Page 18 of Spyder
Her laughter is a little less strained and quite a bit warmer. Her eyes are shimmering, though not with tears, thankfully, and the tension between us seems to be quickly evaporating. And for that, I’m thankful as hell.
“So, do I need to worry about wild shoot-outs in the streets or buildings exploding around here?” she asks.
The grin on my face stretches from ear to ear. “Probably not. But keep your head on a swivel just to be safe.”
She laughs, maybe a little too hard, and the expression on her face tells me that she’s not entirely sure that I’m kidding. TV and movies have done a real good job of painting us as out-of-control gunslingers who run around killing wantonly. It makes me want to beat my head against the wall. The current dustup with Zavala notwithstanding, I think life in the club is pretty boring overall. It’s routine and ninety-nine percent of the time, nothing untoward, let alone violent, ever happens. But you wouldn’t think that if you saw how MCs are portrayed in pop culture.
“I’m joking, Bellamy. Our club is basically just a brotherhood for those of us who’ve served. Most of us are veterans. It gives us a place to be with others who’ve shared the experience.”
“So, your motorcycle club is like what, a support group?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. In a way. I guess you could say that.”
The apprehension in her face eases, though it doesn’t disappear entirely. She’s still a little uneasy, but at least she doesn’t look like she wants to rabbit out of here anymore. She reaches over and taps the patch on my chest.
“Spyder?” she asks. “As in the car James Dean was driving when he was killed?”
I raise my eyebrows at her and grin, impressed she knows the reference. But then, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Bellamy might be the smartest person I’ve ever known. She really does seem to know a bit about everything.
“It’s a bit morbid, don’t you think?” she asks.
I shrug. “I don’t get to pick my name. And they think I nurture this whole James Dean vibe, so they picked the name thinking they were being ironic, I guess.”
She purses her lips and nods. “I can see that. I mean, I’ve always thought you had that whole James Dean aesthetic going. I probably would have called you Jett, Dean’s character in Giant.”
“Yeah, I know who Jett was. I’ve seen Giant more times than I can count.”
She looks at me, abashed. “Sorry, I didn’t think anybody watched those old movies anymore.”
“Oh, I love ’em. They don’t make movies like that anymore.”
“No, they don’t,” she agrees.
Bellamy looks at me with a strange expression on her face. It’s as if she’s seeing some new side of me that she hadn’t considered before or something. But then, given that this is our first actual conversation since high school, I imagine there’s a lot she hasn’t considered. More than a decade away can change a person enough that it’s hard to recognize them anymore.
Personally, I like to think that’s the case with me. I like to think I’ve changed a lot since those days that seem so long ago. Just because I didn’t see actual combat doesn’t mean I didn’t experience some things overseas. I went through my own trials. Granted, it didn’t involve having to be on guard twenty-four seven, so I didn’t get shot. I’d never equate my issues with what some of the guys went through. But my time overseas wasn’t entirely spent sitting around doing nothing, either.
“Domino says you’re teaching?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah, my friend Ruby is the principal over at FDR. When I told her I was moving back, she fixed me up with a job,” she says.
“That was good of her.”
“It really was.”
Silence settles down over us again as does that heavy, almost oppressive weight of awkwardness. It’s as if we’ve run out of things to talk about and have no idea what to say next but don’t want to leave. Our eyes meet, and it’s as if the same thought is crossing through our minds at the same time because we both let out a laugh that’s a bit forced.
“Well, I should probably get going. I need to get these to my mom,” she finally says, holding up her bag.
“Yeah, I don’t want to keep you,” I reply, even though I want nothing more than to do that right now.
“Well, it was really nice seeing you, Derek.”
“You, too. It was really nice seeing you.”
She looks at me expectantly for a moment, a thick sense of anticipation in the air around us. But then, the moment passes, and she nods as she starts to walk off, and I realize I’m missing my chance. She wanted me to say something more, to prolong that moment, and ensure this isn’t the last time we speak. I’m sure of it. I saw it in that gleam in her eye.
“Hey, Bellamy,” I call after her.
