Jess walks in and Lyla’s with him, the look on her face, the look on his.
[Shifts to take hold of barstool and sit down]
[Whispering] Shit.
I know my life’s about to change in a way there’s no goin’ back, those looks on their faces.
Lyla:
I was terrified.
Utterly and completely terrified.
Jesse:
I didn’t know whether to stay or go.
The way they were looking at each other, I had to find a way to give them both what they needed.
So, I said to Lyla, “I’ll be right outside in the car.”
She nods, barely tearin’ her eyes from Preach.
I give him a look.
Under that bushy beard, his jaw is flexing, almost bulging, and he nods.
Then I go.
Lyla:
[Head turns to look at door, smiles softly]
Well, what do you know.
That man always had good timing.
[It’s then the growl of an engine can be heard, and all of the dogs start barking, the ones on the floor rise up and move about agitatedly, the Maltese on Lyla stars yapping and racing around the daybed to the distress of both cats.
The growl of the engine ceases and the cacophony reaches fever pitch before the door opens and Jesse, Lyla’s son strolls through.
He scowls at me and looks to his mother.
“This isn’t done yet?” he asks, at the same time petting two dogs at once while the Maltese that has taken a leap from the daybed yips at his heels.
“Jess,” she murmurs.
More agitation from the dogs as a shadow falls through the opened doorway.
It’s then, Preacher McCade strolls through.]
[McCade tips his chin to me then looks to his wife]
Where’s Lynie? (McCade)
Shopping. (Lyla)
Of course. (McCade, muttering)
We’re almost done here. (Lyla)
Good. (Jesse)
C’mon, bud. Let’s get a beer. (McCade)
[Jesse brightens]
If you give my underage son a beer, Preacher, I’ll strangle you. (Lyla)
My son needs to learn to hold his beer like a man. (McCade)
[Lyla’s gaze comes to me] Do you see what I have to put up with?
Don’t let her fool you. She loves it. (McCade)
[He approaches Lyla and is not deterred in kissing her. He engages both hands in order to make certain this happens. He lets her head go, gestures to his son with his chin and looks to me.]
I’m makin’ chili. Stay when you’re done. (McCade)
[The two males disappear behind the door to the rest of the cabin and my attention returns to Lyla.]
[Draws in a very deep breath and lets it go]
I think it’s best if we back up a bit.
Lyla:
It was Loretta who gave me his address.
I did not listen to the CD before I went.
And, mind you, I took this journey a whole two days after he came to see me.
[Shakes head ruefully]
But even on the way up there, I didn’t listen to that CD.
I felt it would be far more dramatic to throw it at him in person, after telling him I was never going to listen to it, before I turned and walked away from him.
[Sighs, not unhappily]
It didn’t work out that way.
I sat in my car and stared at the bungalow with the gray siding, white trim and shake roof, thinking how cute it was and how I could hear the sound of the ocean and how the inside was probably even better and I just could not picture Preacher staying in a house like that.
Selecting a house like that.
Who was he now?
Where had he been for the last six years?
What had he been doing?
“No, no,” I said out loud. “I do not care.”
I rolled up my window but got the sound of the ocean back after I snatched up the CD Preacher had given me, opened my door and got out.
There were steps down to the front door, which jutted out to the side of a house built into a rise by the beach, and the door at the bottom of those steps had a big, nine-paned window that took up the top of it.
When he walked up to that door, he’d see me.
This nearly had me turning around, but I didn’t.
I didn’t because Preacher didn’t get to make decisions for the both of us.
Colossal decisions that caused pain and heartache and large chunks of lost time.
Decisions that meant he thought he could stroll back into my life and be all…
All…
Preacher.
And then I’d just listen to a CD and fall right into his plans.
No.
He didn’t get to do that.
And he needed to know that.
And then this needed to be done.
I stood at the door, pressed the doorbell, and steeled myself when I saw his big body coming down a short hall.
It didn’t occur to me I’d see him too, and therefore see he had on jeans (again) and a tee (again) but bare feet.
And his hair was messy.
That was a sexy look on a good-looking guy.
And Preacher was a very good-looking guy.
All right.
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
It was too late.
He was opening the door.
God, his face.
He looked so…
Happy.
“Cher—”
I held out the CD to cut this off at the pass, deciding at the last minute not to throw it at him.
“I don’t want this,” I declared.
He looked down at the CD then up at me.
“No,” he stated. “You want this.”
And then he’d hooked me with an arm around my waist and dragged me inside.
Lyla and McCade:
[McCade is now lounging on the daybed with his beer, two cats and Lyla, taking up most of what had seemed a rather large piece of furniture, but now does not. She’s still sitting cross-legged on it, but he’s curled around her at her back, so her hips are tucked against his lap and stomach, and he’s up with his head in his hand on an elbow in the surfeit of pillows.]
You want this. That was a smooth line. (McCade)
[Twisting to look at him] It was goofy. (Lyla)
[McCade’s brows go up] Goofy?
Yes.
It worked on you.
[Lyla rolls her eyes, but she offers no argument.]
[McCade looks to me and grins] That line got me Jesse.
It got me Jesse.
[McCade looks to his wife and speaks softly] Yeah.
[Her expression softens in return]
You know, you got to tell your story at the bar already. (Lyla)
Jesse’s got the chili in hand. (McCade)
[Lyla sighs and returns her attention to me]
We’ll just pretend he’s not here. (Lyla)
[Off tape]
That might be impossible.
[McCade explodes with laughter. Lyla fails to fight a smile.]
The short hall had his tee and mine on the floor.
I had his mouth on mine, his hands on my ass, and my fingers on the belt at his jeans when I sensed we were in a bigger space.
I opened my eyes, slid them right and spotted a couch.
I tugged him by his belt toward the couch.
He broke his lips from mine and started guiding us to some stairs.
“Preacher,” I snapped.
“Cher, I am not makin’ love to you for the first time in six years on a couch.”