Cherry Pie by Samantha Kane Page B

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    The crowd thinned out after an hour or so, leaving just Toby and Cheryl and their kids and Evan. Conn had cooled off by then. It was what it was. He may want more, but he couldn’t make John’s choices for him. He’d only just learned to make the right ones for himself.
    “Go away, kid. You bother me.” He glanced over to see Harley standing next to John, staring at him without blinking. “That’s W.C. Fields,” John explained to Harley, “an old actor.”
    “Who’s W.C. Fields?” Harley asked, looking around.
    “Who said that.”
    Conn could hear the impatience in John’s voice. He could tell John hadn’t been around a lot of kids.
    “Who said what?” Harley looked completely confused.
    Conn smothered a laugh. This was beginning to sound like an old comedy skit.
    “‘Go away, kid. You bother me,’” John tried again.
    “You already said that,” Harley said in the same exasperated voice as John.
    The porch erupted in laughter, and John glared at all of them. He narrowed his eyes at Harley. “This time I mean it.”
    “Yikes,” Harley said and gulped. Then he turned and ran down the steps and around the house screaming, followed by his laughing older brother.
    Cheryl was laughing so hard she was crying. John looked concerned. “I didn’t mean to scare him like that.” Cheryl just laughed harder.
    “He’s not,” Toby told him with a chuckle. “He’ll be back to bug you again soon.” John didn’t look too happy about that.
    “That’s what kids do, John,” Conn told him. “They always pick the weakest in the herd, you know.” John made a face at him.
    “So are you two sleeping together?” Cheryl asked out of the blue. Toby choked on his drink and started coughing.
    John looked like he’d swallowed a bug, so Conn couldn’t resist saying, “Not lately.”
    John’s jaw dropped in shock, and Toby’s coughing got worse. Evan just laughed, and so did Cheryl. “You know, Conn, I never liked you much before. I like you a lot more now.” She pounded Toby on the back. “The looks on their faces”—she gestured at Toby and John—“were priceless. They like to have died when you said that.” She was still laughing, and Conn grinned back at her.
    “More pie,” Toby gasped. “I need some pie.” The demand made his wife howl with laughter.
    “I got more,” Conn said, getting up from the step where he’d been sitting. “I saved one.”
    When they were all eating their second piece of cherry pie, Toby asked, “You ever hear that song about heaven being cherry pie?” He licked the back of his fork.
    John shook his head. “No.”
    Toby scoffed and waved a hand dismissively at him. “It’s a country song. I wouldn’t expect a city boy like you to know it.” He looked at Conn. “You were gone already. But that song always reminded me of your mama’s cherry pie.”
    Conn set his plate down on the step, not looking at Toby. “Yeah, I heard that song.” He’d cried over that damned song a time or two over the years and not just because of the line about cherry pie. The rest of the song was about his life. If Conn wrote songs, he’d have written that one. He’d learned it on the guitar, when he still had his.
    “What do you think, Evan? Is heaven cherry pie?” John asked with a smile in his voice.
    “I think heaven is eating cherry pie if you want it to be.” There was a pause. “What about you, Conn?”
    He blew out a breath. “I don’t believe in heaven.”
    “What?” Cheryl sounded scandalized.
    “Why?” That was John, and he just sounded curious.
    Conn turned on the step and leaned his back against the post so he was facing them all. “Because heaven is right now. I want to eat my cherry pie right now. I want to live the way I want right now. If I wait, well, what for?” He shook his head. “No, I’m not waiting on a heaven I can’t see or feel or touch.” He gestured to the house and the street. “I’m just gonna make this heaven.”
    “Your