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“I’m in heaven,” Dallas said, his voice awed.
“Don’t you dare let him bully you into fixing one of his disasters,” Slate said, his tone full of fire. “And Luke, you are not going to give any pointers on boxing techniques.”
“All right,” Luke said easily as a woman came out onto the front porch.
“That’s my older sister,” Slate said. “She’s like Mary Poppins.” Practically perfect in every way.
“Cindi,” Dallas said. “Married with two children, right?”
“There’s her husband,” Slate said miserably. “Winthrop, if you can believe that.”
“He looks like a Winthrop,” Dallas said with a slightly sarcastic tone that somehow made Slate laugh. So much negativity went with the laughter, and somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Luke say, “At least he’s not punching stuff.”
That was more Luke’s specialty, but Slate didn’t say so. He had raised his fists a couple of times in prison, especially at the beginning. Neither Dallas nor Luke had been there then—only Ted and Nate—and Slate had settled into his life at River Bay by the time the other two had joined them.
Dallas made the left turn, barely squeezing the truck into the last available space in the driveway. They sat in the truck until he said, “We can’t sit here forever.”
“No,” Slate said, sighing. “We can’t.” No one had come down off the porch to greet him, and he led the way from the truck, past the other vehicles, and up the sidewalk that looked like someone had swept it recently. The lawn was mowed, which also seemed to have been done very recently, with a few things out in the grass that hadn’t been picked up beforehand.
The whole place had a general air of neglect clinging to it, which was so different from Hope Eternal Ranch and the vibrant energy there. Old, broken down lawn chairs leaned against the porch in the half-empty flower bed. Weeds choked the other half of the bed, and Slate ignored it all as he went up the steps.
He’d been ignoring the state of his home for decades; he could keep doing it.
The crowd on the porch had swelled to include his sister, her husband, and their two kids. His brother and his girlfriend. His mother. Uncle Sam, his father’s brother, and his wife, Aunt Gail.
Slate noticed his father had not joined the initial festivities.
“Slate, my son,” Momma said, and she stepped past everyone and wrapped him in the hug he’d missed for so, so long. Even before he’d been indicted and gone to prison, he hadn’t come to visit his parents very often. They’d lived in the same city, but Slate had been consumed with the drugs, the partying, and then trying to get sober enough to go to work in the morning. There wasn’t room to visit a house and a family he’d purposely separated himself from.
“Momma,” he whispered when she started to cry. “Don’t cry, okay?” He cleared his throat and squeezed her tight before stepping back. “These are my friends, Luke Holt and Dallas Dreyer. Guys, my momma.”
Dallas stepped right into her and hugged her too, saying something Slate couldn’t hear. Luke opted to shake her hand and tip his cowboy hat at her, saying, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“My uncle Sam and his wife, Gail,” Slate said. He went around and introduced everyone verbally, and then the handshakes and hugs began.
Cindi said, “Guys, this is Uncle Slate.” She smiled at him with all the warmth and charm of the PTA President, which she probably was. His mom had told him a lot about his siblings, and he knew the name of Ryan’s girlfriend and his niece and nephew.
“Hey, Uncle Slate,” Cora said, wrapping her arms around Slate’s upper thighs and waist. She peered up at him with dark brown Sanders eyes. “Do you like rabbits?”
“Rabbits?” Slate asked, a smile starting to move through him. “Sure, I like rabbits.”
“We have so many rabbits at our house. You have to come see them.”
“Another time, Cora,” Cindi said gently. “Remember how Uncle Slate is here to visit Grams and Gramps? We’re having dinner, and then we’re going to do that marshmallow roast.” She smiled at her daughter and then Slate. “Momma’s bought everything you like.” She turned toward the house first. “C’mon in. We don’t need to bake out here on the porch.”
Everyone started the migration into the house, which didn’t have central air conditioning. The swamp cooler had been working hard though, and the air was definitely cooler than outside. To his left, he heard Cora asking Luke about rabbits, and he looked at his nephew, who was a few years older than Cora.
“I heard you can do some skateboarding tricks,” he said. “Grams says you’re on a…team or something?”
“Yeah,” John said. “It’s not really a team. It’s just a skate park I go to. They have classes for tricks on Saturday mornings.”
“You goin’ tomorrow?” Slate asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “Daddy says he’s not sure what’s goin’ on ‘round here tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Slate said. “I probably ruined it for you.” He looked at Winthrop. “We’re not even staying here. He can go to the class.”
“We’ll see,” Winthrop said, and Slate found him so pretentious. He worked not to roll his eyes, and that was a great improvement over wanting to aim his truck into oncoming traffic.
