Chapter Eight
Things on a personal level didn’t get much better on Sunday.
Bella remained tiffy with Lincoln, which made Linc resemble a puppy that had been scolded about piddling on the carpet.
He spent several hours meditating and kissing that tree behind the boutique while my son opted to spend his day with the goats.
When he wasn’t with the goats, I got one-word replies to anything I said or, and this might be worse, that damn whatever reply so often I wanted to scream. I didn’t, nor did I push the boy.
Come evening, the house was ours again since all the elderly residents of Lilac Hills had been picked up by family members who could now traverse the roads.
Or most of them. The police scanner was still busy, but not at the breakneck pace it had been during the worst of the flooding.
Lots of work and cleanup remained, and it seemed that Ollie was in the middle of everything.
We did text a bit that night. He was still up for a lunch date tomorrow, so when I went to bed, with my son giving me his back, I at least had that to look forward to.
I sorely wished I had a partner to talk to about Dahn.
I fully understood his worries and fears.
But I was safe. It seemed that once he knew I was not leaving him, he would relent, but his irritation just deepened.
I wasn’t sure how I would handle the next six years with this sullen child alone.
I could contact Chris, but he had pretty much left the parenting to me as well as the custody.
Sleep did not come easily, but when it did, it was filled with dreams of me standing alone in a watery cave with only the sound of my own voice echoing around me.
***
When we arrived at the rec center late Monday morning, I pulled into a slot, turned off the engine, and looked at my son. He’d been pretty uncommunicative this morning, but I had a few things to say to him, even if he just wanted to stare at his knobby knees.
“I get it that you’re upset and scared, Dahn.
Sometimes in life we have to do things that require some danger and going out to aid people in a natural disaster is one of those things.
We were very lucky at the ranch. Aside from some water in the root cellar, everything was fine.
Other people were not that lucky. I took all the precautions I could.
If the call to help our neighbors comes up again, and it very likely will, I’m going to go help.
I will always be as safe as I can be, but I will not cower when folks need assistance. I will never leave you on purpose.”
He stared harder and then started picking at a scab on his left knee.
“Don’t pick those.” He sighed and stopped, but his lips stayed firmly glued.
“Now, secondly. As for me kissing Ollie, that’s something personal between us, but I can see that you’d have questions.
We like each other and would like to date.
I will not leave you for him, nor will he ever lure me to another country.
My number one priority in this life is you. End of story.”
He wet his lips. Great. It was so much fun having a one-sided conversation. “Okay, I’ll assume your silence means you understand. And a third thing that I wish to pass along. You’re to apologize to Phil today.”
That one got his attention in a big way. “I didn’t push him!”
“I know, but you didn’t stand up for him, and that’s just as bad as being the bully.
So when you see him, tell him you’re sorry for not doing anything.
If your friends don’t like that, then you need to think long and hard about the boys you’re spending time with because that kind of behavior is not cool. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes.” He threw the passenger door open, unbuckled, grabbed his backpack, and stalked off, leaving the door open.
“Well that went well.” I reached over to yank the door shut as Dahn met up with the same pack of boys who had been so mean to Phil.
They seemed like your typical boys, rough and rowdy, but there was an undercurrent that I was picking up that didn’t sit well with me.
The boys raced inside, laughing, the first time I’d seen Dahn happy in days.
I ruminated long and hard about staying just to keep an eye on things but concluded that would only serve to make Dahn angrier and any apology given under my baleful gaze would be insincere. I trusted my boy.
I pocketed my keys and opted to park and walk to the sheriff’s office, glad to see that the messes we’d seen along the road on the way into town had not hit Bastian Grange proper.
There was debris on lawns but nothing that spoke of the flash floods that had run rampant in other parts of the county.
Nature could be so erratic. Like a twister that mows down one home but the house across the street is left untouched.
Seeing as most of the stores the locals relied on were found in town, the fact that it came out of the flooding mostly intact was a true blessing.
Tummy growling as I’d had a light breakfast because Baker was ranting about riding out to check the creeks and pasture to turn out the cattle so they didn’t eat too much hay that we’d need for the winter, I hustled into the sheriff’s office with a smile.
Monica nodded at me, ended the call she was on, and pointed at the closed office door.
“He’s waiting for you,” she whispered. “Maybe see if you can talk him into going home? Easton has a handle on things, and he needs some rest.”
“Will do.” I tapped on the glass insert with his name and a brass star painted on it. When no one replied, I cracked the door enough to peek inside. Ollie was sound asleep at his desk, his strong upper body splayed out, soft snores wafting into the air. “Hey, Ollie?”
He never moved. Not a twitch or a snuffle. I eased in, leaving the door cracked, and went to stand beside him. As soon as my hand landed on his biceps, he jerked up, his gaze flying around the office, totally lost, until he saw me at his side. I gave his broad shoulder a squeeze.
“I was double-checking the timesheets before sending them off to the county payroll clerk at the courthouse,” he said while blinking to clear the sleep from his dark eyes.
“Always working,” I said, smiling down at him. “It’s time for lunch. Why don’t we grab something to-go at the Calico and take it to your place?”
“I’m needed here,” he replied as he stretched his arms over his head. His shoulder popped so loudly I heard it and winced.
“No, you’re not. Things are quiet. Easton is taking the next shift, so go home, eat, shower, and get some rest!” Monica called from the outer office. Ollie rolled his eyes.
“She thinks she’s the one with the badge,” he whispered and grabbed his hat from atop the payroll papers on his desk. “Fine, we’ll grab something and take it to my place. I can smell myself.”
“When did you shower last?” I asked, following him out to the front, giving Monica a thumbs-up as Ollie stepped out into a humid day.
“Don’t ask, although all the time I spent in water over the past few days should have counted for some sort of a rinse if nothing else.” He looked up and down Main Street. I could see the pride on his face. This town was lucky to have him.
“That water might have worked better if there had been soap in the equation.” I took him by the hand, timidly at first in case he wasn’t cool with a PDA, but when he slid his fingers between mine, I gripped his hand just a bit harder.
We walked down the main drag like that, and no one that we passed said a word other than thanks or praise for his leadership and caring for the folks who voted for him.
We grabbed something quick at the Calico: cold sandwiches, chips, coleslaw, and two root beers, and headed to his tidy home. He was talkative, which was a nice change from my silent son as we removed our shoes at the front door.
“My two nieces are finishing up the beading on their slippers for the Cherokee Nation Holiday powwow in two weeks.” He placed the food on the table, flipped on a light, and motioned for me to sit.
“Do you dance?” I asked, taking a seat and twisting the caps from our bottles of soda while he grabbed paper towels to use as napkins. He lowered his bulk down across from me, his sigh that of a man running on pure fumes and determination.
“Not so much anymore. I used to do the warrior dance when I was younger. Just a few times.”
“Tell me about it. I’m ashamed to say that I know little about your nation,” I confessed after taking the top off the carton of coleslaw. The sun outside shone through a thin-slatted window shade over the kitchen window, the narrow bands of bright yellow falling over the clean sink.
“It’s an all-male dance, done in a storytelling that extolls the bravery and strength of the warrior.
The dancer always moves forward, never turning a complete circle as that signifies being lost. The warrior never dances backward as that is a sign of cowardice.
The dancer always charges forward to meet his enemies head-to-head. ”
I sat there as he went on to explain the various dances his people did at their celebrations. The food was enjoyable but just spending this time with him as he patiently told me about his people and their beliefs was even more so.
“So why don’t you dance anymore?” I took a sip of root beer as he rose to dispose of our empty containers in the trash can under the sink.
“I got too old and fat.”
“Please. There’s not an ounce of fat on your body.” I lowered my bottle to the table. He chuckled and turned to face me.
“I’m happy to help out in other capacities and leave the dancing to the young guys. The council always seems to want me to be working security.” He lifted a shoulder, and I sat back to drink in the man. Even on the edge of exhaustion, he got my blood pumping.