Page 236 of Devil’s Disciples

“Keep going.” He rolled his hand in a circle as if he were bored. “There’s two more.”

His admittance of not being spiritual troubled me. I wondered how he’d ever make it through cancer treatment without having a good relationship with God. I couldn’t comprehend what it would be like, and the more I thought about it, the more bothered about it I became. I decided I’d ask about it later.

At least for the time being, I felt I needed to stick with the questions he’d asked of me. The next one was easy to answer. I’d given it considerable thought, long before meeting Porter. As far as I was concerned, it was the perfect epitaph. “If I had to put a saying on my headstone, it’d say, it’s not that bad.”

“It’s not that bad?” He laughed. “What’s not that bad?”

“Everything,” I said. “Life. Cancer. Whatever troubles you. Death. It’s not that bad. I thought the saying would make people wonder as they looked at my headstone, especially about death. When I was diagnosed, I came to peace with death quickly. I wasn’t afraid to die, and I don’t think other people should be, either. It’s not that bad.”

“I like it. It covers a lot of ground,” he said. “I might paint that shit on the fender of my bike.”

I smiled. “Do it.”

He set his fork down on the side of his plate. After studying me, he drew a slow breath and then looked away. A moment of awkward silence followed. Then, he met my gaze.

“What’s your status?” he asked. “Now? With cancer?”

“It’s gone,” I replied. “I had an odd blood cancer. They cured it with treatment.”

He gave me a look of disbelief. “Why do you go to the meetings?”

“It’s important for survivors to go,” I explained. “It’s the equivalent of a sober man going to an AA meeting. It gives those just stepping in a ray of hope. My experiences help others.”

He nodded. “I see.”

“Can I ask what your diagnosis is?” I asked.

“I’ve got a brain tumor,” he said as if it were no big deal. “Still don’t know much.”

“Treatment is a wonderful thing,” I said.

The look on his face changed from acknowledgement to indifference. His cheeks lost their color.

I reached for his hand. “Remember, it’s not that bad.”

He forced a crooked smile. “Number three?”

He’d eaten half his pie, and I hadn’t so much as touched mine. I gestured toward his plate with a nod. “Let me get caught up, and then I’ll answer.”

With little effort, I gobbled down two pieces of pie. I’d eaten plenty of pecan pie in the past, none of which came close to the quality of what I was eating. I reached for another piece. “How did you find out about this place.”

He pulled the fork past his tightened lips, wiping it clean as he removed it from his mouth. “We ride up here all the time.”

“We?”

“I ride in a motorcycle club. We come up here as a group.” He chuckled. “A couple of the guys really like pie.”

“Are you one of them?” I asked. “The pie lovers?”

“Pies are a lot like women,” he said. “A man can live the rest of his life without one as long as he’s never reminded of their existence. However, once one is placed in front of him there’s not much else that matters.”

His response was cute and sad at the same time. I swallowed my pie and gave him my best sultry look. “What if there’s a woman and a pie in front of you?”

He opened his arms wide. “All of what surrounds him vanishes.” He gestured to the table. “Then, all that’s left is her and the five and a half pieces of pie she needs to eat.”

“Until she gets up and walks away. Right?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”