Death By Drowning (19 page)

22

I was working at the Farmers’ Market when Shaneika surprised me. “Howdy,” I said, happy to see her. I wanted her to come back to the farm. I missed seeing Comanche in the fields, and having Shaneika stop by for coffee and verbally wrangle with Jake over history.

“I’ve got the city’s response to the lawsuit,” she said solemnly. “These are the terms.” She hand me a folder.

My hands were shaking as I opened it. I skimmed over the highlighted parts and looked at her in disbelief. “Is this accurate? They agree to the stuff highlighted in yellow?”

“Yes, they did. You were right. The mayor wants to run for governor and doesn’t want you mucking that up with interviews two years from now or writing a book about O’nan,” she said.

“You know that for sure?”

“Let’s say I surmised that from listening to two secretaries gossiping in the ladies’ room who didn’t realize I was in a stall.”

“Thank you Jesus. Thank you.”

“No – thank me. Jesus wasn’t at the negotiating table. Here’s your first check.” She handed me a check for a million and half dollars. This was the first installment. “Once you endorse this check, you can never publicly make any type of statement disparaging the police department or the city regarding this incident. You can never discuss the details of the settlement with the city or what happened the night you were attacked.”

“Give me a pen. I’ll sign the check right now. I don’t care who is to blame. I just need to pay my medical bills, and not worry about the future if my health goes south.”

I began to cry. I was solvent again. “I gotta go to the bank,” I said, tearing off my apron. I frantically looked around for my purse.

“Slow down or you’ll fall,” advised Shaneika. “My son will watch your booth while I drive you to the bank.”

“Your son?”

Behind Shaneika, emerged a young boy on the verge of puberty. He smiled with perfect white teeth like his mother. I offered my hand. “I’m Mrs. Reynolds and you are?”

“Lincoln Warfield Clark Todd. Everyone calls me Linc.” He took my hand and shook it. His hands were warm and dry – full of living energy. They felt good to touch. “This is gonna be great. I’ve been watching you and I know what to do. When you get back, I’ll have everything packed up for you. Yeah. This is gonna be great.”

“Okay, you’re in charge. If you will hand me my purse, I’ll be off. Oh, will you tell Mr. Dosh, when he comes back, where I’ve gone? He looks like Sitting Bull with a grudge on a bad hair day.”

“A real Indian! Cool,” replied Linc, grinning.

“My car is over there,” said Shaneika. “Let’s get that check in the bank. The bank’s only open twenty more minutes. It makes me nervous to have that much money based on a small piece of paper that can get lost or stolen.” We hopped into her SUV and sped down the few blocks to the bank. On the way over, Shaneika didn’t offer any details on her son, so I didn’t ask.

I deposited the check five minutes before the bank closed. Shaneika told me to hang on to the receipt. I put it down my bosom causing Shaneika to grimace and mouth the word “nasty.” I thought it was the safest place in town.

23

A knock sounded on Officer Kelly’s front door. A dark-haired woman, with two small children trailing behind her, went to answer. She peered through the peephole, backed up in surprise and then opened the door tentatively. “Can I help you?” she asked.

A tall woman, with black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail trailing down her back, stood at the door. She was dressed in a black leather car coat with black pants and black ankle boots. To complete the outfit, she was wearing dark aviator sunglasses and large diamond post earrings. On the street waited a black Expedition with a driver.

“Are you Batman’s wife?” asked the older of the two boys.

The stranger gave a thin-lipped smile. “Cute.” She turned her attention to the mother. “I am . . .”

“I . . . know who you are,” replied Mrs. Kelly. “He’s not here. He’s at Al’s Bar working on his poems.”

The stranger appraised the woman who had taken her place in Kelly’s affections, noticing that they both looked very similar. Both were dark. Both were beautiful. Both were extremely athletic. Both were dangerous when crossed. But only one had found happiness.

“I know where he is. I wanted to meet you. And give you this.” A gloved hand extended an envelope. “Go on. Take it. It’s from my mother. Payment for Baby’s bills.”

Mrs. Kelly gingerly took the thick envelope all the while wondering if she should accept it. The woman standing before her disturbed her. The stranger was overly confident and Mrs. Kelly could see that she was used to getting her way. One could say life’s rules did not apply. The very air moved through her instead of around like for normal people. She did not take up space; she moved through it. Mrs. Kelly rocked on her heels. So this was the famous . . . or infamous, depending on who was doing the talking – Asa Reynolds.

The stranger started to turn, but stopped. “Oh, my mother also expects to be invited for dinner soon. Ciao.” Giving the children once last look, the stranger walked back to the car, her boots clicking loudly on the sidewalk pavement.

Mrs. Kelly closed the door in mute surprise. The envelope was addressed to her. She sat on the couch and opened it with her two children clamoring beside her in anticipation. Inside was a warm, personal note from Josiah, a letter from Josiah’s lawyer, Shaneika Mary Todd, explaining the contents and an itemized statement of the vet’s bill plus estimated costs of Baby’s stay with the Kellys. A gift tin dropped from the envelope. Opening it, she discovered a personal gift card loaded with the amount of $20,000. She crossed herself.

“What is it, Mommy?” asked one little boy, surprised at his mother’s flushed face.

“The answer to my prayers,” she replied. “My babies gonna get new shoes! And Mommy is going to replace the furniture that the monster dog chewed up and buy something pretty for herself for puttin’ up with Daddy.” The boys looked curiously at the little plastic card, but squealed with delight as their mother tickled their bellies.

*

On the other side of town, the black sedan waited on Limestone.

Ready to go home, Kelly walked out of Al’s Bar with a notebook full of poems. Whistling the tune Hi Ho sung by the seven dwarfs from Snow White, he made a beeline for his vehicle. Several homeless guys, whom he occasionally arrested for disorderly conduct, good-naturedly called out in greeting. Kelly waved to them.

Inside the sedan, Josiah’s daughter watched Officer Kelly cross the street and unlock his car. She sat silently in the back seat as he drove off. Fingering a recent newspaper account that told how Officer Kelly caught a bank robber by noticing disturbed moss on a pathway, she watched his car disappear around the corner. Carefully, she folded the newspaper article and put it in her wallet, next to Kelly’s high school senior picture.

Finally her driver asked, “Where to, ma’am?”

“Home,” she rasped sadly. “Take me home.”

24

Standing outside the massive twin doors, I collected my thoughts. Did I really want to do this?

I raised my hand to knock on the carved wood and then dropped it, looking back to the black limo waiting for me. Even though I couldn’t forgive, the acts of forgiveness could begin and maybe somewhere down the line I could emotionally follow their trail. I knocked on the door barely making a sound, as I hoped no one would come to answer.

An older woman opened the door, glancing at me with my shopping bags sitting by my feet while I leaned on my black walking stick. “My name is Josiah Reynolds,” I said to her. “I don’t have an appointment but I would like to see Miss Ellen.”

The woman looked confused, not knowing what to do. I knew that she recognized my name.

“Is there somewhere I can sit down,” I asked. “My leg is really hurting!” That line always seemed to do the trick and this time it was true. She immediately let me inside and led me into a small parlor where uncomfortable, mid-nineteenth-century furniture was placed about. Probably family heirlooms. Too ugly to put in a frequented room, but too valuable to throw away. I sat down in a 19
^th
century, walnut Washington Holloway chair.

Having fetched my shopping bags, the woman sat them by my feet and said she’d go to see if Miss Ellen was in – a nice way of saying Miss Ellen might not want to see me. She closed the painted pocket doors with ornamental gold painted on the white. I looked about the room trying to stifle the urge to swipe something – like a candy dish or silver candlestick.

My eyes turned to the marble fireplace where above the mantel hung a Frank Duveneck. My fingers rushed to my lips. It was the same Duveneck portrait that I had given Brannon on our last anniversary before we separated. It had cost me a whole year’s pay. Now I knew what had happened to it. He had turned around and given it to his girlfriend. I felt a sudden giggle rush up my throat followed by an awful taste of bile. I thought I was going to be sick, hoping to vomit on the antique carpet, but then one of the doors slid open.

In stepped Ellen. She gave the room a quick glance before resting upon me. I didn’t rise. I was not in the mood to go out of my way anymore. There she stood, slightly quivering before making her way towards me.

Still fresh and beautiful in her last remaining years of youth, her brunette hair perfectly coiffed, she sat opposite me – silently disapproving.

“Why are you here, Josiah?” asked Ellen. She was tense. I wondered if she thought I was going to slap her or something stupid like that.

I nudged one of the shopping bags towards her. “Inside these bags are things that belonged to Brannon. I thought the boy might want to have them. I put together an album of pictures from Brannon’s youth until his death. Also there is his letter jacket from high school, his college ring, some letters – just bits and pieces of his life that the boy might want to keep as mementos.”

Ellen tilted her head like a dog trying to comprehend.

“Inside the pocket of the letter jacket is a letter from your son’s sister with a telephone number. If he wishes to see her, he may leave a message at that number. If she does not hear from him, the number will be disconnected on his twenty-first birthday and the offer will be rescinded – forever.”

I stood. “You may read the letter if you wish. I know that you and I will never see eye to eye on this, but the children don’t need to suffer. He’s the only sibling my daughter will ever have.”

Ellen stood as well. “I don’t know what to say. This is very decent of you, Josiah.”

“I have my moments.” Not knowing what else to convey, I started to leave. Suddenly I turned. “That’s a nice Duveneck you have.”

Her face became clouded as though she was both pleased and puzzled at my remark. “Yes, Brannon gave it to me when I learned that I was pregnant.”

I gave it one last glance. “It is really a nice painting. Brannon always did have such elegant taste.”

Ellen smiled wistfully while glancing at the painting. “Yes, he did,” she said softly.

I turned and left the house. Asa got out of the limo and helped me step up into the vehicle.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“I think she might let you see the boy,” I answered. “Just give her some time to think about it. You should send him a gift this Christmas to start the ball rolling.”

My daughter nodded and gave the driver instructions to drop us off at the Bluegrass Airport. There we boarded a chartered plane, which flew us to New Orleans, where we were met by Brannon’s two surviving siblings. The four of us ventured out into the delta on a rented boat where we poured Brannon’s ashes while playing his favorite piece, Robert Johnson’s
Cross Road Blues
.

Afterwards, my in-laws promised to visit Kentucky with their families and bade a quick farewell while leaving Asa and myself to dip our beignets in café au lait at Café du Monde on Decatur St. There we silently watched the tourists and lovers stroll by. I couldn’t wait to get out. New Orleans was always a city of death to me with its above-ground graveyards, neglected mausoleums and mansions bathed in parasitic vegetation. I could tell Asa was tense too. Too many unhappy memories of us visiting Brannon’s relatives, and he disappearing almost the entire time to visit “friends.” No, New Orleans was always a city of disappointed trips and unchallenged lies. Brannon, like his hometown, promised much but in the end conveniently forgot. Brannon was one of those careless people of Fitzgerald’s.

Finally it was time for me to catch a plane back to Lexington and Asa to fly to Washington for her next assignment.

I did not feel forgiving. In fact, anger had been simmering ever since I glimpsed that painting. I would have to talk to Matt about this. He would give me a new perspective on it. Maybe I would talk about it with Jake, but I already knew what he would say. Let it go. Let it go. Not worth the anger. Anger is bad for healing.

But I would hang on to my anger, letting it whiten to a soft scar, hardening over time into a sinewy sliver.

Lexington was having one of its ferocious late spring thunderstorms, the kind that carries tornadoes with them, when Jake met me at the baggage area. He was sporting a big smile. I was surprised that my heart sped up when I saw him. He said he wanted to have a private talk with me, so we went to out to dinner even though I was very tired. I could see that he had something on his mind.

I told him how the meeting with Ellen went. He seemed pleased that it went well. Fidgeting with his silverware, he opened his mouth several times only to close it.

“Look, Jake. I’m going to fall asleep in about fifteen minutes regardless of where I am, so if there is something on your mind, you better tell me now.” I took a sip of my water.

“I signed my new contract. It has been renewed for the next nine months after October.”

“So you’re going to stay,” I said, suddenly frightened that I came close to losing him.

“If you want me to, I will. But there have to be some changes,” Jake stated.

“Like what?”

“Now that your dead husband no longer lives in your closet, I thought you might be willing to move forward.”

I sat looking at him, waiting.

Jake coughed, glancing about the room. “There is a powwow for the Choctaws in Mississippi next week. I would like to go and take you with me.”

I pulled out my planner from my purse. “I take it that this is going to be on a weekend. I think I can get Charles’ daughter, Bess, to look after my booth at the Farmers’ Market.” I marked the calendar with a pencil. “If I can get her, then I can go. She’ll take care of everything for me.”

Jake grabbed the pencil out of my hand. ‘I don’t think you understand.”

I shrugged. “What do I not understand?”

He struggled to find the words. “Not like with Matt but with a man.”

“Matt
is
a man.”

“What I mean is not like a friend.”

Realization dawned upon me. It was what I had hoped for but now the fantasy had to end.

“This is ridiculous. I’m too old for you.”

“Aged like fine wine,” he smiled.

I shook my head no. “It’s impossible. I haven’t thought that way about a man for years.”

“You think that way about Matt. I’ve seen you look at him.”

“Not that it is any of your damn business, but I love Matt. I love his beauty. I love his good manners. I love his loyalty. He was my only friend when everyone else turned their backs on me.”

“I’m loyal.”

“You’re paid to be loyal.”

“So don’t pay me.”

“How can I not pay you?” I lowered my voice as people were turning to stare. “I’m not healthy. My goodness, I can barely walk. I might have a deranged cop after my head. My childbearing years are past. There are just too many negatives with me. You need to be with a young woman. Someone who is whole and has energy. Someone who will make you a good wife, a good partner.”

Jake moved his plate out of his way. “Look, I’ve thought about this. I’ve seen everything you’ve got, so there are no surprises with the body.”

I could feel the blood rushing to my face.

“Here’s what I see. Yes, you’re a little worn down around the edges but there is something about you that I just like. Don’t ask me why. You’re bossy and sarcastic. Maybe I just like a woman who’s full of sass. And yes, you’re struggling, but who isn’t. Your face is not bad to look at either since the docs lined your cheekbones back up.”

I leaned towards him and whispered into his ear. “I don’t know if everything works. You understand?”

“You let me worry about that,” Jake said with a lopsided grin on his face. His arm reached over and he began to stroke my arm. His touch made my arm hair stand to attention.

I tapped the table. “This is serious. That part of my life may be over for good. The thought of any kind of weight on my legs make me apoplectic. I don’t think I can respond.”

“Well, if you don’t find me attractive, then we can end this conversation right now,” muttered Jake, pulling away.

“I never said that. You know that’s not it,” I whispered, looking to see if people were still staring.

“What? Can’t hear you. Speak up.”

“I said that is not the case. I think you are very handsome . . . for being you.”

“Okay, let’s just go to Mississippi for the powwow. We will take it slow. We’ll eat lots of fried bread, listen to the storytelling and buy crappy souvenirs. No expectations. We’ll just have a good time. Separate rooms.”

“Would this sudden interest in me have anything to do with the fact that I am now financially solvent?”

“It sure doesn’t hurt.”

“Who’s paying for this trip?”

“I am, but the next one is on you. I have a hankering for Venice.”

“What if we get serious and then you want children? What are we going to do then?”

“Already crossed that bridge. Have children.”

“You do? Oh, are you married?”

“Nope. Divorced. The kids are going to be at the powwow. Jake rose while throwing three twenties on the table. “Well, you look plumb tuckered out,” he said looking at my stunned face. “Let’s get you to bed. You’ve had a long day.”

Picking up my purse and walking stick, he offered me his arm. After hesitating for a moment, I took it and leaned on him as he led me out into the lightning storm that lit up a greenish sky that told of a coming tornado.