The days began to take on a routine, something Abby had missed since her dad died. A trickle, then a steadier stream of guests stopped at Bikers’ Rest. Jack slept on a cot in a stall at the back of the barn to accommodate paying customers. Lisa had taken pains to make it homey, hanging colorful Native American blankets along the railing and putting in a few odd pieces of furniture. She kept a vase filled with fresh flowers on the scarred nightstand, next to a carafe of mineral water.
During the day Jack balanced on the barn roof, removing the rotted wood and shingles. Progress seemed to be slow, and Abby wondered if he really did know how to replace a roof. Lisa swore she checked him out with his father’s construction business and got references, but Abby doubted it.
After finishing the breakfast cleanup, Abby called upstairs, “The dishwasher’s going, the food’s put away.” She held her breath, hoping no more chores came her way.
The door banged open, and Morton marched inside. “Hey, Abs. Great day, huh? Can you come, or is it Housework 101 again?”
Abby put one finger to her lips. “Shh. She’ll hear you.” She walked to the bottom of the steps and spoke quickly. “I’m going on a ride with Morton.” She yanked her pack out of the small cubbyhole beneath the steps and slung it over her shoulder. Grabbing Morton’s arm, she pulled him out the door and down the front steps. “Time to escape. Wait here, and I’ll get my bike from the barn.”
Rounding the porch, Abby noticed an unexpected silence—no hammering, no Jack. A pile of lumber rested in the weeds next to a bin of nails and a palate stacked with shingles. Where did he go in the middle of the day?
Abby opened the barn door and entered the musty space, her footsteps muted on the packed-dirt floor. A few pieces of residual hay drifted through the sun-streaked air. The pungent odor of damp earth mixed with dry hay ticked her nose. She reached for her bike and stuck out her right foot to release the kickstand. A rustling noise came from the left rear stall at the back of the barn—where Jack slept—and broke the silence. She froze. A rabid raccoon or a gnawing rat? Not good.
She snuck toward the sound, curious and repelled at the same time. Instead of finding an animal, Jack sat cross-legged on the floor. He hunched over something, muttering in French, which she didn’t understand. His underlying rage came through.
Reaching up, he ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. He crumpled a piece of paper and threw it to the floor, then smacked a closed fist into the exposed side of the stall with one swift movement. A jagged hole appeared like magic. He held the hand close to his chest, nursing it while he rocked back and forth.
Abby’s heart tripped like Jack’s hammer against the shingles. She eased back and collided with her bike. It crashed to the floor.
Jack darted out of the stall. “Abby, what the hell are you doing?”
Morton came running in. “Abby? Oh, hey, Jack.”
Abby studied Jack from under her lashes; he seemed ordinary, whatever that might be. She wondered if he could hear her heart racing. “I, um, tripped but didn’t want to bother you. So, let’s go, Morton.”
“Sure, I’ll take your bike out. Hey, Jack, want some M&M’s?”
Jack knocked the candies from Morton’s hand. They scattered, multi-colored marbles amidst the dirty straw. “Get lost.”
Morton sputtered but stomped outside, dragging Abby’s bike.
“You rude bastard.” Abby glared at Jack and turned to follow Morton.
“Whoa, hold on.” Jack walked between Abby and the door, blocking the light, and put one hand on her forearm. As he tightened his grip the tips of his fingers blanched. “What exactly did you see back there? Tell me. Now.”
Abby wrenched away from the rough calluses on his palm. “Nothing. Get away from me.” She edged around him.
Jack laughed. “Want to know a secret?”
Abby paused. “I’m not sure.” A sudden urge to pee made her bladder ache. She wished Morton hadn’t left.
Jack’s eyes glittered. “I know it isn’t very manly, but I’m keeping a journal. You know, about the bike trip. Maybe I can use the notes for a class or to write a book. You won’t tell on me, will you? I want to keep my macho reputation, especially with pretty girls.” He winked, and the intense light in his eyes faded from crazed to normal.
Abby took a deep breath and let it out all at once. His excuse rang hollow. “I won’t tell about your journal if you tell me something.”
Jack raised one eyebrow. “What do you want to know?”
“Am I in your journal?”
“A writer never tells.”
“That’s a magician.”
“You got me,” Jack said. “Of course you’re in it, Cherie. How could I write about this trip and not include you? Go and ride your bike. I need to get to work before your mom fires me.” He winked again and went back to his room, as if nothing unusual had happened.
Abby headed for the door, paused, then crept back and peeked around the corner into the stall. She watched as Jack put his binder into a black metal box, locked it, and hid it under a floorboard. Holding her breath she tiptoed outside to join Morton.
Abby’s thoughts went around and around like a hamster running on a wheel. A wave of dizziness swept over her, as she tried to balance what she had seen with what she wanted to believe.