Page 55 of Warrior's Walk
“Ma’am? Is there a reason you can’t come?”
She sighs tiredly. “I feel just plain tuckered out. I can’t fix myself to rights lately. If I piddle around for more than just a minute, I’m completely wiped. I just don’t see how I can travel all the way there from Louisiana.”
I’m not sure exactly how old Loretta is, but no matter, she shouldn’t be feeling that level of exhaustion if she’s healthy. “Ma’am, have you gone to a doctor? Maybe you should get checked out.”
“Oh, I reckon, but no need to ’cause a fuss over me.”
I’m not making any headway like this, so I try a different approach. “Loretta, Rhett needs you. I wouldn’t be calling if he didn’t need you that bad. Please, for him?” She sniffles, and I can hear the pain in her voice. Knowing her son is hurting is killingher. “Maybe it would be easier for you if I come and get you myself? I’ll drive you back home when you’re ready.”
“Really?” she asks hopefully. “You would come all this way just for my persnickety old ass?”
“Yes, ma’am, for Rhett.”
“You must be something real special, Navarro Riggs. I can tell. A mother knows these things.”
I chuff, humored by her intuition. “Pack your bags, ma’am. I’m coming for you.”
I must’ve been high when I called her.
I shake myself awake as I pass through my third state and turn the radio up. “Welcome to Louisiana,” my GPS informs me.
Loretta lives up north, near Ruston. I don’t have much longer to go. My worry for Loretta kept me awake for most of the drive. She shouldn’t be that tired. What if something’s wrong? The nurse in me won’t let it go. Loretta lives alone now that Rhett is gone, and probably thinks she doesn’t have to take care of herself because she has no one left relying on her, but she’s wrong. Dead wrong. Rhett relies on her. She’s all he’s got left.
The GPS leads me through an older section of town with large historic homes immaculately maintained and landscaped. Just as I start to think Rhett hid the fact that he came from money, I realize my ETA still says I’m ten minutes away. Passing through the old neighborhoods, I head back out of town through endless fields of sugarcane. There are fewer homes out here, spaced further apart, and some look like former plantation homes, and others, rundown farmhouses. I turn down a gravel drive that leads to one of those. The two-story home has seen better days. Faded yellow paint is peeling off the wooden siding,and the aluminum gutter on the left side of the house is hanging askew, and that’s just the start of the repair list.
I grab my duffel from the backseat and make my way up the broken concrete path. Loretta opens the screen door, waiting to greet me with a huge smile. She’s a tiny woman, her bright red hair dyed and pulled into a bun. She’s wearing a blue dress and an apron that looks older than she is.
“Riggs! Or is it Navarro?”
“Riggs,” I correct, sliding my arm around her tiny waist. I pull her in for a hug and breathe in her sweet perfume.
“Well, you just call me Retta. Come on in, honey. I’ve got biscuits in the oven. We’re havin’ crawfish and dumplins.”
I don’t know what to address first—my joy over having homemade cooking, the fact I just crossed the threshold into a freaking museum that could honestly be the thrift store version of the set ofGone with the Wind, or that she switched out the chicken for crawfish.
“Retta? So you’re Rhett and Retta?”How fucking cute.
“Isn’t that just a hoot? I bet my son told you to call me Loretta. He gets so doggone embarrassed about his name. Did he tell you his middle name?”
A smile touches my lips. “He did, the first night we met,” I recall, trying not to get lost in the memories. Every time I think about that night, I get sucked into the past. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
Retta wipes her hands on her apron and then places them on her slim hips. “What nonsense are you talkin’, boy? Why wouldn’t he know you’re here?”
“As I explained, he’s having a difficult time right now. We haven’t exactly talked in the last few days. He’s sort of hiding out.”
“Is that normal behavior for him? Does he do that often?”
“Not since he moved to Black Mountain, no. Before that, I couldn’t say.”
“Sit down, Riggs. Can I get you some tea, hun?”
“Yes, please.” Beside the fridge, there’s a macramé wreath tacked to the wall. Everything in my mother’s kitchen is perfectly matched, from the paint on the walls and the fabric of the cushions to the hardware on the cabinets and the finish of the appliances. Retta’s kitchen is a mismatched hodgepodge of collected things that feel homey and comfortable. It feels lived in.
“Let me ask you a question, and you better give me God’s honest truth. Should I be worried about him?”
“Ma’am, I drove eleven hours to get here, and I’m going to drive eleven hours back, and when you’re ready to come back home, I’m going to make the trip all over again. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t worried about him.”
I’ve worked with so many veterans and served with them, and I’ve seen the consequence of ignoring the warning signs that someone is in trouble. Last year, I watched West struggle terribly, trying repeatedly to take his own life. I witnessed Nash’s battle against drugs and alcohol as a way to cope with the insanity in his head. I’d rather suck-start a pistol than watch Rhett suffer through the same hell.