“It’s my pub,” he said.
Ellie hadn’t noticed me until now. But she recognized my voice before her eyes perched onto my rugged good looks, and widened them with disbelief. Granted, Ellie had no warning of my arrival, but if she had any feelings left for me, as I thought she might (I thought she looked stunning under the dim lighting), she managed to wash it down with a pill of stoicism, and said, matter-of-factly: “Well, if it isn’t the son of a Preacher man. Are you finally crossing over to the dark side and joining the powers of atheism? Unlike the devil, we can’t promise you fame, fortune, or longevity, but we can point you into the direction of intelligence.”
“Hello, Elizabeth.”
“I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“I’m taking up a job as an ordained minister.”
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, still slightly amused, but with a dash of disgust sprinkled in.
“My short term goal is to convert everyone in town, including the militia of loyal followers that you’ve got here with you.”
Her disciples smirked, but otherwise said nothing.
“That sounds awful, just like old times,” she reveled in a smirk of her own. “Let me know how that turns out.” She then turned to her disciples on either side of her and said: “The drunk here is not only the owner of this pub, but also my best-friends husband. And Preacher here, well, I had the unfortunate opportunity of dating him. In your pursuit of purified atheism, please avoid a mistake like him.”
“You never had the thirst for Driftwood when we were dating.”
I thought there might be actual sympathy mixed in the soup of her sarcasm when she said: “Thanksgiving with your family wasn’t exactly appetizing, Preacher.”
She had a point.
Elizabeth then added: “There’s a new man in my life. He’s into real estate, but let’s just say he’s handsome, enough so that a Yankee girl could follow him south of the Mason-Dixon line. I know how this looks, but my being here is strictly…circumstantial.”
“Is that who has you undressing for centerfolds now?”
Ellie was not amused. “It’s a book cover.”
“That’s worse. It leaves less to the imagination.”
Ellie leaned in, but anyone standing around within ear’s distance could hear what she had to say next. “Do you even remember how often I tried to undress for you?”
“Yes, if I recall, on our first date.”
“Hardly,” She leaned back into the booth, crossing both arms. “Don’t flatter yourself. Still saving it for some special woman who wants to be duped and squeezed into the unholy confines of marital enslavement?”
Michael hadn’t lost a single ingredient as a recipient of the righteous indignation resulting from adultery. He was still stewing, and said: “Are we done here – can I get back to my issue?”
I said: “I can’t get through to this woman. I have nothing more to say –she’s all yours.”
“Then why did you show up?” She said.
“Ellie, I want to know.” Michael.
“I’m not accountable to you for Elise’s decisions.”
“So you do know about it then. You know about the man she’s been seeing.”
“Of course I do. I’ve known about it for weeks. And I would even go so far as to say the same for her. She’s not accountable to you.”
“She’s my wife.”
“This isn’t the dark ages. You don’t own her.”
“I rather thought you might say that,” I said.
She pointed a ball-point pen at me. “Don’t start, Preacher.”
The stirring of gossip magnified in the pub around us, only much of it was mixed with genuine concern for the safety of the world’s next candidate-leader of atheism.
“I know this is your pub, but I’d hate for either of you to end up spending the night in jail.” She turned to me now. “I say this because I care for the trees and you already have a rap sheet in New York long enough that could crucify an entire forest just to print the paper needed for it.”
“I was framed. You know that.”
Ellie only addressed me long enough to say, Uh-huh, and then, turning her attention back to Michael: “I can smell the alcohol.” Aside from a calm demeanor dripping with sarcasm, Ellie sounded genuinely concerned. “You both sound confused, you each arrived with a question, and I believe you got what you came for.”
“Yes,” Michael said. “I believe I have.”
I said: “Wait, I didn’t ask my question yet.”
But Michael had already started back through the crowd.
Ellie stood up too, and said to her disciples: “If you don’t mind, I’ll see these two fools out personally.”
c
ELLIE FITZGERALD WASN’T ONE to take no for an answer, unless the question apparently hinged on the existence of God, and so caught up with Michael halfway across the floor, and with little debate succeeded in ushering him, the two of us really, towards the back door.
“Good job.” She finally grinned after reaching for the back door (marked EMPLOYEES ONLY). The exit dumped us into a modest parking lot lined with trash cans, though that opened up onto the sands of Rosie’s Cove, with Atlantic waters just beyond. The cool ocean breeze felt good. “You made yet another exemplary use of religion-by-force, and in front of a dozen atheists. You can thank me for showing you some grace later.”
I said: “Wow, an atheist who answers to grace. Welcome to the higher calling.”
“I’m done talking about us, Preacher, – next subject.” Ellie could certainly handle two men well (I never had a chance by myself, as relationships go), because she then turned to Michael with ease and asked: “How long have you known?”
“Maybe a couple of hours.”
“I take it she’s left for the night.”
“I don’t know where she’s gone.”
“And you thought I might be able to help.”
“I am sorry, Ellie. I’m being unprofessional. I’ve been a cat’s ass with the tail lifted.”
“No, you’re not a cat’s ass, just emotionally shipwrecked… and drunk, and yes, unprofessional.” She thought about it some more. “And an irrational religious thinker, as the Preacher’s Son here has attested to, but that’s a given. And….”
“A hatred of God isn’t rational thinking, Ellie,” I said.
“It’s impossible to hate a God that doesn’t exist, and besides, if a lover of mine cheated on me, I might just cut his balls off.” She said the last part with a complimentary touch of Michael’s arm. The thought gave me chills but she apparently wanted our parting to end well, in her own strange way.
Once more turning towards Michael, she said: “And I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard this must be on you. I know we haven’t always been close, but you’re very dear to Desarae. She still cares about you. I know she does. And anything that Desarae cares about, so do I.”
“Which means you care about this new…. man in her life…. don’t you?”
“Yes. I do.” She looked nervous saying it despite her firm demeanor. “He’s quite the catch. Maybe we’ll all laugh about it one day.”
“I’m not just another flavor of the month, Ellie.”
I thought he might cry. She noticed it too.
“Yes, I know. You’re anything but that.”
“If Desarae and I can’t work this out, will you watch over this guy? You know, just in case he turns out to be a cat’s asshole with its tail lifted or something.”
She squeezed his arm. “You mean like a narrow-minded religious asshole?”
“No, more like an intellectual atheist asshole.”
“I will. Especially since I much prefer having the good ones all to myself.” She kissed him on the cheek. “But in the meantime, who is going to watch over you? Alcohol sure isn’t doing a very good job of it.”
“I guess I have God,” he said.
“Yes.” She patted the very cheek that she’d only seconds ago kissed, grinning. “Good luc
k with that.”
“He also has me,” was my input.
“You’d better stick with God. I’d know something about that.” Ellie patted his back. “Oh, and Preacher….”
I spun around.
“If either one of you ever do that to me again, walk in on my friends and cause a scene, I’ll cut your balls off.”
c
ANDREA SLUMPED DOWN INTO THE BARSTOOL at my side and leaned against the counter, probably as an extra crutch, staring at her emptied glass of Tokyo Tea that she’d brought with her for refilling. I was waiting on Michael to exit the bathroom, and eager to get him home. If she had witnessed Michael’s confrontation only moments earlier, that much wasn’t immediately clear, but one thing was certain, news of Desarae’s infidelity had already spread, and she was dancing on his grave in celebration.
“Can you believe it?” She finally said.
“I know, Reggie Jackson hitting three straight home runs off of three different pitchers in the 1977 World Series. I’m still trying to get over the insanity of that one.”
Andrea scrunched her face up into a ball. She looked confused. I hoped I hadn’t overloaded her brain. It would be horrible if her face were stuck like that, or maybe not so much. She waited until the bartender on duty; his name was Richie, delivered another Tokyo Tea.
“No, I’m talking about this.”
“It is a lovely bar. I’m impressed. Not many women notice these things.” I spread my hands across the counter. “Polished walnut, – I heard it was restored from the turn of the last century, but back then it was at a bar in downtown Charleston. Think of all the stories. If only counters could talk.”
The pub itself was overlaid with mahogany wood, a wall-sized mirror, chrome-lined bar, hand crafted pillars, and booths that glimmered in the light of Arthurian knights staring back at us through panes of glass. None of this seemed to have an effect on her, as her face was scrunched up when next she turned to stare at me. Oh well, I’d give her the nickel tour another time. I considered delivering the timeless stern mother’s warning, but I’d decided some time ago that it hurt for her to think about anything other than banging boys for money and booze, let alone the craftsmanship of a room. But being a jack-of-all-trades is sort of overrated anyhow.
“I can’t believe she married a bartender.” She guzzled down another helping of her Tokyo Tea.
I looked to Richie, nudged my head at him, and cut a finger across my throat, as if to signal that this should be the end of it, – for her at least.
I said: “It’s nice, coming down here to your son-in-law’s bar, to cash in personal grievances.”
“And now Josephine is dating a nurse. I raised my daughters to be respectable members of society. A therapist…” She barely managed to hold a finger up for therapists. That would be Desarae. “A fashion buyer,” Elise, “And a lawyer….” She held up a third finger for lawyer, Josephine. “Do you know how embarrassing it is…having to tell all my friends that my daughters married a bartender and probably a nurse,” and then she leaned in, “and what are you again?”
“A pastor,” I said.
Disgust filled the lack of color in her cheekbones, “…and a pastor.”
“In the two weeks that Elise and I have been going steady, I’ve yet to convince her to sell everything and join a monastery. Believe me, I tried.”
“Exactly,” Andrea fingered my chest. She was having a very difficult time keeping her head up and diamond-shaped eyes open. “All my daughters boyfriends and husbands wants to do is feel up woman’s boobies with a stethoscope and a rosary…”
“Actually, I think doctors use stethoscopes. Nurses probably just write their breast sizes down on a chart.”
“And live in a barn with some male-nun or something.”
“Well, you’ve got me there.”
“Exactly, where’s the justice?” She sucked the last of her Tokyo Tea dry with her straw. “All I wanted was to have one wedding, and instead I get three funerals.”
Again she emphasized three with her fingers.
“Something tells me,” I stood up from my stool, “that you’d be the corpse at both of them if it meant all the attention was on you.”
Andrea lifted her index finger, opened her mouth to say something, and shut it. I think she had one of those moments where her head hurt…from all the thinking. But I couldn’t be sure.
“No, you haven’t been listening to anything I’ve been saying at all.”
c
“HEY, IS THAT SOMEBODY’S DOG OUT THERE?” The kid stood by the front door and spoke a bit like Daffy Duck, oddly enough, only his voice was louder in pitch, and loud enough to shush the crowd. “HE’S RUNNING AROUND ON THE BEACH LIKE A MANIAC!”
“Tri-colored, handsome ears, if looks could kill,” I spoke easily enough from the barstool, seeing as how he’d shushed the crowd for the moment.
“YEAH, HOW DID YOU KNOW?” He curled both lips, kind of like a certain duck I know.
I leaned over to Andrea and smirked, straightening the tie around my collar that I wasn’t wearing at the moment. “Because it takes one to know one, that’s why.”
“Oh please,” Andrea rolled her eyes with the dramatic weight of a sledgehammer in them, putting special emphasis on her long-winded pronunciation of please. “Bartender, I may need another Tokyo Tea. I’ll probably hurl into this one.”
c
I WAS HOPING FOR A VISUAL ON THE HOUND, and so made my way across the crowded floor. Ellie was back among her disciples, the pages of her book being their arsenal of weapons, and eyeing me without any hint of emotion. As a man of faith, I had no doubt I’d be bumping into her later.
On my way out I caught sight of Bob staring at a college girl’s ass. Bob was in no way related to any of the Bibeau siblings, just the latest in a long chain of Andrea’s boyfriends, and unlike most, had managed to stick around for a few years. His skin was an unhealthy clay color, probably from all the alcohol, and belly full and round, same reason.
“Hey, why don’t you ever stare at my buns like that?”
“Because it’s ugly as hell,” he said.
“That hurts, Bob,” I spoke as I passed him by, walking in a backwards direction. “You might want to consider taking her home.” I pointed towards his wife, who was already engaged in telling another bar patron how there was no justice in the world. “She sets the bar high, but I think she’s about to outperform herself again and embarrass everyone.”
“Don’t be a dick,” he said.
“No, I’m pretty sure that’s your job.”
c
“HEY, I THINK THAT’S SOMEBODY’S DOG OUT THERE!” Daffy Duck spoke again as I made my way out the door.
“It’s okay,” I patted Daffy on the shoulder. He curled his lips with a subconscious effort. “I’ve got this.”
“IT’S OKAY EVERYONE! THERE’S A DOG RUNNING AROUND ON THE BEACH LIKE A MANIAC, AND HE’S GOT THIS!”
c
THE HOUND WASN’T ONLY PREACHER HOUSE’S resident terror, he would literally become a celebrity at Rosie’s Cove too, let alone all of Driftwood in the days and weeks to come, as trepidation is concerned. The beach was unsurprisingly vacant on an autumn night, which left him with no other option but to terrorize the Atlantic Ocean. He leapt up and down, repeatedly advancing upon its bubbling withdraw with the howls of victory, then immediately thereafter retreating from its confident advance with miserable yelps of terror, and only diverted from his east-meets-west beeline long enough to scatter a gathering of curlews.
When I finally caught up to him the ocean was busy executing retribution, because a wave suddenly advanced upon his challenger and managed to clap its talons over his butt, which resulted in a terrorized yowl from the hound.
“Gotcha,” I said, grabbing his collar.
The hound protested. He yelped and brayed at the ocean, with its continual camel hump of waves that sparkled under the light of the moon. And yet something even more opaque sloshed around within tha
t warring tide. I had surveyed it a minute earlier from the street but thought nothing of it, reasoning it to be nothing more than a heap of seaweed. I mused at the possibility of a sea turtle. They weren’t incredibly uncommon. But that option became more and more unlikely as the ocean itself retained an obvious mastery over the creature, tugging it mercilessly to and fro. The sea creature, living or dead, was apparently the hound’s reconnoiter too, as I soon discovered, because he turned the full ferocity of his howls upon it.
It was at one time living. I was almost entirely persuaded of that now. Yet I wasn’t so convinced it was an aquatic creature either. I let go of the hound. At once he howled murderously at the aquatic excess that had now been vomited onto the sand, proceeded to pounce all four paws around the heavily decomposed meat, sniffed ferociously, and then preformed this sideways gallop away from it.
Four naked limbs were accounted for, each sagging with flesh. It was actually face down so that only a flattened bottom, at least that’s what I thought it was, affronted us. There was a tangled strand of mossy hair still clinging to its head (I supposed then the person to be a woman), though much that remained of that head was rotted down to its skull. Nausea overcame me, and on closer inspection I vomited.
c
“MAYBE I’M JUST SHOOTING THE BREEZE HERE, but I think it’s human.”
The hound looked on from an unsafe smelling distance of the rotting corpse without giving any sign of agreement. However, if the obvious was stated it’s only because the corpses classification wasn’t what I intended. What I meant to say was a whole lot worse. I thought I knew her. Actually, now that I took one more unrestrained glance at the otherwise unidentifiable, almost in-human corpse, I was almost entirely confident of it. She was the little girl who lived next door.
Her name was Britney Webber.
c
AND ANOTHER THING, Driftwood, South Carolina, 29007, the homeless man who’d spoken about the little girl next door and the fact that I’ve been dreaming of her, among other realities, was presently pushing a shopping cart under the gas lamps of Bay Street, all within reasonable sight of the body. In my former line of work, and I stress former, there was no such thing as coincidences. He was here and now so was she.
The Sea Surrendered Her (Preacher Book 1) Page 4