Page 5 of Scythe’s Salvation (Imperial Knights MC: Roanoke, VA #2)
CHAPTER
FOUR
Tamara
Scythe leaves after we set up the next few appointments, with me reminding him what my fees are, not that I expect him to listen.
While tips are nice, I never expect them, even though most of my clients are rather generous.
Still, three hundred dollars of pure profit in my hands means I’ll be able to get all the things Chance still needs before they start actually playing other teams. Taking a look at my phone, I squeal and rush into the therapy room so I can change the bed, grab the other dirty sheets, shut everything down then head to what I affectionately refer to as Car Rider Hades.
And yes, it deserves to be capitalized like it’s a freaking book title or something because there’s more drama while waiting for the kids to be dismissed than between the pages of my favorite book!
Missy Sue Albertson is always the first in line.
Every. Single. Day. I don’t know what time she gets there; her sapphire blue minivan is sitting there.
She’s obviously a stay-at-home mom, which I’m slightly jealous of, but no one I know has that kind of time on their hands to literally be in line nearly an hour before the release bell, for heaven’s sake!
Confident that the room is reset for tomorrow’s first client, I turn off the lights, unplug the diffuser, grab the laundry sack, my purse and backpack which holds my laptop and tablet, and head out for the day.
I’m tired, obviously, but there’s a sense of pride that today, my hands helped so many people continue to function in their own daily lives.
It doesn’t take long for me to get to the school and sure enough, there’s Missy Sue’s minivan in place of honor.
Meanwhile, I’m barely in the lane that heads into the school’s parking lot for the pickup line, plus there are at least ten other cars behind me, as well as a line coming from the opposite direction to turn in.
This is the part that’s challenging because the drivers who are waiting to turn left get impatient since we don’t have a crossing guard to stop our traffic and wave them in.
There’ve been a few minor fender benders over the years, that’s for sure.
I hear the bell, hell, the next county likely hears it as loud as it is, and soon the kids are coming out by grade, along with teachers and their paraprofessionals to assist the children into the cars and make sure none of them try to dash across the parking lot.
That’s happened a few times as well, and thankfully, no one was hurt.
Ensuring that Chance’s laminated paper with his name and grade on it is on my dashboard, I mentally think about the rest of our day.
Soon enough, I hear, “Hey, Tamara, he had a good day today,” as the rear door opens and my vivacious little boy hops inside. His teacher helps him get seat belted in since he’s still in a booster seat, then she closes the door and says, “Y’all have a great evening. See you tomorrow, Chance!”
“Bye, Miss Adams,” he yells as I pull away. “I really like her, Mommy. She makes learning new things a lot of fun. I can’t wait to tell Memaw what I learned today about chickens.”
I’m so glad he can’t see me because I’m biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud while simultaneously rolling my eyes. “So, what did you learn?”
“Chickens live in coops!” he exclaims. “But some of them don’t, they live in warehouses. What’s a warehouse, Mommy?”
Internally I sigh, because chickens that are warehoused are the ones that are later slaughtered for our food.
It’s going to bother my tenderhearted boy to learn that his chicken nuggets that he loves so much come from living chickens.
Still, this is one of those tough things a mom’s gotta do, I suppose.
“Did you learn that chickens are where we get our eggs from?” I ask, glancing in the rearview mirror to watch him.
“Yes, Billy says that chickens poop and give us eggs, but Miss Adams told him that wasn’t accurate,” he replies.
“Well, some chickens lay eggs, while other chickens are used for meat, buddy,” I tell him.
I pray he doesn’t decide to become a vegan because Mommy’s thighs weren’t built on salads alone, that’s for damn sure.
There’s a lot of chicken enchiladas, chicken parmesan, and chicken chili that created those masterpieces.
“Do you mean… Mommy ,” he screeches, a horrified look on his little face. “People kill the chickens so they can eat them?”
“Where did you think your chicken nuggets came from?” I question.
“The grocery store!” He’s indignant now, as if I withheld a major conspiracy from him or something. “Next, you’ll be telling me that hamburgers come from an animal too!”
Well, hell, this discussion took a turn I was not expecting. Deciding that Amara needs to get involved, since he spends a lot of time with her and her family which helps me out more than they realize, I hit the button on my steering wheel and say, “Call Amara.”
The phone rings a few times then I hear, “Is His Royal Majesty, Chance Fruge, the best fisherman in the world, in the car?”
“Auntie Amara! Mommy just told me something that’s awful. Did you know that chickens are killed?”
“Tamara, what the hel-heck did you suck me into this time?” she questions. “Yeah, buddy, I knew that, where did you think your chicken nuggets came from?”
“The grocery store!” he shouts, nearly in tears. “And since Mommy won’t tell me, I wanna know, where do hamburgers come from? I hope not another animal!”
By now, I’m laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face because Chance is indignant on behalf of animals he’s never going to meet, and Amara is spluttering on the phone as she tries to come up with something plausible that will mend his broken heart.
“Um, Chance, sweetheart? Most meat does come from an animal,” she finally chokes out.
“Cows provide all different kinds of meat for us to eat, like steaks, roasts, and yes, hamburgers, which are really ground beef. I know your mommy buys the frozen ones that are already done, but you’ve helped Memaw make them from scratch before. ”
His lip is now trembling, his eyes are wide, and I can see the sheen in them from the front seat as he reasons out what she just told him. “They… they grind up cows so I can have hamburgers?” he sobs.
“Calm down, little man,” Amara soothes. “I promise, the cows don’t feel a thing.”
Great, just great. Now he’s going to be upset that they’re killed for his hamburgers! I could strangle my best friend for her ‘helpfulness’ which isn’t helping at all. “Amara,” I grumble between clenched teeth, “not helping.”
I hear her long-drawn out sigh and know she’s rolling her eyes at me, even though we’re on the phone.
“Chance, listen to me, okay? It’s part of life.
Some animals are raised to feed humans, that’s just the way it is.
Some people are bothered by it and choose to only eat things that are grown, like greens, or fruits, that kind of stuff.
The problem with that is, you’re a growing boy and you need the protein that meat provides your body.
Besides, cows give milk too, and I know my best guy loves his chocolate milk. ”
He sniffles then gamely says, “I do like it a lot, Aunt Amara. I just don’t like thinking about chickens and cows being hurt and killed.”
“Pigs too,” she helpfully adds. When she hears him start up again, she says, “One word. Bacon, Chance, bacon!”
“I like bacon too, and scrambled eggs.”
“You like cupcakes as well, remember? Depending on whether you make them from scratch or from a box, you will probably use eggs and milk.”
“Oh.” His voice is small, and I know she’s given him a lot to think about. “Guess what? I have practice today.”
“Really? Are you and Mommy going to eat beforehand or after?”
I look at the temperature gauge on my SUV that shows the outside temp and figure it isn’t a good idea for him to be running around outside on a full stomach at nearly ninety degrees.
“I think we’re just going to have a light snack, then eat after.
You wanna come and watch then go eat with us? ” I ask her.
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll grab the Gatorade. What color do we want this time, Chance?” she questions.
“The light blue one, please,” he says.
“You got it, buddy. Now, I’m going to get off of here and get myself together so I can be ready to watch you practice with your team. See y’all in a little bit,” she replies. “Love you both.”
“Love you too,” we reply in unison.
Once the call is disconnected, I ask, “Are you okay, Chance? I know it’s a lot to take in, but remember when we watched The Lion King, and I explained about the circle of life? That’s what this is with regard to the animals that are killed for our food. It’s part of their circle.”
“I guess. I mean, I don’t like it, but I’m not going to stop eating the foods I like,” he says. “Are we going by the house first?”
Seeing as we have almost two and a half hours before practice, that would be a resounding yes. It’ll give him time to change, do his homework, and have a light snack, while I send out reminder texts to my clients for the rest of the week.
“Yeah, we are. Do you have a lot of homework?” I query.
“Just a coloring sheet for Math, then I have to read to you for twenty minutes.”
“Sounds like an easy night, huh?”
“Yeah, Mommy. She said she would give us our spelling words tomorrow. Then I’ll have that to do.
” Now he sounds glum, because he has to write each word ten times, then use it in a sentence as well.
It’s a lot of writing, but I’ve already noticed his penmanship is improving, so I approve of her methods.
“I’m sorry I upset him so much,” Amara says as we watch the little boys on Chance’s team run around the bases before they start practice. The coach likes to do that to ‘get their wiggles out’ so they’ll focus on what he and his assistant coach are saying.
“It’s a hard reality, Am,” I reply, sipping water from my insulated tumbler.
“I know, but my heart was breaking because I could hear how upset he was getting.”
“Still, he’s decided for now that he likes his food too much to swear off of it,” I retort. “Good thing, too, because I refuse to cook two separate meals.”
“Tam, you refuse to cook unless you absolutely have to,” she teases, causing me to snicker.
“Whatever. Let me tell you about a new client I had today. He’s a tattoo artist and if I was in the market for a man, he’d check off all the boxes,” I tell her.
“And get this, one of my other clients recommended me to him! Plus, he set up appointments for the next month. Oh, and he tips like he’s got money to burn, too. ”
“Sweet. So, tell me his name,” she demands, leaning in close like we’re about to share state secrets.
I snicker but do as she asks. I need my bestie’s take on the hot biker whose body was putty in my hands, that’s for sure.