Fast Lane - Kristen Ashley Page 0,37
break, that break from the tour…
My claim was staked.
They had limos.
Jesse, Dave and Tim had one that took them to Mooresville.
Preacher and Tommy had one that took us home.
To Brownsburg.
My grandfather was a World War II vet and a school principal in Indy. He was a Glenn Miller aficionado and felt an indication of a loose woman was that her ears were pierced.
He was not impressed with limos.
My grandmother was never without red lipstick, tucked a hazelnut in its shell in her bra “for luck,” never dyed her hair after it turned white but rolled it in rollers and teased it bigger than Dolly Parton’s, and she lived for [raises hands and counts on fingers] nine things:
Her husband.
Her children.
Her grandchildren.
Shopping.
Drinking.
Eating.
Traveling.
Generally acting like a nut.
And getting a tan.
And not in that order.
She was impressed by limos.
And when Preacher angled his big body out of the back of ours, she fell in love at first sight.
I was nervous as all hell when Gramps met Preacher.
I knew Gramps was going to hate him.
It wasn’t the band, but it was.
It wasn’t that I’d skipped out on a week of school to follow the band around on tour, and it was.
It wasn’t that he had long hair and a beard, and it was.
It was that no one was good enough for Gramps’s girls.
Preacher did not give a damn about what anyone thought of him, so I was certain this wouldn’t go well.
My grandfather was of a generation where a man worked to earn an elder’s respect.
Preacher would work hard to earn a lot of things, but he was a take-me-as-I-come type of guy.
My grandparents meant everything to me.
Preacher meant everything to me.
They had to work.
But I was terrified it was going to be a disaster.
“Well, would you look at that!” Gram cried, walking right up to Preacher who was helping me out of the limo.
He got me to my feet, turned to her, she slammed her hands on his chest and smiled up at him.
She then patted his chest repeatedly and kept smiling up at him before she declared, “Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water?”
My Gram.
I was smiling when I introduced, “Gram, this is Preacher, Preacher, this is my gram. Mrs. Campbell.”
“Miz Campbell,” he murmured, trying to lift his hand in between them to shake hers, but, even though she wasn’t pressed up to him or anything gross like that, she ignored his hand and just patted his chest, still smiling up at him.
“Evelyn, darlin’. But you can call me Lynie,” she invited.
“Lynie,” he muttered then looked beyond her.
As the others gathered around us, I looked beyond her too.
Gramps was standing there looking like he was contemplating going to get his shotgun.
I took Preacher’s hand and guided him to Gramps.
“Gramps, this is Preacher McCade. Preacher, this is my grandfather. Audie Campbell.”
Preacher stuck his hand out. “Sir.”
Sir?
Gramps looked at it, up to Preacher, then he took his hand.
“Get our bags in, then could I have a private word?” Preacher asked.
What?
A private word?
It would seem Preacher had a plan.
But even though we talked on the phone nearly every night, he had not told me this plan and thus I had not okayed this plan, so I was not at one with whatever plan he had.
Gramps said nothing for so long, I felt my skin get itchy.
Then he grunted, “Fine,” and walked away.
He didn’t wait for me to introduce him to Tommy or anything.
He just walked away.
I looked up at Preacher.
“It’s gonna go great, cher,” he promised me.
He was so wrong.
“Um, I told you—”
He bent to me and cupped my cheek.
“It’s gonna go great, baby.”
He then moved to the trunk and helped the chauffer and Tommy with their bags, and I knew Preacher was done talking about it.
I got my way a lot, but I was learning, when Preacher was done discussing something…
He was just done.
Gram sidled up to me and said, sotto voce, “You done good. There’s a mile of him, honey, and all of it is so pretty.”
Lyla:
I told Preacher the turtle story somewhere between Cleveland and Philly, and I didn’t know him well enough at the time to know that was something he’d get on a level that was something only men like Preacher, and my grandfather, understood.
[Off tape]
The turtle story?
[Nods]
We had a pond on our property.
One summer, I was in an innertube on that pond and I’d floated down to the end we never went down to. Lots of cattails down there, trees growing close to the edge, their branches in the