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Porter
I sit awkwardly in the chair, not knowing what to do or say. It takes everything inside me not to hightail it out of the kitchen right now, my grip tight on the fork as I look down at the slice of sweet-potato pie.
My mom’s recipe.
Sometimes I think there’s something a little off inside me. My first reaction is almost always to be pissed, and that fire of anger licked up my spine when Mrs. Sullivan called me in here. Then burned even hotter when she showed me the pie. How dare she do this? How dare she use my momma’s recipe like it’s her own?
But then…then I think of Mom’s smile. She would like this. She always enjoyed chatting with Mrs. Sullivan, always talked about how nice she was—told me that you’d never know it to look at her, but the woman had a wicked sense of humor. She could always make Momma laugh. She’d needed more excuses to laugh. Life had been so damn hard on her, hard on my dad too, but she always made things easier for him, and when he went through a rough spell, he made things more difficult for her. I don’t want to be like him, don’t want to make life more difficult for those around me, but I’m still sorting out how.
The woman standing in the kitchen with me now was my momma’s friend, even if I didn’t understand that when I was younger, and I know she means well right now.
“You should have a piece too. Eat with me,” I say, though the words feel like glue in my mouth.
She beams. “That’d be real nice. And please, call me Martha.” She cuts another chunk, plates it, and joins me.
I take a bite first, the texture nice and creamy, the way it’s supposed to be. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger burst on my tongue, and damn if it’s not almost enough to take me back in time. God, I miss her. I miss him too, but it’s different with Mom. She tried to look for the good in the world, she tried to be happy, while he was so damn angry all the time. Did he have to be that bitter? Any time I think that way, the guilt seeps in.
“We wanted to help…after. I hate what happened to Nellie, and then losing you on top of it…”
My stomach twists as I shift in my seat. “Didn’t know how to stay,” I admit without looking at her, just down at the pie my momma loved making.
I hadn’t wanted her help. I hadn’t wanted Mr. Sullivan’s either.
As much as I hated myself for it at the time—hell, in most ways I still do—I’d wanted Sully.
I still want Sully.
She bites off her words, then nods like she understands, but she doesn’t. Not really. How can she, when her life has been nothing like mine?
“I heard you’re even better with the horses than you used to be,” she says, trying to make conversation, and I respond as best as I can while we finish our slices of pie. I’m not good at things like this. But I try, and I’m not sure why. For my momma, yeah, and also because Mrs. Sullivan means well and I know this comes from the heart. Maybe part of me wants to try for Sully too.
“Bishop sure did miss you when you left.”
My head snaps up. At first, I wonder if she somehow knows, but I don’t think she’s saying it that way.
“You were a good friend to him. His best friend, I think. I’d hoped you would come back for his wedding, but…well, I’m sure you were busy. I know he wanted you here, though.”
No. I’m sure that me being here when Sully got married was the last thing he’d wanted, but I can see why she would think that. Her son having a secret relationship with me wouldn’t have been on her radar. I don’t think she would be hateful about it, but it’s not what they would want.
I change the subject. “This is good. Tastes just like my momma’s.” And for the second time, Mrs. Sullivan beams at me. She’s too damn hard to be angry with, despite my trying. Years ago, I wouldn’t have had to try to stay angry. It would have been easier than it is now. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate your offering me a slice.”
I take my empty plate to the sink and rinse it.
“Anytime, Porter. I feel like I watched you grow up. You’re always welcome in this house and on this ranch. I hope you know that.”
My chest tightens, but I try to ignore it. “Yes, ma’am.” With a nod, I sneak out the kitchen door. I don’t go to the bunkhouse, though; not sure why I don’t feel like being there.
My feet automatically carry me to the paddock instead. Storm keeps his distance from the other horses. He’s close to the edge of the fencing, so I make my way there, place my foot on the bottom rung of wood, and lean over. “You don’t even know the evening I just had. Sully’s mom told me she wished I’d been at his wedding. What the fuck is that? And this was after she made my momma’s pie. Think she’d feel the same if she knew I lost my virginity to her son?”
Storm snorts.
“My thoughts exactly.” I sigh, thankful for the soft lights making it so I can see Storm, and glad he’s not had enough of me yet today. “I don’t know what this family does to me. I wish I could explain it. I still don’t even know why I’m back or what I hope to get out of it. Can’t figure out the hold Sully has on me. Horses are a whole lot easier to understand than people.”
Storm turns his head and looks at me as if to say, I hear ya, man. Mind giving me some space?
I chuckle, then risk a soft, “Come’ere boy.”
I hold my breath when he takes a step closer, then another and another. Storm doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want, and I’m not forcing him right now. If he’s coming to see me, he’s doing it because he wants to.
