Joan Kilby - Homecoming Wife

“We’ll see.” He shifted his weight, one leg bent beneath him, his arm resting on his upright knee. “I’m surprised you’re going through with this. The day you came down to the bike shop I was just baiting you.”

“I know. You always did when we were together.” She paused, greasy rag pinched between two fingers, to appraise him. “Now that we’re apart I wonder why you bother.”

“You make it so much fun.”

“Well, knock it off.” She nudged him with an elbow, unbalancing him.

Nate righted himself with a smile he quickly wiped from his face. How was it he could be so angry with her on some levels yet still enjoy her company?

“Ricky is thrilled that I’m taking the course,” she went on. “I overheard him bragging to Tim that his aunt would be riding, too. Last night he was really sweet, telling me all the hazards I might run into and how to get around them. Frankly, he gave me nightmares with all his talk about doing ‘endos.’ Are those what I think they are?”

“Flipping end over end, or in other words, falling headfirst off the bike over the handlebars? Yep. So why are you going through with it?”

She shrugged, as if she couldn’t quite understand it herself. “I don’t want to let him down.”

“That’s as good a reason as any. By the end of the course you’ll be doing it because you love it.”

“Huh!” she said. “Don’t bet on that.”

When they’d completed a half hour of basic maintenance, Nate took them over to the training course, a series of small hills, obstacles and teeter-totters which were perfect for teaching the kids to develop balance and technique. Last night’s downpour had left puddles in several locations and low-lying sections of the track had turned to mud.

“Today I just want you to get a feel for off-road conditions,” Nate told the class when they’d lined up, ready to start. “Try to avoid mud. Your mothers will thank you and your bikes will thank you.”

“When are we going to do single track?” Sean demanded loudly. “I wanna get airborne.”

“By the end of the course you’ll be flying over moguls and navigating deer trails,” Nate told them. “Before you tackle anything like that, you need to build your skills and stamina. Today you’ll learn to ride in the ready position, as in ready for anything. Keep your butt off the seat and your arms and legs loose, letting your knees and elbows act as shock absorbers. Sean and Lee, you two can lead off but no hotdogging.”

The older boys shot forward with the girls close behind. Gradually the class strung out in a line with Sean way in front and Angela trailing behind. Nate rode back and forth along the trail, encouraging his students and offering tips on when to change gears and how to brake safely in loose dirt.

He noticed Angela toiling grim-faced up a slope and slowed his pace to accompany her. “Drop down a gear and you’ll find pedaling easier. No, the other lever. Push it the opposite direction—” He winced at the clashing metallic sound of gears being ground. “You’re supposed to stop pedaling before you change gears. Haven’t you ridden a bike before?”

“Not since I was twelve. My old Raleigh had one speed—slow.” She made another attempt but with no forward impetus her bike stopped dead, wobbled and fell over. She jammed a foot out but the chain scraped her calf, leaving a long red welt on smooth shapely legs that likely hadn’t seen a scratch or a bruise in years. She struggled to right the bicycle, swearing under her breath.

“Now, now,” Nate chastised as he backtracked around her. “Remember there are children present.”

“They’re all miles ahead.” She glared at him. “Are you going to circle like a buzzard waiting to pick me off, or are you going to help me!”

Nate tried not to smirk and didn’t quite succeed. “I’m afraid sitting on the bike and pedaling is something you have to do for yourself.”

She growled something under her breath but he could tell she wasn’t as angry as she was making out.

“Pardon?” he said. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Be quiet and let me concentrate. It isn’t easy balancing on uneven ground. Why can’t we ride on pavement to start?”

“Then it wouldn’t be mountain biking, would it? If you’re not up to it, you can still quit…”

“I don’t quit. Instead of harassing me you should be up ahead, looking out for Ricky. That kid’s liable to ride off a cliff just to see if he can do it.”

“I can take a hint. Careful of those gears.”

He surged ahead on the trail, counting helmets. Every child was upright and accounted for. The older boys were on their second lap with Ricky and Tim not far behind. “You’re doing great, boys. When you’ve gone around twice wait by those logs where the ground levels out and we’ll practice wheelies.”

One by one the kids finished the course and came to sit on the logs, their bikes beside them, drinking from water bottles and chattering about the ride so far. Angela still hadn’t joined them.

Nate rode back over the trail wondering how she could have gotten lost. The course was big enough that riders were occasionally out of sight but not so large she couldn’t find her way to the end.

And then he saw her, smack in the middle of a boggy dip off-trail. The bike was stuck up to its axles and Angela was trying to push it out, her shorts and T-shirt thickly splattered with mud.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nate demanded.

She glanced up and pushed back her hair, streaking her cheek with grime in the process. “I mastered the gravel and was looking for more of a challenge.”

“Bull,” he said, laughing. “You were so far behind you were embarrassed at being beaten by a bunch of kids and decided to take a shortcut.”

Planting muddy fists on her hips, she demanded, “Are you going to get me out of here, or what?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Give me one good reason why I should. You disobeyed my orders to stay on the trail.”

“You can’t just leave me here!”

“You, I could happily leave. My bike, I’m going to rescue.” He swung a leg off the Balfa, popped out the kickstand then strode into the mud. “Stand back.” Grasping the bike by the handlebars and saddle, he heaved it free.

He set the bike on the trail and went back to help her. Ignoring his extended hand she stalked to dry land with her chin in the air and her running shoes making a sucking noise with every dragging step.

Angela went to wipe mud off her cheek and noticed her hands were filthy. She rubbed them on her shorts and they came away dirtier. Gritting her teeth she tried using her shoulder to scrub her face but couldn’t reach the spot.

Nate suppressed his laughter and moistened a clean rag from the pouch on the back of his bike with water from his drink bottle. “Brown really isn’t your color,” he said, handing her the damp rag.

“Thanks.” She wiped her face, shuddering a little when she saw the mud that came off.

“You missed a spot.” With his thumb he dabbed at a smudge near the corner of her mouth and she tilted her face so he could wipe it more easily. Their eyes met. The dirt, the trail, even the bikes faded out as the air between them crackled. He had to admit, they still had chemistry. But what good was chemistry if they weren’t getting involved again?

“What’s this Albert character like?” he said, dropping his hand. The question had been bugging him for a long time.

She went over the spot near her mouth he’d just cleaned. “I told you, it’s finished.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“He’s a nice man who was supportive when I needed a friend,” she said.

That didn’t sound like grand passion. Nate hated to admit he felt relieved. “Then why did you leave him?”