Page 238 of Devil’s Disciples

“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.”

My heart sank. He was going through cancer treatments alone. I couldn’t imagine how helpless he was feeling. In my mind, there was a reason for everything. At that instant, I believed at least one of the reasons Porter was in my life was to receive my unconditional support.

“I’m here for you throughout this entire ordeal,” I said. “I mean it. We’ll get through this together.”

“I’m pretty good at grieving alone,” he said. “I’m experienced at it.”

If we didn’t change the subject, I was going to start crying. “What about the other two questions?” I asked.

He cocked his head to the side. “What were they?”

“What living person do you admire the most, and have you ever been in love?”

He lowered his gaze to beneath the table and stared for a moment. “Right now,” he said, looking up as he spoke. “I think I admire you the most. And, no. I’ve never been in love.”

I was flattered, confused, and, once again, filled with more emotion than I could handle. I mentally stammered to make sense of what he’d said.

“Me?” I coughed. “I don’t deserve that kind of admiration.”

“Beyond sitting in a meeting, hunting a rattlesnake, and eating together today, you don’t know me. But, you offered to help me through this. You earned my admiration with that offer.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. “I’ll try not to let you.”

His lack of faith in God – and in mankind – was painfully obvious. I wanted to ask a question but feared the answer would do nothing but strengthen my belief that he had no faith in anything the world had to offer him. Eventually, my curiosity got the best of me.