Train's Clash (Biker Bitches 4)

She nonchalantly walked toward the bottom of the steps. “I didn’t mean to take so long. You ready for bed? Or do you want to draw for a while?” Her mother had asked her to pose for the piece that had been commissioned.

“If you’re not too tired, I’d like to draw for a while.”

“Doesn’t take any energy to sit,” she drawled, starting up the first step, but her mother didn’t move to go inside.

“You like him, don’t you?”

Killyama looked away from her mother’s knowing eyes. “Yes.”

“Be careful, Rae.”

“I will.”

“Are we still moving to Knoxville?”

“Not yet. Maybe in a few months.”

“Good. I’m not anxious to move.”

“I know you aren’t.”

Killyama saw the relief in her eyes. The sorrow she carried around her like a shroud was still there. What was missing was the conflict that had been brewing since she had asked her mother to move. She hadn’t given her acquiesce, but Killyama had known her answer was going to be no.

“Mama, even if we don’t move to Knoxville, we need to find you a place closer to town. I don’t feel safe with you out here by yourself.” Her shoulders sagged with worry for her mother. “I’m constantly worried. If I can’t get back into town when I’m working, then I definitely won’t be able to reach you in time if anything goes wrong.”

“Nothing will go wrong.”

“No one knows when something bad is going to happen. You’re miles away from the fire department or an ambulance. Your trailer has been broken into twice while you were at your studio, because everyone in town believes you’re out here in the boonies to grow pot or make meth. This trailer is falling apart. Please, at least let me buy you a better trailer, or have a house built here on your property.”

Her mother smoothed her slacks down over her thighs. “I love this trailer.”

“What you loved was my father who bought it for you, and he’s gone. He’s not coming back, Mama.”

“I know he’s dead, Rae.” Tears slipped from the corner of her eyes.

“I don’t think you do. I think you still imagine him sitting in that recliner. That’s why you never let anyone else sit there. That’s why, when Mrs. Ford left her trailer to you, and you could have moved there and used this place as a studio, you didn’t. Even that place is bigger and in much better shape.”

“I needed more room for my workspace. It would have been wasted if I had moved in there.”

“I could move back in with you—”

“We both know that won’t work. I like being alone when I’m working, and you have your own life without worrying about me.”

“If you want me happy, then at least let Jonas set up some alarms. You’re a sitting duck out here by yourself.”

“Will you quit asking me to move if I do?”

Killyama sighed. She had learned a long time ago to pick her battles with her mother. “Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll call him in the morning.” She stood up, patting her hair down. She never could stand having a hair out of place. She always wore makeup as though she were expecting company, and always had enough food in the house that she could put a meal on the table in thirty minutes.

As far back as she could remember, her mama made up her face in the bedroom mirror every morning as Killyama sat on her bed, watching her. She would fix her hair the way her father had told her he liked it. She had done it all for him, never knowing what day or time he would show.

On the days he hadn’t shown, her mother would hide her disappointment until night came, and then she would make yet another excuse for why he hadn’t come to visit them. The days he had shown, the house had been filled with joy and laughter as they tried to make him happy so he wouldn’t leave again. And when he did, that he would want to come back.

Her father had played her mama like a fucking yo-yo, and as she had grown, he had played her, too; making promises he had no intentions of keeping; making them dance to his tune by being the perfect daughter, the smartest student, accomplished at anything that would help her fit into his life away from them. She had repeatedly told herself that, if she made him proud, then, even if he didn’t want to live in Jamestown, her and her mother would be able to move to where he had lived when he was away from them.

In hindsight, she had been doomed for disappointment. Her father had wanted to play and have a good time when he had been there. Then, like a child at a playground, when he was finished playing, he had wanted to go home, leaving the toys he had been playing with behind, laying in the dirt.