Chapter 29 Colson
twenty-nine
Colson
People keep showing up. Maren was here for a few minutes and it was clear she immediately started gathering the troops.
There are probably ten locals busting their asses to get all the debris cleared, mopping floors or drying walls.
Massive fans have been rolled in, trying to dry out as much as we can.
Everyone’s trying to be positive and encouraging but this place is a mess. Broken windows. The roof. Water damage we probably can’t see. Sadie is doing her best to stay solution oriented. Fuck, that makes me proud of her.
She has these bursts of energy. Hope. But then it topples when something we didn’t foresee becomes an issue. Her and I have our hands on the antique cabinet—the one I helped bring in during my first few days there.
We count down and lift at the same time. I’m walking backwards when I say, “If you want, we can go thrifting or something. Try and find something old and creaky. Just like this one.”
Sadie offers a loaded but sad smile. “Colson Burke likes to thrift, huh?”
“My mom used to go a lot when I was a kid. That’s how we got most of our things. Single parent stuff.”
Sadie nods, taking in the details I’m offering.
She doesn’t keep the conversation going; instead we walk the cabinet outside to the place we’ve designated as trash. Things that are unsalvageable.
Birdie, one of the only people I recognize besides Maren, taps Sadie on the shoulder.
“I called about the windows. My brother had an in, so we have those measured and ordered.”
“How much are they?” Panic creeps around Sadie’s question.
Birdie says nothing, just looks over to me. I made it a point to let everyone know I would handle anything financial related. There wasn’t much that we moved on today, but windows are kind of a must for the center to be able to be open to the public.
Sadie realizes what’s happening and gently nods.
Birdie looks at her watch. “I had someone getting my opening stuff done at Cherry Pit but I gotta get over there, okay?”
Sadie and Birdie hug, saying their goodbyes, and you can feel the local business owners are kind of on Birdie’s timeline. In a tourist town, weekends like the Fourth of July are massive. They’ve given what they can and need to get back.
It’s amazing how quick people learned of Sadie needing help. How many people came and gave a few hours of their time without question. Golden Harbor seems to show up for their locals.
Everyone sort of dissipates, then it’s only me and Sadie sitting outside on the picnic table.
The sun is high and relentless, baking the asphalt and turning the damp air into something thick. Somewhere down by the bay, someone’s already testing fireworks like it’s their civic duty. The whole town feels wound tight, buzzing with the energy of a holiday weekend.
Sadie sits hunched forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the ground like she'd been running on adrenaline all morning. Now that the crowd’s gone, it’s catching up to her. She looks exhausted, even though it’s barely noon, and quiet in a way that’s much louder than the panic.
I shift on the bench. “Okay,” I start gently. “Talk to me. What do you need right now?”
She blinks, like I’ve asked something complicated. Then she shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s an acceptable answer,” I tell her. “We’ve got time. But let me point out that we haven’t had coffee. Or food. That could be a start.”
She presses her lips together, nodding once, like she’s considering it.
I try again. “You want to go home? Shower, crash for a bit. Get some time to yourself?”
As much as I’d willingly spend all of the day with her, I’m not sure that’s what she needs.
Her head snaps up. “No.”
Butterflies immediately come to life and I fucking love how quick her answer was.
“No?” I repeat.
She sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. “I don’t want to be by myself. That’s no fun.” Sadie stands, rubbing her hands on her shorts. “You need to experience a Golden Harbor summer holiday.”
I don’t hate that answer.
She lets out a tired huff of a laugh, leaning back on her hands. “I just… I don’t want to stop yet.”
“Stop what?”
She gestures toward the rec center behind us—the fans humming inside, the smell of wet wood and disinfectant still clinging to everything.
“If I stop, then it becomes real. That there’s nothing else I can do until insurance shows up.
And that won’t be until next week.” Sadie starts to pace, walking the area in front of the table bench.
“What do I do about camp? The kids have already paid. Parents are counting on this for care—”
I glance at my watch out of habit. Noon. The day is wide open, whether she wants it to be or not. “Here’s the thing,” I offer. “We’ve officially done everything possible for today. Which means whatever we do next can’t make it worse.”
She arches a brow. “That’s all you’ve got? We can’t make it worse?”
“It’s my optimism,” I correct. “Midwest-style. So,” I continue, “we can come back later, check on the drying, but until then…” I shrug. “It’s probably best to take the day. Let this all dry up as much as we can. We can make a plan for tomorrow and knock out a bunch of stuff.”
“We,” she says, brows lifting into her forehead.
“We,” I confirm. “I told you, I’ve got a stacked basketball roster I’m pretty pumped about.” I rub my hands together, carrying through the joke.
Sadie laughs and it almost unties part of the knot in my chest. She keeps pacing for a second, then asks quietly, “Can we… keep hanging out?”
Something warm settles in my chest. “Yeah,” I answer easily. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Good,” she says, sounding relieved. “Because if I’m alone, I’m going to agonize over all of this.” She gestures to the building behind her.
I hop off the table and hold out my hand. “Then c’mon. Let’s find you a distraction that involves food and limited responsibility.”
She takes my hand with no hesitation, and when she smiles up at me, it’s tired—but real.