“Got it, Slice,” Toad responded.
Agent Pintler surely loved his children, and he was doing what he must to preserve that love, and keep it sacred.
And in many respects, I was simply doing the same.
Chapter One Hundred
SAM
Yet another week and a half had passed, and as much as I knew at some point in time I would need to go back to St. Louis, doing so was a different story. To leave Wichita, even for a few days, was unthinkable to me. Leaving my mother’s home, leaving the only girlfriends I felt I ever had, and leaving Otis was more than I was able to agree to do.
Although I believed they would all be waiting for me upon my return, the thought of walking away from the ones I loved wasn’t something I was comfortable doing. The longer I thought about it, the clearer it became - my fear was the potential loss of one or all of them.
I had lost everyone I cared for in my life; my father, Otis, and then my mother. Now, feeling as if I had reconnected with Otis, leaving him, even for a short period of time, was to risk losing him.
And losing him was not an option.
I pushed the box to the side, stood, and glanced around the room. As my head began to spin from the thought of it all, my stomach began to heave. What my mother had warned me of since my childhood was actually happening – I had clearly worried myself sick.
I ran down the hallway and reached the toilet just in time to vomit. As I knelt on the floor, hugging the cold porcelain in my arms, I decided if I was going to leave, right now wasn’t the time to think about it. Maybe I just needed to see if I could convince Otis to go with me and help me pack.
After the patch in party was over, I could see if he would go. At that time, he’d have no real reason to stay, at least there was nothing scheduled with the club as far as I knew. When I finally felt like I was done vomiting up what little breakfast I had eaten, I stood, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and wandered into the back bedroom.
Having a family is somewhat of an assurance that there will always be people you can confide in, trust, and will be there when you need them to be; all because of the binding love of family. Family will always provide unconditional love because they are, well, family. It is not a conscious decision or a choice, it just is.
Choosing to love a person is different. At any point in time, the person you have chosen can change their mind, fall in love with someone else, or be scared away by some ridiculous statement, exposed belief, or expressed desire. Losing Otis the first time was proof of a long love filled relationship’s ability to crumble over an expressed desire. My longing to have children was more than likely a result of me feeling a need to secure my place with Otis, but the expression of my thoughts provide results which were the exact opposite.
In hindsight, I should have known. Otis had always been a person who needed to feel as if he was free from what bound most everyone else on this earth. Conforming to society’s beliefs, systems, and procedures was something he was never comfortable with. Even as young boys, Axton and Otis thumbed their noses at authority, society, rules, and regulations. A little internet research confirmed my suspicions of his motorcycle club standing for nothing more than the expression of freedom, therefore nothing had changed.
For me to attempt to take his freedom from him then, or attempt to take it now would result in nothing short of disaster. Our pinkie promise was all I needed to spend a lifetime with Otis, and I could do so happily knowing I needed nothing else from him to feel secure.
As I gazed blankly into the room I considered my position on matters may not be clear to Otis. I walked to where I had been sitting before, picked up my phone, and drafted a text message to clear things up.
I want you to know the fact you’re in a motorcycle club doesn’t bother me, and in fact, I’m happy you are. I’ll be here for you always, Sam
I stared down at the message. After reading it several times, I backspaced through it and erased it. A few taps with my very capable fingers, and I stared once again at the screen.
You and Axton seem right at home with the motorcycle club, and I like it that you appear to be at peace now
Jesus, Sam. That looks ridiculous.
I backspaced until the message was gone.
I fumbled with the phone for a moment and gazed down at the screen.
I want you to know something. I love you and will always support you
I grinned and pressed send.
I glanced around the room at the various boxes scattered on the floor. I would have a lifetime to inventory my mother’s house, and doing so now wasn’t necessary. It provided me with a sense of self-worth, and allowed me to feel I was paying a tribute of sorts to my mother by doing so, but it wasn’t necessary.
“Meow.”
I turned toward the door.
Taylor sat in the opening, staring in my direction. After a few second stare-off, she blinked her eyes slowly.
I returned the gesture.
“I think I’m done for the day, Taylor. Let’s go lay on the couch and listen to music. Maybe I’ll see if the girls want to come over and hang out later,” I said as I walked in her direction.
As I passed her, I glanced over my shoulder. By the time I was halfway down the hallway, she turned and began walking in my direction. Maintaining her pace, but following ten feet behind me, she followed me to the loveseat. I no more than sat down and placed my phone at my side, and she jumped into my lap, walked in a few circles, and flopped down. A few blinks of her eyes later, and she was asleep.
As I sat and stared at her, watching her body expand and contract from her breathing, it dawned on me why my mother had the cat as a pet.
The cat offered her the same thing it offered me. No differently than family, the cat didn’t question her - or me for that matter. Without thought and without prejudice, the cat offered her love.
Unconditional love.
As I stroked the cat’s fur, my phone beeped. Being cautious not to wake the cat, I leaned to the side and picked up my phone.
Otis: Love you, Sam. And I’ll always support you. Hey Moms cooking dinner. Eat around 4. You want to come?
Using my thumb, I pressed the keys for my one-word response and pressed send.
Yes
I hadn’t seen Otis’ parents for fourteen years. When we were together, I perceived his parents no differently than I perceived mine. To me, they were an extension of my family, and losing them, in many respects, was as difficult as losing Otis. Having them in my life would provide me with a sense of family I would never be able to feel again in their absence. Eager to see them, and excited for the dinner, I lifted Taylor from my lap, stood, and walked into the kitchen with her.
Although it was only 8:30 in the morning, it wasn’t too early to try and make something to take to the dinner. Holding Taylor in my arm, I opened the refrigerator door and gazed inside.
Empty.
After realizing I wasn’t in my home, I closed the refrigerator door, frustrated there wasn’t anything in it to prepare a dessert. I dropped the cat on the floor, pulled my phone from my pocket, and sent Sydney a quick message.
Help? Good dessert to take to dinner at Otis’ parents?
Almost immediately, the phone beeped. I glanced at the screen.
Sydney: Bee’s apple pie. Best in the entire world. Too long to text.
Want me to come over?
I grinned as I read the message and promptly responded.
IDK if you want
My phone beeped instantly.
Sydney: Text me your address. Be there in 20. Toad and Jack are doing yardwork.
I typed my address into the phone, and sent it to Sydney, beyond grateful to have her help with the dessert. I didn’t cook much, but I was a woman, and knew how to. Having a family recipe would make taking the dessert much more enjoyable than getting something from the internet.
I slipped my phone into the pocket of my shorts and glanced around the room. Although the house was empty short o
f Taylor and me, I felt as if I was blessed with having a family of sorts. Albeit unconventional, it seemed like it was a family nonetheless.
And my sister I never had while growing up was coming over to help me make a pie.
Chapter One Hundred One
OTIS
“Well, it just seems like a weird choice to serve to a guest, Marge. Not everyone likes shit like this,” my father said as he glanced down at his plate.
“Ken, it’s not shit. And if Sam doesn’t like it, she doesn’t have to eat it,” my mother responded.
Sam reached down and turned her plate a quarter of a turn and glanced toward my mother. “I love stuffed peppers, Mrs. Milner. It smells wonderful.”
“What’s this pile of stuff, Marge?” my father asked as he poked his fork into the potatoes.
My mother looked up from her plate and shook her head. “It’s a casserole. Potatoes, cheese, sour cream, butter, and cream of chicken soup. Taste it, you’ll like it.”
“Get the recipe off Facebook?” My father asked as he scooped up a forkful of the potatoes.
“No, not Facebook. I got it from Pinterest. Same as the stuffed pepper recipe. Just eat it, Ken,” my mother snapped.
I glanced at Sam. Her head swiveled from side-to-side as she followed my parent’s conversation, watching each of them intently as they spoke. As our eyes met, I pointed the end of my fork at the countertop where her apple pie was sitting.
“Sam didn’t get her apple pie recipe from Pinterest, so maybe you’ll like it,” I said.
“Family recipe?” my mother asked without looking up from her plate.
“Sydney gave it to me. It’s her friend’s mother’s recipe. We made it together this afternoon,” Sam responded.
“Sydney is the Marine’s fiancée from the barbeque joint, ma. And the big black kid that works for him doing the yard work around town, it’s his mother’s recipe,” I said as I cut into my stuffed pepper.
My mother looked up from her plate and turned toward Sam. “Shirley. She won an award down at the festival with that pie.”
Sam nodded her head. “That’s what Sydney said.”
My father thrust his hands in the air and shook his head. “Sam brings award winners, and you’re cooking shit some eight-year-old Pakistani kid is posting on the internet.”
“Eat, Ken,” my mother said.
“Good peppers ma,” I said as I swallowed a bite of the stuffed pepper.
“Thank you,” she responded.
With her fork still stuck into her potatoes, and without taking a single bite of her food, my mother turned to face Sam. I often wondered if my mother ate small meals throughout the day to stay alive, because at the dinner table she often picked at her food while my father and I ate, never actually eating what was on her plate. As Sam turned in her direction and smiled, my mother spoke.
“Now Samantha. Steve tells us you’re going to be coming back here to live. Is that right?” my mother asked.
“Let her eat, ma,” I said.
My mother slowly turned my direction and widened her eyes. “I was talking to Samantha. Eat your dinner, Steve.”
I glanced at my father, who was finishing the mound of potatoes from his plate. As he shoveled another forkful into his mouth, he looked up and grinned. “She said no pie ’till we’re done with this shit. Better eat up.”
Sam shifted her gaze back and forth between my mother and me as she spoke. “I’m going to go back to St. Louis one of these days, and get my stuff. I’ll just bring everything back here and probably live in my mother’s house.”
“The house in Lakepoint? On the east side?” my mother asked.
“Yes, the same house I grew up in,” Sam nodded.
My mother tilted her head toward me. “Steve, you need to go with her and help her. She doesn’t need to go by herself and get her things. She needs a man to help her, so you go with her.”
I glanced up from my plate and shook my head. “I’ll probably go, ma.”
“No probably. You need to go,” my mother said.
“Get you some tie down straps from work so nothing blows out,” my father muttered as he shoved a forkful of pepper into his mouth.
“Let Sam eat, ma,” I said.
“Speaking of work, Clyde had sex with the cock-eyed girl at the south register,” my father said as he glanced up from his plate.
“Ken!” my mother gasped.
“Well, he did. Sam - Sam from work, not this Sam - he caught ‘em back in the store room. Had that cock-eyed gal bent over a row of boxes.” He paused and swallowed the bite of food he was chewing.
“Ken, stop!” my mother said as she tossed her head toward Sam.
“Does sex talk bother you, Samantha?” my father asked.
Sam glanced at my mother, shifted her eyes toward my father, and shrugged.
“She’s a lady, Ken. It’s rude,” my mother hissed.
“Well, I wasn’t going to go into graphic detail, Marge. I’m just making conversation. So anyway, this cock-eyed gal that works the south register has the body of a porn star, but when she looks at you, her eyes are all cock-eyed.” He paused, glanced at me, and made his eyes go crossed.
As he looked around the table with crossed eyes, my mother covered her eyes, and Sam laughed so hard she almost spit her food out.
“Ken, that’s rude,” my mother said.
“What’s rude is to see her body, and then have her turn around and look at you. That’s rude. So anyway, she gets a divorce maybe a month ago. And then she’d been complaining to the other gals at work that no one would take her out on a date.” He paused, sliced off a chunk of his stuffed pepper, and poked it with his fork.
As he lifted the food in his mouth, he continued before he even started chewing. “So I told Clyde, I said Clyde, if she wasn’t cock-eyed, guys would be lined up to the bank, you know the one way up on the overpass, they’d be lined up to the bank to get a piece of that. And Clyde looks at me and smiles. He says Ken, as long as she’s facing the other way, what’s it matter. Hell, I thought he was joking, so I just shrugged my shoulders and said I guess it don’t, Clyde. I guess it don’t, that’s what I told him.”
As my mother stared down at her plate, more than likely praying, Sam’s eyes were fixed on my father’s. Although she hadn’t heard his dinnertime stories for years, she was no newbie to his tall tales. Even back when we were in high school, my father told stories at dinner no differently than he did now. As he swallowed his food, Sam spooned a fork full of potatoes up and waited.
“So it hadn’t been a couple days, and Sam goes to the store room to get one of them mini air compressors for this guy, and that gal was bent over with her pants around her ankles and her top off, and that damned Clyde was just a poking away. Sam said she spun around and hell he couldn’t even tell where she was looking. I told him she was looking at everything. She may be gaggle eyed, but I bet that gal’s got the peripheral vision of a god damned Owl. Anyway, Sam says her boobs are fake. She had her top off when the whole deal went down.” He nodded his head once toward Sam, turned toward me, and poked the last bite of pepper with his fork.
“Ken, that’s not dinner table talk,” my mother said as she looked up.
“Well, I want Samantha to feel like she’s at home, Marge. Damn. If I sat here and ate without speaking you’d wonder about me wouldn’t you, Samantha?” he asked as he glanced toward Sam.
“I suppose so,” she said with a laugh.
“Never would have guessed her boobs were fake. Hell, they jiggle when she walks,” he said as he pushed himself from the table.
“I’m going to get some of this pie sliced and ready. Marge, you haven’t touched your food, are you going to eat pie?” he asked as he stood from his seat.
My mother glanced up from her plate and nodded her head. “I’d planned on it, yes.”
“I’m done and Sam’s close, pop. Bring us a slice,” I said as my father walked into the kitchen.
I pushed myself away f
rom the table slightly and leaned back in my chair as I studied Sam. She looked exceptionally beautiful. Her hair was generally straight, but she had taken time to curl it and spruce it up. Now, it seemed she had ten times as much hair as she normally did. Curled, pinned, and placed just perfectly, she looked like she could be in a hair product commercial. The golden skin on her face was clear and smooth, and unlike many other girls, the color of her face matched the color of the skin on her neck, shoulders, and arms.
One of my pet peeves had always been women wearing make-up that caused their face to clearly be a color in contrast with the rest of their body.
In her sleeveless knit top, shorts and sandals, she looked adorable. As I sat and admired her while my father cut the pie, she sat and quietly talked to my mother. Unfocused on their conversation, I continued to sit and stare; grateful she was once again in my life.
“What? What’s wrong?” she asked as she shifted her eyes to meet mine.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You were looking at me funny.”
“Just admiring you.”
“Is something wrong with my hair?” she asked as she reached for her hair.
I shook my head. “It’s perfect.”
“Your hair looks wonderful, Samantha,” my mother assured her.
“I was going to say the same thing. Don’t remember seeing you with so much of it. It looks real nice, Samantha. Here,” my father said as he slid a piece of pie beside her plate.
“And here’s one for you,” my father said as he reached across the table.
“Thanks Pop,” I said as I grabbed the plate.
My father disappeared momentarily, and then walked back into the room with a plate in his hand. As he sat down, he glanced at my mother and grinned.
“You can have one when you’re finished,” he said as he sat down.
My mother rolled her eyes as she took a small nibble of the potatoes. “I’ll get my own, thank you.”
Sam looked up from her plate. “Thank you. It’s pretty much the same, I just fixed it.”
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