Chapter 3

Similarities

Rather than brave the city traffic at rush hour, they took a taxi to the restaurant, buckling Willa's carrier into the seat between them. Mallorca was nestled on a tree-lined side street in the northeast section of the city. There was a patio in front with wrought iron tables and chairs separated by tall pots of ferns and flowers to give privacy. In the entryway and bar, the walls were painted bright colors and a pathway covered in colorful mosaic tile led into the large main dining area. Booths lined one wall and heavy wooden tables with mismatched chairs were scattered around the middle of the room.

A woman Raylan recognized as Mrs. Dumois waved to them from a curved booth tucked into a corner. She rose as they approached, holding out a hand to first Raylan, then Winona. "Marguerite Dumois," she said. "Please call me Margie." In person, she had a pleasing lilt to her voice, typical of New Orleans, and not as noticeable over the phone.

He said, "This is Winona and our daughter, Willa."

Introductions made, they sat and the waiter quickly brought a wooden seat to hold Willa's carrier. Winona produced a teething ring and the stuffed monkey and the baby settled in, contentedly gnawing.

"My, she's a pretty, delicate little thing," Marguerite politely noted, studying her daughter's possible niece.

Trying to make pleasant conversation, Raylan quickly responded with, "And she gets all of that from her mama."

Winona gave an awkward smile. It was an awkward situation they all found themselves in.

"Anna was tall, even as an infant," Marguerite shared. "Were you always tall as a child, Raylan?"

Raylan smiled. "I can't remember if I was always tall as a child or not. I was raised as an only. Had no siblin's around me to compare myself to. I guess maybe I was standin' on the top riser in our class pictures," he recalled.

"Didn't you tell me your Aunt Helen told you that your height came from your Mama's side of the family?" Winona interjected.

"Yeah, I guess she did," he said.

Changing the tone, Margie stared at the table for a moment, then raised her eyes to Raylan's. "I'm sorry about my husband," she said, quietly. "I don't know what your family is like, Marshal, but ours is - complicated."

Winona and Raylan exchanged a smile, not unnoticed by the older woman.

"I suppose everyone's is, in one way or another." She sighed, folding her hands in front of her. "André and I have been together since we were teenagers. Got married when I was seventeen and he was nineteen. André had the mumps as a boy, so we knew that there might not be any children. What did we care? We were crazy in love. His mama cared though, and she was in the Catholic League. When the baby – our Anna – became available, she helped us arrange the adoption. When she was four, though, I did get pregnant, and we had twins." She smiled, showing white, even teeth. "André Jr., Andy – calls himself Dré now, and Rosalie."

Raylan, was bored with the family history, ready to interrupt, when the waiter did just that, asking for their drink order.

"The Sangria is wonderful," Margie advised.

Raylan declined, ordering a beer, but Winona decided to try the Sangria. Margie asked for coffee.

As soon as the waiter left, Raylan got to the point. "Why did your husband tell me that Anna is dead?"

"I'm gettin' to that. Patience, Marshal." Margie reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. She took two pictures from the stack, sliding them across the table. "That's Anna, with Andy and Rosalie the Easter after they were born."

Raylan took the photo, holding it up so Winona could see it, too. The pretty little girl, in a white Easter bonnet and frilly peach-colored dress, sat between two babies, each holding a stuffed rabbit. In the second picture, one of the babies was on her lap and the other was crying.

"I can't imagine twins," Winona said, casting a glance at Willa, still happy with her monkey.

Margie nodded. "I don't remember a lot about that first year or so. Diapers and spit-up, mostly." But her eyes twinkled, and it was clear that most of her memories were happy ones. She looked from Winona to Raylan, studying him. "I already see that my Anna has a similar bone structure, build. Those long fingers..." she stopped when the waiter arrived with their drinks. At his suggestion, they all ordered the shellfish cazuela.

Raylan took a long pull from his beer, not bothering with the glass. His gaze was on Mrs. Dumois.

"Anna is impatient, too," she said. "Always was." She took a sip of coffee and set her cup down too hard, liquid sloshing over the edge and into the saucer. "Do you know much about New Orleans?"

Raylan shook his head. "Only been there once, almost twenty years ago."

"Well, it's a beautiful town, but like many beautiful things, it can be rotten underneath." She wrapped her hands around her cup. "André was a NOLA police officer and got himself caught up in the crap that goes on there." She waved a hand in the air dismissively.

"I remember readin' after Katrina that the New Orleans PD was pretty corrupt," Raylan said.

"And the District Attorney's office, too." Her mouth set grimly before she went on. "It's not like André was the only one, but in the aftermath of the storm, they made a show about cleaning things up, and he was one of the ones tossed out. Kept his retirement, barely, but lost his position, and his sense of who he was." She shook her head. "Never could follow the rules, that man."

Winona's eyes caught Raylan's then slid away.

"Was he wrongly accused?"

"No, I'm pretty sure he wasn't, although he never shared with me. André always had money. I suppose my sin is being grateful enough to have it that I wasn't asking him where it came from."

"So, he was on the take."

She shrugged. "Anna worshiped that man. She was so disappointed in him. Things were said," she paused. "You know how it is in families. He asked for her help, and she turned him down. Said he got what he deserved, probably more. Told him he should be in jail."

"How would Anna have been able to help him?" Raylan asked. "Is she a lawyer?"

"No, but she...had connections." Margie changed the subject. "Are you musical?"

"Me? Heh, no," Raylan chuckled. "I like it well enough, but I can't sing a note."

"I'll vouch for that," Winona said with a grin.

"Anna's not a singer, but she's a fine pianist," Margie's pride was obvious. "She could have made a career of it, but she didn't."

"What does she do?"

"I think I'll leave that to her to tell you," she said, shutting him down again. "If she wants to. I haven't contacted her yet. I wanted to meet you, first."

Raylan supposed that was fair. She was only being protective of her daughter. He tried another direction. "How much did ya' know about the baby's birth family?"

"Not much," she said. "That was long before all this 'open adoption' they do nowadays. I suppose my mother-in-law might know something."

"She's still livin'?" Raylan did the math and supposed she'd be close to eighty or more.

"Yes, in New Orleans. She wouldn't move with us. Her daughter, André's youngest sister, stayed, too. Not in the family home anymore, the flood destroyed it when the levees broke. She's in an apartment, but it suits her fine."

"Wouldya' be willing to ask her if she remembers anything?"

Mrs. Dumois studied him for a moment. "I could. I talk to her more than my husband does anyway. He'd never call unless I reminded him."

"I'd appreciate it."

The waiter arrived, setting three steaming plates filled to the brim with rice, shellfish, shrimp, and crabmeat all in a garlicky sauce. Raylan ordered another beer to drink with the meal and the conversation halted while they all ate. It was every bit as delicious as the waiter had promised, and Raylan finished the whole plate before Winona made a dent in hers.

"I guess I was hungry," he said, a little self-conscious.

"Well, you didn't have much of a dinner last night, or lunch today," Winona reminded him.

"My husband upset you," Margie surmised.

"It's not every day ya' learn ya' have a half-sister out there, somewhere," he explained.

"And then to come all this way and to hear she's dead," Margie extended her hand to his forearm which lay on top of the table, as if to brace him, give him strength. "Again, I am so, so sorry. That was a cruel, unthoughtful thing for you to hear. I wish to God it hadn't happened."

"Thank ya' for that," Raylan nodded, his jaw set firm. "I'm happy for your sake it's not true."

Hearing the seeds of self-protective doubt in the Marshal's voice, Margie pulled out some more recent pictures of Anna from the envelope.

"I want to show you these so that you can see what I see in you … and in Anna," she said.

Raylan and Winona pawed over the small stack of photos over various sizes, taken at various ages. As Margie described irrelevant names of prom dates and details of vacation spots, all Raylan could do was to study the woman in the photographs as if he was studying a suspect.

"Oh, my," Winona gasped, putting her fingers to her lips. "She is one gorgeous woman. Anna looks like your Aunt Helen in this one. Don't you think?"

"Maybe," Raylan responded in a cautious tone, as he continued to flip through the rest of the pictures, unconvinced.

"I have some minimal information I found about the adoption in Kentucky," he shared with Margie. "I'm happy to share with you whatever I know." He felt like this was a night of 'tit for tat.' Each taking turns and sharing information to keep things rolling . . . or to shut it all down.

Margie did ask questions, and Raylan openly shared everything he knew. Raylan's ease with who he was put Margie somewhat at ease. She was convinced that the man was looking for his half-sister . . . that his intentions were true.

At one point, Winona left for the ladies' room to nurse a fussy Willa, leaving Margie and Raylan alone.

"I want to thank you for coming to meet me and allowing me a chance to get to know you," she offered. "I now feel I can contact Anna in good faith."

"Ya' mean I passed the test?" he nervously grinned.

That grin. There was something about that grin that reminded Margie of her Anna. Something in the eyes.

"You passed with flying colors," she said. "I'll call her tonight and give her your number. And I'll at least let you know what you can expect next. Whether Anna wants to proceed or needs some time. Other than that, Anna is a grown woman and will do as she wishes."

"I can't ask ya' for more than that," Raylan said with sincerity. "Thank you."

When Winona and a still fussy Willa returned, Raylan quickly picked up the tab for all. The Maitre D' called for a cab, and they all walked outside of the restaurant to wait, sparing the ears of the other patrons. Margie had offered to give them a ride to their hotel but Raylan declined, wanting her to be free to make that call to her daughter, sooner rather than later. He walked Margie safely to her car.

After their goodnights, Margie remained sitting her car for a moment and carefully observed the Marshal as he walked away. That walk. That slow, graceful, fluid walk. It was a distinctive walk. Oh, how it reminded her of Anna. She fished her cell phone out of her purse to call her daughter.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

At the Residence Inn, Willa continued to cry and fuss and fuss. She was inconsolable. They were relieved that at least their unit was on the end of their building with no common walls.

The crying jag went on for hours. Willa didn't want to eat. A bath did not soothe her. Even her beloved monkey was quickly tossed to the floor by the unhappy infant, along with a full bottle. She didn't want the breast, either. Finally, Winona relented to the dreaded Tylenol, but after twenty minutes or so, it didn't seem to make any difference. Winona kept checking Willa's forehead. She wasn't warm. She checked her diaper. No rash, and the baby was peeing just fine. Raylan and Winona took turns keeping her changed and dry.

"Do ya' think it's her teeth?" Like Winona, Raylan was running out of ideas and was exhausted.

"I don't know," Winona said, pacing the floor with the babe. "It came on so fast at the restaurant."

"The Tylenol clearly didn't work. Do ya' wanna try rubbin' bourbon on her gums?" he sheepishly suggested, not knowing how it would be received.

Winona let out a frustrated sigh. "Sure. Why not? Here, you do it." And she passed off their daughter to her daddy.

Handing her back, Raylan said, "Let me wash my hands first."

After washing up, Raylan poured some of the bourbon into a clean glass and set it on a nearby table. He took his little one from her mama. "C'mere, you," he said, holding her in a firm football grip. "Let's try some of the good stuff. I'll have you know, I don't share this with just anyone."

Winona giggled.

He took a seat and dipped his index finger into the glass and rubbed the bourbon, first into her lower gums … and repeated it on the upper ones. Willa stopped fussing.

"Yeah, you like this stuff, don't ya'?" he smiled with satisfaction.

"Me, too," said Winona. "I was going have some wine tonight, but now I feel like some of the hard stuff."

"No-no-no. Not so fast," Raylan stopped her from heading toward his bottle. "I said, I don't share my bottle with just anyone."

"Since when did I become just anyone?" she purred with a grin, appreciating the lighter mood and the sudden quiet.

Willa chomped down on Raylan's liquor coated finger.

"You're not," he answered. "I just wanted to see you smile."

She proceeded to the kitchen counter and poured herself a bourbon. "You want one?" she asked as she went to the fridge for some ice.

"Sure," he said. "I figure we're good here so long as my finger holds out. It must be hard having so many teeth come in. I really do feel bad for her."

"I know. It's a wonder any of us made it through our childhoods." Winona placed his drink beside him. He picked it up.

Raising her glass, Winona gave a toast. "Here's to the family who drinks whiskey together."

Raylan chuckled as he took a sip. "Somethin' tells me my kin would have approved."

"As would mine," Winona winced as she swallowed down the strong proofed liquor.

Raylan continued to dip his finger into the glass and offer it to his baby who readily took to it.

"Did Art ever call you back?" Winona asked, curling up in the chair next to him.

"He left me a message sayin' that Marguerite called the Lexington office to check me out," he answered. "Can't say I blame her."

"Was that all he wanted?" she asked, nursing her drink and enjoying the early morning quiet.

"Apparently," he said. "I haven't heard from him since which is always a good sign. Besides, I'm doin' my duty. I'm on vacation, savin' the US Tax Payers' money."

He glanced at the clock. It was almost 4:00 a.m. "So much for my plan to make love to ya' every night we're on the road." He looked over at Winona. "I doubt very seriously I'll make it past the first two minutes after my head hits the pillow." He took another sip of bourbon.

"Was that really your plan?" she smiled. "It's a good one."

"Well, I certainly wasn't gonna do it over at your mama's."

"Yeah, she does kinda cramp our style."

"Is she doin' alright?" Raylan asked.

"Thank you for asking," she began, laying her head on the back of her chair. "She's just fine. She appreciates me calling and keeping her posted on what's going on. She's pretty easy to please these days."

Willa continued to nom on Raylan's finger, still wide awake.

"I feel another late checkout coming on," she said, reaching for her glass and stifling a yawn.

"That's a safe bet," he concurred. "Besides, you owe me a pasta dinner, remember?"

"And you owe me a night of wild abandon," she purred.

He chuckled. "I'd love to pay that debt."

"You know, while I'm sorry for the stress of this situation with you learning you have a half-sister . . . I really have enjoyed all of this time together with you and Willa. We really do feel like a family. We just needed the time to allow it to happen."

"I suppose that was what Art was gettin' at. I hate it when he's right, but he was on this one. Forcin' me to take time off. It's exactly what we needed."

He glanced down at Willa who was settling in against his chest, her eyelids finally becoming heavy. "Well, would ya' look at that," he spoke very low. "I think she's finally losin' her battle to stay awake."

Winona drew her legs up in the chair, loving the vision of Raylan taking care of Willa, giving her what she needed. "You're so good with her."

"As are you," he whispered, his finger slowly falling out of Willa's sleeping mouth. "It's actually pretty easy. I mean, she's ours."

In a few minutes, Raylan was able to carefully transfer Willa into the port-o-crib and called the Front Desk to arrange for another night's stay. He joined Winona who was already under the covers and gave her a kiss, teasing her with his tongue.

"My mind is willin' to ravage you, but my body's sayin' no way," he growled in her neck as his heavy head found the pillow.

Winona snuggled into him and drowsily murmured, "I'll take a rain check, Cowboy."

(To be continued . . .)