Grayton Winds

by Michael Lindley

  “You stupid bastards!” she yelled. “Why can’t you leave us alone?” And then she was sobbing as Palumbo laid her down on one of the bunks. He pulled a set of hand-cuffs from a pocket and locked her wrist to the iron rail of the bed. She didn’t seem to even notice as she lay there on the bed crying with her other arm over her face. I touched my cheek and felt the warm sticky blood running from the deep scratches and the pain was sharp and throbbing. Palumbo went over to a sink in the corner and soaked a towel. He threw it over for me to hold against my face.

  I sat down and tried to collect myself and then finally realized what we had just done. I wondered for the first time how many of Boudreaux’s men may have died in the explosion in the kitchen or any of his men who had tried to stop us. Murder was not exactly something I had hoped to find myself in the middle of. It was much later after I had returned to Grayton Beach, that I learned from Palumbo the kitchen had been cleared before the explosion and the cooks and other help had been chased away down the alley at gunpoint. No one had died in the abduction of Sara Dalton, but Miller Boudreaux and three of his men had been seriously injured. Boudreaux, in fact, had sustained severe head wounds at the hands of Palumbo’s unleashed bodyguard, Anthony, and lingered near death for two weeks in the hospital before he regained consciousness and began to recover.

  Chapter Twenty

  The return trip to Florida was blessed with better weather and seas, but our new passenger was less than pleased with being rescued. Later that first night on the boat when Sara seemed to have calmed some, I tried to talk to her about coming home to where she belonged with her daughter, but she refused to even acknowledge I was there. By morning when I checked in on her again, I noticed she was sleeping fitfully and her face was flushed and drenched in sweat. At first I thought it may have been sea sickness, but she was still locked to the bed and didn’t appear to have vomited. I asked the Captain if there was anyone on the ship with medical training and there was not, but he offered to look in on her again with me.

  The sun was now a few hours up over the eastern horizon and the light filtered in through the small porthole in the cabin. There was a staleness and lingering stench of diesel fuel and mildew and I wasn’t surprised to see Sara was having difficulty breathing when we walked in. She was drenched in sweat and shaking as if she was cold now. She had a desperate and pained look on her face. The captain sat down beside her on the bunk and felt her forehead and then checked for her pulse on her wrist. As he held her arm out, the sleeve of her dress slipped back and a line of small bruises showed an ugly blue trace against the pale skin of her forearm. I kneeled down and looked more closely. I could see the small pinprick wounds along the veins of her arm and I felt a sick bile rise in my throat as I realized now the appalling addiction that had kept her tied to Miller Boudreaux.

  The captain noticed the tracks of the heroin needle at the same time as I and he looked at me with a worried scowl. “I don’t suppose she had time to bring along her next dose?” he asked.

  I knew she had no purse with her when we rushed her out of the club. I shook my head no and thought about the danger we had now placed her in. While I didn’t know much about this drug, I did realize that withdrawal could be extremely difficult and dangerous without medical care. “You don’t have anything onboard to help her?” I asked.

  “We don’t carry drugs like that,” he replied. “We need to get her to a hospital. We’ll be back to Gulfport in a couple of hours and you can find some help there.”

  Sara seemed to drift back into consciousness for a moment and tried to speak, but her words were slurred and unintelligible. I went to the sink and filled a glass and helped her to take a few sips. She gripped my arm tightly and her frightened eyes held mine as her body began to shake even more. She motioned for me to lean close. She whispered weakly, “I know you’re trying to help, but please take me back.” Then her eyes got a glassy and distant look and rolled back up into her head as she passed out again.

  Palumbo walked in and I explained what we had found. He shook his head and went over to look at her arms. Both were lined with the horrible bruises from the injections. “This lady’s in real trouble, Mathew,” he said. “I’ve seen this too many times back home in the city. She’s gonna get a lot worse before she has any hope of getting better.”

  “They’re going to drop us in Gulfport,” I said. “I can get her to a hospital there.”

  “You can’t just leave her there after all we’ve just been through to get her home,” Palumbo scolded.

  “No, I’ll stay. I can stay with her,” I said.

  By the time we were able to tie-up in the little town of Gulfport, Sara was nearly in convulsions. It was all we could do to hold her down. Anthony and I managed to carry her off the ship. Palumbo had found a car to get us into town to the hospital. They stayed to get back on the ship to return to Destin. Palumbo said he had business that couldn’t wait. My emotions were running at a high pitch and I felt so beholden to this big hood that I couldn’t help myself. I went over to him and gave him a hug around the shoulders as Anthony sat with Sara in the back of the car.

  “You just take care of this little girl now, Coulter,” he said, pushing me away. “You get her well and bring her back home.”

  I took Anthony’s place in the back of the car with Sara. She was wrapped in a blanket and seemed to be sleeping, although she was still shaking terribly and her face was a ghostly white. As the car pulled away, I looked back and saw Palumbo and his man walking back toward the ship. They were such an odd pair, the short and squat little Willie Palumbo walking with his waddling gait and his giant of a bodyguard, Anthony, a step behind. I wondered if Lila would ever truly realize how much these two had done to help save her daughter.

  The next two days were a blur of sleeplessness, bad coffee and even worse food. I slept in a chair in the waiting room of the hospital when I wasn’t with Sara. One of the doctors had told me she had been near death by the time I had brought her in. They had her on a treatment program of measured withdrawal he said could take some time, and that she would have to be institutionalized beyond that and monitored closely.

  On the third night Palumbo got word to me through the hospital office that Sara’s mother, Lila, was taking a train out of Destin and would be arriving in Gulfport the next day. His message also said my sister would be staying to take care of little Melanee and that together they would all keep the hotel operating until she could return.

  I realized I hadn’t showered or changed clothes in days and I left that night to find a hotel and something clean to wear. I happened upon a hotel first. I slept that night like I had been knocked unconscious and it was nearly noon before I woke the next morning. Gulfport was a hot and sticky little town, clustered with small boatyards and warehouses along the waterfront. I found a clothing store and a restaurant to get some lunch and then went back to the hotel to clean up and change. When I returned to the hospital that afternoon, I found Lila sitting in the waiting room. She ran to me and hugged me and thanked me over and over.

  I felt happy we had been able to help bring her daughter back, but I was also haunted by the fact we had almost killed her in the process. “She’s awfully sick,” I said. “I just feel so bad we didn’t know about the drugs.”

  Lila touched the scratches on my cheek and hugged me again. I could feel her tears seeping through my shirt and onto my shoulder. “Mathew Coulter, how could you have known,” she said. “All the help I’ve tried to get for this girl and I didn’t even know. This is only the latest addiction. I’m just so damn scared she’ll never get over this.”

  We both went back to Sara’s room and she was sleeping. We sat together beside the bed and I watched silently as Lila held her daughter’s hand. The window was up and a slight breeze was managing to find its way through the room, rattling the old blinds that hung at a slight angle. It was an hour before Sara woke and as her eyes focused on the room and the visitors at the side of the bed, I
saw her face brighten for the first time I could remember. Lila leaned over and hugged her.

  “Oh honey, I love you so much,” she said. “We’re going to get through this. I promise you we’re going to get through this.”

  Sara looked over at me and I think she finally knew who I was. Her eyes welled up with tears and in a weak and raspy voice she said, “Thank you.”

  I left the two of them there in Gulfport the next day. Lila went down to the train station with me and on the way told me that Palumbo had arranged for a full-time nurse to accompany them back to Grayton Beach and stay with Sara as long as needed to help her get back to her life without the drugs. She hoped they would all be home soon.

  As I was boarding the train, she pulled me close and hugged me and whispered in my ear, “You’ve given me the greatest gift, Mathew.” We both started crying and I didn’t care. The train was starting to move before I could pull myself away. I watched her standing there waving to me until she was out of sight.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  It was three weeks before Lila Dalton returned to Grayton Beach with her daughter, Sara. We had all been alerted a few days earlier when Lila called the phone at the hotel and my sister Maggie had answered. She told Maggie that Sara was coming along well and they would be leaving to come back sometime the next day accompanied by the nurse Willie Palumbo had arranged for her.

  When I had finally made my way back to Grayton Beach by ship and train and borrowed rides, Palumbo had come over to see how I was doing. We sat together out on the porch of the Headley’s place. He told me the details of what had happened in the rescue or abduction of Sara Dalton. Everything had happened so quickly that it all seemed a blur to me. Not only had Boudreaux and his men been subdued in our assault on the club, but half the building had burned and been destroyed from the explosion. Palumbo had just received a message the day before from his contact in New Orleans that Boudreaux had suffered terrible physical injury during the attack and with the closing of the club there were several of his backers who were fed up with him. In fact, he owed more money than he could ever hope to repay even with the club open, let alone closed for repairs. Miller Boudreaux had been found dead two days earlier, sitting at his desk in the office at the club, his head rolled back in the chair with an ugly self-inflicted bullet wound in the side of his skull.

  As I listened to Palumbo’s account of the demise of the asshole who had tormented Sara Dalton’s life for so long, I found myself somewhat troubled by my delight in his exceptionally fortunate departure from this world. While I rejoiced in the liberation of Sara Dalton from an unimaginable torment, I also cringed at the reality my collaboration with Willie Palumbo in her escape had put me on much the same level as my father; violence and extreme action as a means to justify an end.

  On the day that Lila and Sara returned home, Maggie and I were sitting on the porch of the hotel. It was late evening and the sun was painting a brilliant canvas against the far clouds on the horizon. Maggie was reading a book to Melanee Dalton, who could hardly sit still, knowing her mother would be there soon. My sister had been tending to affairs around the hotel, working with the small staff to keep things running in Lila’s absence. She and Melanee had become almost inseparable during that time and the little girl had kept a remarkable spirit during the past days, in spite of the absence of her mother and grandmother. When I was around her I couldn’t help but feel my heart lifted up by her bright attitude and courage in the face of so much challenge in her life. I continued to be surprised by her remarkable ability to see and anticipate events and to read our thoughts.

  Long before either Maggie or I could hear the car’s engine coming into town, Melanee jumped up out of my sister’s lap and ran over to the rail of the porch, looking off down the road in anticipation. Maggie and I looked at each other in amazement and then the little girl said, “It’s them, Maggie. My momma is feeling so much better.”

  It was several minutes, but then Lila’s car pulled around the corner and stopped in front of the hotel. Maggie took Melanee’s hand and helped her down the steps. I watched as Lila got out of the car and then the passenger door opened and Sara Dalton quickly got out and ran to her daughter. She picked her up and hugged her and then turned slowly in the sand holding her face close to her own. It wasn’t long before all of us were crying. Maggie and I went over to welcome Lila back home, exchanging long embraces and knowing looks of relief that Sara was back and that she was safe, at least for now.

  Sara walked over to us with her daughter in her arms. There was a noticeable change in the look on her face, no longer distant and pale, but with a new and fresh glow, flushed now by the tears and excitement. There was a bright glimmer in her eyes that had, for so long, been extinguished. She held out a free arm to me. I put my arms around both Sara and her daughter and held them close. Sara kissed me softly on the cheek and then almost in a whisper, simply said, “Thank you.”

  Maggie and the cook had prepared a big meal in anticipation of the homecoming. Louise Palumbo came down to join us as well. Willie had been off in Panama City more often now and kept a hotel room there. His wife stayed in Grayton Beach and kept mostly to herself, walking alone on the beach or reading on the porch of the hotel. None of us was really sure if Willie Palumbo had ever found out about her dalliance with the young Howard boy. No one had been charged yet in his murder. Louise had drawn into herself since the day Seth Howard had been found out on the road to Point Washington. Perhaps she knew more about what had happened than any of us might have thought or maybe she was just caught in that strange place between secretly mourning the loss of a man she had feelings for and guilt at her possible role in his end.

  When dinner was over and the places cleared, Sara led Melanee over to the piano. They sat together on the narrow bench. Sara whispered something in Melanee’s ear and the little girl began to play and then her mother joined in playing an accompanying melody in the higher range of the keyboard. It was a beautiful piece and we were all sitting there mesmerized by the song. When Sara began to sing, I felt a rush of pinpricks across my skin and I realized I had never heard her sing in the previous days she had been here with us. Her voice was soft and full at the same time and the tone and pitch were so pure I found it hard to even breathe as I listened. Lila reached across the table and took my hand. She had the happiest look on her face.

  As I listened, the song’s lyrics of redemption and hope were so moving, and then at the chorus Melanee joined in with her mother and the harmony was stunning. The music and their voices filled the room with an almost spiritual feeling. When they finished, the notes echoed in the silence as we all sat in wonder, no one wanting to break the spell of the song. Melanee turned and put her arms around her mother and buried her face in her embrace. Then, finally, we were all clapping and shouting out our praise.

  Much later I sat out on the porch of my borrowed home at the Headleys. I had lit one of Palumbo’s big cigars and had a glass of some of the better local moonshine resting in my hand. I had been thinking about nothing but the homecoming and the bright glow of satisfaction in reuniting mother and child washed over me, mellowed by the whiskey. The lights had all gone out over at the hotel and a bright moon ducked in and out of high clouds passing on the soft winds of the night.

  I heard the rusty creak of the gate hinges to the fence across the front of the property, and looked down to see a woman walking up to the house in the dark. I could see the long flowing white robe before I could make out who it was. She walked up onto the porch and I then could see it was Sara Dalton. I stood unsteadily, a bit off guard. She reached out her hand for mine and said, “Would you go for a walk with me?”

  We walked down the boardwalk toward the beach. When the moon came out from behind the clouds the white sand around us glowed in soft focus. We were both walking with bare feet and when we stepped off the end of the wooden walk the sand was cool and bracing. Sara held my hand and we walked on in silence toward the shore. The wind w
as blowing almost in a whisper from the north now and pushing offshore, leaving the water nearly mirror calm, the moon reflecting back across the surface toward us.

  When we reached the water’s edge the sand was firmer from the receding tide and then Sara turned and came into my arms. We held each other there without speaking, the moon occasionally illuminating us from above as the clouds passed. There was a fresh smell in her hair, a smell of renewal and promise.

  I’m not sure how long we stood there together in the sand, but it was one of the most comforting times I can ever recall. I took so much joy in the knowledge this woman now had another chance in a life that had been so cruelly taken from her in the past. I felt her squeeze me more tightly for just a moment and then she looked up and kissed me on the cheek. Then she turned and we walked together back up toward the dunes. When we reached the hotel, we stopped and I could just make out the lines of her face in the darkness. I felt her press my hand more tightly one more time before she turned and walked up the steps and closed the door behind her. As I walked home I realized we hadn’t spoken a word to each other the entire time. I turned and looked back at the hotel again, its shadowy edges just barely visible. I felt satisfaction in knowing there was some sense of comfort and peace among those now asleep beneath that roof.