Wife Number Seven

Chapter 22

The plan was set into motion. In just a matter of hours, I’d have an entire night away with Porter. More than twenty-four hours away from the compound, the Cluff household, and my role as the seventh wife of Lehi. For one night only, it would just be Brinley and Porter. That was all.

I was so excited that my thoughts were bouncing around inside my head. Calming myself enough to talk with Lehi had been challenging. For just a moment, I thought that maybe he’d express concern regarding my supposed pregnancy, that perhaps he wouldn’t want me exerting myself by traveling to Jessa’s home across the compound, or assisting her with too many things in her home. I had a speech prepared in case it was necessary.

It wasn’t.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked, feigning interest. It was a Saturday morning, and the children surrounded my husband in the common area of the home. The boys played a rowdy game of tag while two of the girls assisted Brenda with her knitting project. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Just one evening,” I said. “Her husband is away on a job, and she needs support.”

“And your mother? She can’t help Jessa for one night?”

“She’s still not well and there’s no one else. I’m sorry, but she nee—”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. But check with Leandra regarding your chores.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “And thank you.”

“Mm-hmm.” He grunted, turning his attention back to the children running freely around the common area.

Quickly, I went to speak to the first wife regarding my responsibilities. As my feet crossed the threshold into the kitchen area, I could hear Lehi scolding two of the boys for being too aggressive with each other. I shook my head at the irony.

? ? ?

“Overnight?” Leandra screeched.

“Yes.” I remained stone-faced, determined not to let Leandra get to me. I had permission from Lehi and that was all I needed. “Lehi has given me his blessing. I just need to know if there are any chores you’ll need me to complete before I leave.”

Leandra’s hands pressed into her hips as she glowered at me. I raised my chin in defiance, showing her I would not back down to her. Not anymore.

Instead of protesting, however, she simply offered a dismissive wave of her hand. “No. The other wives will pitch in.”

“Thank you.”

“Be home by lunch tomorrow.”

“All right,” I answered, turning to walk away from my scowling sister wife.

“That’s not a request,” she snapped. “I expect you to be here when lunch is served.”

Keep sweet. She’s not worth it. Keep sweet. She’s not worth it.

“Yes, Leandra.”

Smoke filled the kitchen and Leandra shouted, “Rebecca, your eggs are burning! Honestly, girl, they are the easiest things to cook! How do you manage to constantly burn the eggs?”

I walked to my room to retrieve the one suitcase I owned. It was old and blue, given to me by my mother the day of my wedding to Lehi. I’d used it on my honeymoon for our evening at the seedy motel, but hadn’t touched it since. Dust had collected on it after three years on the top shelf of my closet.

I was going to make new memories with this suitcase. New memories with Porter.

And I couldn’t wait.

? ? ?

A look of confusion crossed Tiffany’s face when I entered the free clinic. She had been hunched over the desk, handling never-ending paperwork, and when she saw me, I noticed her lower her gaze to check the calendar, knowing I wasn’t due for another batch of pills for at least two weeks. The goofy grin on my face revealed that I was up to something. Her lips lifted into a smile as I approached.

“You look different,” she said, looking me up and down.

I had no real response; I knew she was right. I brushed at the warm skin of my cheeks, knowing that they were glowing in anticipation. All I could do was widen my grin.

“Things are good, I guess.” Tiffany smirked and placed her hands on her hips.

“Yes,” I admitted. “But I need your help.”

Tiffany shook her head, looking slightly annoyed, then crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why does that not surprise me?”

Right then and there, I realized that the only time I visited my cousin was when I needed something from her. Shame washed over me, making me feel small and petty.

“I-I’m sorry, Tiffany. I should come by more, just to see you.”

“Whatever, it’s fine.” She flipped her short hair behind her ear before glancing down at the suitcase at my feet. “Oh my gosh, are you . . . are you leaving? Like, for good?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Her brightened expression dimmed to one of conflicted concern. “Then, um, what do you need?”

“I-I want to surprise Porter. We’re spending the night together, and I don’t want to look like . . .” I pinched at the fabric of my dress. “Well, I don’t want to look like this.”

“Are you serious?” Her smile widened into a toothy grin as she clenched her teeth. “That’s awesome!”

“I was hoping you could loan me some clothes. I’d return them, of course.”

“Of course.” She glanced back to the other employees at the desk before taking a quick look at her wristwatch. “I’ll take a quick lunch break. We can go to my apartment and I’ll send you on your way.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Are you kidding? I’m so proud of you right now, I can hardly stand it. Just give me a sec.”

Tiffany walked back to speak to another employee, gestured to me, and then reached under the counter to retrieve her purse.

“Follow me,” she said with a smile. There was a bounce to her step that I’d never seen before.

We walked two blocks to her apartment, which was situated above the drugstore. We climbed the three flights up to her small residence.

“It’s a studio, so it’s tiny,” she admitted as we walked into the one-room apartment. “But it’s all mine.”

I took in the deep red and white curtains that hung from the windows, feeling drawn to their bold color, a color not allowed on the compound. Tiffany was embracing her freedom and expressing her personality through her decor. Her couch was a deep plum color and several posters hung from the walls. I wasn’t sure what they represented—movies? Bands? I didn’t know, but was curious.

“I love it.” And I did. I was taken with her tiny home, and for the first time wasn’t afraid of what it represented. Instead, I was fascinated.

“So . . .” Tiffany walked to a small white dresser and removed several tops of assorted colors, placing them on her bed. “You can borrow whatever you want. Depends on what you’re most comfortable in.”

I reached out to touch the soft fabric of a pale yellow tunic. It was modest, but delicate and pretty.

“May I?” I asked, holding it up to my chest.

“Of course.”

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Don’t be silly, just change here.” When I bit my bottom lip, Tiffany rolled her eyes. “I’m not looking at you or anything.”

“All right.”

Removing the dress that felt like it was stitched together with twenty pounds of fabric, I stared at the other items she placed on the bed. A pink sweatshirt, jeans, skirts, and a tiny black sweater. When I’d finally removed my dress and long underwear, I tried on each piece, finally opting for the tunic and jeans.

“You look awesome.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning my body as I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I was taken aback at how pants felt on my body. The jeans hugged my thighs and flared slightly at my ankles. I’d always felt that we were required to wear our bulky dresses to reinforce our femininity, but I was wrong. I felt more feminine in that pair of jeans than I had in my twenty-two years wearing nothing but dresses.

“What about your hair?”

I closed my eyes and inhaled, exhaling softly through my mouth. It was time.

“Will you change it for me?”

“Do you mean style it?”

“Yes, please.”

Tiffany crossed to me and removed the rubber band holding my hair in the thick braid. Her fingers sifted through the thick layers, allowing the strands to loosen. My scalp tingled as the hair was released.

“Do you want me to cut it?”

I gasped.

“Never mind,” Tiffany said with a laugh.

“Not yet,” I said, grasping a handful of hair and holding it close. “I’m not ready.”

“I get it,” Tiffany conceded, stroking my hair gently with her fingertips. “I chopped mine off immediately and I kinda wish I hadn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

She shrugged. “I guess it felt like an act of rebellion, not freedom. Now when I cut it, it’s freedom. I’m making a choice for myself, not against the prophet or my parents or whatever.”

“That makes sense.”

“Wait as long as you like. I shouldn’t have asked that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“Let’s see here,” she said, pulling my thick locks into her hands. “What if I curl it? I can give you some loose waves. It’ll be gorgeous.”

“I trust you.”

? ? ?

An hour later, I found myself in front of Porter’s door, feeling unsure of myself and of my appearance. I had no idea if he would approve of the changes I made.

When I’d taken one final glance in Tiffany’s full-length mirror, I was astounded at the look Tiffany had created. The tunic was loose enough that I didn’t feel too on display for the men who passed me on the sidewalk, yet the jeans hugged my thighs in a way that made me feel sexy—and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I needed to see Porter’s reaction to feel validated.

I needed to know if I belonged in his world. Because we both knew he’d outgrown mine.

The door opened and Porter stared at me in silence. Pressure filled my chest as I waited for a reaction, then I immediately began mentally chastising myself. He must have been less than impressed with the changes I’d made to my body, my hair, my clothing.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll . . . I’ll go back . . . I’ll change.” Humiliated, I clenched my fists, hating that I was showing so much vulnerability, first with my appearance and then my stutter.

“What?” Porter grabbed my elbow. “No, no, Brin. You shocked me, but I love this. You look so natural, so . . . different. It’s like I’m seeing you with new eyes.”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “I was worried. I thought you hated how I looked.”

He pulled me close, running his fingers through my newly wavy hair from root to tip. “First of all, no way. That’s impossible.” He chuckled. “Secondly, have you looked in a mirror? You’re freaking hot.”

I glanced down shyly, my shoulders rising in modest happiness. “Thank you.”

“Did you do this for me?”

“No. Well, yes.” I hesitated. “I did it for both of us.”

He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I’m so glad you did.” He wrapped his hands around my waist.

I peered into the long hallway, feeling bashful. “Should I come in?”

“Well, actually, I have a surprise for you,” he said. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

Porter grinned in a way that I’d never seen before. He seemed giddy. Was it my outfit? The fact that he could finally run his fingers through my hair as he’d been dying to do for weeks? Or was it the surprise he mentioned? Regardless, he had my full attention. Knowing that I could cause such happiness in Porter made me fall even more for him.

“Ready?” he asked, dragging the old suitcase behind him.

“You’re using it,” I said, gesturing to his dusty case. The smile ran away from Porter’s face and I immediately wanted to pretend I’d never drawn attention to his choice in luggage.

“For this? Absolutely.”

“This?” I asked, puzzled once again.

“You’ll see. Come on, Brin.”

? ? ?

We drove for over an hour with the radio blasting and the windows rolled down. For just a moment, I was tempted to unbuckle my safety belt and hang my feet out the window, but I didn’t have it in me. Not yet, at least.

Porter turned the car onto a gravel road that almost resembled the compound. Hesitation and comfort, in equal measure, rose in my throat. I had no idea where we were going, but I was eager to find out.

Finally Porter turned at a tiny yellow mailbox, and pulled the car into a dirt driveway in front of a small cottage.

“Where are we?” I asked, peering at the tiny house. It was in the final stages of construction, framed and roofed and sheathed, the windows and doors installed, but it wasn’t yet complete.

Porter stopped the engine, removed his key, and looked me in the eye. “Home.”

“What?” I asked, slightly panicked. Had Porter just said we were home? What and where exactly was home?

“Well, mine, anyway. Let me show you.”

Pebbles crunched under my sneakers as we walked through the dirt to approach the porch of the tiny residence.

“But you live in your apartment . . . don’t you?” My heart was racing. I didn’t understand.

He opened the door to reveal an empty living area. Unpainted drywall lined the small room that was about the size of my bedroom at the Cluff house. I could see and smell the wood of brand new kitchen cabinets as Porter led me into the kitchen. The countertops had been installed, but the room hadn’t been painted and there were no appliances yet.

“About a year ago, my boss bought this land, all of this. And then his wife dropped a bomb on him. She wanted a divorce.”

“Okay.”

“He was going to build her dream house. But when she left him, he couldn’t even hear her name, let alone deal with this.” Porter gestured around the house. “So, he offered the land to me. Instead of a bonus. I took it, I mean, who turns down free land?”

“Wow.”

He continued to tell his story as we walked through the small one-bedroom cottage. Pride brightened his expression as he showed me the living room, kitchen with dining area, and a bedroom with an adjoining bath.

“So on Sundays, I come here to clear my head. I bought a bunch of lumber from him, and I’ve been working slowly. And for a while, I didn’t do anything at all.”

“You didn’t? Why not?”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Not motivated, I guess. But that all changed when I met you.”

The pumping of my heart accelerated and butterflies swarmed my belly.

“Did you know I’ve been clean for two months?” he asked, taking my hand.

I knew he’d been doing his best, but I’d avoided mentioning timetables for fear of frightening him or setting him up for failure.

“No, I didn’t.”

“That’s because of you, Brin. You’re my motivation.”

My cheeks burned and I squeezed his hand before he continued.

“I’ve been building again, and it’s actually pretty awesome. I come out here, blast my music, and work my ass off, and then I go home to my loser roommates and pass out.” He scratched the back of his neck and laughed. “I can’t stay there. I’ll never stay clean if I do, even with you in my life.”

I flinched. I’d hoped that his feelings for me would and could be motivation enough for him to stop killing himself slowly with drugs.

“It’s the God’s honest truth, unfortunately. They’re a bunch of miserable guys all huddled together eating garbage, playing video games, watching porn . . . and out of sheer boredom, they get high. I know because I was one of them. I have to get out of there.”

“That’s wonderful, Porter. I’m so proud of you. And this place—”

“I know it’s nothing compared to the mansion you live in now. But I have three acres here. One day, it’ll be more than this. It’ll just take time.”

“You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say this place, it’s beautiful. Truly beautiful.”

“It will be.”

? ? ?

Hours later, we were lying on an air mattress as candles flickered, painting shadows on the walls of the bedroom. A half-eaten pizza and an empty wine bottle sat on the floor next to us.

“You know,” Porter murmured, “you’ve become pretty feisty.”

“Feisty?” I asked, shocked. I pushed onto my elbow. “What on earth . . . ?”

“Calm down,” he said, sitting up. “I just mean, you know, you’re not afraid to take control in the bedroom. I like it. I like it a lot.”

I knew what he was talking about.

That night, perhaps influenced by the wine I’d used to wash down my dinner, I’d initiated sex between us. Not only that, though, I’d been on top for the first time. It was exhilarating to have Porter beneath me, his eyes wide, his hands clutching my breasts as I moved above him. He’d given me plenty of orgasms, but that one was pretty spectacular.

“You bring it out in me, I guess.”

“Nah, you’re just a vixen.” He winked.

I was starting to get used to his sense of humor. It was what Leandra would call inappropriate, but to me, the less I judged, the funnier it became.

When I swatted him with the back of my hand, he pretended to flinch as my hand made contact with his bare skin. “And you’re a—a . . .”

“I’m a what?” he pressed. Porter knew that name calling was not something I was used to, or at all comfortable with.

I’d planned to call him a jerk, but instead, I had to tell him what I was really feeling.

It was time.

“You’re a dream.” My cheeks turned hot as I looked down at the blanket draped across my bare chest. His presence in my life was like a light . . . a beacon of hope. The prophet was constantly talking about following the light, following the way of our Lord. But up until meeting Porter, my life was so dark, so dull, and so serious. I was told about light, told about beacons and hope and faith, but had never experienced them.

But Porter made me feel all those things. He was quite literally a dream come true.

“And you,” he murmured, placing a hand gently behind my neck, “are my heaven.”

I was stunned.

In our religion, heaven was the ultimate destination, the place we worked so hard to earn. For Porter to say I was his heaven here on earth left me speechless. Utterly and completely speechless.

“How can you say such a thing?” My curiosity was getting the better of me. I couldn’t just accept a compliment of this magnitude; I had to understand it.

He took a deep breath. “The compound . . . that place is my hell. It represents all of the awful things that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. But you, you’re my heaven. My new beginning, my paradise. Does that make sense?”

Completely overcome with his confession, I pressed my lips to his, deepening the kiss immediately. I moved to straddle his stomach, then leaned over to plant kiss after kiss on his face, his neck, and his chest before finally accepting the most breathtaking compliment of my life.

“Yes, it does.” My eyes welled with tears. “Thank you.”

Porter pushed to a seated position, holding me steady in his lap so that my legs wrapped around his waist, and my heels pressed into the muscles of his back.

He swallowed hard, his eyes wary as he said, “I’m in love with you.”

I’d be lying to myself if I said it didn’t scare me. But I felt the same way and I needed to express it, but somehow those three words didn’t seem adequate.

Porter apparently could read the worry on my face. “What is it?” he asked, shifting slightly.

“I’m not sure I can form the words. Love doesn’t seem like enough. You’re just . . . you’ve changed my life.”

“And you’ve changed mine.” He still looked confused as his fingertips slid down my cheeks.

“I love you in a way that I didn’t know I could,” I finally said, and Porter smiled and released a sigh. “And I love you in a way that I never will again.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his expression pained. “We have to do this, Brin. You and me. Please don’t say no. I’m begging you.”

“I know,” I said, smoothing his hair with my fingertips as I nodded. “I’ll never say no to you again.”

The screams in my head had arrived.

And I welcomed them with open arms.