Page 108 of Virago

She was the total sweetie she’d advertised herself to be. Much more energetic than that first cuddly nap might have suggested, but completely devoted to Zaxx, and to Gia, and committed to their happiness—and their praise.

She loved Cheese and Crackers and wished they liked her better, but it had taken only one swipe with Cracker’s practiced paw for her to learn to come to them calmly and to take no for an answer. The boys were still pretending they didn’t like her, but they’d been caught multiple times in a three-way cuddle puddle, allowing Dottie to snuggle in with their nap as if they hadn’t noticed her.

She was also a little smartie and loved to train. She’d been fully housebroken within two weeks. Within a month, she’d known five commands. Now she knew all the regular behavior commands and about ten tricks, and she was only six months old.

Bo was going to take care of the pup while they were gone—and Otto, too. Otto adored his new little niece. Bo wanted clear and detailed instructions on the kind of care Zaxx wanted for his pup and how much to continue her training. He’d written a four-page list of suggestions and questions, and he and Zaxx had already gone over it twice. Gia’s brother believed that the only true preparation was over-preparation.

Grinning, she kissed Zaxx’s cheek and stepped back. “Go. You’re no good to me anymore, and I’m sure Bo has thought of at least three more questions for you.”

Zaxx groaned affectionately and carried her last box out of her office and downstairs to the car.

Alone now, the last of the packing done, Gia stood in her old bedroom and looked around. Though it no longer was, or looked like, her bedroom, it was still her space, where she felt most comfortable. Like the air itself was shaped to her.

She’d set this room up as her office six months ago, at the same time Zaxx had moved into the tiny house with her. In those six months, she’d discovered that her boundaries of personal space were not as rigid as she’d believed. She needed her own space, but she didn’t need all her spaces to be her own. Like Virginia Woolf, all she needed was a room of her own.

In fact, her initial resistance to the tiny house, she now understood, had its foundation in that misunderstanding of herself, and her family’s similar misunderstanding of her. She hadn’t been trying to run away from Signal Bend, she didn’t need a whole house around her to separate from other people. She’d needed Signal Bend to finally become her home. She’d needed to be able to live a full life here—not as a sacred artifact or an adored child, not as Isaac Lunden’s Little Girl or Lilli Lunden’s Mini-Me. Not as Joan Wick. Not as any kind of mascot.

She’d needed to simply be Gia.

A knock at the door pulled her from her musing; she turned to see her father leaning against the jamb, in almost the same position Zaxx had taken a few minutes earlier.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, squirt. I think we got you packed up. But if you’re havin’ second thoughts ...”

Her father was not keen on this trip. All the clubs she planned to visit were friendly (two were Horde charters) but most were actively outlaw. Even with Zaxx along for protection—like she couldn’t handle herself—and even with her promise to stay within US borders, Dad was worried. He’d pushed hard for her to do Zoom interviews from right here in the safety and comfort of his protection.

That was hilarious, because half the people she wanted to interview were as resistant to digital technology as half the people she called family. Some of these crusty old bikers probably wished the Pony Express was still delivering the mail.

Also, she wasn’t doing anything dangerous. She’d set aside (at least for now) any plans to try to visit and interview outlaw groups from outside the country, and she would be shocked stupid if anybody in the friendly clubs she was visiting would allow her within ten miles of their dangerous work. It wasn’t like she was going to get to do a ride-along on a gun run.

She and her parents had had this exact argument repeatedly in the past few months. Her father, who had been a hardened outlaw for a long time, now looked on that life, a life in which he had chosen to become a father, like it was nothing but guns and blood and death—the same outlook outsiders had about Signal Bend. Gia had been fighting that since she’d first left town.

“I’m not having second thoughts,” she told him now. “There’s no reason for second thoughts. And you need to calm down, Daddio. I’m interviewing people you call friends, and I have no doubt you’ve called them all and told them not to let me out of their sight. I’ve got Zaxx with me the whole way, and we’re going to visit friends. I’m safe.”

He smiled his lopsided smile. “I might’ve made a call or two.” His smile faded away as he came into the room and pulled her close. “You be careful, G. You always think you’ll be safe, and we both know that’s not always true. I just want you to keep your eyes open. Okay? I don’t come back from losin’ you. You understand?”

Gia’s throat grew tight and stiff. Rather than promise him again that she would be careful, she rose onto her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. His thick, heavy arms closed her up and held her tight. There was nothing in the world like being held by her daddy.

“You will never lose me,” she whispered.

“Fuckin’ better not.”

~oOo~

The afternoon was bright and clear, and the April breeze had a warm heart, a preview of the coming summer. New green leaves rustled and fruit buds bloomed. Tulips and daffodils waved their bright flowers. Birds and squirrels chattered. It was a perfect spring day.

Great day for a road trip.

Cammy was packed up tight, and everybody stood beside her. It was time to go.

Zaxx had Dottie in his arms for one last cuddle. Gia went to them and snuggled close, getting a quick, puppy-scented face bath before she planted a kiss on a wet nose and said goodbye to the pup. Then she turned to her mother.

Mom stood the way she always did when she felt emotional but didn’t want to show it: arms crossed, hip popped, enigmatic almost-smile on her face.

“Bye, Mamma.”

Mom’s stance unwound, and she grabbed Gia’s upper arms and pulled her close. “You’ve got your Beretta?”

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