[Draws a labored breath into other nose, takes a moment]

“No,” he said. “I meant, it says a lot about you that you showed at those trials. It’s not surprising, but it says a lot about you, and you should know it meant something to me. So, thanks for comin’ to them, Lyla.”

“You already said that in your note,” I reminded him.

“I’m glad I got the chance to do it face to face,” he replied.

“We have more to talk about, Preacher,” I said.

He nodded and said, “Yeah. And I’m glad I get to do that face to face too. Because I loved it, Lyla. Every minute of it. You gotta know, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Of course, I thought this was hopeful and I was about to touch him before he kept talking.

And he did it to say, “But I’m movin’ on, cher. It’s time. And I hope you do too. To good things. To happy. Thank you for the beauty you gave me. I won’t ever forget it.”

And then, he left me standing there in the sand, right above where the waves rolled up the beach.

And he walked away from me.

Then he disappeared.

For everybody.

THE AUGHTS

The Bar

Interviewer’s Impressions, Recorded After Event:

The dim of the bar is difficult to adjust to after the blinding sun from outside.

It takes a moment.

Only when that happens, the interior is noted.

It is rough. No frills.

And obviously, the business is struggling.

It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, but there is not a soul in the place except the barkeep.

The bartender beckons. His invitation is obliged.

A drink is ordered and served.

It’s half gone before a presence is sensed, which is surprising, as the door to the outside did not open.

At a glance to the side and up, I look into brown eyes that are in a rugged, exceptionally handsome face.

“Hey,” a deep voice with a characteristic lilt says, and a big hand is offered. “I’m Preacher McCade.”

Charity Gig

Jesse:

So, yeah.

Somehow, and I don’t know how, I mean, it’s a miracle.

It’s 2001.

And we survived Y2K.

[Bursts out laughing]

At this point, Timmy and me might pitch up and step into a Second Coming gig or sit in with Shawn when he’s out doin’ shows, one, the other of us, or sometimes both.

But there’s dick from the Roadmasters because Preacher is still AWOL.

[Throws up both hands]

Dust in the goddamned wind.

The phone rings.

I answer.

It’s Shawn.