Chapter 18
CHEWIE
“What are you doing out here all alone?” I asked as I settled a blanket over Taya’s lap and tucked it around her legs.
“I’m admiring my badass chicken coop and wondering how many birds I can humanely fit into it.”
“I made enough nesting boxes and gave it enough square footage for you to easily keep sixteen average-sized chickens, more if you choose the smaller breeds.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I did my research before I started the build. I’d originally planned a pretty small structure but knew I’d just have to add on later because four wasn’t going to be nearly enough.”
“You researched it? How did you figure out how to build it?”
“I used to work in construction.”
“You’re a man of many talents, Chevy. Many, many talents.”
“If I’m gonna do something, I’m gonna do it right, or there’s no point in starting it.”
“I can attest that you’re very good at everything you set your mind to,” Taya agreed. “Now, sit down and tell me how you started working with pottery. The look on your face when you sat down at the table and saw that I was serving my family on my good plates - which you made - was priceless.”
I sat down on the swing next to her, and she lifted her blanket to share it with me. I rested my arm over her shoulders as she adjusted it over my legs, and then I kissed her temple before I said, “If I tell you how I got started, you’re probably gonna cry.”
“Oh, no,” Taya whispered before she said, “Tell me anyway.”
“When I was a kid, I made a bowl in art class at school and then took it home and gave it to Grand-mère. She cherished that bowl like it was Limoges and set it on her dresser so she could put her wedding ring in it before she went to bed every night. She loved that thing, but I knew it was crap, so I went back to my art teacher and asked her to help me make something better. With her guidance, I made Grand-mère a mug for Christmas. She drank her coffee out of it every morning and then handwashed it and put it on the shelf above the sink so nothing happened to it. She loved it so much that I made a saucer to match. Then a sugar bowl followed. Each thing took its place on that shelf by her mug, and every night she put her wedding ring, her most prized possession, in that ugly bowl. By then, I had cultivated a passion for creating and knew that if I took my time, I could create something beautiful - more beautiful than those first things I’d made.
I ended up with a bunch of pottery that I didn’t know what to do with, so my art teacher helped me book a booth at a craft show.
I sold out within an hour and left with a list of custom requests as long as my arm and a pocket full of money.
I had found a way to turn something I loved doing into something that could pay the bills. I was hooked.”
Taya used the edge of the blanket to wipe the tears off her cheeks before she sniffed and said, “You’re right. That made me cry.”
“That’s how I got started - seventh grade pottery class. Ms. Samara changed my life.”
“You named your daughter after your art teacher?”
“I wanted to, but I knew that Vincent and his wife should have that honor. However, when they asked for my opinion, I told them about Ms. Samara. Since they were neighbors of my grandparents, they had quite a collection of my pottery, so they knew how much it meant to me and thought the story was sweet. It helped that the name was beautiful, too, I’m sure, but they decided to use my suggestion and named her Samara. ”
“That’s wonderful. If your art teacher ever heard that, she’d probably cry too.”
“She ended up finding out. Samara knew the story, so when she took that class, she told Ms. Samara how she’d gotten her name. She said that Ms. Samara cried, but they were happy tears.”
“It’s a good thing your teacher wasn’t named Ms. Herbert or something, isn’t it?”
“That would have sucked.”
“Are you ready to tell me what happened with Blaine and Brandt today?”
“There’s not much to tell. They love their mom and know I’m not nearly good enough for her. End of story.”
“That’s bullshit,” Taya said angrily.
“That’s what a good son would think about any long-haired biker sniffing around their mama.”
“You’re more than just a long-haired biker. Much more.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“What am I then?”
“Mine.”
◆◆◆
Once I finally escaped to my studio, my ears were ringing. Samara, Jaimee, and Brinn had been shopping and hit every Black Friday sale in town. After three minutes of listening to them squeal and fawn over each other’s purchases, I was ready to climb a mountain just so I could jump off a cliff.
Donner was probably going to kill me because I managed to escape the kitchen while Jaimee and Brinn were explaining why certain colors looked good on each of them and deciding where he fit on the color wheel.
I didn’t know what that wheel was or where it might be located, but I could spot a good opportunity without it slapping me in the face. When the path to the back door cleared, I took my shot and fled with my hearing and most of my sanity intact.
Now, with the door to my studio firmly locked against intruders, I sat down at my desk and logged onto my website. I had to see what needed to be shipped tomorrow and what custom orders had come in since Wednesday, the last time I had been able to work in my shop.
All of the luminaries I’d created last month had already sold out. During my deliveries earlier in the week, I had promised the gallery owners that I’d get more to them as soon as possible so they wouldn’t miss out on the Christmas sales.
Considering how much I loved my work, it was almost sinful to charge as much as I did, but business was business, and I had bills to pay and a retirement portfolio.
I’d missed working all through my twenties, so I had some catching up to do in that regard.
I wasn’t getting any younger, even though Taya insisted that I was way too young for her.
There were days when I felt ancient, but luckily, those were few and far between.
After a life of abusing my body one way or another, usually fighting and even once getting shot, I had aches and pains that just got worse over time.
Most of them could be ignored, though, and I’d found the best way to do that was to lose myself at the pottery wheel, something that managed to be both calming and exhilarating.
I found a playlist that fit my mood and had just settled down at the wheel when the phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number, so I ignored it, sure that it was a gallery owner or someone who didn’t matter.
Anyone that knew me would know better than to call since I preferred to do my business via email or through my website.
When the phone rang again almost instantly, I had a niggling feeling it was something more, so I answered it.
“Chewie, it’s Jodie.”
“Jodie? What’s going on?”
“We’re on our way to the emergency room. Taya and I were mugged. Well, Taya was mugged, and I jumped in, but . . .”
“Is she okay?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?” I asked as I ran toward the house to get my keys. “What the hell does that mean?”
“He hit her in the head and tried . . . Honestly, I’m not sure it was a mugging after all.”
“Jodie! Focus! What’s wrong with Taya?”
I threw open the back door and rushed through the house, grabbing my keys as I yelled, “Donner, girls, come with me!”
“Where are we going?” Samara called out from behind me.
“Get in the truck!” I yelled over my shoulder.
By the time I got into the driver’s seat, Donner was buckling his seatbelt and the girls were scrambling into the back seat. Samara barely had time to pull the door closed before I was backing out of the driveway.
My phone connected to the speaker as Jodie said, “He knocked her out and was trying to pick her up by the time I got around the truck. I guess he didn’t expect me to come to her defense, so I got a few hits in before he got me too.
When I came to, Taya was still out, so we’re in the ambulance now, and I’m using the paramedic’s phone. ”
“We’ll meet you at the emergency room,” I assured her.
“We just got here. I’ve gotta go!”
The call disconnected, and then I glanced in the rearview mirror and told Brinn and Jaimee, “Something happened while they were shopping. Jodie said they were attacked. All I know is that Taya’s unconscious, and Jodie is talking.”
“Who would . . . What the fuck?” Brinn asked as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Mom didn’t kill ‘em?” Jaimee asked, completely unworried about her mom but apparently shocked that she hadn’t come out on top of the fray.
I could tell that she wasn’t worried about her mom, especially since she’d heard her voice, but she was holding Brinn’s hand tightly as Samara held the other. I saw Donner was frowning at his phone and realized he was texting someone.
I didn’t have to ask who because he said, “Preacher’s got nothing on the asshole neighbor. Not a fucking thing. Ajax can’t get any info on him either, which is weird. Usually he can find out everything but their dick size, and occasionally he can even get that!”
“Brinn, honey, call Blaine, and let me talk,” I ordered as I put my hand up to take her phone.
It only took a few rings for Blaine to answer, and then I gave him what little information I had.
Once he assured me he would call his brother, I ended the call and asked the girls, “Have any of you seen that creep from down the street lately?”
“I haven’t seen him, but I heard his music playing a few days ago when I went out on the back porch,” Samara said anxiously.
“How do you know it was his music?” Donner asked.
“When his dad’s home, the only music I hear is classic rock, but when the garage door is closed, you can hear metal,” Samara explained.
For a second, I was impressed that she’d paid that much attention, but then I remembered how spooked she was after I caught him at the window and got pissed off all over again.