Chapter 14
Sam
The road to my parents’ house is the same as it’s always been—two lanes of faded blacktop, shouldered by ditches, blackberry bramble, and rusted mailboxes. I drive with the radio off so I can hear the parts of my head that are arguing.
My life has flipped upside down, twisted, and then flipped again—between me coming out to my fans, the entire town losing their shit over my books and my longtime crush on Penny that has turned into something tangible.
Last night when we kissed, it wasn’t fireworks.
It was quieter than that—steady, easy, like a door I thought had been locked swinging open.
Penny laughed into my mouth once, and I felt it everywhere.
She then showed up for me at the signing today and vocally put those protestors in their place. The woman is amazing and sexy and kind, and man, am I crazy about her.
Which is exactly why my foot keeps easing off the gas the closer I get to my folks’.
She’s leaving in a few weeks. Washington has her name on a door and Whynot has mine carved into it with a pocketknife.
I don’t want to be stupid about this—don’t want to be the man who falls hard, waves at taillights, and pretends it doesn’t hurt.
It begs the question… continue on or cool off?
The road turns to gravel a mile past the church.
My parents’ place sits back under a stand of pines, a gray rancher with a porch Paw Paw helped build before I was a gleam in my daddy’s eye.
Mama’s azaleas are still showing off, even though they shouldn’t be because everything here refuses to mind a calendar.
I park next to my daddy’s truck. For a stupid second, I consider backing out and driving until the questions get quieter, but I know this can’t wait any longer.
A text chimes and I grab my phone from the passenger seat and see it’s from Derek. Good luck. You got this. Also, I got a call from the Ginny Norton Show. They want to book you.
I have no clue who that is, only that in order to calm Derek down from the protesting, I had to remind him that he has more important things to do, like market me to the world. That seemed to work, and by the time I left him at Millie’s, he seemed to be trucking along.
I don’t reply and instead, kill the engine, roll my shoulders, and go open the door I’ve been walking through my whole life.
Mama stands there in her housedress, glasses on a chain around her neck, but I note she’s still wearing her pearls, always the jewelry of choice for moral outrage.
I know the Bible tucked under one arm is for my benefit.
Her mouth pulls tight when she sees me, then loosens into a line that’s not quite a smile.
“Samuel.”
“Hey, Mama.”
She steps aside, tilts her head to accept a kiss on her cheek, which I suppose is progress. I smell a pot roast in the background and Daddy sits in his recliner like he was poured into it, remote in one hand, TV muted on an episode of Wheel of Fortune.
“Sam,” he says with a nod. That’s as warm as he gets when he’s bracing.
I take the end of the couch. The cushion gives the same way it always has and there’s a dent where I used to fall asleep after Friday night games, cleats by the door, grass stains making Mom sigh and smile in the same breath. Nothing in this room has moved except me.
Mom settles in the rocker, Bible on her lap, fingers smoothing the ribbon marker as if it gives her comfort. She then looks to my dad. “Roy… tell your son that I am thoroughly embarrassed by this.”
I blink in surprise and turn to see my dad with wide eyes, clearly uncomfortable. He shifts in the recliner and sets the remote control down. “Son… your mom is thoroughly embarrassed by this.”
I hold up a palm. “Okay, not going to do this.” I turn to my mother. “Just talk to me, okay?”
Her lips flatten a bit, but she lifts her chin, cutting a look over to my father in a silent demand that he intervene.
Daddy sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Nancy… just talk to the boy.”
Mama harrumphs, gives my dad a deadly glare, and turns to me. “You’ve caused quite a stir.”
“Seems that way,” I say lightly.
“You could have told us.”
“I know.” I fold my hands, keep my voice even. “I should have told you sooner.”
Dad’s attention flicks from me to his wife, and then to the TV screen. He doesn’t say a word.
“It’s shameful what you’re doing, Samuel,” my mother says, her voice grave with pain.
“I disagree,” I say, meeting her look.
Mama’s mouth tightens again. “You’ve been writing… indecent material. Parading it around in Raleigh for strangers. Your picture all over the internet. The ladies from church are beside themselves because you write dirty books. Smut.”
“The ladies from church are beside themselves when the organist chooses the wrong prelude,” I say before I can stop.
Daddy’s eyebrow goes up and I blow out a breath.
“Look. They’re not… dirty books. They’re about love.
About people trying to be brave, to be honest, to do right by each other even when it’s hard.
Sometimes they kiss. Sometimes more than that.
It’s part of the story, but it’s never cheap. ”
Mom clicks her tongue like she’s turning a radio knob to a station she prefers. “A good Christian man doesn’t peddle lust.”
“A good Christian man loves people,” I say quietly. “I was raised to believe that. My stories are about that love. They don’t make anybody worse. Sometimes they make somebody feel less alone.”
She looks genuinely baffled. “You’re trying to tell me you’re helping people by writing about”—she waves a hand—“bedroom things.”
“I’m telling you that I write about human things,” I say. “The bedroom happens to be one of them.”
Mama crosses her arms and huffs her frustration.
I look to my dad, who has been very silent. “And what do you think?”
He scratches his jaw. “I always thought you’d do something… more… normal. Like bartend at Chesty’s or work at the hardware store with Floyd. I thought you’d maybe use your hands. Not sit in a room makin’ things up.”
“I am using my hands,” I say as I mime myself typing, and the corner of his mouth betrays the fighting grin he’s holding on to. I soften my voice. “I’m also using my imagination to build—just from the inside out.”
Both my parents remain silent. “I’m not asking you to read what I write. That’s for certain. But I’m not giving up this career because it makes you uncomfortable. I don’t want this to come between us, so I’m asking for you to find a way to live with it.”
Mama’s eyes shine too bright. She looks down at her Bible, then back up. “People are talking.”
“They always will.” I gesture toward the window, past the pines, toward the shape of town behind them.
“You know this place better than I do, Mama. Here, religion isn’t just on Sundays.
It’s wallpaper. It’s the smell in your clothes when you come home from the potluck.
It’s in the way folks bless a sneeze and a marriage with the same hand.
I love that about here. I love Whynot. But sometimes the rules get loved more than the people. ”
My father looks down at his lap.
“You sayin’ we don’t love you?” Mama’s voice sounds slightly panicked.
I shake my head. “I’m saying you’re loving a version of me that doesn’t exist, and it’s hurting the one that does.”
Silence stretches long enough to fold laundry in. Dad clears his throat. “You’ll be… doing more of these… signings?”
“Looks like it.” I aim for gentle. “There might be TV stuff. Interviews.”
He nods in understanding. Maybe guarded acceptance?
“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 that even 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 curb in 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. Just be 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.
All I care about is Penny coming over tonight and I get to spend time with her.