Chapter 16
Coming Home
"Read it again, Grandpa!" Davis insisted. He leaned into his grandfather, tucked in beside him in the recliner.
The older man ruffled the boy's hair with a broad hand. It had been a good day. He'd felt well and his memory had been fairly clear. They'd all sat out on the patio for most of the afternoon, watching Davis and Kyle play on the swings and splash in the plastic pool. Willa had joined in for a little supervised water play, and it had worn her out. It was almost six and she was still napping.
"Maybe Grandpa would like to rest before dinner," Gayle said.
"I'm fine," the elder Davis said to his daughter. "This Pete the Cat is pretty funny."
Davis beamed up at him. "It's my favorite!"
"He makes Wade or I read it every night," Gayle laughed.
"Well, tonight it's Grandpa's turn." He opened the book, prepared to start again when Winona walked out of the kitchen, a glass of red wine in her hand.
"Everything's almost ready," she said.
"What is that?" her father asked.
"This?" She held up the glass and he nodded. "It's a Pinot Noir. We're having spaghetti."
"I'll take a glass." He smiled up at her, and she glanced at Gayle who shook her head.
"Gayle," their father said. "I can have a glass of wine if I want. And I want."
"What harm can it do?" Winona asked.
Gayle raised her hands in a gesture of surrender.
A few minutes later, Adam emerged from the kitchen and announced that everything was ready. "Grab a plate and follow me."
Davis was first in line. He loaded his plate with noodles, then glanced skeptically at the pots bubbling on the stove. "This one is clam sauce," Adam said. "It's got lots of garlic. That's for the grown-ups. This one here," he scooped up some rich red sauce to show the boy. "Is meat sauce like you're used to eating. There are meatballs in it, too." He took the plate. "Or, you can just have butter if you want."
"Butter," Davis said. He took a spoonful of salad at his mother's insistence and walked back into the dining room, balancing his plate carefully.
"Meeeatball." screeched Kyle. "Me want meatball."
"Okay, buddy." He put a small scoop of sauce and a meatball on top of the noodles on the younger boy's plate.
Kyle's eyes slid up to Adam's. "No salad."
Winona stooped down. "I'll eat yours," she said, conspiratorially. She took the boy's plate. "Let me carry it for you." She put noodles and a little of each sauce on her own plate, along with some salad and a thick slice of garlic bread. "This all looks wonderful." She smiled at Adam.
"It does," Gayle added. "I was a fool not to let you cook last night, too. How do you do it?"
"The sauces are simple," Adam said. "I'd be happy to leave you the recipes."
"Please, do," Wade chimed in. His comment earned him an elbow in the ribs from his wife. He smooched her cheek. "You have lots of talents, Babe, but cooking isn't one of them."
Gayle laughed, and the lightheartedness continued into the meal. Davis even got his namesake to try some sauce, surprisingly; the boy preferred the garlicky clam sauce.
"What are these chewy things?" he asked Adam.
Adam chuckled. "Those are clams. They live in the ocean. You have to break open their shells to get the meat out."
He gnawed and swallowed. "I like them."
Gayle shook her head. "He doesn't like anything," she whispered to Adam. "He's the pickiest eater I've ever seen."
"Well, now you have one more thing he'll eat." He twirled some pasta around his fork. "I was a picky eater, too."
"So was this one," Davis gestured at Winona with his fork. "I swear for a solid year that girl ate nothing but applesauce, grilled cheese sandwiches, and hot dogs."
"For breakfast?" Adam asked.
"Three meals a day." Davis nodded. "At least she was drinking milk."
"Grapes," Winona added. "I liked those green grapes, too."
"Every once in a while, Margie or I would put our foot down and make her eat what we were eating and oh . . . the fits she would throw." He laughed and started coughing.
"Are you alright, Dad?"
He gasped for a moment, and nodded, then coughed some more. Pushing away from the table he tried to stand but tipped precariously to one side.
The two little boys stared, eyes wide.
Wade and Adam quickly jumped up, each taking an arm. Davis shook his head. "I'm fine." He choked out. He sucked in air and leaned heavily on his son-in-law. "Maybe I could lie down for a bit."
Winona met her sister's eyes as the younger men helped him out of the dining room, and Gayle picked up her father's wine glass and finished its contents in one swallow.
"Is Grandpa going to die now?" Davis asked, his voice quiet.
Wade and Gayle had explained as best they could what was happening, answering his questions in what they hoped were age-appropriate ways. Gayle stared at her son, and Winona jumped in.
"Not right now, no." She reached over and brushed the boy's bangs out of his eyes.
"But he is going to die, isn't he?"
"Yes," Gayle said. She pushed her plate away, her appetite gone.
"And we'll be sad." Davis nodded seriously. "But Grandpa won't be sad."
Winona cocked her head at him. "What do you mean?"
"He'll be in Heaven," Davis said, matter-of-factly. He took a forkful of spaghetti. "No one is sad in Heaven."
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
On the Metro the next morning, Raylan's cell phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then gave Anna a raised eyebrow. "Hello, Boyd," he said upon answering, letting Anna know who was calling.
"Good mornin' Raylan. I hear you are playin' tourist in our Nation's capital. I'd imagine it's quite renewing to the American spirit to be so close to so much history, in the place where the decisions are made."
"Yeah, I'm feelin' real patriotic, but I don't think that's why you called."
"Well, now, you always did like to get to the point." Boyd chuckled. "I 'spose you know that I was picked up at my bar by that sniper of yours – the one who shot Colton – and taken to Lexington to be grilled by the boss himself, Chief Marshal Mullen."
"I'm aware."
Another chuckle. "I imagine you are. Don't suppose you had anything to do with that?"
An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. "Why're you callin', Boyd?"
The other man took his time answering. "When Chief Mullen brought up Leon Arndt, I didn't remember at first, but last night, when I was tossin' and turnin' I recalled something that might be important."
"Go on."
"We're the next stop," Anna whispered, moving toward the door. Raylan followed.
"Arndt has a history with someone you know."
"Besides you, you mean." Raylan gave a snort and grabbed at the overhead strap as the train lurched to a halt.
"I've never met the man," Boyd said, followed by a pause. "But Ellstin Limehouse has."
Raylan stopped in his tracks, almost missing the slim window of time to follow Anna out the doors. Several commuters glared as they stepped around him, one even giving him a rude hand gesture. Anna tugged at his arm, pulling him out of the flow of foot traffic.
"How does Ellstin Limehouse know a Neo-Nazi white supremacist?"
"Raylan, let me give you a history lesson. Once upon a time . . ."
"Boyd," Raylan interrupted, sick of the bullshit. "Just the facts."
A breath of air came over the line as Boyd sighed heavily. "Arndt's daddy went to prison for a bungled robbery at a bank in Somerset in which a man was unfortunately killed. The man who identified Eugene Arndt as the shooter and testified against him was Ellstin's father, Nelson Limehouse."
"So, Leon's racism is because the testimony of a black man sent his daddy to prison?"
"Where another black man ended his life with a shiv in the neck," Boyd said. "Leon would've been about twelve at the time. That's an impressionable age for a boy."
When Anna and Raylan reached the courthouse, he motioned for her to go ahead and enter the Security line without him. "Boyd, you'd better not be feedin' me a line of shit."
"I'm not." After a beat, Boyd added, "See what you missed when you moved away for all those years?"
"Look, I gotta go. I needed to be somewhere . . . five minutes ago." Raylan was past ready to wrap up this conversation.
"But before you do, are you gonna to tell your boss what I had to say . . . or do I have to tell him, myself?"
"What? You don't like Art?"
"Oh, I like the Chief Deputy just fine. But I don't think he's too fond of me."
"He's not," Raylan confirmed. After an uncomfortable pause, he continued, "I'll call him. Alright?"
"Good." Boyd's tone remained its usual, level of calm. "Can I expect your arrival back to The Blue Grass State, soon?"
"I'm workin' on it," Raylan answered and then, abruptly disconnected the call.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
In the conference room that Raylan had grown to hate, he and Assistant Director Karen Goodall were holed up in an office off to the side, on a confidential conference call with Art.
"Boyd? He's a squirrelly one," Art lamented. "As much as I'd like to tell you that we can handle him, Karen, and we can, truth is . . . Raylan could probably get this contact with Boyd and Arndt done much faster. And Limehouse? What can I say? These folks in Harlan are Raylan's people. He has a way with them that Tim and Rachel and I don't have."
"Understood," Goodall acknowledged. "Art, you know it's all about money. I'll get back to you."
"Good," Art said. "I'll await your decision."
After the call was disconnected, Raylan restlessly paced back and forth. The tension in the room was so thick, it could be cut with a knife. "I'm of no use to ya' here," he maintained. "Ya' heard what Art had to say. I could maybe get this case movin', off the dime, if you'd just say the word and let me return to Lexington."
"Well . . . I don't know if you're of no use to me," Karen smiled.
"Not funny." Raylan was visibly pissed.
"Art seems to think he'd get more mileage from this Crowder character if you were there." She placed her hand in the pocket of her tight skirt. "And this lead of a connection between Arndt and this Limehouse does need to be followed up." She looked up. "You go to Lexington, you're back on Art's payroll. Screw the GAO, and their fucking budget!" she finally caved. "If Art wants his Hillbilly Whisperer back, then, so be it."
"Thank you!" Raylan said, expelling a sigh of relief. He braced her by the shoulders, square in his hands. "But I need to ask ya' for one more thing. I want Agent Rulé to come with me."
Goodall looked at him, quizzically.
"It's no secret that our office and the Feebs are about as compatible as oil and water," Raylan shared. "This is a terrorist case, and the Feebs should be there. But it sure would be nice to have an agent who would work with us, and not against us, for once."
"Not to mention, she'll still have her per diem," Karen said, thinking like a bureaucrat. "Fine. Tell Agent Rulé to go ahead and book your flights. You two come and see me before you leave, okay?"
"Okay," Raylan said, visibly relieved to be getting this show on the road and back to Winona and his baby girl.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"How're you feeling, Daddy?" The morning sunshine streamed through the window as Winona perched on the arm of the recliner, Willa against her shoulder.
"Tired," he said, breathing heavily. "I don't have any energy. Just taking a shower wore me out."
"We did have a busy day yesterday," she acknowledged. "And the doctor said that you might tire easily."
"Give me that baby girl." He held out his arms. Winona handed her over and he tucked her against his shoulder, gently patting her back.
"Errrrup," Willa burped.
"That felt good, didn't it?" Davis turned his head and smiled at his granddaughter. "A good belch always feels good." He held her up in front of him, his hands securely under her arms. Willa pushed her feet into his legs and waved her arms.
"Da-da-da-da-da!" she screeched.
"Yes, your daddy will be here later today," Winona said, grabbing one of the baby's hands. "I think she really misses him."
"She's a daddy's girl, huh?" His eyes met Winona's.
"Like me," she said.
Supporting the baby with one hand he reached out with the other and squeezed hers. "No tears," he said.
"Okay." She turned away and blinked her eyes a few times just as Gayle walked in carrying her cell phone.
"Um," Gayle said, her smile too bright. "I have some good news. Well, at least I think its good news." She slipped the phone into her pocket and began to fluff the pillows on the overstuffed couch, avoiding their curious gazes. "Mama's coming. She just called from the airport in Miami. She'll be here by dinnertime."
"Well, shit." Davis Reeves said. "I guess my luck's run out."
Both daughters looked at him.
"I was hoping I'd kick the bucket before she showed up."
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
Raylan angled his cramped, long legs out into the aisle. His marshal status bought him two tickets in Coach on the sold-out 11:55 a.m. flight, bumping a couple of US Airways employees who were on standby. He was not happy that the flight had to make a stop in Charlotte before proceeding to Lexington, but at least they would arrive in time for him to see Winona and Willa before her bedtime. Art said he and Anna should stop by the office first thing the next morning, meaning they could go straight to Gayle's house.
It was a miserable, rough flight as they flew through turbulence from thunderstorms. The pilot instructed everyone to keep their seat belt fastened and to stay seated. Neither Anna nor Raylan had time to grab lunch, and by the time they had taken off from Charlotte, Raylan's stomach was growling. The stewardess threw a couple of bags of peanuts at them. No meals were available on either leg of their flight.
Anna leaned over and tapped Raylan's shoulder. "I'm going to order a Bloody Mary. Can I buy you one? I figure at least it comes with a couple of olives or a celery stick."
"Yeah," Raylan said, uncrossing his arms. "That sounds good." He reached up and pressed the 'Call' button.
Adam said he would be glad to pick them up from the airport, as he had Raylan's Lincoln. So, Raylan thought that he and Anna might as well sit back and try to relax on the bumpy flight.
"Could we have a couple of Bloody Marys?" Raylan asked the stewardess when she answered his call. "Do they come with olives?"
"Yes, they do," she said as she cancelled the call light and pulled down their tray tables, placing a napkin on top.
"Good. And some more peanuts?" Raylan asked, flashing his badge. He leaned over and shared, "We didn't have a chance to grab lunch."
The stewardess smiled. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks," Raylan nodded.
Anna handed her credit card over. "And keep 'em coming," she remarked, referring to the drinks.
When the turbulence tested her balance, the stewardess hung on to the back of Raylan's headrest. "I'll be right back with your drinks."
Without realizing it, Anna's fingers were clamped tightly around Raylan's forearm. The plane was bouncing up and down.
"I take it ya' don't like roller coaster rides?" he teased.
Anna chuckled. "I love amusement park rides. But this is for the birds."
The plane continued to bounce and, at one point, it seemed to drop in altitude.
"Shit," Raylan uttered under his breath, losing his cool.
It was about that time, the stewardess reappeared and handed him two plastic cups filled halfway with ice and olives on toothpicks. She also handed him two airline size bottles of Smirnoff's and two small cans of Spicy V8 Juice. "Sorry, I couldn't mix your drinks, but they would have spilled out of the glass by the time I made it to your seat."
"That's not a problem," Raylan said, passing Anna's drink ingredients to her. "We'll mix 'em here."
"Oh, and I found these," she said, pulling two small bags of pretzels form her apron pocket.
"Ahhhhh. Bless ya'." He was pleased with her find.
Feeling no pain from their three in-flight Bloody Mary's and very little food, Anna and Raylan walked down the gate and into the Louisville airport. Uncharacteristically loose, Raylan slung an arm around his could-be-sister's shoulder as they made their way toward baggage pick-up.
"Whaddya really thinkin' about those DNA results?" he asked.
She turned to him as they stepped off the escalator. "Honestly?" she asked. "I'm pretty sure they're going to be positive." She smiled. "And I'm glad."
"Me, too," he said, giving her a squeeze.
"Raylan?"
He whirled around, almost losing his balance. "Margery?" His former mother-in-law stood staring at him and Anna. Raylan's arm slid from around her shoulders. "Uh . . . what're you doin' here?"
"I was married to the man for thirty-one years. And he's my girls' father. I'm here to be with Gayle and Winona, support them through this trying time," the well-groomed, older woman said.
Raylan had always thought Gayle favored their mother, and Winona favored Davis, especially in personality.
The woman glared daggers at Raylan, his arm still around the tall, attractive woman standing before her. "And who is this?" she asked. Margery had always known of Raylan's propensity to be somewhat of a ladies' man from her daughter.
"This is Anna Rulé," he answered, he glared back at her, knowing that Winona shared everything with her mother.
"Oh. Anna!" Margery was both taken aback and relieved at that same time. Winona had failed to mention that Anna was of African American descent. She would never have guessed.
"Anna, this is Winona's mother, Margery," he finished the introduction. "She lives in Miami."
"How do you do?" Anna extended her hand.
Margery took Anna's hand gently in hers. "I'm very happy to meet you, dear." She studied Anna up and down, standing next to Raylan, side by side. "Oh, my. I can see the resemblance between you two. The height. The slim build. The way you stand. Something in the eyes."
Raylan and Anna looked at each other and smiled. "That seems to be the general consensus," he said. "We're still waitin' on the DNA results."
"Oh, you don't need any DNA results to tell that you two are related!" Margery declared.
Raylan was suddenly reminded of how opinionated Margery could be. "We were headin' over to Baggage Claim," he informed her. "Anna's boyfriend is pickin' us up in my car, so there's plenty of room."
"Thank you," Margery said. "That will save me the taxi fare."
Anna texted their arrival to Adam and let him know there would be an extra passenger.
Later, as they stood in front of the baggage carousel waiting for the bags from their flight to arrive, Margery filled Anna and Raylan in on all the latest details of Davis' condition. He thought it odd she was so on top of her ex-husband's situation, but that was Margery's way. She was somewhat of a busy body.
"Oh, here comes mine," she pointed upon spying her black American Tourister bag with a bright orange scarf tied to it to identify it at a glance.
"Here. Let me get that for you," Raylan said and grabbed it off the conveyor belt.
Anna's bag was not far behind, and Raylan's not far behind hers.
"That's it?" he asked for confirmation.
Once they all agreed they had the right bags, they left the Terminal and crossed the street. As it was springtime, the sun was still out. They had caught a tailwind and arrived 20 minutes early and had to wait what seemed like quite a while for Adam.
Finally, Raylan saw his Lincoln driving up to the curb. He was pleased to see it had been recently washed and waxed. Adam pulled over and popped the trunk, and exited the vehicle, returning the keys to their rightful owner.
"Uh, we had a few on the flight," Raylan admitted with a silly slur. "Would ya' mind drivin'?" He handed the keys back over to Adam.
"Not at all," Adam said, scooping his girl up in his arms. The two kissed, while Raylan loaded the bags in the trunk. "You did have a few," Adam teased Anna, tasting the alcohol on her breath.
"And we're starving," Anna complained. "They didn't feed us on the plane."
Kissing Anna tenderly on her temple, Adam softly said, "Lucky for you I have dinner pretty much done. It's going to be taco night."
Anna smiled. She loved his tacos.
"Margery, you can take the front passenger seat," Raylan offered, climbing into the backseat with Anna.
A traffic cop blew a hard whistle at Adam to move it along. He jumped into the driver's seat, turned on the ignition, and drove away from the curb. Raylan directed him as to which lane to get in that would take them on the 20 minute drive on the Expressway.
"Obviously, Winona stayed back at the house with Willa. She's getting the baby fed and bathed so she can visit with you for a while tonight," Adam shared.
"I can't wait," Raylan said. "I missed her. Both my girls."
Adam shared, "They missed you, too."
(To be continued . . .)