Final Harvest Page 6

  “Just a little further,” he said, nodding toward the parking area ahead.

  He pulled over and parked when they reached the furthest edge of the cemetery where the ground dropped off over the bank of Bear Falls River. He popped open the trunk and climbed out of the car. He took out a small orange bucket and spray bottle and slammed the trunk shut.

  “I won’t be long,” he said, balancing his sunglasses onto his face with his free hand. He smiled, waved the cleaning rag and turned away.

  Traci hesitated, then waved back. She waited until he walked up the embankment out of sight and pulled out her phone again. She called Myra and sent another text after no answer. The message did not go through. She got out of the car and walked to the edge of the parking area to find a better signal and searched her Contacts list for alternate numbers. She tried the main office number for Community Family Alliance and followed the prompts through the automated directory. Myra Roger’s name was not offered. She tried again, listening to the exhaustive list of options and names. Again, no Myra Rogers. Traci walked back to the car. She looked down at her trembling fingers and put her phone in her pocket so as not to drop it on the concrete. She stood gripping the door handle, trying to steady her nerves when Officer Wells appeared.

  “Everything okay?” he said, tossing the bucket in the trunk. He held the door open and waited for Traci to get settled back in the car. “Rest Haven is only fifteen minutes from here. You good?”

  Traci nodded and shuffled nervously in the black leather seat. Officer Wells hopped back in the driver’s side, reached across and buckled her seat belt. Then he swerved the car around, accelerated down the hill onto the highway. Traci’s fingers tightened on the seat. It was nothing, she told herself, you’re safe.

  Slowly they eased into gentle conversation as the highway opened before them. Traci decided not to ask about the cemetery visit. She put the issue with Myra in the back of her mind. There must be some mistake with the agency’s directory recording. She would speak to someone on Monday. And, overall, the ride to the nursing home was actually a pleasant break. She really enjoyed being out in the open spaces beyond the city limits of Keeferton. Eventually, the fast food restaurants and gas stations along the landscape were replaced with rolling hills and corn fields. She let the window down all the way and her hair brushed wildly across her face. She put on her sunglasses and kicked off her sandals.

  Now and then she would glance over at Officer Wells. Trying not to stare, she studied his features. He wore a honey-gold polo shirt over rough-rider jeans and brown nubuck leather boots. She could see the outline of a tattoo on his right upper-arm peeking through the thin knit and was curious to see more. When not in uniform he seemed like a very easy-going guy. He was a man of few words, but each word was carefully chosen. He spoke the way he drove, attentive to everything. Why am I so defensive with him? she wondered. Could she trust him enough to share her thoughts about Rowena Garrett? Was a police officer ever really off duty?

  He steered the car under the canopied entrance and said, “You jump out here. I’ll park the car and join you inside.”

  “Oh please, I’d rather go in alone.”

  Officer Wells pushed his sunglasses atop his forehead and wrinkled his brow. He glanced around and then fixed his eyes back on her.

  “Okay, if you’re sure about that,” he said watching her get out of the car.

  “Thank you,” Traci said through the window. “I won’t be long. You can park in the shade over there.” She smiled at him, trying to lessen the tension she felt rising again between them. He pulled away without another word.

  A burst of cool air blasted across her body as Traci entered the automatic glass doors and walked into the reception area. She noticed the security guard seated across the room and several attendants in the corridors pushing wheelchairs and sanitation carts. Wall decorations and furnishings were very sparse at the entrance. She had never been inside an assisted living facility but was certain this place could use a re-do with more color. A woman waved her over to the sign-in station.

  “Hello. I’m here to see Mr. Earl Garrett.”

  “Did you call ahead?”

  “No,” Traci said looking up at the security cameras. “I didn’t know that I had to.”

  “Well, it’s always best that you do call ahead. Because the resident may be sleeping, or otherwise occupied,” she said with a blank stare. “We like to be prepared.”

  “Oh, I see,” Traci said tapping her fingers on the counter. “I’m sorry. It’s my first time coming here.”

  “That’s okay,” the woman said pushing a sign-in log toward her. “Just sign the book here and I will need to see some identification.”

  Traci reached in her bag and pulled out her wallet. “Is this good enough?” she said and showed her work photo ID.

  “Yes, that will do. We use your services quite often,” the woman said holding up the card and examining the embedded hologram. “Are you a relative, Ms. Simmons?”

  “Uh, yes,” Traci said, “I am uh, I’m a niece.”

  “Oh,” the woman said smiling, “we were not aware that Mr. Garrett had a niece. Nice to meet you.”

  Traci watched as the woman scribbled down her information and handed her the photo ID.

  “Thank you. May I see him now?” she said tucking away her wallet and looking around. The security guard’s chin dropped to his chest as he drifted to sleep.

  “Certainly, let me get someone to escort you to his room,” the woman said, then pressed the button to the intercom. “Jason, to the reception for a guest escort.”

  Traci tapped her foot nervously while she waited for the escort, trying to decide what she would say to Earl Garrett. All she knew is that she had to convince him to save Hazelton House and Bent Willow Farm. The aide walked three feet ahead of her down the glass-enclosed corridor with tall green shrubs, colorful bird baths and feeders, flowers and bubbling water features just beyond the glass on each side. The entire atmosphere gave the illusion of being outside while still being contained inside of a glass cocoon. This is so weird, she thought. When they reached the other side of the corridor, the serenity disappeared. The drab beige walls were lined with equally drab doors. The escort led her to room 312, the last room on the left. He knocked twice, waited, and then knocked once.

  “Come in,” said a frail voice on the other side of the door.

  The aide pushed the door open.

  “Good morning, Mr. Earl!” he shouted.

  “Morning,” Earl Garrett said, from his wheelchair next to the window with what looked like remnants of his breakfast on a service table next to him. He was fully dressed, slick hair combed back, staring out of the window.

  “I have a visitor for you,” the aide said, “Your niece Traci.” He turned and smiled at her and backed out of the door, pulling it just ajar. Earl Garrett looked at Traci and grinned.

  “Oh, hello Traci. It’s been a long time,” he said. “How is my favorite niece?” He spoke with a slight lisp.

  “I’m fine, Uncle Earl. It’s good to see you.” She walked across the room, pulled a chair over and sat next to him.

  They waited and listened for the door to close and the knob to catch. Earl Garrett looked into Traci’s eyes for a moment. Then he looked out the window. He seemed so much older than Miss Rowena, old enough to be her father. She tried not to stare at the obvious asymmetrical shape of his face and drooping eyelid.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, summoning her nerves to be calm, “it is a very nice day. If you like the heat...”

  “Who are you?” Earl Garrett said without turning around. Traci took a deep breath and tried to swallow but her mouth was dry.

  “My name is Traci. Tracinda Simmons.”

  “Hello, Miss Tracinda Simmons.” He turned and nodded toward the window. “Who is your young man?”

  “Oh, him?” she said waving her hand. “He’s no one.”

  “No
one? Well, that ‘no one’ seems very interested in this place.”

  Traci leaned over the table and looked out the window. Officer Wells was walking along the edge of the parking lot, scanning the sides of the building. He walked down the adjacent sidewalk to the truck delivery area, looked around both sides of the privacy fence, then returned to his car.

  “Oh, checking around like that?” she said shrugging it off. “He does that sometimes. He’s a police officer.”

  “Well, that’s obvious,” he said with a grunt. He took a bite of his toast wedge, swallowed it without chewing, and raked his nails across the gray stubble under his chin. He set his eyes on Traci. “But it doesn’t explain why you brought the police all the way out here to Rest Haven. Or why Miss Tracinda Simmons is sitting here. You think we’re up to no good in this old folks home, hmm?”

  Traci wiped her sweaty palms on her lap and opened her bag. She pulled out a copy of the article with his photograph.

  “I found this,” she said and handed the paper to him. “I wanted to find you and talk to you about it.”

  “Oh, wow. Those were the days. Those were my best days. I had just won that award.” His smile was so big that his cheeks pushed his eyes into little slits. “Where did you find this?”

  “I was doing some research in the library and there was a lot of information about your music career.”

  “You a musician?”

  “No sir,” she said taking back the photo. “I was researching something else.”

  He took another bite of toast and sipped his tea. He looked out of the window at the officer leaning against a small tree.

  “That nice-looking ‘nobody to you’ cop,” he said, “is he part of your research?”

  “No, he doesn’t even know about it,” she said and stashed the paper back in her bag. “I’m here about Miss Rowena ... your wife.”

  He sat back in his chair and tossed his napkin on the table. “Rowena had no love for me,” he said. “I ain’t seen her in a dozen years.” He looked up at the ceiling and then down at his hands.

  Traci leaned forward and whispered, “She’s dead. Did you know that?”

  “Yeah, I know that,” he said raising his voice. “Even in here, bad news finds you. It finds you, some kinda way it always does.” He turned to Traci, “What you know about it? How you know Rowena? And don’t say you’re her niece. Rowena ain’t had no family but me.”

  “We were neighbors,” Traci said not sure how far she could press the old man. “Actually, we didn’t even know Miss Rowena had a husband. And, once we found out, we were wondering ... if you ... what you would do with the property and the house and all.” She paused and said, “Now that you, well, now that she’s gone it belongs to you.”

  “I don’t know nothing about stuff that belongs to me except this here room, them clothes and the few things in that box of memories I got over there. I don’t want nothing to do with that place. Never did,” he said and sat back. “I wanted to head down to New Or-lins and make that move. Once in a lifetime. But, you too young to know anything about that, Miss Tracinda Simmons.”

  Traci shifted in her chair trying to think of a response. This was not going well and she needed to get him onboard with saving Bent Willow. But how?

  “Rowena always said she would never leave. Her people built that house and she wasn’t going nowhere. Nowhere, she said. Crazy talk like that. So, there she sat,” he said shaking his head, “and here I am. Shame. We had some good times, but it could’ve been better. Way better.”

  Traci stood up and walked to the door, “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  “Wait a minute,” he said and took a long deep breath, “sit down.”

  Traci sat on the windowsill and waited, hoping something good could still come of this.

  “You know, little girl, when you get to the end of your life, some things you thought you lost ...” he said looking toward the sky and lowered his voice, “well, you want to at least try, you just want a chance to find out, what if?” His eyes filled with tears, “Can you understand that? These doctors ain’t sure how many more sunrises I’ll see. How many days I got left, you understand that? Maybe I want to see the day that brings me the reward I spent my whole life chasing.”

  Traci looked out the window and watched Officer Wells cleaning his windshield and wiping down the headlights.

  “And, to have that moment,” Earl Garret said lifting his hands in front of his face, “just a moment, to have it in your hands. That would be enough for me.”

  “I think I get it,” Traci said looking at him. She wanted to understand this man who was reaching the end of his life. What did he consider important enough to still hope for? She glanced around the twelve square foot room. There were small medicine bottles scattered on the nightstand, a pole for an IV drip, a navy and green plaid flannel robe draped across the foot of his bed. Along the small bookshelf was an assortment of pictures; Earl Garrett in uniform with a group of soldiers, another with his band, The Jazz Knights and the Earl Garrett Trio, and winning a fishing tournament at Austin Cove. All young and happy. There were no pictures of his wife, Rowena. Traci stood up to leave again and then turned back.

  “We just want to save all the work that she did for the community. People depended on her and ...”

  Earl Garrett turned his wheelchair and faced her, “Rowena ain’t care nothing about no community. She dug her heels in, for sure. But it didn’t have anything to do with y’all.”

  “Thank you for your time, sir. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  “Hold on,” he said, leaned against the table and let out a long sigh. “What you know about that house?”

  “Nothing really. I just know a lot of people hang around there that need help and grow food out in the fields.”

  “If you gonna research something, research that. And by the way, don’t assume that your cop boyfriend ain’t researching you too.”

  Traci walked to the reception area and signed out on the Visitor Registry. “Thank you for stopping by,” the woman said. “We encourage visitors. But next time please call ahead.”

  Traci waved but did not respond. She was not planning to come back and regretted making the trip. She stepped out into the blanket of humidity and rushed to where Officer Wells was waiting for her. He waved and opened the door.

  “How did it go?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Well, where to next?”

  “Home.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A CASE OF RIVER FOX Ale, you got it.

  Traci tapped Send on the text message to Josh.

  Next, she opened the B-Sober app and checked her tracker.

  4 Days Since Your Last Drink ~ Great Work! *dancing sombreros*

  She felt Officer Wells staring at her and she put her phone away. “Sorry,” she said brushing her hair back, “what were you saying?”

  “What appetizers should we start with?”

  Traci had accepted this impromptu “non-date” at Moe’s Tavern on the drive home simply because her growling stomach had betrayed her. He had suggested that they have dinner while waiting out the Raging Reds baseball game traffic that had backed up the highway. And he insisted that she call him Randall when he was not in uniform. She finally acquiesced and could feel the walls between them starting to fall.

  She agreed that there was no point in sitting in the car hungry and tense from her encounter with Earl Garrett. It also gave her a chance to figure out something that had been plaguing her mind. They each picked a selection from the menu and waited to be served. Moe’s Tavern had been around for decades, a staple in Faucier County, but Traci had never been inside. She had never eaten in a full-service restaurant before, as a matter of fact. Her kitchen drawer full of condiment packets and stacks of takeout menus were a testament of that.

  Randall had countered the first table offered by the hostess and opted for a location on the patio. They watched the sun lowering behind Mount PierPoint and the evening glow
of candlelit tables and hanging lanterns encircled them. Under the table, Traci weaved her fingers together and pressed them into her palms. Across from her, Randall carried the conversation with more stories of his childhood baseball games and family vacations.

  Traci stared at the tray of sashimi in the middle of the table, totally regretting that she let Randall choose the appetizer. He picked up a piece between his thumb and middle finger.

  “Looks like they didn’t cook it,” Traci grimaced.

  “Right,” he said and chuckled sweetly. “It’s fantastic. Try it.”

  “I’ll pass,” she said as she sipped her iced tea and then slathered more butter on her dinner roll.

  “My dad used to bring our team here after the Tornadoes ball games,” Randall said, “that’s back when they would let us kids run the bases at Porter Stadium.

  “Sounds like fun,” Traci said and she meant it, “Did you grow up in Keeferton?”

  “No,” he said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “We moved a lot. My father was in the military. I never knew why he picked this area to retire. Eventually, my brother enlisted. Then I did.” He took a sip of beer, “My father’s buried at Riverview Memorial.” He took another sip, “My brother’s been MIA for almost nine years.”

  Traci looked over her glass at Randall. She put it down and placed her hands in her lap. She understood that loss. Someone dead, but not totally gone. It’s that in-between place the most people don’t understand when you talk about it. So, she never did.

  “What happened to your brother?”

  “He was on a mission overseas,” he cleared his throat. “We were never told the details. Only that there was a raid. And he never returned from it. They’re still searching.” He unfolded and refolded his napkin. “Members of his company reached out and kept in touch. But after a while that dropped off.”

  “I’m sorry,” Traci finally said and quickly changed the subject. “How long have you been a police officer?”