Preacher

by Blake, Joanna

  And because she couldn’t seem to help herself, she liked to dress me up, too.

  Today, the outfit she’d selected was a pair of my old high school jeans, cut off and frayed by her own hand, to a length that was borderline too short for me. Thank goodness the bottom of my ass cheeks did not hang out, though two inches and they would have. I would have had to draw the line at that. The top was a vintage Western shirt she’d found and bought for me because it was too small for her. It was blue and white stripes with tiny cherries all over it, which she insisted I tie at the waist.

  She said it looked like an outfit one of the original Charlie’s Angels would have worn on an undercover assignment at a dude ranch, which seemed extremely specific to me!

  I rolled my eyes, remembering how Clarice had enjoyed a good laugh about those cherries no longer being appropriate for me when she came by to pick out my look.

  Ha. Ha. Ha.

  I sighed and pulled on my plain white kicks bought from the discount store. No force on earth would get me to wear the white cowboy boots she’d also thrifted in my size. Well, not with short shorts, anyway.

  I was not Jessica Simpson as Daisy Duke!

  Preacher might get a kick out of those boots, though.

  I sighed and tugged them on, looking in the mirror. I had one sneaker on and one cowboy bootie. The boots were actually really cute, I decided. The ankle length kept them from being too over-the-top. But definitely not practical if the day got hot, which it probably would. Plus, I’d be on my feet from sunup to sundown.

  Sneakers it was.

  Maybe the booties will look cute with one of the sundresses I thrifted with Clarice a couple of weeks ago, I mused. Nothing fancy, but cotton stuff lasted forever, and if it wasn’t stained, you could usually spiff it up. I could wear the boots out on a date.

  An hour ago, I was imagining kicking him repeatedly in the shins. Now I was thinking of cute outfits to wear on my limited budget. Clearly, I was a pushover. A sap. I was whipped.

  I was already on the road to forgiving Preacher, I realized with a sigh. I was more than halfway down it, truth be told. It really was just a mix-up. We’d both made assumptions about the other in the heat of the moment. We were both at fault.

  And the way he’d lit up when he realized I might be pregnant . . . well, that made up for a lot. He had been a little bit smug, with his chest puffed out like a peacock. But his excitement was genuine.

  After I’d calmed down, I had seen it clearly. The man was stoked. He wanted to make babies with me.

  Lots of them, apparently.

  I needed to stay strong, though. I had to be sure he’d be a good partner. And the timing wasn’t perfect for me. Maybe if I was done with school . . .

  But somehow, the thought of a baby had changed my thinking. I cupped my belly, knowing I was being ridiculous and not caring. It was far too early to know or even be officially pregnant. My maternal instincts were already kicking in, though.

  Having someone to take care of and love . . . well, that suddenly sounded amazing. Being a mother seemed beyond perfect, regardless of timing. I could always go back to school or try and finish before I gave birth . . .

  I swiped on some lipgloss and pushed my hair into a ponytail. I looked tired, I decided, adding a few dabs of blush to my cheeks. But it was no wonder. I’d been tossing and turning over the fight with Preacher for days. I’d given everything to him and was just getting used to that. Everything about him was way more than I’d bargained for, not that I’d really been thinking clearly at the time.

  And five AM was way too early to be out and about, especially when I’d passed out well after midnight!

  “Oh, well. At least there will be coffee,” I grumbled, grabbing my keys and stuffing some money into my pockets. I would be too busy to notice how tired I was soon enough. I knew from experience that pushing through and going to bed early was the best course of action. Working and going to school since the age of sixteen had taught me that!

  When I got there, I was surprised to see Preacher and Clarice laughing as they sipped coffee in the courtyard. Preacher had brought out his kitchen chair, as usual. But this morning, he’d brought out two.

  He saw me and immediately disappeared inside, returning with a coffee made just the way I liked it. He handed it to me solemnly and offered me his seat.

  He kissed my cheek as I sat, murmuring a husky ‘good morning’ that sent chills through my body.

  I’d missed him, I realized. More than I could have imagined. It scared me a little bit, truth be told.

  “Refill?”

  Clarice nodded, and he went back inside, coming back out with two steaming cups.

  “Is it spiked?” I asked archly. I knew it was unfair. Preacher didn’t drink nearly as much as he had when he first took over for Rev. Paul. But I was feeling cranky. I was still mad, not to mention overtired, and I was taking it out on him.

  Not fair, one voice inside me said.

  More than fair. He deserves it, another voice said.

  I sighed, realizing they were both right.

  “No. Not spiked.”

  “But that’s not a bad idea!” Clarice cackled.

  “Maybe later,” Preacher said with a wry smile. “A couple of cold ones on me. When we are wrapping things up.”

  “It’s a deal, Preach!”

  I said nothing, not sure if I was included in the invitation.

  “Did you take a test?” he asked suddenly. And just like that, the tallest woman for miles disappeared. Clarice was on her feet and across the courtyard before I could even blink.

  “Coward,” I muttered. Then I looked at him. “No. It’s too soon to tell anyway, I think.”

  “So no beer for you,” he said with a nod. “Unless it happened that first week.”

  My jaw dropped. He was right. I really knew nothing about baby making. I’d done a lot of Googling, but that hadn’t quite clicked in. They considered you pregnant as of the date of your last period. Which was . . .

  I pulled out my phone and glanced at the calendar, scrolling back a month.

  Hmmm, I should be getting my period any day now. Is it messed up that a secret part of me hopes I won’t?

  “Listen, Cynthia. As happy as it would make me to have a baby with you, I never meant to force it on you. I made some big assumptions and I got carried away. I’m real sorry for that. But I’m not sorry for anything else.”

  I stared at him, my throat working and tears suddenly forming in my eyes.

  “I know. I . . . it’s my fault, too.”

  “I’m the more experienced one. I should have thought things through.” He sat across from me in Clarice’s recently vacated chair. I watched as he ran a hand through his salt and pepper waves. “I can’t think straight when it comes to you, sweetheart. I just can’t.”

  “If I am . . .” I said in a raw voice. “What are we going to do about it?”

  He stared at me, his jaw ticking.

  “Well, first of all, I want to marry you. Whether or not you keep the baby. If there even is a baby.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “You don’t have to . . . you shouldn’t marry me just because you knocked me up.”

  “Don’t say that,” he said fiercely. “Don’t ever say that. I’ve wanted to lock you down since the moment I laid eyes on you. I just never imagined I would get past that wall you threw up.”

  “It was a pretty big wall,” I admitted. “But you really wanted me then? For real?”

  “Wanted is an understatement. Every second I spent around you just made me more determined.”

  I let out a startled laugh.

  “But I was such a . . .”

  “Bitch? Maybe a little. But I didn’t blame you for that, and I still don’t. Paul means a lot to you. Here I was, this half-drunk, tattooed biker stepping into his shoes. It must have been a lot to swallow.”

  He gave me a warm look, and I blushed, remembering taking him into my mouth only a few short days ago. B
ut things felt different now. Things between us suddenly felt more . . . formal.

  “You really want to marry me, Preacher?” I asked softly.

  “I told you I loved you, woman! You think I go around saying that?”

  I stared at him, not sure what to say. But Preacher wasn’t finished. He stood up, kicking his chair out of the way as he stood over me. It should have been intimidating. But it wasn’t. Overwhelming, maybe, but not scary. I knew he’d never hurt me.

  “You know how many women I’ve told those words to? Do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Three.” He held out three fingers, ticking them off one by one. “My mother, my sister, and you. That’s it. In my whole godforsaken life, there have only been three. And I didn’t have a choice when it came to the first two. I chose you, Cynthia. Only you.”

  I stared at him, the cup of coffee spilling as I let it dangle at my side. Preacher was on me in a heartbeat, his big, rough hands pulling me up and cupping my face as he stared into my eyes.

  “Marry me, Cynthia. And let’s make lots of babies. Or not. It’s up to you. It is your body and your decision. You are more than enough for me, either way.”

  “So, you wouldn’t care if we . . . didn’t have any?”

  “Not a bit. A baby would just be the icing on a cake that I never thought I’d even get a bite of. You are everything to me. Don’t you know you’re so much more than I ever expected out of life? Let me take care of you. Let me love you. Forever.”

  I was too choked up to do more than nod shakily and whisper, “Yes.” Then he was kissing me. Not just kissing, he was devouring me with his lips and hands. It was almost like Preacher wanted to inhale me.

  He moved without my even realizing it, pressing me against the exterior wall of the parsonage, the cool stone pressing into my back.

  Time stopped. It seemed like a year passed, with our tongues tangling and our bodies straining to get as close as possible. In another way, it felt like only a few seconds before Preacher lifted his head, staring down at me like I was something precious.

  “Let’s take this inside.”

  I nodded breathlessly. I was more than ready to tumble back into bed with Preacher. I was desperate to get into his worn-in jeans.

  That’s when I heard it.

  Giggles. Very young sounding giggles. I peered over Preacher’s shoulders to see half of my dance troupe watching us.

  “Preacher and Cynthia, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Little Preacher in a baby carriage. Sucking his thumb, wetting his pants, doing the hula-hula dance.”

  “Haven’t they changed the words in all these years?” he asked me with a grimace. I shook my head, unable to hide my smile, even though the kids were kind of a bucket of ice water on the passionate moment.

  It didn’t matter, though.

  He loved me. He wanted to marry me. He meant everything he had said.

  I had sensed in his touch that I was special to him. Precious, even. But hearing the words out loud did something to me. I felt the worry in my heart start to ease up, those deep, old worries that I was so used to, I had forgotten they were even there. It was like this big, tense ball inside me finally relaxed and expanded to its normal shape.

  Preacher groaned and let me go, turning to face the crowd that had gathered.

  “All right, volunteers. I have you until your performance. We are on trash and setup duty.”

  “Garbage?” Marcus said with a wrinkled nose.

  Preacher nodded.

  “We’re going to make these streets sparkle before the street fair, and again after. That’ll be the hard part. We are bringing people from all over the city here, and we can’t leave it messy for the folks who live here.”

  He winked at me.

  “We’d best let Miss Cynthia get to work. Lock up for me?”

  “Okay,” I said, finally noticing my coffee cup rolling on the ground beside me. Miraculously, it hadn’t broken in the fall. I scooped it up and took both cups inside, putting them in the sink. I hummed, making myself a fresh cup with a clean mug. I locked up, heading over to the annex, which was where all the vendors would come to sign in and all the volunteers would get their assignments for the day.

  Basically, my job was making sure everything and everyone stayed on track.

  You’ve got this, Cynth.

  Folks were already in the kitchens, making coffee and sandwiches for anyone who needed them. Aunt Julia pressed a pastry wrapped in a napkin into my hand when I popped my head in.

  “Chocolate croissant,” she said with a wink. “Did I ever tell you my mama was French?”

  “All the time, Mademoiselle,” I teased. I sniffed appreciatively. “This smells delicious.”

  “Is that one of Preacher’s mugs I spy?” She arched a brow at me, and I blushed, mumbling something about vendor check-in. Does everyone know? I wondered worriedly as I shuffled down the hallway. Not that it mattered. Preacher loved me. He wasn’t some teenage boy who was going to start nailing my best friend on the side.

  Though I am pretty sure Clarice would be 100% okay with that, I thought with a chuckle. Not the cheating part. Just the big, tattooed biker in bed part.

  I headed to the biggest studio, where Clarice and I had set up a folding table and chairs the night before. We’d been planning this event for so long, even before Preacher had arrived. Once he laid out his whole big neighborhood revitalization plan, the scope of the whole street fair had doubled or even tripled in size.

  Everyone loved the idea. They wanted to help. They wanted to be part of his plan.

  Preacher just does that to people, I guess. He’s charismatic. But it’s more than that. He cares.

  Vendors were already signing in and getting their row assignments. Preacher and his crew passed by the bank of windows, each wearing gloves and holding an industrial garbage bag. The kids loved him. He was good for them in a different way than Paul, I realized, feeling slightly guilty for thinking so. Not better or worse. Just different.

  I smiled happily, suddenly feeling that all was well in the world.

  We would raise enough money to help the neighborhood. Preacher and I would be married. And Paul would come back, at least part-time. He would survive this. We had to be overdue for a miracle or two, I decided.

  Five hours and three more cups of coffee later, I wasn’t so sure. The fair was going well enough, or it had been, until around noon when the drinking started. A gang of rowdy teenagers were strutting around like peacocks with their chests puffed out and knocking over displays, even overturning an ice cream machine. I apologized to the vendors, running this way and that to put things to rights. Preacher and Clarice were doing the same, with the help of our volunteers.

  I stepped away, heading to the bandstand where live musical acts had been playing all day. But it was nearly time for my kids to strut their stuff.

  The dance crew huddled around me for a last-minute pep talk. Then they were on. They were on point today, I observed with a proud smile as they danced their little hearts out. They were definitely getting good enough for competition. I’d speak to Preacher about it and see if it was in the budget.

  There would be travel expenses, like renting a bus and hotels and costumes. But it might be just what these kids needed. It was a lot of extra work and responsibility for me, but it was doable.

  I knew all about the competition circuit after Clarice and I had binge-watched a show on Netflix about a guy who ran a dance studio and was a famous drag queen on top of it. Then I’d watched all of Dance Moms.

  I already felt like I was almost a mama to some of these kids. Would it be different if I were a mama for real?

  They ran off the stage, high-fiving me as they passed. I even got a couple of hugs. I handed out food and drink tickets and told them to enjoy the rest of the fair, no trash duty or anything else unless they wanted to after the fair shut down. That was met with whoops and hollers. I watched as they took
off, trying to decide what treats to try.

  I shook my head, heading back to the church to see what needed doing. My feet were hurting and my back was tired. But the day wasn’t done yet, though we were getting close to the time Preacher and Clarice had chosen to meet for a drink.

  Come to think of it, a cold beer did sound mighty good right about now. Would a beer hurt a baby at this phase? I did a quick Google search. Apparently, even if I were pregnant, it was unlikely that it had even attached. And as long as you and the baby are healthy, normal activity is fine, other than super-hot baths. It wasn’t like I was going skydiving or anything.

  It was all ridiculous because it was unlikely I was even pregnant. It’s not like you got knocked up every time you had sex. But we had been having an awful lot of sex . . .

  Just in case I was pregnant, I decided to skip it. Maybe I’d have a sip of Preacher’s, just to get that summer feeling.

  I sighed. The man had been giving me puppy dog eyes all day. I had forgiven him already, even though he clearly didn’t know it. How could I not?

  That’s when I heard it. Gunshots. Close.

  I did the stupidest thing you can do it that situation. The thing I would tell my dance kids to never, ever do. I ran toward the sound, not away.

  A feeling of dread was pulsing in my veins. Something was wrong, I knew it. It hadn’t been a car exhaust or someone shooting into the air. Someone was shot. Someone I cared about.

  So I ran.

  “Freak! Fucking freak!”

  I stopped short at the sight that greeted me. One of the neighborhood gangbangers lay on the ground, covered in leather and torn denim. I recognized the teen and the sneer on his face. Preacher’s long hair was covering his face, so I couldn’t see him. He had the shooter’s wrist flat to the ground and was clearly squeezing. As I watched, the guy’s hand opened and the gun fell.