Son of a Preacher Man

chapter One


New York City, Present Day

“I cannot believe you are wasting your vacation time going to Deliverance, Georgia. If I had a month of vacation, I’d go to the Caribbean.” Sandra Goldstein, Nadya’s best friend and co-peon in the gigantic law firm where they worked, knocked back her vodka martini and signaled the waiter for another one.

“If you put in as many billable hours as I did trying to pay off college loans, you’d have a month of vacation to use before the end of the fiscal year too. Besides, it’s Dale, Georgia, not Deliverance, and I won’t spend the whole month there. It should only take a week or two to get the last of the estate through probate. It’s not like my mother had that many personal assets.” Nadya sipped her martini a bit more slowly. It was perfectly chilled and smooth as silk.

“Dale, Deliverance—same difference. It’s filled with flannel and butt cleavage and there’s not a chance you’ll find anyone with their own teeth, forget working brain cells.”

More like judgmental bigots and rednecks.

“Don’t remind me. It’s not like I want to go. It’s something I have to do.”

“Whatever, bubele. I still think you’d be better off on an island somewhere.”

“It’s not like you’re going to the Caymans—you’ll be in Miami.”

“Oy, don’t remind me. I get to spend my one week of vacation with my family. Maybe butt cleavage isn’t all that bad.”

“Depends on whose butt.” Nadya laughed.

“Was there a particular butt you wanted to see again?”

Memories of a hot, steamy day with breathless kisses and awkward caresses flashed through her brain. “No.”

“I sense a certain wistfulness in your answer. Come on, give.”

Nadya heaved a sigh and finished off her drink quicker than the quality vodka called for. “You know that old Dusty Springfield song about the son of a preacher?”

“I think so. It was in a movie, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Anyway, there was a guy, a boy really, who was the preacher’s son, and he and I were together for a hot and heavy month before I left. I guess you always wonder what could have been, you know?”

“The only time I thought that 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 differently if she hadn’t been so busy trying to make it in New York City? Would she even have been able to make her mother see a doctor before the cancer had spread throughout her body? She should have spent more time with her at the end. Would it have killed her to take a few weeks off?

Nadya knew her mother had an extended family but had no idea how to contact them to let them know of Talaitha’s death. Not that she’d tried very hard to find them. When her mother had gotten pregnant by a gadzé, an Outsider, when she was sixteen, her family made her an outcast and shunned her. Virginity was prized among the Rom, and her mother had not only slept with a man without the benefit of marriage, but she’d compounded the crime by sleeping with an Outsider. The betrothal her father had arranged for her was broken and her family shamed.

To this day, Nadya had no idea who her father was or what he’d done when Talaitha showed up on his doorstep sixteen, pregnant and with nothing more than the clothes on her back. Obviously, he’d helped her somehow, because even though they lived on the edge of poverty, Nadya hadn’t gone hungry or homeless.

Maybe that was what her mama had left with the lawyer in Dale? Could she have left the name of her father in a letter? Was that why Nadya had to pick it up herself?

Nervousness turned the coffee in her stomach to acid as she considered the possibility. Did she even want to know who he was? Could he be someone she knew from town? She’d already worked out that he had to have been married, because his name wasn’t on her birth certificate, and Mama had never breathed a word of his identity.

Pushing down the nausea with an act of will, Nadya decided she didn’t want to know the man who’d donated his sperm so she could come into existence. Her mother had raised her to know right from wrong, to value herself for who she was on the inside and to make her own place in the world. Other than showing up for father-daughter field day at school, Nadya didn’t really see where he could have added anything to her life.

So why was she going to Georgia anyway? She could turn the car around and book a flight to the Caribbean like Sandra had said. Or she could follow her mama’s lead and just drive wherever the road took her. There was nothing for her in Dale, and there hadn’t been for over a decade.

Except there was. Her mama had left one last message to her, and she had to read it. Nadya doubted it would give her closure, but she couldn’t leave it hanging either. With any luck at all, she’d meet with the lawyer on Monday, go to probate court on Tuesday and have all the loose ends tied up and be out of Georgia by the end of the week.

Maybe she’d take an extended road trip for the remainder of her enforced vacation time. A few weeks wandering America’s byways would be a way to pay homage to her mama and take a much needed vacation all in one.

But first she had to get through Dale.