“I heard about Mrs. Austin passing too, Stan,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He nodded. “Cancer,” he said. “No, I didn’t figure you would know, not after everything that had happened. Figured you would want to be as far away from this place as possible.”
“I did, for a while.”
“I heard about you joining the Navy. Cade kept track of you for a while there.”
“He never got in touch.”
Stan shook his head. “No, I don’t think he would. He couldn’t forgive himself for what happened.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” I said, surprised.
Why would he think it was?
“No,” he said. “But that wouldn’t stop Cade from accepting responsibility for it.”
“You know I never blamed him," I said. "Or you. Right?"
Stan was silent, sipping on his coffee. “It’s good of you to say that, June. Your sister, she was a good girl. You know we loved you both.”
I tried to swallow the lump forming in my throat. “She was. But she was also headstrong, reckless."
“If I'd have been looking out more, if I’d have made sure I knew what was going on -”
I held up my hand. “My sister was eighteen and wild. You had no way of knowing what would happen."
Stan shook his head. “It was an awful thing, June."
“Yes, it was.” I was beginning to feel uncomfortably warm. I didn't want to continue talking about this.
“After your sister ki - died,” he said. He started to say killed herself. No one ever used the actual word. They always said my sister died, like it was from natural causes. Or they lumped her death in with my parents, with their accident. The accident that my sister caused.
“We wanted to take you in, you know that,” he said.
“It was better for me, going to live with Margaret.” It was easier to forget, to be taken in by my aunt, to leave the past behind. I didn't want to be surrounded by memories.
“I just wanted you to know.” He cleared his throat. “So you’re back now, taking Mrs. Crawford’s old place?”
“Yep,” I said. “Going to open a bed and breakfast.”
“Now what’s a Navy doctor doing, coming back to West Bend, opening a bed and breakfast?”
What was I doing? That was a good question. “I needed some time off, I guess, after the deployments and things.”
Stan was quiet, studying his mug like it was filled with something interesting. “I thought the same thing would happen with Cade. Thought he would eventually find his way back home.”
I had to stifle the urge to pepper him with questions, to ask about the biker gang. I opened my mouth, willing the words to sound casual. "Connie said he went to California."
Stan peered off into the distance, somewhere behind me. He looked older, sadder, not the way I'd remembered him when I was a kid. Back then, he always looked like he stepped off the set of an old western. Tall, well-built from manual labor, with a chiseled face weathered by the elements. Now, the sadness gave him this air of vulnerability, made him look less like a cowboy and more like just another old man.
“He did. Went off to California a few years ago. Hasn’t kept in touch.”
I wanted to ask about the rest of the story, but I forced myself to say something casual. “That’s hard.”
Stan was silent for a while, then cleared his throat. “Now, you best not be a stranger, June. I used to help Mrs. Crawford out with the repairs on that old place after Mr. Crawford died. We kept it up pretty good, but there’s some stuff that needs fixing, I know it. I don’t want to hear about you hiring anyone to do it. Not when I’m here. It keeps me busy. I’m not pushing too many cattle anymore. Got too much time on my hands as it is.”
“That's kind of you, Stan." I took that as my cue to leave. Then, just as I stood, I heard the sound of motorcycles coming down the road. Looking up, I saw dust being kicked up on the horizon. “What is that?”
Stan rose, shielding his face and squinting. “Probably bikers passing through,” he said.
“I wouldn’t think you’d get much of that, back here on this road. It’s not really a main highway or anything.”
He grunted. “No, we don’t get much of that.” He didn’t take his eyes off the road, just stood there motionless as they drove into view, two bikes and a minivan. He set his coffee down. “Huh.”
The caravan pulled into Mr. Austin’s driveway.
“Were you expecting company?” I asked.
“Not at all,” he said. A dark look crossed his face, and I suddenly felt like I’d stepped into some business that was not my concern.
I should leave, I thought.
“I should probably be going-” I started to say, but stopped, watching the two bikers dismount. Both wore helmets and leather jackets, and as one bent to pull off his helmet, I could see the words on the back - Inferno Motorcycle Club. My heart raced.
Connie had said he had joined a biker gang out in California.