Chapter 13 #2
“The only cooking my mom did was with a spoon and a lighter, and I have no idea who my dad was,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t feel bad for me,” he said. “I don’t. I’m just happy for you that you got that.”
I nodded, thinking about what he said.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” I asked.
“Shoot,” he said. “You can ask me anything you want.”
I leaned my hip against the counter and crossed my arms as he dished up two plates. I asked, “What’s your government name?”
He chuckled at that and said, “Sturgis as in South Dakota. My last name is Steele. I’ll show you my driver’s license if you want.”
My mouth dropped open.
“That has to be, like, the coolest, most jealousy-inducing name in all of biker-dom history, and you got stuck with the generic-ass road name of Chainsaw? ”
He sucked a bit of sauce off his thumb from where it’d gotten on him as he’d dished out the last plate, and my heart dropped into my uterus, did a somersault, and came back up into place.
“You cut a motherfucker in half with one just one time and the name sticks.”
I blinked, long and slow, and he laughed at my expression.
“Joking! I’m just fucking with you. Oh my God! You should see the look on your face! Naw, it’s because I have like every make and model of chainsaw you can think of for my work in storm cleanup and line maintenance when I’m not fixing the lines themselves.
“So you haven’t gone all Texas Chainsaw Massacre on someone?” I squeaked.
“Might on your serial killer if it solves that little problem,” he said, and I could tell it was to gauge my reaction.
I swallowed hard and said, “If anyone deserves that kind of fate, it’s Luke.”
“Ruin your appetite?” he asked gently, holding out a plate to me.
“Not at all, but I do think I need a drink. There’s a bottle of sweet white in the fridge.”
“Go sit down,” he ordered gently. “I got you.” I pulled open the silverware drawer and took out a pair of forks, handing one to him and taking my plate with me back to the living room.
He got us the wine and came in with two glasses, setting one on the side table on his end of the couch and handing me the other. I took a sip before setting mine down.
“Wanna go ahead and start that?” he asked, as he returned to the kitchen for his plate.
I started the movie, and we settled in to watch and to eat.
I turned some things over in my head, wondering if he really had or hadn’t harmed someone with a chainsaw…
It was a reminder that it was a very real possibility that not only was he capable of violence like that, but that he more than likely had already committed atrocities like that or worse.
It was one of the things that’d made me pull away from the life.
I’d heard things growing up, had seen things, and one of the main reasons, aside from River’s drowning death, that’d made me want to go into medicine was this ungodly weight, this feeling, like there was so much blood on my family name.
So much pain and anguish, and I somehow felt like it was my responsibility to balance things.
Like, maybe if I were a good person, worked hard, and saved more lives than my family and father’s actions had taken, maybe we could all be reunited in the next life, whatever it looked like, and that we could all be okay. Better than we were in this one.
I didn’t know… I suppose, in some ways, I was still a child, clinging to childish things and beliefs.
You need therapy, my mind whispered, and not for the first time.
I jumped and looked over as Chainsaw’s warm and calloused hand smoothed over my foot.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. Fid you say something and I missed it?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “You just looked like you were thinking awfully hard over there. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t scare you. Did I?”
I smiled and shook my head. “No,” I lied. “Not at all.”
He searched my face and said solemnly, “Good, because you don’t have anything to fear outta me. Nothing at all, not ever. You get me?”
I swallowed and nodded dumbly.
“Yeah, no, I understand. Just a bad joke.”
He nodded slowly and said, “Exactly that.”
We finished Death on the Nile, but I just didn’t have it in me for a triple feature. I said as much, asking, “Would it be alright if we saved A Haunting in Venice for tomorrow night’s dinner feature?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “You look a little tired.”
“Yeah, I’m going to do these dishes and put up the leftovers, then I think I’m going to call it.” I went to pick up my plate from the coffee table, and his hand shot out. He captured my wrist in a light grasp.
“No way. You cooked. I’ll put up the leftovers and clean up. If I’m going to be here for an extended time, you can’t treat me like a guest. I’d feel awful,” he said.
“Alright,” I said softly, and I let the plate go.
He relinquished the hold on my wrist, and I stood up. He gathered the plates and stood with me.
“Get some rest,” he murmured.
I nodded and called out, “Charlie! Time for bed, baby.”
It was on Charlie if he wanted to come in with me, but he simply raised his head from the wing-back chair and looked at me with feline indifference.
“Fine, be that way,” I said and went to lie down.
I could have sworn Chainsaw said on the tail end of his chuckle, “You don’t know what you’re missing, bud.”
It made me smile, and butterflies took off in my stomach.