Chapter 7

Friday, August 15, 1997 – Los Angeles

If anyone had asked Enos Strate ten years ago where home was, he would have answered Hazzard without hesitation. What seemed a certainty then was not as clear now. Tonight, he was sitting at the kitchen counter in Inez's house. How familiar it had become, like a second home. Neither of them should have allowed it. But neither of them could resist it either. Families come into being through various means, and Enos had been so long a part of this one. He felt at home.

It was comforting to talk to Aaron about his scholarship, his travel plans, and his dorm. He'd missed that. Enos had completed his degree, but it had taken many years. Aaron would do it in four and then be headhunted by technology firms. Enos could not have been prouder if Aaron were his own kid. The boy had grown into a man, seemingly overnight. No matter how old Aaron got, though, Enos would always see the scared little boy, barely eleven, trying to keep a brave face while his mother fought for her life.

Aaron had no one else to turn to after the accident. His father couldn't be with the boy while Inez was in the hospital. David and Inez had separated, and he was already living in West Virginia. Inez had filed for divorce. David had only been back to L.A. to spend time with Aaron a couple of weekends since the separation. Enos had had to hold his tongue about it. Riding every day in a car with someone going through a break-up had taught him when to keep his opinions to himself, no matter how crappy he thought the situation was. Something more had been going on, but he didn't pry.

Enos and Aaron had met a few times over the previous eight months, and Inez had talked a lot about him while they were trapped in the car.

Ribs wrapped and still on a mobile IV, Enos had been sitting with Aaron for some time in the ICU waiting room when one of David's cousins came to collect the boy. When he began to rebel against being taken away from his mother, Enos convinced the woman that he would watch him, be responsible for him - he was going to be there anyway. He didn't remember much of the conversation, but he must have been convincing enough that the woman relented and said she would be ready to take charge of young Aaron when he was prepared to leave. That never happened. After a very long phone call to David and some pleading from Aaron, his father gave permission for Enos to take charge of him.

While Inez was in the hospital, Enos made sure Aaron had as close to a regular routine as possible, someone he could count on. So he wasn't forced into the care of strangers or well-meaning relatives he hardly knew or shuttled back and forth between kindly neighbors.

At the age of fifteen, he had walked in Aaron's shoes.

Enos had actually lived at the house while Inez was recovering. He took Aaron to school and picked him up. He'd made sure the eleven-year-old had breakfast and dinner, had clean clothes, that he brushed his teeth, and did his homework. They went every day to visit Inez. That lasted nearly a month, while she was in the hospital or in rehab. When she was able to return home, he moved back to his own apartment. Even then, he made sure Inez wasn't overtaxing herself.

Eyebrows may have been raised and maybe even some talk, but he ignored it. Enos went back on duty after two weeks. After six weeks, when Inez returned to the streets, she had already been replaced as his Training Officer.

When Aaron was thirteen, he told Uncle Enos he needed a nickname. Something cool – something L.A. cop cool. So, he dubbed him E, and it stuck, to the point that Inez started calling him E whenever he was around the house. Now, she couldn't imagine addressing him as anything else.

When Aaron was fifteen, he confessed that there was a time when he thought Enos would be his stepfather. A revelation that had taken both Enos and Inez by surprise. They had not considered that Aaron would think there was something romantic between them. Besides, Aaron had a father, a mostly absent one, but he did have one.

Aaron Shapiro looked like his father, David. He was as tall but thinner than Enos, had thick, dark hair and blue-green eyes; a sharp contrast to Inez, who was only five four, if she wore two-inch heels, petite, with sandy hair and soft hazel eyes.

The kid loved technology. Whenever Enos had a computer question, he rarely called the department geeks. He called Aaron. They shared a love for baseball, and that had been the catalyst that had drawn them even closer together.

So it began. Turk, and now, Inez and Aaron, had become his family, the family he chose and who chose him – he had found a home in L.A.

After dinner, when Enos got ready to leave, he gave Aaron a big hug, they said their goodbyes, and Inez walked him to his truck. The subject of his suspension hadn't come up during supper. He knew it was only a matter of time.

"I know what Thompson said that set you off," Inez said. "That witness was more than willing to detail the entire altercation, word for word."

Enos smiled. "Elektra. Not her real name, by the way. She's an old soul. You know, the deep type. I did some checking. Do you know she's got a degree in philosophy? I'm thinkin' of askin' her if she wants to be a counselor for the at-risk teen program."

E had redirected the conversation away from something he didn't want to talk about. Inez knew from experience that any further discussion would be futile. They were both aware of how the Captain had chosen to punish Thompson. If it had been anyone else but E 'defending her honor,' she would have boxed their ears.

E had done what he had done, and that would be the end of it. Just made her love him more.

Saturday, August 23, 1997 – Hazzard

Daisy spent most of the day cleaning her room and packing for her return to Durham. Her job at the real estate agency was waiting for her, and each of her three roommates would be ecstatic that their rent would be back to one quarter instead of one third. Saturday packing provided the extra excuse to put off the one thing she had not done since she came home nearly a month ago. Visit Bertha Jo.

Since B.J. seldom went into town these days, Daisy hadn't run into her either accidentally or by design. However, she knew she couldn't put off the visit any longer, feeling as if she was fulfilling the steps of a recovery program. She knew that she needed to see B.J. before returning to Duke; and, for having left something so important undone, wouldn't be able to concentrate if she didn't.

By mid-afternoon, the sun still high in the sky, she had exhausted all her excuses and called Bertha Jo to ask if she could come by. By 4:00 pm, she let Uncle Jesse and the boys know they were on their own for supper, borrowed Uncle Jesse's truck, and told them she was headed for B.J. and Bubba's house. Dixie had been in storage now for many years. She couldn't afford to keep both the jeep and the motorcycle maintained. And the Harley gave her the feeling of freedom she often needed to experience in the extreme.

She had to take it slow since the road out to their little farm looked like it was surveyed by a cow, crooked as all get out. Not being an off-road bike, the hog wouldn't have been practical, especially on Hazzard County's backroads.

When she arrived, B.J. ran out to meet her, grabbing her in a fierce bear hug as soon as the truck door opened.

"Daisy, I'm so glad to see you. I could just cry." Then she ushered Daisy up the porch steps and into the house. "Now, you just sit down, and I'll get us some sassafras tea."

While B.J. disappeared into the kitchen, Daisy wondered why she had put the visit off for so long. Bertha Jo, although a little younger, had been one of her best friends growing up. That she had ended up being the bride instead of the Maid of Honor wasn't B.J.'s fault. Daisy had been away more than she had been home for the last several years, between getting married, divorced, working to put herself through school, studying for her Ph.D...and jilting fiancés. You may not be able to go home again, but you can reconnect with the people you love and with whom you have a history. She desperately hoped the same could be true for her and Enos. Sometimes she felt she was getting closer to the answer, then it slipped away again.

Bertha Jo set two mason jars of weakly colored orange-brown liquid on the coffee table and hugged Daisy again. "I was afraid you didn't wanna see me."

Knowing that she had avoided this for the last few visits she had made back to Hazzard, Daisy asked, "Why wouldn't I want to see you? I'm really sorry it took me so long to come by. I meant to so many times. Truth be told, I just wasn't sure what to say."

"I know, Daisy. I wasn't sure either. Heck fire, we've been friends for a long time. If you got somethin' on your mind, let's talk it out. You kinda look like you need some serious girl talk."

"I do." Daisy gave her a weak smile. "Just not sure how to start."

"Why don't you tell me about the family? How's Uncle Jesse doin'? Ma said he looked tired the last time she saw him."

"Me and Bo and Luke have tried to get him to go to the doctor, but you know Uncle Jesse. He likens doctors to those five-minute outfits in Capital City. You take your car in for an oil change, and they tell you there's all kinds of other fool things wrong under the hood."

"Sounds like Uncle Jesse. My grandma was the same way, and she lived to be ninety-nine. So, there might be somethin' in it."

Daisy lazily drank her tea, then asked, "So how many months?" and pointed to B.J.'s belly. There was but a tiny baby-bump, but she'd heard the news. Small towns and Alvin Dobinses. You might not see each other for a year, and everybody still knows what you're up to when you come home, and you know everything about them within an hour of arriving.

"I couldn't win any strong man competition in this condition, right? Three months. Baby's due about the end of January."

"I'm happy for you B.J. I really am."

"I know. So, what about you, Daisy? How are you doin'? I hear you're gettin' closer to that Ph.D. And what's this I hear about you spendin' time at the Sheriff's office? You're not in any trouble, are you?"

"No, it's nothing like that. Rosco's just helping me with something?"

While Bertha Jo was attempted to fathom what kind of 'help' Rosco P. Coltrane could offer up, Daisy took another sip and sniffed the aroma of it to distract her friend from that particular line of questioning. It had been so long since she'd made sassafrass tea, and she'd forgotten how enjoyable its comforting woody flavor was. The big city folk could have their chamomile. If only it didn't take so much to process. First, you have to dig up the tender sapling roots, then scrub the life out of them, then boil them down and strain the liquid. When they were children, it was fun.

"Daisy, you alright? You look sorta far away."

"I was just thinking about when we were kids. We used to go out huntin' for sassafras root and mountain laurel and wild blackberries."

Bertha Jo knew an opportunity when she saw it. They had never gone alone. Enos was always with them - always with Daisy. "Have you talked to him, Daisy? Since everything that happened…"

"No," Daisy said, quietly studying her jar. She had anticipated the question. It seemed everyone wanted to know; everyone who had been so closed-mouthed on that Saturday in April was now deeply invested in how the two of them were faring.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure, Daisy."

"Did you know you loved Bubba when you first met him? I mean the endurin' kind…the kind that makes you want to spend-the-rest-of-your-life-with-someone sorta love?"

"Gosh, no," B.J. laughed. "We couldn't stand each other at first. Sometimes he can be the most infuriatinist…But after I got to know him, he was so sweet and…well, I just fell in love with him after that. But you've been knowing Enos almost your whole life, Daisy. You had more than thirty years to get to know him."

But…Daisy didn't know Enos. Apparently. The more of his letters she read, the more she became aware of how far apart they'd become, and not just in miles.

"Did you have any doubts?" she asked.

"Not a single one."

"Maybe it's because you didn't have all the history to overcome…or lack of it," Daisy said, her mind wandering back to letters never mailed, never received. Why didn't he send them?

"I don't understand. You two grew up together. You were always so close. Didn't surprise me at all when you told me y'all were gettin' married. It all happened so fast. I never asked 'cause I just assumed you'd kept in touch all that time he was in L.A."

Daisy looked ashamed and said in a low, saddened whisper, "No. Hardly ever," and dropped her gaze to her lap. "He was busy being a cop, and I was just busy…having fun."

"Daisy," B.J. said, moving to sit on the couch next to her. "Sounds like you're bein' awful hard on yourself, Sweetie. Enos has always loved you. I doubt he would think that."

"No?" Daisy's eyes were filling with tears. "He didn't even say goodbye." She laid her head on B.J.'s shoulder and cried, something she hadn't been able to do since that night with Rosco, four months ago.

He had never walked away from her without saying goodbye and a promise to come home, not even when he went back in '87. The one thing she had feared the most was that she had hurt him so badly that he couldn't forgive her this time…She didn't have any idea how to fix that. But Enos had asked Rosco about her. He was concerned. He must not hate her.

"Lets' say we go make supper," B.J. said, standing up and holding her hand out for Daisy to take.

"When did you learn to cook?" Daisy asked, wiping her wet cheeks while being pulled into the kitchen.

"Since Bubba started working double shifts."

Saturday, August 23, 1997 – New York

Soonie was beginning to feel lonely and abandoned and wondered if accepting the assignment to New York was such a good idea. She had had to live out of a rented temp unit, and the branch office was not much more than a satellite with a few administrative personnel. What was she thinking?

It wasn't the living accommodations. If she didn't get home soon, all the gained momentum might be lost. No longer necessary for concern about keeping her up too late, when Enos told her he was on suspension, she had hoped the phone calls would be more frequent. But he had still only called her on Sundays.

Enos was harboring some pain or deep hurt, and she longed to be able to comfort him. He had not confided in her, something else that caused her concern. However, they had only been 'out' a few times and only one time that could be stretched into fitting the description of a date. How could she think she was in love with a man she had only known, no, been acquainted with, for a couple of months?

Picking up the phone, Soonie dialed his apartment number.

Saturday, August 23, 1997 – Hazzard

While Bubba washed the dishes, Bertha Jo and Daisy sat on the back-porch swing. Daisy, relaxed for a change, laid her head against the back of the swing while B.J. enjoyed the sound of the crickets and cicadas, and watched the lightning bugs dance like sprites in the thicket.

"Do you love him, Daisy?" Bertha Jo asked.

Now there was the sixty-nine thousand dollar question. Of course, she loved him. But was it the kind of love he needed…and deserved? Reading his letters, rife with much of who he was when they were teenagers, was like getting to know him all over again. So much of the Enos she knew at sixteen seemed to have disappeared over the years…or been rendered invisible…or kept locked away for some reason. All she knew for sure was that she didn't want to lose him from her life. She thought he would always be there. Because he had always been there. Now that might not be true, and she couldn't bear the thought.

It would be as if he died.

"B.J.?" Daisy asked, closing her eyes to squeeze back tears.

"Yeah?"

"Can I use your phone?"

"Sure, Daisy, why would you even have to ask?"

"'Cause it's long-distance."

"Don't you worry about that, Daisy, you just go make that call. Me and Bubba will stay out here…Hey, Bubba!" she shouted.

"Yes, Ma'am!" he shouted back.

"Come out here!"

Daisy was amused and felt a little guilty about making Bubba leave his own house.

When Bubba appeared on the porch, Bertha Jo asked him to sit with her a while, 'cause 'Daisy needed some privacy for a phone call she wanted to make…and don't ask no questions.'

This time, when Daisy picked up the receiver, she didn't hesitate to dial the number Rosco had given her for Enos's apartment, silently chastising herself for having to ask for it. If they had kept in touch, she would have known it. At least she didn't have to call information.

Thinking she might get the answering machine, she was stunned into silence when, after the second ring, the familiar voice on the other end said, "Detective Strate."

The call from Soonie went straight to the machine.

Saturday, August 23, 1997 – Hazzard

Daisy returned to the farm late in the evening to find only Luke downstairs, just hanging up a phone call of his own.

"Was that Sophie you were talkin' to?" From the little conversation she'd heard when she had walked into the house, she knew he had been talking to Sophie, the new woman in Luke's life, the widow of one of his fellow firefighters, the one with two kids.

He nodded his head and sank into a chair with his hands folded on the kitchen table. No one missed the fact that Luke had been stewing in some kind of deep pot for the last month. With her back to him, Daisy turned on the faucet and filled a glass with water. She played with the ring on the end of the chain around her neck, then tucked it back under her shirt.

"Do you love her?" she asked finally.

Too troubled and too tired to deny it, Luke said, "Yeah, I do. More'n I ever thought I could love anybody." He lowered his forehead to his folded hands, not sure why he'd just told Daisy something he'd barely admitted to himself.

"No doubts about that?"

"Nope."

"Have you told her?"

"I can't seem to say the words. Can't get around the fact that I worked with her husband. He was a good man – a good firefighter. And those are his kids."

"You feelin' guilty or jealous?"

Luke closed his eyes. "A little of both, I guess."

"You should tell her. If you feel guilty or jealous or just plain scared. Luke, tell her. Now. Don't wait and don't hold back. 'Cause the longer you wait…and the more you hold back, the harder it gets to say anything at all. And you might blow your chance at somethin' really good. I don't want that for you."

"You speakin' from experience, Daisy?" He saw that there were tears tucked away behind her smile.

"Night, Luke. Think about what I said."