Charlotte's Revenge Page 6

  “What am I doing? Oh, good God, how did we get here?” He pushed his plate away and wiped his mouth. “Listen ... the food, the meditation stuff, and ... all I'm saying is ... what I meant is ...” She was stabbing at her food now. Not good. She was about to shut down on him. He could feel it.

  “I know what you mean,” she murmured.

  “How do I fix this?” he thought. It was like Traci was making Milo part of a 'package deal to be with her, and he didn't know how to feel about that. Every time she was in contact with that kid it was an automatic bad mood full of worrying and he was left to shovel her out of that pit. He was getting tired of it. “I'll be back,” he said, stood up and left.

  THERE WEREN’T MANY places he would go when he felt the way he did right now, like his head was going to blast open. Jay’s Fitness was blocked off due to an annual full facility sanitation. The gun range was closed, and he didn’t want to bother RD again so soon. He made the turn onto the exit leading to Crown Hill and followed it to the furthest ridge of Riverview Memorial Cemetery. He sat for a few minutes in the silence, then climbed out of the car and walked toward the sun. Fifteen yards from his parking space, he knelt and whispered a prayer. He opened his eyes and brushed the twigs and dried leaves from the space in front of him.

  REMY JAMES WELLS

  Husband, Father, Soldier

  Brave in spirit, strong in love.

  “I got Roxy up and running now, Pops.” He cleared his throat and continued sweeping away the dirt from the headstone. “I wish you could see her go. I figured out the timing problem. Then, there was the oil pressure and ... well, nothing major. New glass, rims and trans. All stock. It was hard to find but worth it. Not another one on the road like it. I wish we could’ve finished it together. I sure could use one of your talks right about now. I fixed the car and made a mess of everything else, it seems.”

  He noticed Reverend McMoultry consoling a widow near a plot about thirty yards away. He knew the family and the cause of death. Motorcycle accident, fatality, teenage boy from Bay Farm Ridge. Kid misjudged the length of the curve and spun off the side. Randall had been at the scene of the accident. Peer pressure, lack of parental involvement, alcohol and drugs. He had seen it dozens of times. Each one meant a visit to an unsuspecting mother to deliver the worse possible news. He considered walking over to pay his respects, but he didn’t trust himself to have the right words right now. Reverend McMoultry stayed back from the small gathering as they dispersed, providing an opening for Randall to acknowledge him. He did. And the minister joined him.

  “No matter how many years it’s been, it still grips your heart the same,” Reverend McMoultry said looking down at the grave. “You remind me of him. He would be proud of you.”

  “I don’t know. There’s some things I need to work on ... in me,” Randall said. “Sometimes I’m, well, I should be more patient, I guess.” He looked past the reverend toward the sky where the sun had begun its descent. Summer was passing and the days were becoming shorter. They should both make their way out of the cemetery, but he wasn’t willing to let go right now. “When I was in the service, I saw some things. I did some things that I’m not proud of.” He patted his chest. “It’s like I’ve got to keep everything under control, but I know deep down that’s impossible. So, I’m constantly fighting in here and it just spills over.”

  “Listen, son, every person that’s been to war comes back with a story they’re never gonna tell,” Rev. McMoultry said looking directly into his eyes. “If you didn’t control your surroundings, you might not make it home. Sure, that stays with you. You never forget what happened over there. You just find a way to keep it caged up inside. But that doesn’t always work. You need a friend in your life that understands and will stand by your side. You got that in me.” He stepped forward and pointed at the gravestone. “I knew your father, Remy James. He wasn’t a perfect man. Who is? When your brother didn’t come home, it really took its toll on him. But if you’re half the man he was, you’re among the best this country could ever have in uniform. Just don’t forget who you work for and why. People need to feel like they can trust the man wearing that badge.”

  “Honestly, there’s only one person’s trust I care about right now. And, if I can’t figure things out with her, I’m not sure ...”

  “Here’s my personal cell number. Don’t be ashamed to use it.”

  “Thank you.”

  RANDALL TOOK THE LONG way back to town. The fresh country air and a few moments with Reverend Mac was the refreshing his mind needed. He took off his sunglasses and clipped them to his collar. It was getting late and he was running out of daylight. Working those long hours meant he had no sense of “normal” time anymore. Traci was probably right. Chances were Charlotte Carter was nowhere in Faucier County, but he couldn’t tolerate that woman being free to cause more trouble or worse, death. Serving warrants and searching every possible location for her and coming up empty every time was like walking barefoot through a mud pit.

  He pulled into the driveway, added a quart of oil and slammed the hood shut. He grabbed his bags and met Traci on the back porch. She was sitting cross-legged on the chaise wearing a slimy green mud mask on her face. “Steady, that’s a live wire.” He took a deep breath and approached her.

  “I'm not sure what just happened, but I’ve been told that all couples have arguments. That it's normal. The key is to “fight fair”. Honestly, I'm not sure what that means. But I want to learn. I want us to figure this out ... together.” He stepped closer and held out the little brown bag. “And, I brought a peace offering. I drove through Yo-So-Good and got you one of their frozen yogurt specials. It's full of those berries you like.” He held up the bag and read the label. “It says 'gluten free, no preservatives' and it's got those ... umm, probiotics ... and ...”

  “Randall, I'm vegan now.” She stood up and walked in the house.

  “Good God, I can't catch a break.”

  Chapter Eight

  Traci

  TRACI RUSHED UPSTAIRS and turned on the bathroom faucet. Two things she knew for sure. First, Randall made her angry. Sometimes he was infuriating. Why so much push back on eating more vegetables? Come on. And second, she could never stay angry with him. It was just impossible. No matter what happened, they were in it together. The stars had aligned or the prayers of ancestors, whatever. This was her life now.

  She rinsed off the face mask and patted on the vitamin C serum, moisturizer and pulled her hair up into a sloppy bun. She had wanted to cut it during the hot summer. But, Randall loved to play with it, so she decided to keep it long. She untied the ribbon and let the locks flow around her shoulders, looked in the mirror and fluffed them up a bit more. She looked closely at her reflection. “Is that a crease?” she said pressing her finger against the skin between her eyes. She spritzed on her favorite perfume (and his) “not too much” and pulled on a soft summer dress, one circle clasp in the front that draped down from the bodice to her ankles.

  She went into the bedroom and took a match from the holder mounted on the fireplace. Soon they would have a real fire in the fireplace, thanks to Randall acquiescing and hiring a chimney sweep to clear things out. The Fire Marshall gave them an all clear. She couldn't wait! It would be so cozy. For now, she would have to make do with a little vanilla and almond scented candle. Randall didn't like fires in the house, even little ones, but he didn't complain much anymore. Or maybe he did, but she didn’t let it bother her. Either way, she would enjoy her scented candle today. She smoothed in the body butter on her bare feet and legs and sprinkled on a dusting of the perfumed powder that he loved. Then she changed the sheets and tip-toed back downstairs.

  The Yo-So-Good container was in the trash bin and Randall was gone. She looked out of all the windows, but he was not outside, and the car was gone, too.

  She texted him, “Where are you?”

  “Working.”

  “Of course. You're always at work. See? You can't stop being a cop long e
nough to have dinner with me...” She backspaced and erased everything and typed: “OK” and pressed Send.

  She walked back to the kitchen, shooed the cats off the laundry basket and lifted out a pair of sweatpants. She pulled them on and tucked the bottom of her dress inside the waistband. Peter circled her ankles. She had been trying to keep them indoors as much as possible while the coyote was still prowling through the area. If anyone would find it, Josh would. In the meantime, she had better keep a close eye on them.

  She stepped out on the back porch and waved to the officer in the squad car near the alley. Then she peeped through the lattice under the wooden floor but there was nothing underneath. “He must have put it up front,” she thought and walked around the side of the house to the front porch. She pulled back a corner of the lattice and tried to squeeze her hand through but she couldn’t reach it. She didn’t want to deal with this, but Josh was right. He was always right. She shoved the lattice panel onto the ground and crawled under the porch floor. Her fingers reached the edge of the burlap and she tugged it toward her. Finally, she got a fist full and pulled it out into the daylight. She shook the spiderwebs from her hair, brushed off her hands and sat back against the foundation. Her hand traced the outline of the shotgun under the cloth wrapping. She looked down at her fingers, the clamminess and trembling were back. Why did he leave this one?

  It had been almost ten years since she first met Josh St. John. Parts of the encounter were still blacked out of her memory. But she remembered the day when everything just snapped. She was walking to school and each step was filled with dread. Everything was wrong about her. Everything. Her skin, her hair, her clothes, her nose. Nothing fit. Nothing matched. Nothing was “acceptable” to the other kids. And, that day was when she decided to never go back and headed to Stevenson’s Ice Cream three blocks from school. Marcus, a senior with his driver’s license and a car, pulled over and offered her a ride. She liked him and he had not been part of the bullying. She climbed in the car with him. After they turned the corner, two more boys got in the car with them. Then a third. They were a mile and a half away before the car stopped and Traci knew something terrible was about to happen.

  Marcus and Joey tried pulling her from the car toward an alley while she screamed for help. Her voice echoed against the abandoned apartment buildings along Adams Street where only stray dogs and possums roamed. But there was Josh walking among the ruins of a burnt-out liquor store across the street. He was out rounding up homeless vets and transporting them to shelter in the encampment under the Logan Street Bridge. He scattered the boys with one shotgun blast into the air, gathered her up into his truck and took her to his safe space in the Tent City. Eventually, he convinced her to speak with Myra Rogers, who setup another foster arrangement without any ramifications caused by her running away ... again. She really missed Myra being in her life. So much had happened in the last two years. She wanted to share the experiences with her former case worker, but time had moved on without her steady guidance that Traci had always depended on.

  She laid her hand on the shotgun and started to untie the cord around the burlap cover. How many times had it saved her life? Too many. She was startled back from her memories by a long thin shadow that slowly creeped across her legs. It hovered over her body and she froze, heart racing. Why hadn’t she noticed someone approaching? All she heard was her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She glanced over her shoulder toward the alley, looking for the KMP squad car but it was out of sight. Finally, she looked up to face the intruder, her hands gripping tightly to the burlap, inhaling and exhaling short bursts of air.

  “Hi, I’m Jenny with the “Re-elect Gundry” campaign. I wondered if we could post a sign on your lawn. You’re voting for him, right? He’s the only choice for a safe Keeferton.”

  Traci tried to find her voice to respond but sat staring at the teenage girl, speechless.

  “Hey,” Jenny continued, “looks like somebody shot out your streetlight. Probably kids. You should call City Hall and report it first thing, though. It’s pretty secluded back here. You have the number?”

  “Yeah,” Traci said, breathlessly. “I’ve got it.” She watched Jenny mount two blue and white Gundry campaign signs in her front yard, then gave a ‘thumbs up’ and walked away. After a few moments, she drew in a deep belly breath and counted down the exhale. “I’m scared of shadows now? It was just a kid, that’s all,” she whispered, then placed her quivering hand on her chest and waited for her heart rate to drop back to normal again. She couldn’t give in to the fear that Charlotte Carter would find her and ... “Shake it off.” She stood up and carried the gun into the house. She stowed it away in the closet next to the front door behind the large five-gallon buckets of paint and rolls of wallpaper. She walked into the kitchen, got a drink of water and paused to clear her thoughts. Then she pulled out her phone to call Josh about the Mossberg and noticed the time. She ran out into the alley and tapped on the window of the squad car.

  “Hi Gerald, I’ve got to meet someone and I’m running late,” she said through the partially open window. “I need you to give me a ride.”

  “My name is Jerome, and I’m not supposed to transport ...”

  “Listen, if I take the bus, I’ll miss them, and you were going to follow me anyway. So, what’s the difference?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Either way we’re gonna end up at the same place together.”

  “Okay.” He popped the door locks, “Get in, Miss Traci.”

  TRACI ARRIVED AT MCCLENDON library fifteen minutes before closing and found Ms. McGee seated in a small conference room with Milo.

  “Milo why don't you go and pick out a couple of books while I talk to Miss Traci, okay?”

  “Okay,” Milo said and left the two women in the room.

  “Traci, have you ever heard the term ‘dyslexia’ before?”

  “No.” Traci took a seat next to her. “Well, I think I have, but I really don't understand it. It has something to do with getting your words mixed up when you read or talk or think.”

  “Yes, something like that,” Kay McGee said. “It's like you see the letters in a word but they get turned around and it makes it difficult to read. When kids with dyslexia try to read large blocks of words, it can be difficult, and they get frustrated. And when kids get frustrated, they stop trying. That's what happened with Milo.”

  Traci watched Milo standing in the doorway with his friends from Empire Row. She waved him over to rejoin them in the conference room. “I feel bad,” she said. “I just don't know how to help him.”

  “It's okay, Traci,” Ms. McGee said. “Now you know and now you have help. Studies have shown that people that are challenged with dyslexia have strong creative and complex problem-solving skills that support success as team leaders and entrepreneurs.”

  “That explains a whole lot, doesn't it, Milo?” she smiled. “He’s been helping Moe get more customers.”

  “Yeah, it does.” Milo shrugged. “I think so.”

  “There’s no reason why he can’t succeed in high school and beyond. Let's work out a learning plan for him,” Ms. McGee said. “I'll get the ball rolling as soon as you give me the go ahead.”

  “I’ll get Moe on the phone and tell him to meet us here. This is the best news we've had in a long time.” Traci patted Milo on the back. “Now we know, now we can plan!”

  “Yes, it sure is.” He sat back and finally gave her a shy smile.

  Chapter Nine

  Randall

  RANDALL WAS LOOKING forward to the weekend and spending some extra time with Traci. He was at her place finishing up a few small details on the Chevelle and sanding down the remaining rough spots. The color Traci picked out wasn’t that awful, but he was glad the shop didn’t have any in stock and she agreed to the Cordovan Maroon. He’d take it around to Paul’s Paint and Body Shop next weekend, and after that, she’d be the best looking thing on the road. At the Rust Heads Car Show at the Grotto, he planned to hand Traci the key
s and the engagement ring he had locked in the glove box. He knew the DJ that was scheduled for the event and had it all worked out. His hands started sweating thinking about it, not from fear but adrenaline. He wanted to get on with it. He stopped to admire his work on the car and his love near the flower beds. Traci stood up from weeding the beds, rinsed her hands and started filling the bird bath with fresh water. She was in a fantastic mood.

  “It’s going to be awesome,” he thought. But what if it was too much? What if he was making too big of a show? What if it made her nervous being the center of attention in front of all those strangers? What if she said, no ...? Okay, time to recalibrate. Keep it simple. Someplace quiet, maybe a picnic at a secluded spot near Bear Falls. Just the two of them. “Yeah, that’s it,” he nodded to himself. It was time to take the leap, together. This business with Charlotte Carter was like a dark cloud hovering over them. Hopefully, she would be apprehended soon. He was doing everything in his power to make that happen, but he couldn’t let that stop his plan for their lives. There was a meeting scheduled with the sheriffs from Xavier and Pekote Counties to coordinate the effort. In the meantime, he would order custom license plates and would check the weather app and settle on a date. The one thing being with her had taught him was patience. Everything about this had to be perfect. Everything.

  “Hey angel, how about a cold drink for a thirsty man.”

  She retrieved a bottle of water from the outdoor ice chest and brought it to him.

  “Brand new springs and new foam,” he said, and pointed to the vinyl bucket seats.

  “I can’t wait to take a ride. It looks beautiful inside now.”

  “You’re going to look beautiful in it.”

  “Before dinner can we ride over to Arrow Learning Center on Madison?”