The Way Forward Page 3

  Her feet pounded on the dirt road as she ran toward her grandparents’ house, desperately trying to escape the boy throwing rocks at her. The farther she ran, the larger the rocks grew. Her grandparents stood on the front porch, her grandmother holding her arms out, calling to her, but Callie couldn’t run fast enough. The rocks became boulders, battering and bruising her until she couldn’t run anymore.

  She woke up sweating, heart racing, skin damp. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, she dug her fingers into the quilt her grandmother made for her, grounding herself.

  The nightmares were back.

  Chapter Three

  Dax slipped in through the back door of his childhood home, ignoring his mother’s preference for the formality of the main entrance. It was a small act of defiance—one that he was too old for—but he did it anyway. His mother had been over the moon when he told her he was moving home; the words were barely out of his mouth when she began to outline what was expected of him. Duty. Responsibility. Obedience. If he’d just listen to her, she knew what was best. Every conversation since then he tried to make her understand that he was coming home, but on his terms, living the way he chose. His mother had a way of hearing and seeing things only the way she wanted. She was as rigid and set in her ways as the toughest drill sergeant he’d faced at boot camp.

  The pristine white exterior accented with dark green shutters and framed by a deep covered porch may have appeared inviting, but Dax knew better. Most people cherished their childhood home, but he only felt remorse. There was no love in this house and there never had been. His mother had made it clear during their many conversations about him moving back to Colton that she expected Dax to move in with her, but that was impossible.

  He would suffocate here.

  Ripe, red cherries still hung in clusters on the wallpaper, and his mother’s precious copper pots, polished to spotless perfection, hung above the large island in the center of the room. He was the only thing that had changed over the years. He found his mother in the dining room, setting the table. The large oak table in the kitchen sat unused—that table was only for show, so people would think they were a normal family. As usual, they would be eating in the more formal room. Dax clenched his teeth, watching her place each knife and fork with precision, making minute adjustments only she would notice. She glanced up at him and then examined the place setting with a critical eye, turning the plate a quarter turn so that the pattern set straight. That’s the way Dorothy Ellis liked things. Keeping up appearances meant more to his mother than greeting the son she hadn’t seen in years.

  “Welcome home, Dax,” his mother finally acknowledged, placing a kiss on his cheek, forgoing a hug that might wrinkle her suit.

  “Hello, Mother.” Dax looked down at the table. How many forks did a person really need to get through a meal? “Looks like you pulled out all the stops for dinner. I thought it was just going to be the two of us,” he said, glancing at the third place setting.

  “Well, dear.” She avoided making eye contact, bustling around the table continuing to fuss even though everything was in place. “Presley is coming to dinner.”

  Dax crossed his arms. “Oh, no, Mother, really?”

  “What? She’s been a good friend of ours for years.”

  “Friend of yours, then. She’s not my friend.”

  His mother gave him her trademark steely glare. “Dax, you’re thirty. Time for you to settle down.”

  “When I’m ready to settle down it will be with a person I’ve chosen and not someone you have chosen for me.”

  “She’s excited to see you. How could I not include her in your welcome-home dinner?”

  Dax watched his mother pat her upswept hair, a style that wouldn’t have moved even in a hurricane. “Why can’t we just have dinner together? I haven’t seen you in years, either.”

  “That’s not my fault.” She fingered the pearls at her neck, a gesture that always indicated her displeasure.

  They stood across the table from each other, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. “I’m not here to fight, Mother,” he said flatly.

  “And I’m just trying to help,” she replied.

  “You don’t need to fix me up. That’s not the help I need.”

  The doorbell rang, cutting the argument short. His mother gave him a triumphant smile.

  “Dax, get the door and please do give Presley a proper welcome.”

  His mother had decided that Presley Beaumont would make the perfect wife for Dax when they were in high school, and for a while he hadn’t seen anything wrong with her plan. Thank God he’d found his way out of Colton and learned he wouldn’t be happy with a woman who never worked for anything in life and didn’t give a damn about anyone other than herself.

  The huge chandelier in the entryway cast tiny droplets of light on the large flowers woven into the rug beneath his feet as he made his way toward the entry. The leaded glass in the door blurred the figure behind it, but it couldn’t disguise the outline of Presley’s hair. He took a deep breath and opened the door with the friendliest expression he could muster.

  “Well, hello, stranger.” Presley threw her arms around his neck, plastering herself against him. She’d managed to find a dress in the most unnatural shade of pink he’d ever seen. It hugged every curve and showed the amount of cleavage that, he figured in her mind, he’d find attractive.

  He pried himself away, trying to make as much space as possible between himself and the sickening sweet smell of cotton candy and baby powder that engulfed him. Holding his breath, he made his way back to the dining room knowing Presley would follow him like a cat chasing a piece of string.

  Presley rushed past him to greet his mother. “Miss Dorothy, it’s so good to see you again!” she cooed.

  “Well, don’t you look pretty tonight. I guess you wanted to look extra nice for someone special,” Dorothy said with an exaggerated wink that sent him straight for the liquor cabinet. “Good idea, Dax. I’ll have sherry,” Dorothy called over her shoulder.

  “I would just love a wine cooler,” Presley requested, batting her eyelashes at him.

  Dax poured himself a shot of bourbon and downed it. He put up with Presley as one of his friend’s younger sisters when they were kids but he had no interest in reacquainting himself with her now. Dax figured out in high school that Presley didn’t have an ounce of common sense under all that hair. And based on his mother’s reports over the years, nothing had changed.

  The two of them looked like mother and daughter, he thought, watching them gossip while he fixed their drinks. Both must have picked the same box of hair color, an unnatural shade of blond that looked like bleached straw. Nothing like Callie Colton’s rich, dark golden curls. He downed the rest of his drink and quickly poured himself another, trying to shake the image of her shocked expression from his head.

  Presley brushed her fingers against his as he handed her the wine cooler. “I’m so glad you’re home, it will be just like old times.”

  “I hope not,” Dax said under his breath, taking another large sip from his glass.

  He nodded and listened with one ear while Presley babbled on about friends from school, updating him on which ones were married and who was pregnant.

  She sighed dreamily, resting her hand on his arm. “I just can’t wait until it’s my turn, standing under the gazebo with a handsome man at my side.”

  The white gazebo stood proudly at the center of the town square, where throughout the years it recorded the history of the town. From summer band concerts and parades to civil rights marches, the beloved structure became a favorite location for family events and weddings, one of the rare places in Colton that hosted celebrations by both Black and White. As time passed, the legend grew that marriages that took place in the gazebo would be long, happy, and fruitful. Most young girls in Colton dreamed of standing under the dome to say their vows.

  “Don’t you two make a handsome couple,” Dorothy observed with an approving
gaze as she set a large plate of ham on the table.

  Presley giggled again. Frowning, Dax looked down at his empty glass. The bourbon couldn’t disguise the bitter taste in his mouth anymore.

  He untangled himself from Presley and moved to pull out his mother’s chair as he’d been taught. He went to take his usual seat when his mother shook her head.

  “Oh no,” Dorothy exclaimed, “you sit at the head of the table. You’re the man of the house now.”

  Dax frowned, moving to the captain’s chair. As much as Dorothy ruled her roost, she was still a traditional Southern woman. It would never occur to her that she could sit at the head of the table after her husband passed away.

  “There,” his mother said with a satisfied smile, “now you can have Presley at your side.” She gave them an approving look, clasping her hands to her chest as Presley took her seat. “My handsome young man, you’re all I have left now that your father’s gone.”

  Dax narrowed his eyes. “You have another son, Mother,” he replied, his temper rising, heart pounding, echoing into a steady drumbeat in his head. It was the same tune that played every time they talked about his brother. Why does she want to pretend he doesn’t even exist?

  Dorothy pursed her lips as if she had just eaten a lemon. “Reid has never been a dutiful son,” she replied.

  “Maybe because you sent him away before he even had a chance to try,” he replied between clenched teeth. He got up to pour himself another glass of bourbon when his mother fingered her pearls again. This was exactly why he wouldn’t ever live in this house again, and exactly why he’d dreaded coming tonight. He loved his mother but her company was miserable, maybe because she was miserable.

  He returned to the table and with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, his mother took a small sip of her sherry and set the glass down, moving it a fraction of an inch before looking at Dax again. “Well, he’s not here now, and let’s not ruin your homecoming by talking about Reid. Let’s talk about the Founders Day dance at the club. It’s one of my favorite events of the year, and I can’t wait to see the two of you on the dance floor together.”

  Dax looked from his mother to Presley, who flipped her hair over her shoulder and winked at him.

  “I’m not planning on going to the dance,” he said.

  Presley’s face fell. “But I was counting on having you as my escort. I turned everybody else down when your mama said you were coming home.”

  “Dax, you really can’t let Presley down,” his mother added.

  Dax knew what his mother was really saying is that he couldn’t let her down. Appearances meant everything to his mother, and she’d probably already bragged to all of her friends about how her precious son would be at the dance.

  “How are things going on the town council?” he asked his mother, trying to change the subject.

  “Everything is running smoothly with a few small exceptions.”

  “I’m going to take over the library. Isn’t that excitin’?” Presley announced.

  “What?” Dax snapped to attention.

  “Proper English, dear; you don’t want to sound like you came from a trailer park,” Dorothy answered, adjusting the string of pearls at her neck.

  Presley straightened her shoulders. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Once we get rid of that Colton girl, we can make sure the library is run properly,” his mother continued.

  “What are you talking about?” Dax narrowed his eyes at his mother, his stomach knotting.

  “That girl is unsuitable to run the library,” his mother said, stabbing her fork into a piece of ham.

  Dax smashed his anger. “Uncle Robert told me Callie has a master’s degree in library science. I can’t imagine anyone more suitable.”

  His mother sniffed, and Presley flipped her hair with a huff. A dull headache began to form at the base of his skull. His mother’s jaw ticked as she carefully set her fork down and steepled her hands in front of her.

  “That girl—”

  “Her name is Callie,” Dax cut her off.

  Dorothy’s lips compressed and spots of color appeared on her cheeks, clashing with the artificial blush she applied every day. “The librarian,” she began again.

  Dax set his drink down and pushed his plate away. “Really, Mother? What is your problem with her? You’ve never liked her, or her family.”

  “Well, you can’t expect those kinds of people to have any class,” Presley said, taking a dainty sip from her wine cooler.

  “What kind of people are you talking about?” Dax demanded, and then waited, because it was just a matter of time before Presley put her foot so far into her mouth she’d choke on it.

  “Well, you know.” Presley shrugged her shoulders.

  Because he did know.

  He knew that his mother still believed the color of her skin gave her an innate superiority. But hearing it from Presley reminded him that leaving Colton had been the right decision, and it had set him on a better path in life. But now he was back, and he had a chance to help his mother confront her prejudice and catch up with the changing times and attitudes. She still believed in a South that had long since faded away into history. Dorothy Ellis lived in a small world of her own making, and Dax wanted to do what he could to guide her toward living successfully in the real one.

  His mother continued her rant. “It doesn’t matter how much money her father has. There are some things money can’t buy. Her mother always wanted more than what she deserved.”

  “What does that even mean?” he asked.

  “People need to keep their place.”

  “Times have changed Mother, your…attitude is—”

  “There is nothing wrong with my attitude,” his mother bristled.

  Presley watched wide eyed, her head bobbing back and forth as if she was watching a tennis match.

  Between his mother’s attitude and Presley’s cheap perfume, he wasn’t sure he could keep what he’d eaten down. He shoved his chair back and stood up, tossed his napkin on the table. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  He walked away, leaving his mother fuming and Presley staring at him open-mouthed. Once he made it outside he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the warm night air.

  He climbed into his car and started on the engine. His childhood home grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, just like his hope for a different relationship with his mother as he drove away. If he had any sense that his mother might have softened over the years, her behavior at dinner crushed it.

  He would never be like his mother, he vowed. She had done her best to turn him into a replica of herself, but he would never be like her. Dax repeated it like a mantra as he drove back to his uncle’s home.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket as he pulled into Robert’s driveway.

  “Dax, you need to apologize to Presley for your rude behavior during dinner,” his mother commanded.

  “I have nothing to apologize for. You were the ones being rude.” His teeth clenched so tight he thought they might break.

  “You will not be disrespectful, Dax. You must remember we have a reputation to uphold.”

  Dax snorted a laugh. “What reputation, Mother, being snobs?”

  “There is nothing wrong with having high standards.” Her reply was cold and unyielding.

  Dax glanced up as Uncle Robert wandered out to the porch and leaned against the railing with a beer in his hand. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Dax, clearly surprised to see him returning from dinner so early.

  “When are you moving in?” his mother continued.

  “I’m not. I bought the Barton Building and I’ll be staying with Uncle Robert until I can move in there.”

  “What in the world are you thinking? I was counting on you to stay with me.”

  Dax pulled the phone away from his ear while his mother shouted about his obligation to be a dutiful son.

  The familiar pang of guilt took up residence near his heart. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I
have to get my business up and running.”

  “You could do that from here, in your father’s office.” Her voice took on a familiar cajoling tone that made him wince. “Dax, I’m not getting any younger and it’s time for you to carry on the family legacy. It won’t be for long—once you and Presley are married you can get a place of your own. Of course this house is big enough that if the two of you wanted—”

  “No, Mother,” Dax cut her off.

  The silence on the other end of the line made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. It was a tactic she’d always used, silence, making him squirm until the quiet made him give in. Those days were over. He gritted his teeth, waiting.

  “I see.” Her words were clipped and then the line abruptly went dead.

  Dax kicked the dirt at his feet. He would suffer through a country club dinner to make amends and keep the peace for now.

  “Hungry?” Uncle Robert asked when he joined him on the porch.

  “Can I start with one of those?” Dax asked, nodding toward the beer in Robert’s hand.

  Reaching down, he picked up another bottle and tossed it to Dax with a chuckle. “Figured you’d need this when I saw you come home from dinner early.”

  Dax sat down next to his uncle leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “Why did I think anything had changed?”

  “Let me guess, your mother ambushed you with Presley Beaumont.”

  “That and then she started bad mouthing Callie and talking about people keeping their place.”

  Uncle Robert’s mouth turned down. “I’m sorry son, some folks cling to old ideas because they’re afraid of change or admitting they’re wrong.”

  But that’s exactly what Dax had done. Admitting he was wrong allowed him to change and become a better person.

  He wasn’t the only one who’d changed, though. Callie Colton’s skin was just a touch darker than he remembered, a light golden brown, with blond highlights running through her tawny curls. But it was the eyes and the way they looked at him with the same wariness that hadn’t changed at all.