Page 28 of Ghost

There went my mouth again, saying what my mind was thinking without giving me time to stop it. It was a common problem.

“Thank you,” he said. “But, I’m far from cute.”

“The grandmother comment made you cute,” I explained. “I can imagine her slapping your shoulder with the back of her hand.”

He laughed as if recalling a distant memory. “That’s exactly what she did, too.”

“Can I ask you three questions?” I asked.

He rocked his chair onto the rear legs. After looking me up and down, he grinned. “Sure.”

I hadn’t given it much thought, but I really didn’t need to. My ability to think on my feet had been honed to perfection from years of interviewing people for my weekly YouTube show. While I considered my questions, I devoured the remaining portion of scrumptious pie I held, and then reached for piece number four.

I peered beyond the piece of pie and looked him over. His arms were crossed over his chest. Veins stood out in his massive forearms, both of which were decorated with various tattoos. His muscular shoulders rose into his thick neck. A day of stubble peppered his angular jaw. He looked rugged, unapproachable, and handsome all at the same time. Beneath that hard exterior, he was kind. With each moment we spent together, it became clearer.

Porter was a walking contradiction.

I brought the pie close enough that I could smell it, and hesitated. “Okay. One, do you believe in God? If not, please explain. Two, what living person do you admire the most? Then, the last one. Have you ever been in love?”

His gaze went skyward, and then drifted around the small patio, not stopping on any one thing for very long. Eventually, he lowered the chair onto all four legs and looked right at me.

“I’m not convinced God exists. I won’t swear he doesn’t, but I’m not convinced he does, either. For now, I’m sticking with this: God is a good thing for weak-minded people to attach themselves to. It allows them to find something to believe in when they are incapable of believing in themselves. Religion is one huge farce.”

I wanted to go on a rant about his weak-minded people comment but knew not to. If a person of belief went on a tirade toward a skeptic or nonbeliever, it never ended well. I swallowed my desire and lowered my piece of half-eaten pie.

“I’m not religious,” I said. “I’m spiritual.”

A confused look washed over him. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

“I don’t go to church. I believe everything a church going Christian believes, but I don’t think I need to go to church to profess my beliefs. That’s the only real difference. Spirituality is religion void of church service.”

He nodded. “Always wondered what that meant.”

“Is there a reason you don’t believe in God?” I asked.

“Of all the shit we could be talking about, you had to pick this,” he muttered under his breath.

He looked away. It seemed he was considering giving a response. I reached for my pie, hoping my lack of prying would encourage him to explain. After eyeing the entire patio, he met my gaze.

“I didn’t know my father,” he said. “My mother and I lived on my grandparent’s ranch, in Montana. My grandfather acted as my father when I was young. He died of cancer when I was four. So, my grandmother stepped in as my father. She died of cancer when I was thirteen. My mother and I continued living on their ranch, with me taking care of all the livestock while she tried to keep the place picked up and presentable. She died of cancer when I was seventeen. So, there I stood. A man in a boy’s body, in charge of one hundred and sixty acres that did nothing but remind him that everything he once loved was lost. All to cancer.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, almost choking on the words.

“Explain to me what kind of God would do that to a little boy? Take everyone he’s ever loved, and leave him alone?” He rocked the chair onto the rear legs and folded his arms over his chest. “A heartless one?”

He was remarkably calm. I, on the other hand, was an emotional wreck. Hearing of his losses made me want to leap over the table and take him in my arms. Instead, I summoned my inner strength and suppressed my emotion.

“I can’t make you believe in God,” I said. “So, I’m not going to try. I’ll just hope that someday something will happen that might give you reason to believe.”

He cocked an eyebrow of disbelief. “What might that be? What would be so significant that I’d forget about all the death?”

“I don’t know. I do know how hard it will be for you to get through what you’re going through alone. Are your friends in the motorcycle club a good support system?”

“Brothers,” he said. “They’re brothers, not friends.”

“Your brothers. Do they provide support?”

He looked away. “They don’t know.”