“Why didn't you tell me?” He stepped over to her, his eyes narrow and jaw tight. “No secrets with us, right?”
“Randall, babe ...”
“No, I can’t right now, Tracinda.” He walked across the room and looked out the back door at Brad hanging patio lights on the newly installed arbor. He turned back to her. “You went behind my back to Winston? And you thought that was okay? I’m not sure I even know you right now.”
“Well, it's not like you haven't kept things from me.” She struck back. If he wasn’t going to listen to her side, that was one thing. But she wasn’t going to stand there and let him make her feel worse.
“What are you talking about?”
“Give me your wallet.” She held out her hand.
Randall pulled his wallet from his back pocket and gave it to her. Traci found the picture tucked inside and held it up to him. “Who is this? Imad. Who is he to you?”
Randall took the photo gently from her fingers and sat down. “A kid I knew,” he said softly still staring at the picture.
“Just some random kid?”
“Yeah.”
“Really?” She folded her arms.
“I was deployed, and he would hang around where we were because ...” he dropped the photo on the table and continued, “because he felt safer near us than with his family. Things were ... treacherous for most of the locals and we kind of looked out for him.” He walked over to the fridge and took out a beer, ignoring her skepticism.
“What happened to him?”
“Tracinda ...” He dropped his shoulders, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Why do you carry his picture around?”
“We were going to bring him along with us to the next town. Stow him away undercover. Then, he could escape to a safer location with better security for his people.” He recounted the events to her. His words flowed in a slow methodical rhythm that revealed that the experience resided in a well-worn path in his memory. “We figured it was no big deal, but I had to go out for another patrol before we headed out of the region. So, I told him to wait and I'd come back and ...”
Suddenly Traci felt horrible and her heart ached. “What happened?” she whispered. She reached for him, then pulled her hand away.
“He didn't want to stay behind. But I told him he'd be okay, just stay out of sight until we got back.” He took a drink and then looked into her eyes. “The next time I saw him, his body was blasted to bits. That’s what happened.” Traci gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. Randall turned his back and sat down. “I carry the picture to remind me how quickly things can change. And how important it is to show up. Be there. Keep your promises.”
“When I first looked at that picture ... his face, I thought it was a picture of Milo. It’s amazing how much they look alike.” Traci said, her eyes welling over.
“Yeah, sometimes when I look at Milo ... it all comes back to me.”
“So you keep Imad’s picture to remember your friendship.” She touched his hand. “I understand.”
“No,” he pulled his hand away, “to remember what can happen when you make a promise like that. When you make it personal. And you let someone depend on you for their life, to keep them safe and you blow it. When I left the service and came back to Keeferton, I swore I would never let that happen again. Then I met you and ...”
“Milo,” she said softly, “and now ...”
“I didn't think I could handle the responsibility of being a father, honestly. Every time I look at R.J. ... it drops in my gut. Some things in your life just haunt you and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“It wasn't your fault, though.”
“Maybe.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something so sad. I just thought you were keeping something from me and ...”
“First of all,” he put down the beer and faced her again. “I'm not keeping anything from you that matters between us. And second, it's not the same. This thing with Winston and you. It's not the same.”
“Babe, he's smart.” She was pleading in her heart with whatever force that had brought Randall to her would preserve them now. If he would just be reasonable and hear her out, maybe this moment would not haunt their lives forever. She continued her case, “He’s brilliant about land and the county codes and all that stuff. I never had to handle any of that before. I didn't know what to do.”
“You didn't know what to do?” He glared at her. “Okay, how about this. When you don't know what to do, here's what you do ... nothing. Do nothing. Then, here's a winner ... talk to your husband about it. By the way, in this scenario, I am the husband. Got that?”
“You don't understand ...”
“No, actually, I think I do understand. You signed a partnership contract with Ray Winston after we agreed that in a few months you would just arrange to sell the place off and wipe your hands of it. Now, you're in deeper than ever before. What a mess, Tracinda. What an absolute mess.” He pounded his fist on the table. “I don't even know what to say to you.”
“Maybe you should let me explain ...”
R.J. let out a cry that sounded through the baby monitor on the kitchen counter.
“Great, I’ll get him.” Randall said and left Traci standing alone. She rushed outside, climbed inside the car and sat behind the wheel crying. Brad walked over, bent down and tapped on the window. She lowered it and wiped her face.
“Hey sis,” he said. "I try to stay outta everybody's way around here. But what's going on with you two?”
"I did something stupid. I was trying to make sure everything would be okay at Wyman's and I didn't talk to Randall about it. I thought I had handled it but now I know it was a big mistake. And, I don't think he’ll ever forgive me for that.”
“Randall? Naw, one thing you gotta know about him, he blows up sometimes, but he'll cool off. Just give him a little space.”
“I'm not sure about that. I just know that I've gotta fix it somehow. I’ll be back.”
“Where you going?”
“To see Ray Winston.”
“Oh, is he in the middle of this?
“Kinda. It’s all my fault though.”
“Wait one sec.” Brad walked over to his rucksack that was hanging on the porch railing and pulled out a small picture frame. He came back to the car and handed it to Traci. “Tell Winston that I always keep my promises. And, give him this.”
Traci’s phone alert popped up with a text from Randall. “Where are you?”
She responded, “I'm just getting some air. Is that okay?” She waited, then looked up at Brad and started crying again. "See? He didn’t answer me.”
“A little space.” He patted her arm. “That’s all.”
“I've gotta go."
Chapter Fifteen
Traci
“I TOLD HIM,” TRACI said as soon as the penthouse door cracked open.
“Come in.” Ray pulled the drawstring of his sweatpants tight, tied it into a loop and fastened one button on a white cotton shirt loosely draped across his bare chest. He poured a bourbon and offered the glass to Traci. She declined. He took a sip and looked her over.
“He's mad.” She paced around the room.
“Really? I'm shocked.”
“What else was I supposed to do? I want him to understand that it was my only option. But he won't listen to me.”
“Of course not.”
“What's going to happen now?”
“About what?”
“About me and Randall,” she insisted.
“Oh, that. I don't care, dear. Wait, did you really expect me too?”
“Well, I guess not. Oh, I’m supposed to give you this.” She pulled out the picture and started to hand it to him but paused and looked at it more closely. “Charlotte Carter?” She looked up in unbelief. “And, you. Together. What is this picture?”
“A family photo.” He took the picture from her and walked over to the bookshelves. “Where'd you get this?”
“Was. She’s dead, you know. And, I'm still here.”
Traci felt ill. All this time of working together and he was keeping a secret like this from her. From everyone. She couldn’t believe it.
“You like to research things,” he said with a shrug, “and people.” He looked across the collection of photographs. “You found the original owners of Hazelton House and the associated families. If you had traced back further, you would have found out my ancestors didn't arrive on these shores as cargo on a slave ship.”
He crossed the room and approached her. “They were merchants and tradesmen of African descent from Holland that landed in America and intermarried with the First Nations people who dwelled here, another deeply melanated group. And we remain in this region. There are the Winstons, the Chamberlains, the Shermans, and the Doones.”
“Doone? I know that name. Miss Rowena's people were Doones. They built Hazelton House.”
He tapped the tip of his nose. “Bingo. And for that reason ...” He walked to the balcony doors and looked across the skyline.
“I don't know much about history. I don’t think I get what you’re saying.” Traci followed him to the door.
“All you need to understand is this, at one point in history my ancestors owned half of Faucier County.” He took a drink and looked at her. “It was taken from us.” He smiled and looked back out of the window. “About a hundred and forty years ago, some of the family found out what had happened and decided to reclaim it, without waiting for apologies or reparations. And settle some bad debts and disagreements between the different branches of the family.”
“A feud? You’re saying all of this land grab insanity is just a big family fight? Are you kidding me?” The whole thing sounded unreal. Was he making it all up just to confuse her? Was he drunk? Or just delusional. Maybe it was true. Her thoughts wandered back to what Earl Garrett had said about Miss Rowena and why she wanted to save Hazelton House. That it had nothing to do with helping the community, at all.
“Eh,” he waved away her outrage. “Small rivalries between the Doones and Winstons flared up here and there. Or, you could say, competition. All in all, we did succeed in regaining our wealth. It was all fun and games until outsiders started getting involved.”
“You mean me.”
“You, and others. Things became ...” His eyes scanned the clouds as if his discourse was searching for inspiration, then plucked it from the ether and landed on the word, “complicated.” He looked at her with an air of satisfaction that Traci found unsettling. “Some of the branches splintered off into different factions to pursue their goals and it became decentralized, as families are apt to do.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “Some chose a more aggressive method of acquisition.”
“Murder.”
“Ah, Cousin Charlotte ...” he sighed.
“Are there more like her?”
“Are you asking if I'm like her?” He looked deeply into her eyes. “What do you think?”
“I don't know.” She felt lost. This whole day had been a nightmare.
“Of course you do.”
“But, what about ...”
“Ms. Simmons ...”
“Wells.”
He let out a deep sigh. “Ahh, yes. She’s married to the lawman, ladies and gentlemen. I had better plead the fifth. Anything and everything I say to you will be told to your husband. Isn't that the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”
“Don’t worry. He doesn't listen to me.”
“Oh, right. Trouble in paradise. Ha, ya gotta love Love.” He lifted his glass in an awkward toast. He was definitely drunk. “It doesn't matter,” he continued, “none of the family communicates with me outside of legal counsel, that is.” He sipped his drink and looked at her with a slow blink. He gave her a smile that was almost friendly, then his expression changed as if he no longer recognized her. He poured another drink.
For the first time in a very long time, that familiar taste swelled up in her mouth. The memory was so strong it made her tremble. She looked at the picture of Ray and Charlotte Carter again.
“Wow, what a messed-up family. Sometimes I thought I was lucky that I didn't have one of my own because every home I got placed in was ... bad. Then, I met Miss Rowena, Moe and Milo ... and Randall. And, I found out that life can be better and safe. And, you can have people around you that you can trust and ...”
“Are you feeling sorry for me, Mz. Swells?”
“Maybe.”
“Don't bother.”
“Okay, fine.” She relaxed her arms. She was beginning to feel too comfortable in that place, with Ray standing there next to his selection of the finest liquor in the classy crystal bar set and smooth jazz flowing so softly that it was almost subliminal. The art deco vibe called to her, clean and stylish. Everything in its place. She took a mental inventory of the artwork. It was fresh and contemporary and original. Being there exposed a yearning deep inside of her for something that she couldn’t name. She wanted to belong there, but she didn’t.
She admired the pale gray and light cream color palette. So soothing on the eyes. It didn’t shout over the furnishings, that were different shades of white. White. A white sofa, she couldn’t even dream of having one with little Remy’s sticky fingers. He probably had maid service and a personal chef. She estimated the measurements of the glass walls and doors dividing the rooms and the height and width of the windows. The recessed lighting and world-class kitchen appliances that shined like freshly minted medallions. Definitely had a maid service. The gleaming masterpiece was the spiral staircase taunting her from the corner. What it must be like to live without a care beyond yourself ... stay focused.
“Well, anyway, I’m here because I don't think I can keep being part of Wyman's. I need you to buy me out and ...”
“Hold it.” Ray held up his hand and staggered over to his desk, opened the drawer and pulled out a folder. He waved the document in front of her. “Do you recall signing this?”
“Yes, but ... I can't keep going on like this. It's too much and it might cost me my marriage.”
“Well, that's too bad, isn’t it?” He tossed the papers back in the drawer. “It really is just too bad.”
“If you buy me out, it's all yours. You could do whatever you want with it. Build your stupid casino. I forfeit, give up, quit. Whatever you want to call it.”
“Nope. We're partners now.” He lifted his glass to her. “And, I like this arrangement.”
“Why am I trying to reason with you? Or Randall? No matter what I try, nothing works out right.” It had been eight hundred and twenty-three days since she had a drop of alcohol in her mouth, but the sensation was just as real and a thousand times stronger. “I don't know why I came here.”
“I know why.” Ray walked over and patted her cheek. He leaned over and looked deeply into her eyes and that familiar wicked grin emerged. “But you can't stay here.” He stepped away from her and opened the humidor next to his desk. He picked out a cigar, rolled it between his fingers a few times and glanced back at her. Then he climbed up the spiral staircase to the loft. “See yourself out.”
WHEN TRACI ARRIVED home, Randall was seated on the couch with R.J. sleeping on his chest. He placed a finger to his lips as she entered, “Shh ..."
“Where’s Brad?” she whispered.
“He went back to his place.”
“I want to talk about what happened, Randall.”
“Not now.”
“Yes, now.”
“If you wake up R.J. right now, I swear to God, woman. I will ... I haven't slept in four days,” he said through gritted teeth.
She sat down next to him, brushed her fingers across their son’s face then turned to Randall and whispered, “I need to explain. I need you to he
ar me.”.
“Okay, okay.” He leaned forward and placed R.J. on a pillow next to them.
“About Wyman’s ... without the extra funding, there was no way ...”
“Don’t talk to me about the money. What about Ray? What about that part? You don't understand men like him. They don't stop until they control everything and everyone. He's got his eyes on you. Always has.”
“You're just jealous,” She sat back. He was not going to be reasonable or “fight fair” or even listen to her.
“Am I?”
“Yes, you're jealous for no reason and won't listen when I try ...”
“Fine, I'm listening. Go on.” He folded his arms.
Traci took a deep breath. “I want to explain the terms of the funding agreement. I want to start at that part.”
“Fine.”
Randall's cellphone rang. He reached across Traci's body and grabbed it on the coffee table to keep it from waking up R.J. He lowered the volume and swiped it open. It was Brad.
“We got smoke.”
“On my way!” Randall jumped up and put on his boots.
“What's going on?”
“Fire at Wyman's. Stay here.” He checked his pockets for his car keys and wallet.
“I have to go, too,” Traci said and stood up. “I'll call Candace and ask her to come stay with ...”
“You stay with him, Tracinda. Brad and I will handle things.”
“But, I'm responsible for Wyman's. I'm in charge ...”
“Are you?”
He rushed out and slammed the door behind him.
“Yes, yes I am!” She shouted across the room and began to cry. R.J. woke up and joined in.
Chapter Sixteen
Traci
WHEN TRACI ARRIVED at the campgrounds, Milo was pulling Jinx, Bebe, and the boarded horses from their stalls and leading them into the awaiting trailers borrowed from rescue groups and private farms around the region. He had gotten the word out through the online Equi-Sports group, his friends, and the people in his customer contact list.
Milo's Journey Page 9