Page 440 of Devil’s Disciples

Goose wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm. “For what?”

She steadied her quivering lips. “Dinner.”

The three of them shed a tear together. Eighteen years of missed birthdays, lonely holidays, and the grueling process of maintaining sobriety trickled down their cheeks.

I joined them in their tears. Not out of sorrow, but out of joy. For what the future held. When the tears finally faded, Goose gestured in my direction.

“Ma, this is Ally,” Goose said. “We’re uhhm…”

He didn’t finish his thought.

I offered my hand, nonetheless. She hugged me instead, holding me tight against her. Being held in a woman’s arms was a feeling I’d never known. It felt all too natural.

While the three people surrounding me nursed their drying tears, another rolled down my cheek.

She released me, and then hugged me again, taking my breath from me when she did.

If Goose had been gone eighteen years, and his parents had been sober eighteen years, they’d sobered up just as soon as he left. I felt sad and happy at the same time. The look on Goose’s face told me he was elated to see them. The tears in their eyes let me know they felt the same way.

Shaking with excitement, his mother gestured toward the door. “Come in.” She reached for Goose’s hand with her left, and my hand with her right. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Hand-in-hand, we followed her into the home. We stayed for a dinner of pot roast, carrots, and potatoes. Afterward, we all had a slice of apple pie.

We sat around the table discussing Southern California’s weather and drinking coffee. There hadn’t been any apologies offered, nor were there any questions asked. Everyone simply picked up the pieces of what they had in front of them and put them together.

His mother, a petite blonde woman with freckled skin, sipped her coffee. “So, how did you meet?”

“We met at Porter’s funeral,” Goose said.

“We were sorry to hear about that,” she said. “It was an awful thing. We’d have sent flowers, but—”

“Erin tell you about it?” Goose asked.

“We talk to her every chance we get,” She said with a nod. “It’s the only way we knew how to keep up.”

Goose nodded.

“Did you get the letters we sent?” she asked.

“Cash—Brock gave ‘em to me,” Goose said. “Never opened ‘em. Hard to explain.”

“No need,” his father said.

I felt so sad for what they’d all gone through. I hoped when considering their sobriety—and their love for him—that Goose could truly forgive them for what they’d done.

“Ever think about coming to California?” he asked. “To visit?”

His mother smiled. “You know, I’ve never been out of this state.”

“Would you consider it?” he asked.

“I’d love to come down there,” she said with a smile. “I’m so tired of the winters here.”

“What about you, Pop? Would you come down?”

“I’d enjoy that,” His father said. “Always wanted to see the ocean.”

Goose smiled a prideful smile. “It’s a long story, but Porter left me a home on the beach. The ocean’s in my back yard.”