“That means, after they have fun and make Bobby McGee love them beyond compare by allowing her to get filthy, I’m giving that dog a bath.”

She does not appear upset about this.

I share I’m uncomfortable roaming their living space freely as pertains to my current reason for being there.

Lyla shares that if Preacher didn’t wish for me to do so, I would not be invited for chili.

“And if it’s okay with Preacher, I’m fine with it,” she finishes.

Even in all she and Jesse have shared with me, and my burgeoning position among these people, I feel like an interloper.

Therefore, I do not make a thorough investigation to report for this effort.

I note instantly, however, there are no gold and platinum records on the walls, no awards tucked into shelves, of which, McCade has earned many.

This family reads books.

And if a wall that is nothing but rows of stacked vinyl and compact discs, as well as an impressive shelf stereo system with turntable, is any indication, unsurprisingly, the McCade family enjoys music.

There are a number of framed pictures set in shelves and on tables.

I peruse these.

A tired Lyla and a proud McCade shoved into a hospital bed, Lyla holding a bundle that has to be Jesse, McCade holding them both.

The same when Lynie is born, except Jesse is tucked in the curve of McCade’s arm and hanging onto his father’s neck.

Further, there are a variety of snapshots of past Christmases and barbeques and vacations and much time spent in and around this cabin set around as reminders of family times, and many of them have one or more of the Roadmasters and their own families included.

And of note, resting at an honored place on a table behind the couch, is a framed photo of McCade, Mancosa and Audie Campbell sitting around a modest but sturdy and well-worn kitchen table, all with glasses of bourbon in front of them, cigarettes between their fingers, a used ashtray is also on the table between the three.

Sonia, Lyla’s sister, is standing, leaning into her grandfather. They have their arms around each other, and like all the men, she’s smiling at what is presumably Lyla behind the camera.

Lynie Campbell, however, is bent over Preacher McCade, her hand wrapped around his jaw, and she’s bestowing a motherly kiss on the top of his head.

My biggest surprise is that, pride of place, and rather large, there is a framed copy of The Clinch, a photograph the taking of which infuriated McCade.

But it has to be one of the most seen in the room, as it sits on a shelf just above the TV.

When Lyla notices me studying it, she says, “It pissed off Preacher, but I always thought it was the bomb.”

Seeing it again, it is my opinion she is not wrong.