“They might ask me how long I’ve been writing,” I say, trying to ease the tension. “I’ll tell them since I was a kid, at this very table, with Mama correcting my commas and my daddy telling me to pick better verbs.”
That gets me the ghost of a smile from both of them. Mama slips her hand over the Bible like she’s tucking it in. “I don’t know what to do with this, Samuel.”
“I don’t know what to tell you to do,” I say. “It hurts that you’re protesting me, but I want you to be true to yourself. I also want you to know, this is me. I’m not changing.”
Her cheeks color. “I was upset.”
“I know,” I say, and I do. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m trying to be honest about who I am and what I do. That’s not indecent.”
She looks at me for a long time, and I can see the tug-of-war plain as anything—love on one end, fear on the other, both convinced they’re saving her.
Daddy clears his throat, softer this time. “You eating with us?” he asks, like the ground is safer if we put our feet on something ordinary.
“I can’t,” I say. “Got plans. But… another time?”
He nods and Mama stands. I do too.
I step into her for a hug, wanting her to know thateven if she can’t support me, I still love her. It’s tight, brief, and perfumed with fabric softener that used to bring me comfort but now feels a bit odd.
“Be careful,” she says. It’s what she says when storms roll in or when I drive home after a visit, and I take it for the peace offering it is. She then turns and moves into the kitchen.
Dad stands and walks me to the door, claps my shoulder, and squeezes. It lands like approval and warning both. “Just so you know… I understand where you’re comin’ from, just as I understand where your mama is comin’ from. I’m trying to walk the line.”
“I know.”
“But… I am proud of you. I need you to know that.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I impulsively lean in for a quick backslap hug. He seems surprised, then returns a hard squeeze.
The air outside feels fresh, and I feel free. I have no clue where I stand with my family. I sit in my truck with my hands on the wheel and stare through the windshield until the pines stop being outlines and start being trees again.
On the way back through town, I pass Chesty’s. Pap’s in the doorway talking with Floyd, both of them laughing at something. There’s a fresh poster taped to the glass that reads Books and Bourbon.
“What the hell?” I murmur, pulling over to the curbin front of them. I roll down the window. “What you fellas up to?”
Pap smirks and Floyd’s eyes sparkle. “You’re going to host a reading of your new book, and Pap’s going to get everyone liquored up.”
“That right, huh?”
“That’s right,” Pap says. “And I’d like a case of your books to sell. You’re famous now, son, and you’re going to put Chesty’s on the map.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “All right.”
“Tomorrow… seven p.m.,” Floyd says, giving me a wink. “And you might want to pick one of the spicier scenes.”
“How do you know there are spicy scenes in there?”
“Your agent Derek gave me a copy. I’ve been reading it at the store when it’s slow. It’s some mighty fine writing.”
The weight melts off my shoulders. Somewhere between my parents’ porch and right now, the knot in my chest loosened a notch. I’m not naive enough to think one conversation fixed anything with my mama and daddy, but I can see change blowin’ from right here.
“I really appreciate your support,” I tell the men. “It means a lot.”
Floyd’s features harden just a bit. “You’re a son of Whynot. We’re proud of what you’ve accomplished, and I bet the town will ultimately come through for you. Justbe patient.”
Seems I have no choice but to follow that advice. “See you tomorrow evening then.”
I pull away and all of that is already forgotten. I don’t care about my newfound fame, my parents’ struggle, the wrath of the church community, or the people of this town.
