big-picture shit. I tried starving the Village. Yeah, it put pressure on them. But, mostly, the blockade is killing people like that little boy,” he says, gesturing toward Future. “I bet Marks hasn’t felt his stomach growl once these last few months. Now, he’s brought in the Killing Joes. If I had stormed the Village back in July, we wouldn’t be wasting time worrying about the inner workings of a man named Gak.”
Lowell gulps down half his beer and shrugs. “It’s easy to think all that now. But if you did what Wyatt was pushing for, innocent people would have died. Maybe not only Volkshalberd, either.”
Edgy now, I imagine Pixie and her family suffering through an attack on the Village. My gaze flickers to Fairuza with a handful of flowers she picked from a nearby bush. She slides one above Sidone’s right ear and then Desi’s. The girls smile at each other and then giggle when Fairuza puts a flower in Future’s hair.
This moment might not have happened if Bronco went into the Village guns blazing months ago. We didn’t even know about Marks yet. He might have been anywhere during the night we attacked. Even out of town. But my people would have suffered.
“You did the right thing,” I state. “You gave the Village a chance to rise up against Marks. And a chance for him to back down. Without knowing about Marks and the Killing Joes, you’d be rolling in blind. Easier to catch a bullet when you don’t know one might be headed your way. I’m glad you waited.”
Bronco’s dark eyes study my face. After a long minute, he nods. I don’t know if he respects my opinion or just appreciates me saying he made a good choice. Either way, I savor his approval.
PIXIE
Located at the center of the Woodlands community is a large building called a clubhouse. Before we arrive, Topanga explains how the indoor pool and play area are good for when the cold weather makes the little ones act batty. Thinking of that pool, I imagine Dove upstairs with Summer. Earlier, she told me how Bronco’s oldest daughter said she didn’t have to act like anyone else.
“I can just be me,” Dove whispered, looking flustered. “I’m glad because I don’t understand anything she talks about. Or how she had her friends on the computer. I just heard voices and thought she was talking with a television.”
This new world overwhelms my sister. Mama also seems overly agitated about the smallest things. We know enough not to be complete simpletons, but we’re less certain about how things work.
Mama decides she doesn’t want to come to the party. I don’t blame her. Playing in Bronco’s backyard looks far more fun than talking with a lot of strangers. Wearing makeup and this expensive dress makes me feel as if I’m no longer Pixie Yabo.
Anders doesn’t like the way I look. He frowns a lot, seeming prickly. This morning, before we came to Bronco’s house, Anders told me to never stop being the woman that loves him. Based on his scowling face, he doesn’t think I’m me right now.
The clubhouse’s ballroom is larger than I expect. The walls are a pale gray, and the wood floors are black. There’s a large light with many shiny parts dangling from the ceiling. Happy birthday is printed on a large paper hanging near the front doors.
Everyone is dressed up for the party. The biker men wear black jeans and shirts, mainly. Some women are in dresses, others are in fancy shirts and sleek pants.
Located in the center of the room is a long table filled with trays of food. My curious gaze lingers on all the strange choices. I’d rather try them than talk to anyone, but I’m not here to eat.
I take Anders's hand with both of mine as we go from one group of people to another. The men don’t smile much. The women watch me as if I’m diseased. Eventually, Topanga appears at our side and tries to lighten the mood. Her efforts don’t particularly help.
“Have you tried the food?” Topanga offers when we finish making a circle in the room, and I’ve met everyone.
Feeling uneasy after seeing how much people don’t want me here, I ask her, “Can I leave now?”
“And miss out on all this food?” she says, ignoring my pout. “Anders’s muscles won’t feed themselves.”
I can’t help smiling at the thought of Anders's body needing food. When I lift my gaze to meet his, I find