The Revelations of Preston Black (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 3)

by Miller, Jason Jack

  CHAPTER THREE

  Breathing just to breathe, when you’re with me,

  Swimming in your smile, while I watch you read,

  Laughing for a while as we sip our tea,

  You know it ain’t my style just to let you sleep.

  “Summer Sleep” Music and Lyrics by Katy Stefanic and Preston Black

  Waking up in Alabama didn’t come as easy as waking up in Tennessee had. I always preferred the noise of living in the city to wide open spaces. To my ears, the cars going by sounded like waves at the beach. The only other thing I heard last night was a train that took an hour to pass.

  With Katy curled up next to me though, I could sleep anywhere. And I loved waking her up. She ripped blankets away from me, stole pillows in the middle of the night, kicked me, talked in her sleep and got up to pee every forty minutes.

  But she made the nightmares stop.

  She gave me a reason to count blessings when I closed my eyes.

  And she gave off heat like a sleeping housecat.

  I pushed her hair off her shoulder and leaned over her, watching the soft curve of her cheek catch the little bit of sunlight that streamed through the heavy drapes. Her sleeping eyes were like little quarter moons. I kissed her neck and ran my fingertips across the warm, soft skin between her hip and her belly. I loved waking her up.

  She rolled toward me and nuzzled her head into the nook beneath my chin. I listened for her breathing to change, or some other sign that she might be awake. When I didn’t hear anything I fell onto my back and figured I had no choice but to go back to sleep myself. But her hand, which had moved slowly from my thigh, to my waist, to my pajama bottoms’ drawstring stirred, at least. She said, “You’re mean, you know that?”

  “I know,” I said, as I kissed her neck and shoulder, just above the spot where she’d been shot last summer.

  She kicked blankets away as I rolled onto her and slid a vintage Dead Letter Office T-shirt up over her belly and breasts, over her uplifted arms. The way she looked at me like I could never let her down or hurt her scared me to no end. Every single time. That look stripped me of my confidence, broke through the shell I wore to protect myself from the stones and arrows. Almost like I had to be a little self-conscious, like I had to remember my sad past, my quiet self, before she could kiss my lips.

  She slid my bottoms over my thighs, past my knees and over my ankles while she kissed my collarbone and neck. The way her warm, soft skin felt against mine reminded me that the bright sunlight on the other side of the window could be taken as a sign things didn’t have to always get worse before they got better. The way the soft skin on the inside of her thigh felt against my hips reminded me that I’d never have to be cold again.

  In that moment everything changed, just like it always did, every single time. When we came together, I returned to a home I never knew, to a family I didn’t grow up with. She turned her head and smiled, an invitation to kiss the soft skin behind her ear where tiny little hairs tickled my cheek. For one fleeting moment I caught a glimpse of who I’d been before we’d met and it reminded me that I am the man I am today because I don’t ever want her eyes to see me as the broken person I used to be. I died and came back from the dead for her. Her touch, the way she whispered my name and laughed at my jokes, the way she held my hand and finished my sentences. The way she arched her back like she couldn’t get close enough to me. The way she pulled me into her…

  Her touch reminded me that the next time I died, would be forever.

  I loved waking her up.

  I finally figured out something was wrong at breakfast. Katy couldn’t enjoy her pancakes, even with the butter pecan syrup, making me feel guilty for enjoying mine as much as I did. The way the butter coated my tongue as I rolled it against the roof of my mouth and the feeling of warmth and fullness they gave me, and how she—for the first time ever—didn’t feel the same, worried me a little.

  I’d finished reading all the little hand-painted signs that said stuff like, “Do unto others, and share a slice of pie!” and “Fresh Joe all day long!” Above the shelves of water glasses and coffee cups the walls had faded where the early morning sunlight hit day after day.

  This morning she wore blue jeans and a little blue button-down shirt covered with tiny white birds beneath a fake leather jacket. I loved that she was beautiful, no matter what she wore, and that she used to smile whenever I looked at her. I’d spent the rest of the morning trying to get her to smile again.

  After I’d finished eating she finally broke her silence with a sigh. She said, “I didn’t go to school with anybody who interested me even a little bit. I had friends who never read books and never wanted to talk about anything meaningful. Except I couldn’t ever grumble because I still wanted them all to like me. Always too smart for my own good.” She took her little silver barrette out of her hair, set it on the counter, and said, “Do you know what that’s like? Being smart enough to know something is wrong with you socially and not having the courage to fix it?”

  Before I could come up with the answer she’d hoped to hear, she asked, “How did they know, Pres?” and I didn’t have to wonder anymore. “Their posters were pretty specific, right? I never did a thing to any of them and they hate me.”

  I said, “I don’t know,” to buy a little time to think. When the guy at the counter next to me tore into his biscuits and cheesy grits my belly rumbled with hunger. “It’s the song. It’s a stupid thing to base a career on. And all the cops before the show didn’t help, did they?”

  I watched the pie spin in the carousel as I talked. Banana creams and key limes, topped with meringues and maraschino cherries. They looked so perfect in that glass case I figured they could only be plastic. But we were being cautious with our per diem so I tried to forget about dessert. I said, “I don’t like cops on horseback anyway. It’s like the horse is judging you too.”

  “No, Preston. It’s not your song or the cops. The term ‘witch’ is pretty specific.” She ripped open two more packets of sugar and shook them into her coffee. “Those memories are like knives. Pap said Curtis Lewis spent so much of his time on the witness stand blabbing about magic and witches that the judge almost bought the insanity plea his lawyer had pushed for.”

  “Well, the signs were nonspecific even though it may have seemed like they were directed at you. Like ‘heathen’ or ‘heretic.’ Just nonspecific terms they use to describe anybody who doesn’t believe exactly what they do. John Lennon got death threats down here when he said The Beatles were bigger than God even though he spoke metaphorically, more or less.” I gave her knee a squeeze. “It’s the devil stuff, I’m telling you. Tipper Gore and the PMRC. This is ground zero for all that shit. Playing records backward and blaming Ozzy for your kid killing himself and doing drugs.”

  The old cook flipped sausage patties and hummed gospel tunes. His white shirt and apron and pants looked like they’d never seen a spot of grease.

  “It’s going to pass. Look at last night. Some of those people are going to talk about last night forever. And that’s how we grow an audience. I know because I did it once back in Morgantown.” I connected the dots in the flecks of mica in the countertop while I talked. “A small audience, but we did it the way we’re doing it now. It’s a skill and we can apply it where and whenever we like. Last night felt totally magical. You can’t plan for stuff like that.”

  “Well, Morgantown’s one of the few places I know where high BAC is more respectable than a high GPA. So from now on, don’t start any more stories by telling me what the kids in Morgantown do.”

  I put my arm over her shoulder and pulled her over to me and kissed her on the forehead. “Okay, then. Pearl Jam at Penn State in 2003. Eddie decided that night they’d play the longest show they ever played. In the third encore Eddie said he was drinking the best bottle of wine he’d had all year and wasn’t leaving until he’d polished it off. Magic. The people had no way of knowing that when they bought their tickets. And think
of all the people who could’ve gotten tickets, or had tickets and didn’t go. They talk.”

  She nodded.

  “And look at Stevie Nicks. Being a witch hasn’t hurt her.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “C’mon. We got this, chicita. The hardest part was finding each other.” I grabbed her hand. “We need to have fun today.”

  “One last thing though,” she took a deep breath. “That was supposed to be a secret—my secret. And nobody outside of my family was ever supposed to know.”

  “Well, you can keep a secret for so long. Then you’re the only one who remembers it. Then you find out it’s not a secret at all. It’s something totally new. Like a resentment or regret.” I stood and put my jacket on. “Look at it like this—what’s crazier—what your family believes? Or what those people think your family believes? Nobody’s taking these fanatics seriously. And you have your roots. Believe it or not, your family, and what they believe, means something.”

  “Roots are important, but they don’t let you move on. Seeds are just as important, but nobody ever talks about seeds.” She looped a thin blue scarf around her neck and gently knotted it.

  “So, me and you are seeds?” I pulled her chair out for her.

  “Kind of. You’re a nut.” Her smile told me everything was good for the moment.

  We paid up and got back into our rental car and drove. The bright sun forced us to find our sunglasses at the bottom of our bags. And the warm air let us roll the windows down a bit. Redbuds bloomed everywhere and the smell reminded me of home. The scent of green grass instead of brown, of flowers blooming somewhere, made the air smell sweet in a way I couldn’t fully grasp. I’d had a destination in mind when I started driving. A surprise for Katy. The sweetness in the air was a bonus.

  And even though I thought I knew the way I still had to ask at a gas station after a few minutes of going in circles. As soon as I got myself oriented I ran back to the car, turned it around and went back the way we came. I scrolled through my iPod to look for a specific album, because this moment needed a soundtrack. “East Avalon,” I said at the turn I’d missed.

  “This is what you wanted to show me?” She didn’t try to hide her lack of excitement.

  I set the iPod on the dashboard and slowed down because I didn’t know what side of the road to look on. As soon as I saw it I drifted onto the shoulder. “FAME Studios.”

  Katy didn’t say anything. I knew she wouldn’t be as excited as me, but I didn’t expect her to be downright disappointed.

  “This is where Duane Allman camped in the parking lot and taught Wilson Pickett ‘Hey Jude’ to break into the business. Music history. He knew the world needed him like he needed the world.” Nothing I said would change her mind so I toned down my excitement. “I’m sorry. I really thought you’d be into this.”

  She shrugged.

  “I guess you don’t want to go to Muscle Shoals Sound and see where The Stones recorded ‘Wild Horses’ and ‘Brown Sugar?’” I imagined us taking pictures and listening to music while we hung out, soaking up the magic before we hit the studio ourselves.

  “It’s my day off, Pres.” She put her hand on my knee and looked me right in the eye. “No music. No songs. I don’t want to have to think about anything. Not today.”

  “What do you want to do then?”

  “Honestly, make a decision. Even a mall or something. I don’t want to have to think about anything at all. I’ll take over again tomorrow.” She handed her coffee to me and said, “Drink the rest.”

  Gulping it down gave me an excuse to keep my mouth shut. I’d let her have this after all that had happened, but I couldn’t help wondering if she’d feel this same way when we saw Abbey Road for the first time. I scrolled down to an Allman Brothers bootleg. The Warehouse, New Orleans, Louisiana, March 20, 1971. I hit the gas and said, “Skydog’s guitar sounds just like a banshee tangled in barbed wire screaming to be set free.”

  The studio faded in my rearview mirror.

  I drove without consulting her. Choosing random roads that spiraled out and away from the city, quietly trying to find Jackson Highway so I could see Muscle Shoals Sound even though I knew I couldn’t do so without her catching on to my plan. When I got to the main drag I picked a direction and went, and once we weren’t stopping at stoplights every thirty yards the world looked a lot different. The Alabama countryside put on her first shades of green. Pink and white blooms on the trees were a far cry from the grey we left in the northeast a week ago. Roadkill meant the critters were starting to stumble out of their holes. They didn’t care that Punxsutawney Phil said we had six more weeks of winter left.

  “Thanks for taking care of me,” she finally said as we were totally free of suburbia. “Lately the road feels like home, the truck stops and hotels. But it’s not home.”

  “Well, with you I’m never lost, never hungry. Never wanting. Maybe that’s why you feel that way?” I put my arm around her. “But you deserve more.”

  “All you have to do is love me. That’s the only thing I need.”

  After an awkward delay, I said, “Not really sure your mom would agree with you.” I shook my head and went on, talking just to talk. Never knowing when to shut up. “I think I’m a bit of a letdown in her eyes.”

  “Preston, do you have any idea how hurt she’d be if she heard you ever say something like that?” She got angry and pulled away from me. “My mother never expected me—not for a second—to go out and find a man to take care of me. If you think that’s who I am then we have so much more to discuss.”

  “That’s not how I meant it, Katy. You know that, right?”

  “Then you should’ve said what you meant.”

  “In my head I think about what Ben would’ve done to those people last night. Maybe I feel like I’m not aggressive enough. Just forget about it, okay?”

  “No, it’s in the air now. We can’t roll the windows back up like it never happened. If we’re going to take this to the next level we’re going to have to get some things straight. You know why I never wanted a serious relationship? Because my dad was an asshole. My mom didn’t need somebody to protect her and she certainly didn’t sit around all day waiting for some guy to swoop in and save her.” She crossed her arms and stared out the window. “One of the first guys I ever got close to was Dante Fiorelli—a forestry major from New Jersey. I told you about him. He thought he knew how to take care of me. Every week he’d drag me up to Dolly Sods to backpack—never mind that the mountain sat in my backyard. Or that we’d spent three or four nights at week down at Wamsley’s talking to Jeremy or Chip about bikes. Henry and Ben antagonized him relentlessly because they didn’t respect him. After I broke it off with Dante I went for a bookish guy. A quiet European Lit major who could only express emotion as a reference to a novel or character. Needless to say, it didn’t last very long, and I knew I had to raise my standards higher if I was ever going to really fall in love. Then I met you.”

  She smiled, even though I didn’t really get it.

  “Well, we have an amazing thing here and I don’t want to change any of it. I hope you feel the same way.”

  She sighed. “You know, boys are like singles—they just want to get to the point and move on. Like every situation is another problem to be solved. Girls are like albums, they want to spend time in your thoughts. They want you to see them as a whole, not as a collection of pieces.” Her tone grew angry again and I couldn’t quite figure out why. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest. “We’re not going to go steady forever, I hope.”

  “Look, in my thoughts I’m able to give you the house you deserve. Nice things. But what if this is temporary and we have to scrounge for money after this bubble bursts? That’s what I’m afraid of. That one day I’ll be back to a nine-to-five and all we’ll have is the stories of our time on the road.”

  “Well, soon enough you’ll see that what matters most is being together. Not the shows or the fans. Besides
, do you think my opinion of you changes based on what you do for a living? Or that my mom’s does? I know that you and Pauly had a hard time growing up, and I’m not sure I could ever walk in your shoes, but think about being up on the mountain at that farm. We have our fair share of alcohol and food and laughs but six months before all that I buried my kid cousin. Crops fail and animals get sick. It’s a different way of life, but we don’t change our opinions of somebody based on circumstances beyond their control. The river floods. Springs go bad or dry up. It’s nobody’s fault—everybody pitches in and makes it right. That’s what you’d be a part of. A support group that extends far and wide. What would Jamie say if he heard you talking like this?”

  “I know.”

  She knew that would get me. And she was right. “It scares me to think it isn’t going to last forever. Your people can be pretty intimidating, you know that? They have all these memories and shared experiences. I never get the inside jokes.”

  “Preston. Are you worried about being an outsider? Because there’s not an event on God’s green earth any more inside than burying Odelia Lewis and Lucinda Tasso in a mine shaft above the Blackwater. Can you imagine coming into the family not being a part of that? Consider that your initiation and let it be. I have cousins and aunts who don’t know what happened because they weren’t there. My pap and grandma respect the fact that you would’ve died for me given a chance. And you pulled a trigger for me. What else is there? Really? You have their love and respect.”

  But she kept going like she never had any intention of letting me jump in. “Jamie came to our first show. You don’t think Ben would’ve wanted to be there if he would’ve known? Or my mom and Chloey? They came out to Philly just to see us and followed us up to New York City. You think Jamie wouldn’t have dropped everything to be there if he could’ve?”

  “I get it, Katy. I know where you’re coming from.” After a long minute, I said, “Well, what about Pauly? I can’t leave him all by himself.”