Chapter 44

The shock diffused through the family. 

Cole sat in the dimmed kitchen, a notepad in front of him and pen in hand, after dinner. They’d all eaten together, and it had been a somber meal. Dax, not in the mood to cook his typical big meal from scratch, had hauled out some stew put by in better days, from the freezer. Thick and hearty, with the cracked wheat bread he’d already made before the sun rose, it had made a good meal.

But conversation had been almost non-existent. Krys and Aggie both left quickly. Krys likely to her race preparations—if that was still even a thing, now—and Aggie off to her online business, the one she was trying to bring to life. The girls had been lost in their own thoughts.

There was a lot of that going around.

Usually now, he’d head out. Walk the familiar path, tread through the forest until he came upon the little cabin…

His mom came back into the kitchen in one of the caftans she wore the nights she was ready to go to bed early. A soft, flowy thing, in emerald tones, that wisped around her. No wonder his dad was still crazy about her. She was beautiful, even at her mature age. “Made some calls, Son.”

Cole signed, laid the pen down. “Me too.”

“You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”

He grinned lightly. Even at a time like this, she was able to come forth with humor. He really loved that. 

Cole started. “I called Olivia Jones in Golden. I did try Forrest, but he must be in the bush, because I couldn’t get hold of him.”

He’d really hoped to talk to his Delta North buddy, but the man was off, working in the woods, and was likely out of cell range. He’d hoped Forrest might be able to put them up, or that they could camp on his land if things got really bad. The man was a die-hard nature lover, and didn’t countenance city living, not even small towns. He was also one of the most sincere, best friends he had. They didn’t see each other much, but when they did, it was like no time had passed.

Forrest was quiet, but deep. He knew he’d do whatever he could for them.

“But I did ask Olivia if she knew of a place we might be able to rent, for all of us. Nothing fancy, more like dirt cheap. She says she doesn't know of a place, but she’ll start looking right away.”

Olivia was a stunning woman and mayor of Golden, and very business-like. Yet at the same time, she managed to run a personal and a civic life with wit, aplomb, and joy. She also prided herself on being approachable.

“Good one,” his mom said. A twinkle appeared in her eye. “But I called Misty Grace McConahee, over in Golden, too.” His Ma had the air of having executed a coup. “She actually might know of a house. Said we could bunk with her and Ollie too, if necessary, but I told her no to that. She’d have all our daily schedules for a week mapped out, half an hour before we got there.” She grinned, remembering her friend. “Misty told me to look up the Golden Gazette online too, but hinted she could find us something way better, and to stay tuned.” 

“Misty. How could I forget about her?” The plump, white-haired lady was a Golden fixture. If you ventured outdoors, anywhere in Golden—and even if you didn’t—she’d soon know who you were, and every detail of your business.

Even the stuff you’d forgotten yourself.

“Not sure. Most people can’t, once they’ve met her.”

Cole considered, didn’t like the picture he saw forming in his mind’s eye. “Ma. Are you sure you wanted to let her know our business? Once you tell her anything…”

His mom shook her head. “Don’t worry, Son. She’s got grit and tons of nosiness, that’s for sure. She also acts like the town’s crier, all on her own. But for someone her age? She definitely holds that community together. If there’s a place to be had in Golden for the Dawson family, she’ll find it.”

She paused. “Dorian Construction may be looking for laborers, too. They may absorb some of our hands, any who don’t want to stay on with Quinn or don’t get the chance, so I’m grateful for that.”

She scrutinized Cole’s face. “If you want a change from ranch work, you could work with him for a spell, Son. You know Doug Dorian. He’s got a big heart and he’s successful. He’d likely put you somewhere managerial. You’ve got skills. Could be the break we’re looking for.”

It seemed they were starting to build friendships in Golden. He rolled the pen on the table, gently. Thinking. “Good to know we have friends.”

“Always.” She aimed a concerned eye on him. “How was it today, Son, telling Quinn?"

His spirit fell. “Aw, hell, Ma. It wasn’t so much telling him. I knew that was going to be awful. But it was the way everybody reacted after.” He gazed wearily at his to-do list. “Our stock is shot, Ma. We’re has-beens, and that’s what hurts the most. Nothing to show for who we are, what we stand for, what we’ve accomplished.”

Just like Afghanistan, he thought abruptly. Just like his military service. While he was continuing to serve as a reserve soldier and would do so as long as he had breath in his body, that day he’d made the worst decision of his military career never left him. Killed the joy he had in what he’d contributed.

Too hard on yourself, he heard the words filtering into his mind.

Maybe it was true, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the depression. No matter. People had been hurt because of him, and that still was the fragile spot. His Achilles heel. The parallels with this situation couldn’t be missed.

He was aware of his mom watching him, but he had more to tell her. “Dad said he’ll be calling Beswick too, killing all that as soon as he can. The man’s been out of contact for a week. Something about a jungle trip. But Dad’ll be killing the deal as soon as he can.”

She covered his rough hand with her softer one. “Don’t let this eat up your spirit, Coley-boy.”

The old nickname still surprised him. Reminded him of the days when he'd skinned his knees as a boy, so often. Even at that young age he’d been determined not to get help. Not to ask for solace. To handle it on his own.

Like a man.

She’d always found him, dressed his wounds. Usually he was bleeding badly enough, cut on the gravel and stone. Then she’d hug him, even when he didn’t want her to.

He remembered her scent, the wind outside in the open stable filtering past them. Her arms clasped firmly around him, her warmth, her steadiness. She’d been one of his rocks. And the laughter, but mostly love, in that voice as she soothed him, even as he tried to push it away. But now, suddenly, the memory was priceless.

She rarely called him that anymore—good thing—but it was still sweet to his ears when she did.

And now, here he was. All grown up and still needing soothing. “I’ll try, Ma. It’s just hard. After all this, the work of our whole lives, we’re leaving Dawson as…”

He hated to say the word, but it was true. He forced it out. She’d yank it out of him if he didn’t, and that would be a lot more painful. Mom therapy. “… nobodies."

Her brows shot upward, and a stern look covered her face. “What was that you said?”

And it’s started. “You heard me.”

She still held his hand, but sat up. Straight. As if her spine had been replaced by a rod of iron. “Son, this isn’t easy for any of us. You heard me tell each of the girls tonight to pick two childhood mementos to take, right?”

“I did, Ma’am.”

Her eyes blazed. “I’ll have you know, I’m leaving the rest behind. All of it. We won't have room. This is going to be a new start for all of us. I'm not putting anything in storage either. It’s all going to be new and fresh.”

“I know.”

Her expression grew mom-stern. “But we’re not leaving here with our tails between our legs, got that? The sooner you get that through your thick skull, Son, the better. We are Dawsons, and we’re proud of who we were, are, and will be. Nothing is set in stone, in this crazy ride called life. Trust me.” 

He blinked at her ferocity, and her resolve. She was really okay with this?

“As for right now, this specific moment in time, you be damn proud of who you are, Cole Dawson. You doing a bit better with the depression? Right now? It can’t be easy.”

He seemed to be fine talking about it, which was a small victory in itself. “I’m working on it, Ma. It had me there for a bit, and I fought it back. But now, this…”

“It’s a hard pill to swallow, Son. But once it’s swallowed? It’s done. Keep on with the doc, try whatever makes sense to you, and keep at it. I have a feeling you’ll rise to the top, you always do. But always remember, even about this latest occurrence. You're a fine man—even though you're my son—and this is not the end of us. Not by a long shot.” 

The phone buzzed, and her face lit up. “Your dad. He’s coming home tomorrow morning.” She clicked the on button, spoke a quick word, muted it.

“Maybe this is your lesson, Son. Be damn proud of who you are, bone deep, no matter what hits. No matter if you’re not one hundred percent your vision of what a Dawson is. Be the man you really are, right now, no matter the outward appearances or any supposed reversals. Grab life. All of it, and enjoy it. With pride. You’ve a right. Got it?”

She smiled at him so tenderly for a moment, he really believed it. “Got it, Ma.” She unmuted the phone, started chattering to the man she loved as she sailed out of the room.

What a woman, he thought. She was going to be leaving behind her home, starting again, late in life, with scant resources.

But she was okay. Maybe not happy about it, but moving on, immediately. Looking at the good.

His mind flitted to Tabby. She’d done the same damn thing.

She always made good of a bad situation.

She’d come here with him, to this land of promise. There was so much he’d wanted to give her. Everything, truth be told. He’d wanted to make her life free from worry, from trouble. He’d so badly wanted to give it all to her.

Only what a loser he’d turned out to be. Instead of giving her stuff, he was taking from her. Needing her help as he navigated new mountains of steaming piles of shit. He winced. What no self-respecting man ever wanted to do for the woman he loved. That he was taking care of.

No wonder she’d had enough of him. 

But this conversation with his mother underscored one thing. It was him that had been messing up, he thought miserably. The women were all fine. It was him.