Suddenly, I wanted a drink. Needed one. I hadn’t even really missed being buzzed all day. I’d been too busy to even think about it. And, well, I had Cynthia to keep me pleasantly distracted.
I exhaled. This was it. This was why I was here.
“Were they hurting anybody?”
He shrugged.
“Selling drugs. Drugs hurt people, right?”
I rubbed my beard.
“Well, I don’t know. I think they should legalize drugs. For adults, of course,” I added hastily. “But lots of people do bad things in the trafficking of drugs, that’s true.”
He nodded.
“They shoot people sometimes. I don’t want that to happen to my . . .” he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. I changed the subject to give the kid some breathing room.
“If you ask me, doctors are the real drug pushers. They dole out those pain pills like candy and ruin people’s lives.”
“So if they are doing bad things and putting people in danger, what should I do?”
“I don’t want you getting yourself hurt. That’s number one.”
He nodded. Smart kid.
“I would stay out of it. My policy is to mind my own business unless someone is getting hurt. Or if they ask me for help.”
“Okay,” he said, looking thoughtful.
“I don’t know if that’s a perfect answer,” I added, frowning. “I’m new to this. But that is what I would do.”
“Thanks, Preacher,” he said, not looking convinced.
“If you want to tell me more, you can. I’ll never snitch.”
He smiled so big at me that I felt it pierce my crusty old heart. Fuck. The kid had a nice smile. You could just see the pure light pouring out of him.
“Okay.” He stood to go. “I got to get to dance practice.”
“Come back and see me, okay? I get lonely in here.”
He grinned and nodded.
“See ya!”
He bounded out of the room with so much energy I chuckled. I couldn’t even remember having that kind of juice. I groaned and stood up, feeling my age. I walked back to the parsonage and got a bottle of tequila out of the ancient freezer. Cold booze was a luxury I had never indulged in. Certainly not in my little shack on the beach. But since I was here . . .
I smacked my lips as the icy tequila hit my throat, cooling and warming me all at once. I hadn’t gone this long without a drink in a dog’s age. Maybe ever, I realized.
At least, not since my fall from grace.
I had fallen off the straight and narrow path hard and fast, never looking back. I went from a God-fearing, ‘good’ young man to a degenerate, half-crazed, drunken asshole with a love of speed, heavy metal, and engines in two seconds flat. Paul had tried to bring me back but it was too late.
I was too pissed at God to follow his rules. I still believed. But I didn’t think he had a right to tell me what to do with my daily pleasures. Not if he was going to go around killing innocent young girls like my sister.
I believed in God. I even loved him. But it was a messy, angry love.
I took another cupful and dragged my chair out to sit in the courtyard. I should probably eat dinner, I thought to myself. That’s what Cynthia would tell me to do. Instead, I sat and drank, catching glimpses of her and her dancers through the windows that lined the annex.
My cigar tasted particularly good tonight. So did the booze. Maybe there was a reason people didn’t drink all day, after all. Made it much more enjoyable when you finally got to relax.
You old dog. That girl is taming you and you ain’t even getting a taste.
I smacked my lips at the thought of Miss Cynthia under my hands and mouth. I knew it wasn’t going to happen, but being around her made my blood sing and my cock constantly hard. I felt fucking young again around her.
I’d wait out here and walk her home again. There was no way she was taking that stroll by herself. I grinned at what I anticipated to be an outraged expression when she found me waiting outside for her again. I went inside to get another drink.
“You’re drunk.”
“Not drunk,” I said, walking companionably beside her. She hadn’t put up much of a fight this time. That was good. She was learning. I was as stubborn as an old goat. “Just a touch of mother’s milk.”
She shook her head.
“Why do you drink?”
I laughed, not caring that people turned to stare.
“Why not? Why deny myself the simple pleasures? I don’t see most things as ‘good’ or ‘bad’.”
“You sound like a nihilist.”
“I do,” I agreed. “And I am.”
“But you believe in God.”
“I do. But I’m pissed at him.” I gave her a warm look. “Or I was, anyway.”
“Why?”
“Story for another time.”
She sighed.
“Why are you doing this?”