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.”