I shiver at the hot, hungry gleam in his eyes, and I do believe him. I’m still mixed up, though, but Dawson is here, beside me, loving me even though I ran.
I try to breathe, and I try to imagine what to say to Daddy. I don’t even know where to start.
After a nerve-wracking hour and a half drive from Atlanta to Macon, we pull up to the two-story red-brick colonial in which I grew up. There’s a “For Sale” sign in the front lawn, with a “Sold” marker in red across the top bar. My stomach lurches. The garage door is closed, no cars in the driveway. Daddy always parked in the driveway so members of his congregation would always know he was home and approachable. I get out of the Corvette, with Dawson behind me, and pull at the front door. It’s locked. I fumble my key ring out of my purse, so long unused, and try the house key I never got rid of. It doesn’t work; the locks have been changed.
“He…moved.” I’m stunned.
“Shit. Now what? Do you know his number? Or somewhere you can find him?” Dawson is beside me, and my hand is in his. I don’t remember twining my fingers in his, but it calms me enough so I can breathe.
I back away from the door, stumble down the three steps to the sidewalk, stopped from falling by Dawson, and he helps me into the car. I sit in the ivory leather seat and suck hot Georgia air into my lungs. “The church. He’ll be at the church. Go back out to the main road and turn right.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the mostly empty parking lot of Macon Contemporary Baptist Church. It’s a huge, sprawling edifice, with a towering, traditional steeple over the main sanctuary, all white stone blocks and dark wood pillars around the sides. There’s an older-model red Ford Taurus in the lot near the office’s entrance. The car belongs to Louise, Daddy’s secretary. Beside the Taurus is an ancient F-150 that used to be green, but is now all rust and red mud and dirt splatter, which belongs to Jim, the janitor. There’s another car belonging to Doug, the assistant pastor, and a few others I don’t immediately recognize. A few spots away from these cars is Daddy’s silver three-year-old BMW. He’s here. Of course he’s here.
I can’t breathe all over again. I’m suddenly twelve and waiting for Daddy to come out. Sunday evening, after second service and the staff prayer meeting. I would sit in the parking lot, in the back seat of the car, reading a book, waiting for Mama and Daddy to take me home.
“It’s all right, Grey. I’m here.” Dawson’s voice is a low rumble, breaking through my distorted memory.
I shake my head, breathe deep, and ground myself in the present. Dawson is here. He’s…my boyfriend. He’s mine. I’m his. He’ll help me face Daddy. I shouldn’t need help, but I do. I wipe my sweaty, clammy hands on my thighs and then step up out of the car, hiking my purse on my shoulder. Dawson slams his car door behind him and draws up next to me, taking my hand. I hesitate outside the glass door to the office wing of the church.
The black metal handle is hot under my hand, and through the glass I can see Louise walking away from the door, down the main hallway, a box in her pudgy arms. I pull open the door, and she hears it open, turns, and sees me. Her face goes momentarily blank. And then her southern hospitality kicks in, and she brightens. Louise sets the box down on the floor and bustles toward me, arms extended to hug me. Dawson lets me go and stands with his hands in his pockets as I embrace Louise. She’s the same as ever, medium height, carrying most of her extra weight in her hips, graying black hair coiffed into a thick helmet of hair-sprayed perfection.
I’m suddenly aware of how I must look, how I must smell. I’m sure Louise can smell the sex on me, see it in the rat’s nest of my hair. I wish I’d had time to shower, but there’s nothing to be done now.
“Grey, how are you sweetheart? Why, I haven’t seen you in an age! I thought y’all would never come back to see us! Don’t you look just beautiful, and my, oh my, who is this tall drink of water?” Louise chatters nonstop, her accent thick as sludge and twanging like a plucked guitar string. Then she really sees Dawson, and she recognizes him. “Oh. Oh. Oh my…but you’re—oh.”
She flaps her face with a hand, and her generous bosom heaves, eyes wide. She glances at me, and then her eyes widen even more, to saucers, as Dawson makes a show of wrapping his arm around my waist, low, nearly on my backside. I lean into him, rest my head against his chest, and it’s not a show. I need his proximity—I need to draw strength from him.
Louise has recovered a bit of her equilibrium. “Is this really who I think it is?”
I nod. “Louise Eldritch, this is Dawson Kellor. My boyfriend.” I’ve never introduced anyone using those two words before. I go a little giddy.
Louise laughs nervously as she shakes Dawson’s outstretched hand. “My lands, Grey! However did you meet him? He’s even more handsome in person than in his movies!”
I frown. “Why, Louise, do you mean to tell me you’ve seen his movies? I wouldn’t have pegged you for those types of films.”
Louise blushes scarlet and waves her hand dismissively. “Well, you see, I…my Iris wanted to go see those movies that were so popular, you know the ones, about the magic and what-have-you. So of course I had to see them to make sure they were suitable for my daughter. I didn’t let her go see them, mind you. They were just too filled with needless violence and sexuality, and—well, no offense, Mr. Kellor, but we don’t hold stock in that kind of behavior.”
Dawson smiles evenly. “No offense taken, Mrs. Eldritch. I know some of my films aren’t for everyone. If I had a daughter, I certainly wouldn’t let her see much of my work until she was old enough to understand and be discerning.”
Louise nods seriously, and then turns to me. “So, Grey. What brings you back to town? I was under the impression that you’d relocated to Los Angeles more or less permanently.”
Which was Louise’s way of saying that she knew about my falling out with Daddy, and wanted the inside scoop.
“Is Daddy in his office? I’d like to see him.”
“He is, you know he is. He’s just…well, I’ll let him tell you.” The affable, genteel exterior fades, and I’m afforded a glimpse of the sharply intelligent, protective, and rather judgmental woman beneath. “Things haven’t been the same since you left, Grey. I must say. And your father…well…he’s changed. Your poor mama’s passing changed him, and not for the better. And when you left…. He hasn’t been well, you know. But I’ve said too much. It’s his story to tell. Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take you to him.”