His Only Wife (3 page)

Porter

Working in construction was exhausting, absolutely draining. By the time I finished on a site each day, my muscles ached and my joints cracked like an old man, but my body and mind were satisfied. There’s nothing like standing outside a finished home or office building and knowing that you had a part in building it, in making it a reality. The knowledge that you made it possible for someone to live in that home, or work in that office, was gratifying. Maybe it was because I was raised to build with my hands, but I could never imagine being one of those guys who typed on a computer all day long. I couldn’t imagine that kind of work making me feel proud or satisfied.

Speaking of gratification, there was nothing more gratifying than walking into the home I built for Brin and me. It took years to build and it might never be finished, but it was home. It was tiny, really tiny, like a one-bedroom apartment you’d find in a big metropolitan city where rent is off the charts.

There were four rooms in our six-hundred-square-foot home—the bedroom, kitchen, living room, and bath. Brin and I had talked about expanding since our property extended for several acres. One day. She insisted this was all she needed, even though our entire home could fit inside the Cluffs’ family room. When I pressed her on it, she laughed me off, reminding me that material things simply didn’t matter to her. Thank God.

I hoped that one day I could spoil her. I hoped we’d be able to build on an addition to the house, possibly a second floor with more bedrooms for our future kids. But for now, it was home. And I loved coming home to find my girl curled up on the couch, waiting for me, on nights just like this one.

Her hair was pulled into a loose bun on the top of her head. She was curled up on our sofa and wearing a fleece blanket like a glove.

“Hey, you,” she said, pushing the blanket aside to hop to her feet. She smiled for me, a sweet and genuine smile that made my insides warm.

I studied her porcelain skin as she tilted her head to the side, the corners of her mouth stretched wide across her face. That girl did things to me. Even after more than a year of living together, she affected me just as much as the first time she stood in my apartment. That smile, that greeting, it got me every time.

When she kissed me gently on the lips and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, I pressed my face into her hair and said, “Something smells amazing.”

“Chili’s cooking in the Crock-Pot.”

“I wasn’t talking about the chili.” I leaned back and waggled my eyebrows before nuzzling my nose into her neck. She smelled like lilies and gardenias. “It’s you.”

Brin giggled as my nose tickled the skin behind her neck, and a few loose strands of damp hair tickled me in return. “I took a shower. Had to get rid of the rubber-cement smell. I swear it was all over my fingers today.”

“Big project?”

She nodded. “Yep, so much fun, though. Come on, I’ll grab you a bowl.”

“Thanks, babe.”

I’d started calling her this a few months after she moved in with me. At first, she was uncomfortable with this term of endearment, much more informal than anything she’d experienced on the compound. But over time, I could tell she was getting used to it. In fact, she seemed to like it now.

“It’s my pleasure.” She slid from my embrace, squeezing my hand.

Immediately, I missed the comfort of her body pressed to mine. No matter where we were, no matter the time of day, Brin was an intoxicating comfort.

“Tiffany just called to cancel,” she said as she ladled chili into a bowl.

“Oh, right, it’s Tuesday, isn’t it?”

“Yep, TV night. Is that okay?”

I laughed, hooking my hands on my hips. “Of course. Hell, maybe I’ll watch with you, keep you company. My body’s aching, and vegging out sounds pretty tempting.”

She handed me a steaming bowl of chili topped with cheddar cheese and sour cream, exactly the way I love it. God, she was so good to me.

Of all the modern-day technology that her cousin Tiffany and I introduced Brin to in the past few years, television was her chosen vice by far. She was hooked on several television dramas and a few sitcoms. Her attachment to some of the characters bordered on comical, and I found myself reminding her (jokingly, of course) that the people on the screen weren’t real; they were fictional characters. She’d swat my arm, roll her eyes, and give me her best attempt at attitude before devouring another episode.

Her favorite was a hospital show. The familiar sound of its theme song boomed from the television. She was obsessed with the doctors and their love lives, always rooting for the underdog nerdy doc to get the girl. But I noticed it was the weekly story lines that really got under her skin. The patients and their maladies shook her up, made her sob, and taught her so much about the people that surround her every day in this new world in which she was still getting acclimated.

We settled onto the couch and I held the bowl Brin had handed me, spooning up the rustic chili as we watched TV. The rich, smoky flavors comforted my taste buds and warmed my insides, relaxing me instantly.

She and I watched as her favorite doctor treated a fictional young boy named Jacob with Asperger’s syndrome. The little boy talked to the doctors like a little professor, asking technical questions about his own condition. When Jacob questioned his doctor’s surgical plan, Brin gasped, and I knew immediately what was going on inside her head.

Keep sweet. Keep sweet. Keep sweet.

When the commercial break began, she turned to me with confusion in her eyes. “He’s so…blunt. And the people playing his parents don’t bat an eye. I don’t understand.”

I shifted in my seat. “Aren’t there any kids on the autism spectrum in your classroom?”

“There is this one little boy, but he’s quiet and keeps to himself. Besides, it’s school. I’m talking about the parents, how they’re so okay with it.”

“Parents are different in the real world.”

“Were there any kids like him on the compound?” Brin’s eyes were pained, and I knew she was searching her brain for a memory, one that wouldn’t make itself known. “I don’t remember anyone like that.”

“Probably. One of my brothers was kinda like him. My father used to smack the shit out of him for not looking him in the eye.” A knot formed in my gut at the memory.

“That’s so wrong.”

“I know.” A lump worked its way through my throat as I thought back to my brother Louis. A memory of scrawny little Louis cowering under a table, avoiding my father’s wrath, flashed in my mind. Louis spent much of his time organizing my mother’s pantry, and corrected us when we would quote
The Book of Mormon
incorrectly. He was direct and blunt, and he struggled to understand the emotions of others. “He must be a teenager now.”

“You’ve been gone a long time.”

“Yeah.” I stared off into space, trying to picture my youngest family members, but I knew that was impossible. My siblings were growing and changing, and I’d never have the opportunity to see them again. I was dead in their eyes. Hell, my youngest siblings probably knew nothing about my role in their family. To them, I was simply the face in the family portraits obscured by sloppily scribbled ink.

Glancing back at Brin, I said, “The thing is, there are lots of kids like him. But parents out here in the real world, they’re more tolerant, more understanding of their children.”

“I just can’t imagine. The way he questioned authority like that, my mother would have beaten my backside till it was black and blue. Wouldn’t yours?”

A sarcastic laugh leaped from my mouth. “Uh, yeah. And she did. All the time.”

The show began again, and Brin watched as Jacob and his doctors continued their banter before he was wheeled off to surgery. She giggled as Jacob continued to challenge authority and question his doctors.

“He’s growing on you, isn’t he?”

She nodded, but gritted her teeth as the doctors began his operation.

“Remember, babe, it’s just fiction. He’s not real.”

Brin shrugged me off. “I know that. Don’t be silly.”

But when little Jacob didn’t survive his surgery, and the sound of whimpers could be heard from the other end of the couch, I set down my empty bowl and opened my arms. She wiped her eyes and crawled into my lap, burying her face in my chest. Her whimpers turned to sobs, and her entire body shook.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” I smoothed down her hair before whispering, “It’s all gonna be okay.”

My sweet, sensitive Brin wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve.

All I wanted to do was make her pain go away, but I knew it was necessary for her to feel an array of emotions as she adjusted to the lack of structure surrounding her. In her new home outside the strict rules of the compound, Brin would have to grow accustomed to children who were given a voice, parents who respected that voice, and doctors who understood the inquisitive nature of a child such as Jacob.

I wouldn’t belittle her attachment to the fictional boy or the emotion that consumed her. This show, and the others she watched on a weekly basis, were a crash course for her in how the many different people of the outside world managed to coexist together. And I was grateful for them.

Each day, each month, each year would make it easier for her to let go of her past on the compound and embrace her modern-day surroundings.

Tiffany

Tiffany was flustered as she pushed open the heavy door of her bank. Wishing she’d left her apartment just a few minutes sooner, she knew it was likely she’d be late for work. And she hated being late for work. Her boss¸ Darcy, would never let her hear the end of it.

“Morning,” the teller said as Tiffany passed him her withdrawal slip.

Tiffany didn’t believe in ATMs and preferred to do her banking in person. It took her a few years after leaving the compound for her to even place her trust in the bank. At first, she simply hid piles of money around her apartment after cashing her checks at the local Western Union office.

But when her neighbor’s apartment was robbed, she had to reevaluate her choices. What if it had been her? She’d have nothing to show for years of hard work at the clinic. And so she opened her checking and savings accounts and placed her faith in the bank. But there was no way she was trusting those creepy little machines. Nope. Not going to happen. Plus, she had a bit of a crush on Miles, the teller who worked there.

Tiffany wasn’t unattractive—not at all—but her outspoken nature didn’t always attract men to her. And as much as she hated being alone, she’d never sacrifice her personality for love. She’d adopt a few more cats and call it a day.

Miles placed two twenty-dollar bills and her receipt in her hand, then wished her a nice day. Her breath caught as she pondered asking him if he might want to join her for coffee after work. But a thousand excuses swarmed her brain, urging her to walk out the door and get to work before Darcy had the chance to complain.

She waved good-bye to Miles and placed the cash in her wallet. As she was walking out, however, she saw a familiar face. Porter. He was seated on one of the chairs in the lobby, his head in his hands, staring in the opposite direction. Although she knew that she and Porter used the same bank, they’d never run into each other here before.

Happy to see him, she smiled widely as she approached, until he turned to make eye contact and she saw the look on his face. A look of agony she hadn’t seen since the night Lehi beat Brinley within an inch of her life.

“Porter?” Once she said his name, he jumped to his feet and walked quickly to the door. Tiffany followed closely behind. “Porter, wait up.”

“Hey, uh, I gotta go,” he said, pushing against the double doors of the bank.

Tiffany caught the doors before they closed and exited the bank just behind Porter. She couldn’t understand his actions. He seemed angry? Nervous? Despondent? She couldn’t, for the life of her, figure it out.

“Porter, what the hell?”

“Drop it, Tiffany,” he said tersely over his shoulder as he stalked toward his car.

Frustrated, she ran ahead and pushed his car door shut as he opened it, not allowing him access. She couldn’t let him drive away, not like this.

“You’re too upset to drive. C’mon, tell me what’s going on. Did they lose your money or something?”

“What?” His eyes were filled with annoyance. “No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then, what?”

“I can’t tell you.” He shook his head, looking at the half-empty parking lot, avoiding her eyes.

“C’mon, you know you can trust me. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Even Brin?”

Tiffany paused. She’d never kept anything from her cousin, and really didn’t want to make a promise she couldn’t keep. After all, what if Porter was going to end things with Brin? As ridiculous as that might have seemed to her, people broke up every single day. And she knew she’d have to warn Brinley if that was the case.

But no, that couldn’t be it, could it? No, it must be financial. After all, he was at the bank.

Her heart sank as she jumped to her next conclusion. The only logical explanation was that Porter had done something stupid, something irresponsible with his money. Seeing as his vice was drugs, she braced herself for the inevitable news that Porter was using again. How could she keep that from Brinley? She couldn’t. Just as she was about to tell Porter that she couldn’t handle his secret, he blurted it out. And it wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

“They turned me down. I applied for a loan and they won’t give it to me.”

Tiffany tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms in front of her chest, trying to understand. “A loan? But you already own your house. Do you need a new car or something?”

Porter’s face softened, but his anger turned to defeat. “Not exactly.”

Still not sure if she wanted to know the reason behind his mood, she bit her lip and waited to see if he’d continue.

“I need it to buy a ring. For Brin.”

“Oh.” Tiffany’s mouth stayed open as she replayed his words over and over again.

Porter was going to propose.

Oh no.

All she could do was think back to her shopping trip with her cousin months earlier, to the little boutique when the mere mention of a possible wedding sent Brinley into a panic.

“Oh?” Porter repeated, his mood morphing yet again, but this time to irritation. “What do you mean, oh?”

She felt her pulse speeding and her breath becoming ragged. She couldn’t tell Porter about that afternoon in the boutique, couldn’t tell him about Brinley’s hesitations. Could she?

“Oh, nothing. I just didn’t expect that. That’s wonderful.”

“No, it’s not. Did you even hear what I said? They turned me down. There’s no way I can afford a ring right now.”

Hope built within her. Maybe Brinley just needed more time to adjust to the idea of marriage outside the compound. Maybe she could help her cousin separate the two notions in her head. Maybe, just maybe.

“Try to look on the bright side,” Tiffany said, finally feeling her heartbeat slow to a normal rate. “You two are young, there’s plenty of time. You can save up for it.”

“I have been. But I wanted…” He paused, staring at his car before pushing against the door frame in frustration. “I wanted to get her something bigger, something really perfect.”

Tiffany’s heart warmed as he said those words. “That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll just have to get her a shitty ring. A shitty ring from a shitty guy.”

“That’s not true. You’re just disappointed.”

“Whatever.” He shook his head, still avoiding her stare.

Tiffany knew she was making him terribly uncomfortable, and a voice inside her urged her to mind her own business, to walk down the street to the clinic and leave Porter to figure things out for himself. But she couldn’t do that.

“I have some money saved up, you could—”

Porter closed his eyes, shaking his head back and forth with force. “No. I mean, thanks, but no. I need to do this on my own. I just wish I could give her everything, ya know?”

She nodded. “I know.”

He looked up, glaring back at the bank. His voice cracked as he stared at the brick building. “And I wish those assholes would’ve given me a chance. I wish this world would just give me a fucking chance. That’s all I want. Just a chance.”

“I get it.”

Porter shook her off at first, then turned his head toward her. Their eyes locked. “Yeah, I guess you do, don’t you?”

Kindred spirits since the day they met—two kids who left the compound—she and Porter understood each other in a way that others never could. They understood the desire, no—the
need
to make it on their own, to do things their own way, and to escape the controlling influence of the compound. Porter had to know she understood. If anyone did, it was her.

She offered him a weak smile in solidarity. “It’s all going to work out. I just know it.”

Porter nodded before saying a quick good-bye and climbing into his car.

Tiffany jogged to the clinic, determined to beat the clock. But as she settled into her job, her thoughts turned back to Porter, knowing that if he went to all this trouble to purchase a ring for Brinley only to be met with a resounding no, he’d surely fall off the wagon.

That would be it for Porter Hammond; she could feel it in her bones. But it wasn’t her place to intervene, as much as she wanted to.

Was it?