Page 237 of Devil’s Disciples

“You said a man can live the rest of his life without a woman as long as she’s not in front of him. Per your theory, when she walks away he’s left needing nothing.”

“That’s not what I said. I said a man could live the rest of his life without a woman in it as long as he wasn’t reminded of their existence. A smell, a sound, my wandering mind, the rear seat on my bike being empty. All those things could remind me of your existence. That reminder makes it impossible to live without you.”

I liked the thought of him not being able to live without me but didn’t particularly care for his analogy.

“You’ve got five and a half pieces of pie and one question to go,” he said. “You better get busy, or we’ll be stuck in rush hour traffic.”

I could have told him anything for the answer to question number three, and he’d never know the difference. Telling him the truth would leave me feeling incompetent and weak. I was sure of it. I hated admitting that there was something everyone else on earth seemed to acquire without much effort, and for some reason, I wasn’t allowed to have it.

“The task on my to-do list that’s likely to be accomplished last, if at all, is number two.” I poked the remaining piece of pie into my mouth and spoke over my mouth full of food.

“Fawn lub,” I muttered.

He scrunched his nose and gave me a funny look. “What?”

“Fawn lub.”

“If I spoke with my mouth full my grandmother would have smacked my ass,” he said. “Swallow your pie, Abby.”

I washed my pie down with a drink of milk and reached for another piece. “Sorry. Fall in love.”

“Falling in love is on your to-do list?” he asked.

I sloved half the piece into my mouth and nodded. “Yeth.”

“That’s cute,” he said.

I swallowed the wad of pie. “You think it’s cute?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“I think you’re cute,” I responded.

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.