“That’s not necessary,” Sam said, “I don’t want to make a fuss, or put anyone out.”
But every old lady in the room was now looking at her, alert with interest.
“What makes a wedding a ‘real biker wedding’?” Emmie asked.
“It’s a regular wedding,” Maggie said, “plus cuts and a whole lotta engine revving.”
“Do y’all remember Boone and Rita’s wedding in Little Rock?” Nell asked.
“I was, what, six?” Ava asked.
Maggie nodded. “Yep. God, that was a party. The next day, the prospects had to scrape half the New York chapter up off the pavement with shovels.”
Maggie and Nell shared a laugh, remembering.
Ava said, “Her dress was huge.” She mimed a veil and train. “I mean, I swear Hostess made it.”
“That was two chapters coming together,” Maggie explained, for those of them who hadn’t been there. “Rita’s old man used to be the Arkansas sergeant, and after he died, she got hooked up with Boone, who transferred down from New York. It was the biggest damn wedding I’ve ever seen.”
“Um,” Sam said, swallowing, “no offense, but I don’t like the sound of a ‘big damn wedding.’”
“It won’t be like that,” Maggie said, waving off her concern. “Just us local folks.”
Emmie jerked upright, eyes springing wide, unspooled ribbon in her hands. “We can have it at the farm. There’s plenty of room. No rental fee.” She grinned. “We’d waive it for you guys.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You already have bridesmaids,” Mina said with a sweet smile and a game show arm flourish, indicating herself and the others.
Ava said, “I think it would be a good mood-boost for everybody. I’ll be the first one to dismiss weddings. But I got married in a hectic rush, as we were fleeing town.” She smiled. “It’d be kind of nice to take our time and celebrate you guys.”
“Say ‘yes,’” Maggie urged. “You know you want to.”
What elsecouldshe say? “Okay. Yes.”
January
Forty-Two
“Mr. Teague, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Ms. Beardsley asked. Anyone who had Ms. Beardsley for Bio and knew her hatred for interruptions could have seen her face growing purple now and wisely ducked beneath his desk, silent as a church mouse.
Anyone but Aidan Teague.
From her vantage point against the classroom’s far wall, Sam watched him sigh and roll his eyes at Amy Sharp who sat behind him. “For real?” he asked. “Mr. Teague is my old man.”
Amy giggled and tried to suppress it with her hand, eyes delighted and nervous.
Aidan turned back around in his chair and then slid down into it, lazy and insolent. “S’up?”
The other kids joined in Amy’s giggles. One of the boys said, “Dude!”
Ms. Beardsley pressed her lips into disappearance and raised herself up to her full five foot height, giant bosom heaving. Sam had never met anyone outside of old book heroines who had a “bosom,” but Ms. Beardsley was the real-life exception.
“What did you just say?” she snapped.
“I said,” Aidan answered, sighing again, “S’up?”
“Mr. Teague–”
