Son of a Preacher Man - By Arianna Hart Page 0,5
was with Michael Schmitt, my boyfriend in eighth grade. I saw him at a cousin’s wedding and felt like I dodged a bullet. So, you think you’ll run into your teenage crush again?”
“Not a chance. The last time I saw him he was headed to the military and wasn’t coming back to Dale ever again.”
“Nice place. And you’re sure you have to go back there? You can’t get one of the clerks to handle probate?”
“Unfortunately, no. My mother left something for me, and the lawyer handling her affairs said I have to receive it in person. There might be some other complications since she died in California, but her papers were in Dale.”
“I can’t believe a hick town like that even has a lawyer.”
“Me either. It sure didn’t when I was growing up, but apparently my mother trusted him because he has her paperwork. He’s also older than dirt and doesn’t believe in faxes or email or other new-fangled technology.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Tons.”
“I’m only a phone call away if you need me. That is, if you get any cell service out there in the boonies.”
“Who knows? I’d be surprised if there’s a cell tower anywhere near Dale. It was just a tiny town on the edge of the state forest. For all I know, they don’t even have the Internet yet.”
Sandra shuddered. “Miami is looking better all the time. At least I’ll have air conditioning and access to wi-fi.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
On the road the next morning, Nadya plugged in her iPod and scrolled through until she found the song she was looking for. Hearing Dusty Springfield’s lament about the only boy who could ever move her brought all the memories of her month-long romance with J.T. McBride scrolling through her head.
In retrospect, she should have thanked him for being so honest with her when he told her he wouldn’t make any promises. Most eighteen-year-old boys would have happily screwed her and promised the world. At least she was spared the embarrassment of seeing him again after her failed seduction. She and her mama had packed up and fled in the middle of that night.
She still remembered their frantic rush to pack anything of worth into the beat-up station wagon Nadya had bought with the money she earned working at the general store.
Her mama’s words were burned in her brain. “Puishor, when the gadzé start throwing around words like ‘gypsy tricks’ and ‘whore’ it’s time to go. You don’t wait until you see the torches, you get out fast.”
“But, Mama, you’re not even a gypsy anymore. Your family disowned you before I was born.”
“Doesn’t matter. To the Outsiders, I’m still one of those filthy gypsies, and if Orleane gets the church stirred up about Pastor McBride, it’s me who’s going to get the blame.”
And her mama had been right. Nadya had called her friend Mary Ellen a few days later to tell her goodbye, and Mary Ellen filled her in on what had happened. Pastor McBride had been fired as the church’s preacher for failing to renounce Talaitha. J.T. had spent his last days in Dale in one fight after another. And someone had smashed every window in Nadya’s cabin and spray painted Gypsy Whores over the front porch.
Nadya wondered how the owner of the cabin had felt about that. It’s not like her mama had left a forwarding address. Hell, Nadya didn’t even know who the owner of the cabin was. All she knew was that her mother said the rent had been paid upfront years ago, and they could live there until Nadya graduated.
And now she was going back to Dale. Or at least stopping in. She’d decided against staying in the only bed and breakfast in town, and opted instead for a hotel an hour away. It would be less convenient if she had to spend any length of time dealing with the lawyer, but it would be far more comfortable for her peace of mind.
As she sped down the highway, she wondered what exactly her mama had left in the hands of a small-town lawyer. As far as she could remember, her mama had avoided contact with authority figures as much as humanly possible. The only thing she’d owned outright at the time of her death had been the RV she toured the country in. Nadya had co-signed the loan on that, and it had been handled in probate in New York.
Regret warred with guilt as she thought about her beautiful mother. Could she have done anything