Adrian were forced to barricade themselves in the kitchen, the unwilling participants in a wild west shootout. Patty had been on her for months to come down and help her run Sharkees so it was a no-brainer.
Adrian and Bree eventually married and had a little girl now. That night, I stayed at their place, sleeping on the couch, and next morning, I opened my eyes to a wide-eyed carbon copy of Patty. Startled, I jumped up, scaring her, and she ran down the hallway yelling, “Mommy! There’s a strange man in our house!”
Bree came out, a few minutes later, the little girl in tow, hiding behind her.
“Come here, honey, don’t be shy, there’s someone I want you to meet. I know he looks scary, I mean, look at him, but underneath, he’s just as scary, and after a while, you will get used to him. Remember what your father and I are always telling you; you are stronger than your fears.”
The little girl remained glued to her mother’s thigh, and I sat up on the couch and smiled at her. She was beautiful, just like her mom.
“Hi, my name is Pete. And despite what your mom says, I’m not scary and it’s her fault, she made me this way. What’s your name?”
Bree pulled her forward from behind her legs, knelt and whispered, “It’s ok, honey, he really is nice, he’s a dear friend of ours, and we love him, don’t be afraid. Tell him your name, tell him who you are, go on.”
Bree gently pushed her toward me. I sat forward, resting my arms on my thighs.
“Hi honey, can you tell me your name?” I asked as she stared at me wide-eyed.
Timid, uncertain, she bit the edge of her blanket, twisted her hips and looked down. Lifting her head, she spoke softly, “My name is Maureen. My mommy says I have a special name.”
I looked at Bree, my eyes instantly welling up, and Bree nodded.
“That’s a special name for a special girl,” I said.
Maureen looked at me confused, “Why are you crying? Mommy, the man is crying. Is he ok? Mommy?” turning toward her mother.
“Come on, honey, let us give Uncle Pete a moment, and we’ll get you some breakfast, ok?” as Bree led her away. I watched them walk into the kitchen, Bree turning and looking back, smiling. Later that morning, I pulled Adrian aside.
“Look, buddy, I think we have to talk.”
“Sure, what’s up, Pete?”
“Um, did you know your daughter looks like Patty?”
Smiling, “yep,” he said without missing a beat, “good thing it wasn’t twins.”
“And…?”
“And what?”
I looked at him, trying to unsee all those things in one’s mind that one is not supposed to see.
“What can I say? It was dark that night, I got up to have a piss, and when I came back to bed, I think I plugged the wrong hole,” smiling devilishly, he winked and slapped me hard on the back.
Eventually, I heard from Amy, checking in and asking if I made it back to Sharkees and, if I did, how was everyone. Based on her initial reaction, I had been reluctant to inform her of my whereabouts. Patty told me she hadn’t heard from her and was worried, but wisely let her be, and said that all she wanted was to see her again. She didn’t care anymore about the whole Amy/Sara thing and time had healed that wound. All she wanted now was her friend back. I told her she went by Amy now and was doing well.
I started texting Amy, and it took some time, and many conversations, which I understood. I became a mediator for Amy and Patty, and it was like negotiating a peace treaty. I mean, it wasn’t that, it was Amy, even after all this time, still horribly guilt-ridden over betraying her best friend. I told her Patty had long forgiven her and it was on her end now. I let things be, telling Patty to be patient and give her time. To which Bree broke out laughing, “Good gawd! Hallelujah! Pete Humphries has found patience. Quick everyone! Look out the window and see if the cow jumped over the moon.”
A few months later, we were sitting around the bar early one Sunday morning, still a few hours from opening. Patty had propped the front entrance doors open, allowing for a cross draft of air from the patio, while the fireplace was being cleaned. There was no loud bang, no whoosh of air, and instead, we looked up to see Amy standing in front of us, wearing a huge smile. Though Patty didn’t faint, her response was similar to Bree’s reaction when she saw me. Amy ran and caught her as she slumped off the stool, and in Hollywood’s finest moment, they fell to the ground, wrapped in each other’s arms, crying, laughing, and hugging in pure sweet joy. And after being introduced to Bree, an instant threesome was born; Amy, Patty, and Bree.
I leaned over and poked Adrian in the ribs, “So who’s the mother going to be for your next child?”
Adrian rubbed his hands together in glee, “So many choices, so much time…” he whispered happily.
It didn’t take long for Amy and me to reconnect, much to everyone’s surprise and delight, and I guess we needed time apart, to sort through our respective issues. Jackie was right, be patient, connect to yourself first, and then it would happen.
Life was one long strange trip with its twists and turns, the Universe playing its part, and you never knew where it would take you, or what lay ahead for any of us. What I did know was that, for now, I was home, finally living nothing more than just a normal day.
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