Going Home - Chapter 19

Although my first shift had turned out very exciting, or at least unexpectedly, the rest of the week was closer to what I expected. I handled more calls on my first shift on the NYPD than I did my entire first week working for Orville. Besides the chase of the misguided Alexander Bowman, the disposition of which Orville had agreed with, the only other things I’d run into all week were a few wrecks on the county road, a drunken fight at the Hole in the Wall, and my first experience with an overdose since leaving New York City. The drunks both worked at the mine and were frequent fliers that Orville had mentioned on the ride-along. Since their fight didn’t really amount to much, both being too hammered to land any kind of punch, I had them sleep it off in holding cells and sent them on their way the next morning.

The overdose was both more familiar and more hair-raising. We’d dealt with a lot of overdoses in New York City, but they had always been handled by paramedics. I’d never actually administered a shot of Narcan before, and it was quite the experience. Someone had noticed him passed out in a car on the side of the county road and called it in. When I first got to the car, I was positive he was dead. His body was slumped against the steering wheel, and I could see the small glass pipe he used to smoke his drug lying on the passenger seat. I’d had to break the car window to get in and check on him, mostly so I could confirm he was dead, only to be surprised when I found he had a weak pulse.

I injected him with the Narcan and after a couple of minutes he just woke up like he’d been taking a nap. The one thing that Orville had gone into at length during my ride-along was how to deal with drug stops, since they were extremely common. Although West Virginia had passed a law in 2015 prohibiting police from arresting overdose victims using the actual overdose as evidence, since then they’d increased the penalties on drug paraphernalia, increasing several categories of paraphernalia, specifically those with residue on them, from misdemeanors to felonies. Since most overdoses happen shortly after the drug is taken, someone needing Narcan would usually have paraphernalia nearby. The problem for Buxton was that since we didn’t have the capacity to jail everyone found with drugs or drug paraphernalia on them, they’d all have to be transported up to Summersville, where the nearest courthouse was.

The solution was to ticket them and let them deal with the charge in Summersville themselves, which went against the current state policies, but had been tacitly agreed to by the DA. Considering how few calls we had, I probably did have time to drive up to Summersville, but Orville’s point had been to keep the officer working near Buxton instead of an hour away.

Since I’d started Sunday night, the rotation meant I was working the Sunday daytime shift, which meant the family dinner Mom had planned was going to have to go late. I’d considered talking to Al about switching shifts, so I’d be off, but it felt strange to start switching my first week on the job. Mom, however, felt no compunction about it and called Al for me, talking him into starting his evening shift a few hours early so Dad didn’t have to break his meal routine.

I’d have been mortified if she hadn’t burned the ability to be embarrassed at her actions out of me as a kid. She’d never had a problem stepping unasked into other people’s lives, so this kind of thing was more or less normal in my life. Al didn’t seem to be bothered, so I just made a note to return the favor at some point and let it drop.

After doing a quick debrief of the day shift, I headed to Rosita’s house to pick her up. When she opened the door, I was stunned. I’d only ever seen her in blue jeans, which she’d even worn on our date, although she’d switched to a tighter pair that hugged her body in amazing ways, but I just assumed that was all she ever wore. The sundress she was wearing when she opened the door was a completely new look for her, and one that really worked. Standing all day, hustling around her restaurant and the occasional hike for exercises gave her amazingly toned legs, which I’d never actually seen, despite all the time we spent together.

“You look amazing,” I said, having trouble keeping my eyes front and off her legs.

“You think?” she said, giving a spin. “I always feel a little self-conscious in a dress, but I thought it would be the right thing for having dinner with your family.”

“It’s lovely,” I said, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she said, locking the door behind her.

It didn’t take long to get to my parents’, but it felt like an eternity, since my eyes kept sliding to her caramel-colored legs and how the wiry muscle shifted as she moved around.

I thought I was being sly until she said, “If you don’t keep your eyes on the road, we’re not going to make it to your parents’ in one piece.”

“Sorry,” I said, my eyes snapping forward.

“Don’t be, I’m flattered. I guess I’m going to have to wear dresses around you more often.”

“Yes please,” I said, grinning, causing her to laugh.

The house smelled great and Mom had clearly been cooking her heart out, since there were already piles of food on the table and she was still bringing things out when we got there. I would have asked if she remembered it was just the four of us, except this was on-brand for Mom, who always overcooked when we had someone over. Even for Terri, whom she’d never liked.

Dad was already at the table, looking displeased, which probably meant he’d tried to eat something and Mom had told him to wait until we arrived.

“Do you want some help?” Rosita asked as Mom brought out a plate stacked with cornbread.

“Thank you, but no. You cook all day, so you deserve a break. You two just sit down and I’ll have it all out in a few minutes.”

I knew that was just a dodge. Mom considered anyone in her kitchen during a meal like this as a mortal insult to her status as a hostess. The only exception had been me as a teenager, where it was apparently appropriate to have someone carry plates out for her.

The meal itself was amazing. Mom and Rosita did most of the talking, with Mom peppering her with questions. I think Dad only said two full sentences in between shoveling food in his mouth, but that was also on-brand. Even when it was people we’d had a long history with, like the reverend or my grandparents, when they’d been alive, Dad rarely had anything to say.

Over the meal Rosita talked about how she ended up in Buxton, telling stories about Tommy and what it was like to run the restaurant. Since we spent so much time together, it was all stuff I already knew, but Mom was determined to get every piece of information she could before she was done.

There was one interesting thing near the end of dinner after Dad had already gone to his recliner for his traditional after-meal nap.

“I’ve seen that house,” Mom said after Rosita had explained a little about the house Tommy had left her. “It sure is small on such a big lot.”

“Mom,” I said warningly, not for the first time.

“I’m not meaning it in a bad way. I mean it’s a lot of property. It feels like you should do something with all that land.”

“I actually do have a plan for it. Elaine Hart has decided she is going to close the food pantry in September. I’m putting together a loan application now to see about getting the money to build a warehouse for food distribution.”

She’d mentioned the plan before, but only that she’d been thinking of doing it, not that she was actually going through with it or that she’d need to take out a loan to pay for it.

“When did she decide to close?”

“Two days ago. She’s been struggling to pay for it just on state grants and since it’s the only thing she does, she was starting to really struggle. The restaurant is doing well enough that I don’t need to pay myself and I can afford to use some of my profits to pay some people to work part-time at the warehouse. That and not having to pay rent means my costs should be low enough to make it workable.”

“What about paying off a loan for the building? I imagine that’ll be pricey.”

“Maybe, but I’m hoping to get some donations to build it, making it supplemental instead of the whole amount. Donations from businesses, I mean.”

“Dixon has a program for supporting charities and whatnot in the places where they have mines. I think that’s where Elaine was getting most of her money from.”

“It was and so far it’s the only place I’ve reached out to, since I just decided to do it this week, but they turned me down.”

“They did?” Mom said, shocked.

“Yes. They’ve made a couple of offers on my land, something about needing it for an expansion project, and they aren’t happy I keep saying no. I don’t think they want to put any money into building something permanent there.”

“Maybe we could …” Mom started but stopped when Rosita shook her head.

“No. While it would be nice to have the money, I’m not going to strong-arm them into it. Although they’re big here, they’re not that big of a presence at the state level. I’m already working on a list of other companies and charitable organizations to approach to raise the money. There are several here in the state, and more on a national level. If I apply to enough, I’ll get the money. I just have to be persistent.”

“So you’re going to fund the building out of pocket?” I asked.

“Yes. Honestly, the building, it’s the thing I want support for anyway. It’s mostly a one-time cost and it’ll be tight, but I can get most of it done on my own, although it’ll take a few years to pay off the loan I’m going to have to take. What I really want the money for is ongoing operations. Even if I don’t take any payment for running it, operations cost for the food and basic household goods to give out to those who need it will be a lot, since we have to keep buying them forever. I don’t think most people realize the volume of things a food bank goes through every week. I didn’t until I started looking into it. Things like canned food drives and goods donations are a drop in the bucket for what’s needed. Even the places that get huge donations of goods still have to purchase at least seventy-five percent of the food and supplies they give out.”

“Can we do anything to help?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t say no to some help filling out applications for donations. When I said I had a pretty good list of companies and organizations that give annual grants to local charities, I mean I’ve got a list of several thousand. And I can’t stop once I get one approval, because I’ll probably need grants from multiple programs to make it work.”

“Sure, between the two us, we can put a dent in it.”

“You know, the churches might be a good place to check,” Mom offered. “I doubt either the Baptist or Methodist churches have much to give locally, but I can talk to the preachers at both and see about them helping us contact the national programs. I know Reverend Dalton has talked about the national United Methodist Church charitable programs before, and they send some of the kids from the youth program out of state to do volunteer work for them every year. He’ll probably be able to help. I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Rosita said.

I wasn’t surprised that Mom was offering to get involved. It was apparent after this meal that she liked Rosita and she’d always been big on charitable works, but what she loved most of all was being involved in some kind of project. When she didn’t have one of her own, she was regularly butting into other people’s, just so she could have something to stay focused on. I felt bad for Reverend Dalton though. Once she had her teeth sunk into a project, she could be relentless.

We sat for a little while longer talking, both about Rosita’s planned food bank and about less consequential things before I called it a night and took Rosita home. All in all, it had been a successful evening. Dad hadn’t been vocal, but I got the impression he liked Rosita. He even talked to her a few times through dinner, which for him was a good sign. More importantly, Mom and Rosita were getting along, which would go a long way to make my life easier.

Her dislike of Terri had been a source of fighting between the two of us for years, and I was glad I didn’t have a repeat of that situation this time.

Monday night I was working again. The biggest problem with the night shift was that, nestled in between mountains like we were, it started getting dark pretty early in Buxton, and didn’t get light again until fairly late in the morning. While not pitch black, since the sun was up, the mountain blocked out direct sunlight until it got high enough in the sky and again once it started its journey back down, meaning dawn and dusk could last for an hour or more some days. That meant on nights when I was working, I wouldn’t see the sun at all, which was a definite downside to the way Orville had the shifts laid out.

I was a week in and I’d started to work out a pattern for myself. When I worked the night shift, I started around dinner time and I’d found I liked making a walking loop of main street first. The bulk of main street wasn’t large, so I parked my cruiser about halfway between the two ends, which meant I was never more than a five-minute run from getting back to it if I got a call.

While there were good law-enforcement reasons for doing a foot patrol of a populated area, that wasn’t why I did it. Night shifts could be long. Except for a few hours at the beginning of the shift and a few hours at the end, there wasn’t much in the way of human contact. This wasn’t New York City where there were always people on the street and businesses were open twenty-four hours a day. After about ten, Buxton turned into a ghost town. There could be stretches of an hour or two between calls where I wouldn’t see, let alone talk to, another human being.

On top of getting to see people before everyone went home, it seemed to work out pretty well, as far as community relations went. I’d stick my head into a business here or there and see how they were doing. It gave me a chance to hear complaints that could pop back up later as actual calls for service.

I’d like to say it was my own idea, since I’d done pretty much the same thing in New York City, but really I was just copying Orville, who did the same thing. Al liked to drive around before it became pitch black, so he could see what people were up to, but Orville had argued that he’d get more done talking to people than just looking around, and I tended to agree.

I had been surprised to find the food bank was closed. I couldn’t tell how that was affecting people, but it was strange to see the building shuttered up and a note taped to the window announcing the closing. From what Rosita had said on the weekend, I’d assumed it would still be some time before Elaine closed up, but apparently, I’d read it wrong.

I hadn’t seen Rosita since the night before at the dinner with my family, but I assumed this was going to kick her plans into high gear. She was my next stop after walking the town and driving the surrounding county and I wanted to see what her next step was going to be.

I was just stepping out of a business I’d stopped to check on when I had to pull up short to keep from smashing into Evan, who looked to be heading towards the Hole in the Wall.

“Watch it,” he said, looking like he was about to push me back when he suddenly recognized me and took a step back. “Ohh, sorry man. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“No problem.”

“So what’s the deal? I haven’t heard from you since the cookout.”

Although he’d stuck up for me when his friends had gotten surly at the cookout, I’d been actively avoiding him ever since. I’d already come to the conclusion that he and I had become very different people, but between some of the things my dad had mentioned and some of the things his friends had said at the cookout, it was clear he was doing things for Dixon that I wanted no part of, especially now that I was wearing a badge.

“I’ve just been busy. New job and all that,” I said, gesturing to the deputy’s uniform I was wearing.

“Yeah, I’d heard about that. It’s wild, you being a cop now. If we went back in time, I don’t think either of us would have believed you’d end up as a cop.”

“It’s been a wild ride, that’s for sure,” I said, hoping to end this conversation as fast as possible.

“I’ve actually been meaning to track you down so we could talk. Now that you’re working for Orville, there’s some stuff me and my friends could use some help with.”

“What kind of stuff?” I asked.

Part of me thought I should play it cool, just to see what he was going to say, but I couldn’t keep the suspicious tone out of my voice. Evan was lazy and mean, but he was never stupid.

“Hey, I just wanted you to hear me out. If you’re too busy now, don’t even worry about it,” he said, holding up his hands in an ‘I give up’ gesture and starting to step around me, back on his way to the bar.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. What did you need?”

“I was hoping you could talk to your girlfriend about selling the land her brother left her. I’ve seen the offer the company made her, and it’s a lot more than that place is worth.”

“I don’t think she’s going to sell. She’s got plans for the land.”

“Like what?”

“She wants to open a food bank now that the one here has closed.”

“You’re joking? What a stupid idea and a waste of land. Besides, we’re talking about Dixon doing something real with the land. They’ll create jobs, which will feed way more people than a food bank ever will.”

“I doubt that. She really believes in this idea, and I support her. It’ll be good for the community.”

“See, I’ve tried to stand up for you, but everyone’s right. You became an absolute candy-ass after you washed out of the NFL. I’d hoped there was at least some of the old you around, but you’re too whipped to do your own thing anymore.”

“Whatever,” I said, taking a step to go around him and get on with my night.

Part of me wanted to just clock him right then, but I was in uniform and working. Orville was about the most even-tempered person I’d ever met, and I seriously doubted he’d be a fan of his newest deputy kicking the shit out of a civilian on his second week.

Evan seemed determined to make something of it though, stepping back in my way, getting right in my face and saying, “Tell your wetback girlfriend she better do the smart thing.”

I was about a breath from stepping back and laying Evan out, until I saw the look in his eye. He wasn’t angry or just lashing out. He was deliberately trying to push my buttons, probably hoping I’d swing on him so he could make something of it.

I’d watched him do the same thing to an assistant coach in high school who had it out for him, or at least that’s what we’d thought at the time. In hindsight, he’d probably recognized Evan’s lazy and mean streaks and decided there were better options to go with. Evan went at the guy for a week, looking for the right button to push, until finally he found it and the guy clocked him. Evan and his mom were in the principal’s office the next day, demanding the coach get fired.

Evan was trying to do the same thing to me. Besides needing the job if I was going to stay in town and try to make a go of it with Rosita, the last thing I wanted was to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to me.

“She’s from Puerto Rico,” I said, calmly, as if we were still chatting.

“What?” He asked, looking confused.

“You said she’s a wetback. I think that’s generally a term for people who come across the river from Mexico. Rosita came here on a plane. I’m not sure if skyback is a thing. Planeback? I don’t know.”

“Maybe I should just call ICE. I was just trying to be helpful, but if both of you are going to be like this, maybe we can let them sort it out.”

“To do what? I know neither of us paid much attention in government class, but you know Puerto Rico is part of the US and the people that live there are US Citizens, right?”

From the look on his face, I don’t think he did know that, but it was also pretty clear he didn’t care. However, he seemed to have figured out he wasn’t going to get me to react, because he switched to mumbling something, giving me an angry glare, and shuffling off down the street. I stood there for a few minutes, watching him walk away into the distance, considering.

I didn’t know if Evan had already decided to dislike me and was pretending to be friendly so I’d help him with Rosita, or if he’d thought we were still friends and was mad that I wouldn’t help him, but either way, this was a bridge well and truly burned.