Page 308 of Devil’s Disciples

“What’s that?”

“My hunger,” Porter said. “Haven’t eaten since last night.”

George stood. “One double burger and one Abby coming right up.”

Porter stood and opened his arms. “Give me a hug.”

George looked at me, and then at Porter.

“I want in on this,” I said.

While the three of us hugged to celebrate George’s coming out, I decided that I wanted to marry Porter and have his children.

He truly was the best man God could offer me.

All I had to do was wait. Wait, and hope that he felt the same way about me.

112

Ghost

I’d carried the ring in my left front pocket for six days, waiting for the perfect time to propose to Abby. I didn’t want the event to be driven by my enthusiasm alone. It needed to be the perfect time and place, naturally. Planning it seemed far too cliché and wasn’t what I’d come to envision.

Abby’s admitted hatred of surprises didn’t help matters. Over the last few days, she’d suspected something was going on, and had scratched her left arm to the point it had a rash covering it from her wrist to her elbow.

She glanced at me and grinned. “I can’t believe it’s over. No more to-do list. It’s done. Kaput.”

I looked at the half-finished tattoo. The letters B, E, L, and I were complete, and the artist was filling in the outline for the E.

“The tattoo’s half done,” I said. “So, the list is almost complete.”

She winced in pain. “It’ll be complete here in a few minutes.”

“Are you going to make another?”

“Nope. We’re just going to live life. No lists.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She decided to get the word believe tattooed on her wrist. It seemed appropriate, considering she had it inscribed on my bracelet. I’d come to look at the bracelet as more than a gift, viewing it as a symbol of power, strength, and support.

I found myself studying it, using it as a reminder that my life, albeit different, was wandering down the only path that it was destined to travel upon. I truly believed Abby was the final item on my unwritten to-do list.

In thirty minutes, the artist was done with the tattoo. “Let your arm hang at your side and look in the mirror,” he said. “See what you think.”

Abby rose from the chair, walked to the full-length mirror, and turned her wrist until the reflection revealed the delicate script.

“I love it,” she said.

He smiled. “Cool.”

She returned to the chair, sat down, and reached for her purse. “How much was it, again?”

“Tag me in an Instagram post with a picture of it, and it’s free,” he said.

She pulled out her wallet and fished through the bills. After removing two one-hundred-dollar bills, she handed them to him. “Here, take this. I’ll tag you on a post. What’s your username?”

“At Turner Made.”