Come Back for You

“You mean, workin’ and beddin’ that man child doesn’t leave time to do much during the day,” she snarks and I frown.

“Now momma, that’s not fair. You need to get to know this Dean. Not the Dean that left me all those years ago.” Her shoulders sag and she sighs.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. It was just so hard to watch you go through what you did and at such a young age. He should have been here.”

“And I agree, momma. But I’m tryin’ to be fair and give this Dean a chance. Can you do the same?” I ask, knowing the answer. She’s going to say yes. Momma is nothing if not a giver, and I know she’s gonna give Dean a chance to prove himself.

“I suppose, child. But I’m only doin’ it because it’s what your daddy and Jesus would want me to do.” That earns an eye roll from me while she’s got her back turned. “Now, help me set all this up on the back porch. It’s a beautiful day and we are going to enjoy it while we catch up.” She gathers the tray she’s working on and a pitcher of sweet tea from the refrigerator and I follow behind with some glasses, plates, and the container of chicken salad.

Once outside we set our lunch up on the well-loved picnic table that daddy built many years ago and we both dig in. She is the best cook, and her chicken salad is to die for. I’ve tried to replicate it many times but never come close. We eat and we chat and laugh, catching up. She also gives me all the gossip from her book club, which is really just an excuse for her to have all her friends over so they can drink wine and gossip about the townsfolk. Apparently, Janine saw some strange woman going into her neighbors’ house while the wife was out of town, and she didn’t leave for a solid twenty-four hours. I laugh as she fills me in and make a silent note to come over more often, to soak up these moments with her, regardless of how hectic my life is.

“Afternoon, ladies,” is rumbled from across the fence to the neighbors’ yard. I turn around to say hello and I’m left almost speechless. A very handsome man is leaning on mama’s fence and he’s grinning at the two of us. His hair has lots of salt and pepper running through it and it’s longer on top but close cropped on the sides, his cut off shirt putting his defined muscles on full display. I would guess him to be in his late fifties. I glance at mama’s whose cheeks are super red.

You must be Whitley,” he says, opening the gate in the fence and meandering over. He walks up to me and extends his hand and I reach out to shake it.

“Yes’sir, and you are?” I ask, intrigued by this man standing in my mama’s yard like he’s been here a million times before.

“Wesley. Wesley Cray,” he drops my hands and makes his way to mama’s side of the table, dropping a kiss on her cheek and snagging half of her sandwich. My mouth is completely agape at the interaction.

‘I’m so sorry’ mama mouths at me and I narrow my eyes.

“So, Mr. Cray,” I begin but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

“Nope, Wesley will do just fine.”

“Okay, Wesley. How long have you been sleepin’ with my mama?”

“Whitley Jean Cantu, where are your manners?!” Mama screeches and Wesley laughs, shaking his head. She narrows her gaze at him, “I’m not so sure what you’re laughin’ at, Wes. I told you to keep your butt next door until later this afternoon.” He chuckles again.

“And I told y

ou Shannon, that I won’t be your dirty secret.” Mama’s face softens. I rest my elbow on the table and prop my chin up, my eyes bouncing back and forth between the two of them as they talk.

“You’re not my dirty secret, sweetheart. I just wanted time to tell Whitley about you,” she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

“You’ve had months, darlin’. You’ve been puttin’ it on the back burner. Me, coming over here, was my way of speeding it along.” He boops her on the nose and turns his attention back to me.

“I like him,” I proclaim, and mama looks at me.

“Are you okay with this?” I roll my eyes and Wesley laughs.

“Mama, I am fine with it. Daddy’s been gone for years and you deserve all the happiness in the world.”

“Thank you, baby,” she reaches out and pats my hand and I give hers a squeeze.

“Now, can I call you step-daddy?” He throws back his head, laughing, and I shoot mama a wink.

Dean

Closing my motel room door, I pocket my key card and head out to my old pickup that has seen better days, making the drive into town. I’ve somehow landed in BFE Colorado this time. Some would say I’ve been running from the sorrow I felt all those years ago when we lost the baby, and I would have to agree. Jumping from job to job, city to city, chasing something even though I don’t really know what. This seedy motel is just one of many I’ve stayed in over all these years, though this one is probably better than most. The sheets are clean, and it has hot water, which earns it no less than four stars from me.

My most recent job was working for J & K Ready-Mix in Nebraska. Just a small mom and pop concrete company. I was on a crew of about four guys and I learned a lot. It was probably one of the longest stints I’ve done at a job since I left Alabama. I stayed for ten months. One morning I just woke up and knew. Knew I needed to get my girl back, knew that I was ready to be the man Whitley deserved. I stopped in Colorado knowing this would be my last state, my last city before I headed home.

I swing my truck into the parking lot of Hog City, the biker bar on the outskirts of town, slipping it into park. They had a help wanted sign at the post office and I saw it when I was setting up my new post office box. I take a minute to just sit in my truck and think about my life over the last eight years. The pain I felt when we lost Everly is nothing compared to the pain I felt when Mr. Cantu stopped me on the porch that night all those years ago.

I hit the front steps and they creak under my feet. Bounding up the stairs, I rap on the front door three times, shifting from foot to foot. It takes a minute, but the porch light flicks on and the front door swings open.

“Dean.” He says as he steps out and shuts the door behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s always been built like a brick shithouse. He stands taller than my 6 feet, lean and agile. He’s never really liked me.