Chapter 10

"Everybody's life is a soap opera. Everybody's life is a country-western song

– depends on who's writin' it."

Dolly Parton

Friday, October 31, 1997 – "Heads Carolina, Tails California"13

The fall foliage on the way to Raleigh-Durham airport had not been as picturesque as a ride on the Blue Ridge Parkway would have been. But she wasn't headed for Hazzard.

The jet had just leveled off at 33,000 feet on its way to a two-hour layover in Denver. Daisy stared out the window of the plane at the floor of clouds below the wing. The clouds were gray, with the occasional puff of lightning illuminating them. She wasn't crazy about sitting over the backside of the wing, but beggars could not be choosers. Barebones economy offered little in the way of choice – non-stop would have cost her $150 more than she could afford.

Sensing a slight touch on her upper arm, she turned to the passenger on her left. The flight attendant was trying to get her attention.

"What would you like to drink?" the attendant said again.

"I'm sorry, I was daydreaming," Daisy said, "I'll have an iced tea if you have it."

When she received the drink, she took a sip, then returned to staring out the window.

Her dissertation was finished and submitted to the committee. After she turned in the hardbound, 375-page thesis three days ago, she had been as fidgety as a four-year-old at Sunday service. Reading Enos's letters seemed to calm her; take her out of herself.

Last night, she had retrieved the shopping bag from her closet once again. With only thirty or so to go, she intended to finish them. Talking to Enos a couple of times a week had been so much more comfortable with a frame of reference – Turk, Aaron, Inez, the community center, coaching little league baseball, SWAT training…

She thought she knew him much better now – maybe better than she had ever known him, even when they were young. He had written things on those pages he'd not revealed about himself in all the years they had both lived in Hazzard – how he felt about being a police officer, how he helped people, not just put them in jail. Sometimes what he'd written made her laugh, sometimes cry, sometimes wonder why they couldn't have shared those moments when he might have doubted himself or been proud of something he'd been a part of. Knowing she was as much to blame. Did she ever give him a chance? Did she ever ask? It was still the missing words - the time that could never be recaptured - causing the ache in her heart.

As much as he had poured his heart out about how he felt about her, there was no mistaking the subtext...he would never be happy back in Hazzard. If she loved him, if she wanted to be with him…it was up to her, this time, to go to him.

By the time she read the last letter, dated September 15, 1996, it was two in the morning on Halloween. She was off work for the weekend and had planned a surprise visit to Uncle Jesse at the farm. The more she thought about Enos - the man she had almost married twice, the man she had loved deeply when they were sixteen - the more she wanted to know about what he had not been able to tell her.

And, Why?

By 5:00 am she had booked her ticket over the phone, packed a bag for three days, and was headed out on the hour-long ride to Raleigh-Durham airport.

Friday, October 31, 1997 – Los Angeles – 7:45 pm

Daisy arrived at Enos's apartment around 7:30 pm Her call from the airport to both his apartment and mobile numbers had netted zilch, leaving her little option. She didn't have his office number and hadn't booked a hotel room.

Now that she was actually there, hesitant about knocking on his door, she pulled back a couple of times before her knuckles hit the wood. After taking several calming breaths, she tapped gingerly on the door. There was no response. She knocked again, this time louder and with more authority. A third rap netted the same result.

'It's Friday night. Halloween night,' she thought, 'Maybe he pulled a double shift. Wait, there's a country bar he likes to frequent with friends from work; that must be where he is. But why wouldn't he answer his mobile phone?'

Then, she remembered the Bloody Bucket was only on Saturday nights. Deciding she couldn't camp out in the hallway, she grabbed her small rolling bag and had turned to leave when his neighbor across the hall opened her door.

"Are you looking for Enos?" the elderly woman asked.

"Yes, Ma'am. I thought he would be home by now."

"You're Daisy, aren't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am. And you must be Mrs. Huang."

"He went out earlier, all dressed up in a tux. So handsome. He has some charity function to go to tonight. Guess you might have gotten your wires crossed?"

"No, Ma'am. He didn't know I was coming to Los Angeles."

"I see," Mrs. Huang said, her eyes wide. "Would you like to wait in my apartment? Not sure how late he will be home. And I don't have his mobile phone number. Don't trust those new gadgets anyway. I made some ginseng tea for Daniel and me, but he is not much on tea these days."

One of Enos's letters had been about Mrs. Huang's grandson, Daniel…so sad. Enos had been the patrol officer answering the call to the accident scene, and he'd been the one who had notified the family.

"Thank you. Tea would be nice."

"You're as pretty as your picture," Mrs. Huang said as she led Daisy into her apartment.

"Thank you."

While Mrs. Huang was getting the tea, Daisy's eye caught the edge of the L.A. Times peeking out from under a couple of magazines on the coffee table, and absentmindedly picked it up. Reading the Times had almost become a habit now, although she usually read the weekend edition.

She gasped involuntarily. A third of the front page was the beginning of a story about a Detective vehicle's fiery crash, complete with a color photo. Enos, easily identifiable, was on the ground, and some other man she didn't recognize with his hands under Enos's arms, both next to a car in flames.

"What is it young one?" When Mrs. Huang saw what Daisy was reading, she smiled sympathetically and said, "Oh, that's Wednesday evening's paper. He walked away with only a bump on his head. The other Detective pulled Enos out of the car before it caught fire."

The frail-looking little woman was so matter-of-fact, she might have been talking about a trip to the grocery store.

"Even after he was shot last year," Mrs. Huang said, "he keeps telling me he has less chance of getting hurt on the job than a construction worker. But I worry more about how much salt he eats. Man loves his soy sauce." She sighed, "Just like my Daniel."

Daisy tried her best not to react to the news about Enos being shot and took a few seconds to gather her thoughts. Her mind went in ten different directions at once, none of which shed a good light on her.

"Last part of September...when he was shot..." She guessed at the date on which the letters had stopped. She had figured that much out. Another reason she'd boarded that plane.

"I believe it was. Surgeons at Cedars did a good job. I hardly notice the scar anymore. Shirtsleeve covers it most of the time. Ended his tour of duty with the tactical team, though."

Daisy was consumed with curiosity but did not want to let on how much she apparently still didn't know about Enos. Something else for her to feel guilty about.

She spent the next couple of hours with Mrs. Huang, waiting for Enos to return. Learning more about his comings and goings, his eating habits, run-ins with the local gangs, his determination to get young prostitutes off the street...

Mrs. Huang was a wealth of knowledge. In the two-plus hours Daisy spent with her, she learned as much, possibly more, about Enos Strate than she had by reading his letters. She could have saved a lot of time by coming to L.A. and hanging out with the sweet old lady sooner. The time seemed to fly by until Mrs. Huang, ears of a bat, heard something in the hallway.

References:

(13) "Heads Carolina, Tails California" a song by Jo Dee Messina, 1996