Final Harvest Read online

  “I joined straight out of the service. Pops always taught us to never be idle. Set your sights and get to it,” he tried to force a smile.

  Traci noticed that Randall never mentioned his mother. She wondered what type of woman she could be, if she was still alive, if he loved her.

  “How about you?” he said and leaned forward.

  “What?” Traci said, picking up her glass and taking a sip.

  “Where did you grow up? Do you have family around here?” he said smiling again.

  “No,” she said, shifting in her seat, “they’re not.”

  Randall searched her face, waiting intently for more information. She looked away to the couple at the next table.

  “I see,” he said finally and sat back in his chair.

  The server appeared and placed a steaming bowl of spaghetti covered with a thick red sauce and meatballs in front of Traci.

  “And for the gentleman,” she said while she leaned over Randall’s shoulder and carefully positioned a plate of orange curried chicken and rice on the table. “Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you. And, thank you for trying our new menu. I’d love to know what you think,” she said as her fingers slid along the back of his chair. She glanced over at Traci and then walked away.

  Traci watched Randall quickly bow his head and whisper a prayer before placing the napkin in his lap. The rich warmth of his brown skin glowed in the candlelight. She was intrigued by how a man could be that massive and yet so gently maneuver the small tid-bits onto the chopsticks. It was magical. She never considered bald men attractive, however ...

  “Shall we?” He looked up and motioned toward her food.

  “Yes, it looks so good,” Traci said reaching for the parmesan cheese shaker. “And I’m starving!”

  They enjoyed their meal in silence. Traci declined an after-dinner coffee. Randall took his to-go. While he settled the bill, Traci excused herself to the restroom. As she passed by the kitchen door, she took a note out of her pocket that she had scribbled under the table. She peeked through the swinging door and spotted Moe mopping the floor near the exit. She waved to him and he joined her.

  “Here take this. Wyman’s Campgrounds over on Route 7. Ask for Josh. I told him about what happened at Miss Rowena’s. He’s got space for you and the others to stay until things work out.” She pressed the note into his hands and said, “And try to find Milo. Please.” She stepped back out of the door before he could say anything.

  Randall was waiting at the door for her and they walked to his car under the starlit sky. A breeze flowed from around Mount PierPoint and through the valley, which made for a very sweet respite from the earlier sweltering heat. Neither seemed in a rush to get away from it, lingering a while in the parking lot, inhaling the calm.

  “Listen,” Randall said turning to face her, “I don’t know what’s going to happen with the Garrett property or the people that are attached to it, but I need to advise you not to get caught up in that whole thing.”

  Traci looked up at him, unsure if she should express her thoughts. She couldn’t let her feelings betray her. Not now.

  “I know,” he said and put up his hand to shield himself against her response, “you can take care of yourself.” He took a breath, rubbed his hand across his smooth scalp, searching for the right words. “It’s just, I’ve been around a lot of investigations in my life,” he said and folded his arms across his chest. “And, it’s better to let things run their course without an innocent civilian getting mixed up in it.”

  “So, there is an investigation?” Traci said pointing her finger at him.

  “Get in the car.”

  Randall inhaled a long deep breath, started to speak, then stopped a dozen times on the way back to Keeferton. He glanced at Traci each time she checked her phone messages.

  “You check your phone a lot,” he said, tightening his jaw. “Are you expecting a call?”

  “Yes,” Traci said and sighed. “But, I should just try calling her in the morning.”

  “Then, you should turn it off for a while and just enjoy the ride.”

  “I’m beginning to think you love telling people what to do.”

  “I only meant ...” he said, bit his lip and took a deep breath, “never mind.” He shook his head and looked straight over the steering wheel.

  “I’m joking,” Traci said and held up her phone and tapped “Power Off”. He grinned at her as the phone chimed and screen slowly dimmed.

  “Thank you,” Randall said, pointing to the radio. “Here, you pick the station.”

  Traci searched through the streams until she found a smooth jazz station and settled down in her seat.

  “Nice, real nice,” Randall said nodding his head. “I was wondering, why did you choose that run-down house? Why not find a nice apartment or condo? Someplace, you know, comfortable.” He lowered his hand to the console, so it lightly brushed against her leg. She didn’t move away.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she said, “My mentor recommended it. She told me that home ownership is an excellent investment, no matter how small. Or, undervalued, in my case.”

  “Mentor?”

  “Yes,” she said and relaxed her leg against his hand, “that’s the person I’ve been trying to reach.”

  “It’s kinda late for a call,” he said tilting his head toward her. “You must have something very important to talk about.”

  “Yes,” Traci said and lowered her eyes. “Yes, it is late, I mean.”

  Randall was comfortable talking with her about his life. Maybe she should open up a little. Maybe he meant well. Or maybe he was trying to get more information concerning Miss Rowena’s death. She wasn’t comfortable telling him that Myra was a former case worker. Why bring that up and open an entire conversation about her past. She placed an antacid tablet under her tongue, squeezed her arm and closed her eyes until it dissolved. Just listen to the music, she thought.

  The ride from the Keeferton exit to Magnolia Grove was quiet except for the soft mellow tunes flowing from the radio. Was he intentionally driving slower, or was he just extra cautious because of the limited street lighting in her neighborhood?

  “Did you know Earl Garrett was a jazz musician?” she said, immediately realizing it was a mistake.

  “No,” Randall said raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that. What else do you know about him?” He down-shifted and signaled for the turn onto Spring Street.

  “Oh, just that part,” she said and retreated into a different subject about signing a petition demanding pothole repairs in the neighborhood. By the time they reached her house, all topics related to weather, sports and food had been exhausted. Randall parked the car in front, and they walked to her house in silence. She felt his fingers on the small of her back as he guided her across the broken pieces of cement that served as a sidewalk. He slipped his palm further up her back as they walked up the front steps of her porch and stopped at the front door. They turned and faced each other.

  “I enjoyed this evening,” Randall said lowering his chin. “How about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “The raw fish, not so much, right?” he said. That smile was back.

  “Right.” She counted her breaths. Inhale, one, two.

  “Do you think we could do this again sometime?”

  “Yes.” Exhale, one, two.

  “Soon?”

  Traci lowered her eyes and watched Randall’s body slowly move closer after each time she answered him. He was a head taller than she and they were close enough she could see the reflection of the stars dancing across the sunglasses attached to his collar. He watched her hands slowly glide across the muscular curves of his chest. She stood in his gaze without speaking for what seemed forever.

  “Traci ...”

  He leaned forward to kiss her. She turned her face slightly to the side so that his lips grazed her cheek. He held his lips against her face and pressed his hands firmly against her back, pull
ing her close. Traci wanted more. But she needed peace.

  “I have to be in the field before sun up tomorrow to check the trap. We’ve been catching predators, and I want to make sure to move it before the kids see it and freak out,” she said.

  “I understand,” he said, pulling away. “Sounds like we have that kind of work in common.”

  He released his hands from her body. She regretted it already but knew that too many emotions were flooding into the moment that she needed time to process. She didn’t need to have a melt-down in front of Randall. It seemed like so much was at stake and her life was confusing enough right now to add more to it. Or maybe she was overreacting. Again.

  “Goodnight,” Randall said and stepped back. “I’ll wait until you’re inside. Turn on the lights so I’ll know you’re safe.”

  “’Night,” she said forcing herself not to look at him.

  She unlocked the door, stepped inside and turned on the lamp near the window. She peaked through the curtains and watched Randall walk down the stairs, then turn. He looked up the driveway and on both sides of the house. He took out his penlight and shined the beam through the hedges and trees, along her upstairs bedroom window, and finally walked back to his car.

  Traci looked around her house, taking a mental inventory of every unfinished DIY project along the way to the bathroom. Tile cutter, putty knife, caulk gun and scissors. Pieces of broken ceramic were scattered on the floor in that God-awful citrus orange color.

  “Orange,” she said shaking her head. “Who would want an orange bathroom? So stupid.” She opened the medicine cabinet and lined all the little bottles along the bathroom sink.

  “Hello, my pretties.” She let out a weary sigh and patted warm water on her face.

  Satin Glow Cleanser.

  Lavender Toning Mist.

  Sweet C Serum and Cucumber Kiss eye gel pads.

  Daily Radiance Papaya face cream.

  She reached for the Fulani Diva cotton ball and tissue dispenser and makeup kit. She wiped away her eyeliner with a pre-moistened pad, then her lipstick and removed her earrings. Spending hours in the sun for work and at Bent Willow had forced the reality of a mandatory skincare routine to counteract the sun damage. These products were her solace each night before journaling and sleep. An expensive investment in herself, she thought, but she would make do otherwise so she could afford it. After all the pampering, she made a loose braid and wrapped her hair in a satin band around her head. She looked in the mirror and stared into her eyes.

  She thought of Milo and where he might be tonight. She knew those places and had promised herself never to go back there. Did Moe find him? Did he even try? She thought of all the others of Bent Willow living in uncertainty at the campgrounds.

  “Milo,” she whispered, “be safe my friend.”

  She thought of Randall Wells. She regretted meeting him. Or who she thought he was. And what she dreamed they could have been, if only ...

  “What’s the point? Nothing ever works out the way you want,” she said and tossed the used tissues into the toilet.

  Deep belly breaths.

  Two more.

  She picked up the putty knife, wedged it under a piece of ugly orange tile and struck it with the mallet. It snapped in two and fell to the floor. She did that again and again. Row after row of tiles breaking, cracking, shattering to the floor until a cloud of caulk powder filled the room. She started coughing and dropped the mallet. She looked back at her dust covered face in the mirror and let go of the blade.

  She walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Pelon from behind the disposal. She reached over the counter to get a glass and spotted the letter from Commissioner Polk’s office. She took a pen from her backpack and checked the box:

  “NO RENEWAL: ACCEPT TERMS OF FORFEITURE.”

  She sealed the envelope, added a stamp and put it in her backpack. Sometimes you have to give up one thing so you don’t lose everything, she told herself. She traced her fingers slowly across the bottle of Pelon, then tossed it in the trash can and went back upstairs to bed. She picked up her phone and pressed Speed Dial number three again.

  “Myra!” Traci shouted and flopped down on the air mattress. “I almost gave up trying to reach you. I was about to go to bed and thought, I’ll give it one more try tonight. How are you? Where are you?”

  “Hello Traci,” Myra said, her voice sounded tired and strained. “I hope you’re well. I had to go out of town to take care of a few things.”

  “Have you gotten any of my messages? I’ve been trying to reach you for days!” she said, lying on her side, finally relieved and exhilarated at the sound of Myra’s voice.

  “Yes, I got all of your messages.”

  “There has been so much going on. First of all, I got fired again. But you know that. Then I started this bicycle job. Well, it’s a delivery service where I ride a bike to deliver letters and packages. I could use a car if I had one, but that’s another story. I think I mentioned that, too. I thought I would hate it. But I think I’m getting used to it. I’m not as exhausted as I used to be. My body was really sore in the beginning, but it’s gotten better. Not sure how long I’ll be able to ... well, we can talk everything over.” Traci took a breath. “You know how you say I should find a silver lining in every cloud? That’s how I’m trying to see this job right now. And, did I tell you about this farm in the middle of my neighborhood that I didn’t even know existed? So much going on there, I swear. They’re pressuring me about my house, Myra ...”

  “Traci,” Myra said and cleared her throat. “I’m not coming back to Keeferton.”

  “Wait,” Traci said and stood up letting the sheet fall around her feet, “What do you mean?”

  “I have responsibilities here that I cannot leave behind,” Myra said with a sigh, “I resigned my position at Community Family Alliance, and I’m relocating here to take care of my parents, and other things.”

  “I don’t understand,” Traci said gripping her hair. “How can you just up and quit like that? You told me ...”

  “Traci,” she said calmly, “this is beyond my control. It is not something I chose for myself. Sometimes life makes the choice for you and all you can do is accept the challenge and do your best.”

  “Well,” Traci said, pacing back and forth in the room, “I feel like maybe I should give up on this house, this whole town and just leave, too. Just get out of here. People expect too much from me. I don’t want to ...”

  “You will be fine,” Myra said slowly and lowered her voice. “I know you’ve been through a lot in the past few weeks. All of your life, if we’re honest. But you know how to weather every storm that comes your way, I’m sure of that. I’ve seen it over and over. You know how to protect yourself from anything that would pull you down. Down into that dark place you’ve fought so hard to escape from.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “You’ve always been a loner, Traci,” Myra coughed and cleared her throat again. “Embrace that. Maybe that is actually your strength. Don’t try to fit in places that make you feel uncomfortable. Follow your gut and set your boundaries. Just be you and you’ll be fine.”

  “Can I still call you?” Traci asked softly.

  “I would prefer that you not call, Traci,” she said, her voice still raspy. “I have so much on my plate right now. I don’t think I can be of much help to you. As a matter of fact, I know that I would not be available to help you.”

  Traci stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed with anxiety. Each breath was short and shallow.

  “I have the name of a social worker friend of mine. She is amazing and very approachable. If you need someone to talk to. And she can also point you to some local resources that can be helpful.” Myra said, “Do you have a pen and paper to write some things down?”

  “No.”

  “Alright, no problem,” Myra said, her voice trailing off. “I’ll text it to you. Okay, Traci?”

  Traci ended the call and dro
pped her phone on the floor. She ignored Myra’s ringtone chiming back and dragged her pillow and bed sheet out of the window. She laid down on the slate roof and looked through the rustling leaves, catching glimpses of the harvest moon. It was time to say goodbye.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE BELLS AT ST. ANDREWS church were ringing in the distance as Traci walked up the path to the shed surrounded by the three hungry cats. Rowena Garrett’s memorial service drew only a few attendees. Father Kearn had claimed her remains from the county coroner, who happened to be his brother-in-law, and gathered an offering to cover expenses for the cremation and a simple urn. Traci sat alone at the service while each person stood and shared a tribute. Sarah was inconsolable during the recitation of the eulogy and prayer. Milo sat in the last pew near the door. No one approached him, not even Traci. It was all too much. She kept silent through everything. Was Miss Rowena in a better place? Who could know for sure and what did it matter now? Moe took custody of the ashes intending to sprinkle them over Bent Willow after the final harvest.

  She left the gathering ahead of the others and spotted Randall’s squad car parked near the rear of the church, but neither of them spoke. What was there to say? How could she talk to him without shattering into a million pieces inside? She patted each cat in turn as she filled the tins with kibble and sealed up the bin.

  “Gardens and cats go together,” she remembered hearing one of the women say. She wondered if the new owner of Hazelton House would agree. And, if there would still be any memory left of Miss Rowena after the county settled her estate.

  Suddenly, she heard buzzing and thundering coming from the direction of Bent Willow. She rushed around the shed and down the path to see what was happening. There was a crew of men standing on commercial mowers steering them over the open fields, slicing down everything in their path. Dust, weeds and sticks were flying several feet into the air. Traci watched in horror as rabbits and birds tried to escape the destruction, darting and scurrying in every direction. She saw a man with a clipboard standing by watching the workers. She choked back the acrid smell of diesel fumes and walked over to the crew foreman.