Page 1 of Son of a Preacher Man
Seth, ten years old.
He sat buckled in the passenger seat of his father’s old Chevy. Spice Girls playing on the radio. It reeked of cigarette smoke, whiskey, and cheap aftershave. Jarrid Black never smoked in the house. His congregation was blind to his fondness for the demon drink. Seth was more than well acquainted with it, though.
They were going to Miss Catherine’s. He hated going there and he didn’t like her very much. She was surly to everyone, except for his father. That didn’t surprise him at all. Folks from church worshipped the preacher as if he were God himself. Sometimes Seth thought he really believed he was.
His father lit up a Marlboro. He cracked the window open, letting the cold, damp air of March rush in, and turned his face toward the glass.
“Seth.” He glared sideways, taking a drag off his cancer stick. “Close it.”
“But I can’t breathe, and it stinks.”
Turning his head toward him, he exhaled. “Must I tell you again?”
“No, sir.” He cranked the window back up.
Seth knew better than to disobey him. He was in a halfway decent mood this morning, and if he wanted permission to ride his bike with Jonathan to the arcade this afternoon, it had to stay that way. He’d deal with the stench.
The Dairy Queen rolled by. Closed for the winter, it wouldn’t open again until the end of April. Dumb. Did they really think no one wanted ice cream when it snowed?
Then the car took an all too familiar turn at the next corner. Lowering the window all the way down, his father flicked the cigarette out onto the street. It bounced a couple of times, the embers creating a cascade of sparks, before rolling into a puddle at the curb.
He left it down, despite the cold, waving his hand in the air around him. Then he spritzed on more of that nasty cologne. As if that smelled any better than his disgusting smoke.
It didn’t.
At least the window was open so he could breathe.
They parked at the curb in front of the small two-story clapboard house. Catherine must have been waiting for them at the door. She opened it the moment they arrived.
Seth was sent to sit in the parlor, with the promise of a Coca-Cola that he knew would never come. Same as always. Glancing around the room he’d sat in a million times before, he twiddled his thumbs. A photo of Grace, when she was around his age, stood in a frame on the mantel. He liked her. She was nice. His father said she was his angel. When he was younger, she’d come to his house and stay with him while the preacher took care of church business. He was too old for a babysitter now.
After what felt like an eternity, Jarrid and Catherine stepped into the room. She carried a bundle, wrapped in a fluffy white blanket, in her arms. Grace stood by herself behind them. Hands balled into fists at her side. Head hanging low, her pale blonde hair covered her face.
“Son.” His father stepped forward. “God has fulfilled his promise to you.”
Miss Catherine placed the baby in his arms. “She’s yours, Seth Thomas.”
He gazed in awe at her beautiful, precious face.
“Now, you must make a promise to God and everyone here, that you will love, cherish, and protect the gift that has been bestowed upon you…” He bent over and kissed the baby’s head. “…every day of your life.”
“I promise.”
She was given to him the day she was born.
God’s promised gift.
He fell in love the second he held her in his arms.
And he’d loved her ever since.
Linnea. Was. His.
It was that misty kind of rain. Not quite a drizzle, but enough to cling to the hairs on his skin. Glancing at his sister’s house next door, Kodiak inhaled deep, then blowing it out, stepped off Dillon’s front porch.
He didn’t like leaving her there all alone. Never mind that’s what she wanted. Linnea had given him and Chloe the boot, politely, yet firmly, insisting she was fine and sending them on their way.
Bullshit.
