get you a chair to sit on.”
He’d lost. He knew when to let it go.
Jackson sat down next to him. “Lucky for you, Layla Silver will be there, too.”
“Thanks...that makes it all better.” Gage finished off his pie. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”
He made it upstairs to his room and collapsed on the bed that had the same bedspread he’d used as a teen. The posters on the walls were of bull riders he’d looked up to as a kid. Justin McBride, J. W. Hart and Chris Shivers. He crooked one arm behind his head and thought about how life had changed. He’d wanted to be them. Now he rode in some of the same events they’d ridden in. But he was still running from life.
Since he had time he flipped on the TV and searched for reruns of the finals. He didn’t find them so he settled for a few minutes of a popular sitcom. A guy who had made mistakes and was trying to make amends to the people he’d hurt. Gage thought about how much he had in common with the guy in that show. Since his bull wreck at the finals, he’d been thinking a lot about his list of wrongs.
How did he make amends to the people he’d hurt? Where did he start? He sighed, because he knew that he needed to start with the person he’d hurt the most. The person who liked him the least.
How did he do that without giving her the wrong idea?
* * *
The parking lot at Back Street Community Center held about fifty cars. So far there were only a dozen or so. Layla parked her old truck and reached for the green bean casserole she’d brought. In the passenger seat, Brandon looked miserable and almost as green as the casserole.
“Come on. You can help serve.” She handed him the dish. “Don’t drop it.”
“I think I can manage to carry a pan.” He had that sullen, teen look on his face. She ignored it because she knew he wanted to get a rise out of her.
“Let’s go, then.”
“Why can’t I help the guys put together the buildings for the nativity?” He nodded in the direction of Bethlehem, or at least the Dawson version.
As they walked by, the star over the manger lit up briefly, flickered and went out again. Someone yelled that they’d found the short in the cord.
Brandon slowed, probably hoping she’d tell him to do what he wanted. She shook her head.
“You’re going inside.”
He groaned. “I thought helping out was a good thing, and you’re telling me I can’t.”
“You’re helping, just not where you want to help.”
They walked through the light mist to the front of the church that Jeremy and Beth Hightree had turned into a community center. Brandon lagged, his face one of absolute misery. For a second she almost caved, nearly told him he could help with the nativity buildings. But then she remembered why she’d dragged him along.
Days like this made her wish for someone to lean on. An aunt or uncle, anyone. But the one uncle they had was just as bad an alcoholic as their father had been. An aunt who was married lived in Africa. She and her husband were missionaries and rarely came home.
She walked through the doors of the old church and paused for a moment, feeling a wonderful sense of calm. The sanctuary of the church had been turned into a dining room. Tables were spread with white cloths. Pretty centerpieces added color. Layla could smell the aroma seeping up the steps. Turkey, ham, all of the typical Thanksgiving foods for this community dinner.
Peace. She looked to the front of the church where the wooden cross still hung on the wall. For a brief moment she closed her eyes and drew on a strength that came from within. She didn’t have family to turn to but she had God. She had a community that loved her.
“Are you going to stand here all night?” Brandon sulked behind her.
“No.” She moved on, walking through the sanctuary to the stairs.
“I’m going to stay the night with Lance,” Brandon informed her as they headed down the stairs.
“No, you’re not.” She took the dish from his hands. The friend he’d mentioned was off-limits. “You’re going to help me and then we’re going home. And you’re going to stay home. You’re grounded.”
“Layla, you’re five feet tall. How are you gonna make me?” He towered over her. She knew he had a point. And it made her mad. In the past year he’d started challenging her, making things difficult. It had been easy when he was little. Now he needed a dad.
Standing in the kitchen of the community center, they had an audience. He did that on purpose. He picked public places to argue because he thought she would give in.
“Brandon, you’re staying home.”
“Who’s going to stop me if I decide to leave?”
“I guess I’ll make you.” She knew that voice.
Gage stepped out of the shadows. He’d shaved and changed into new jeans and a button-up shirt. He’d left behind the shadow of growth on his chin. The dark stubble distracted her. He was talking again and Brandon looked a little cornered.
“Brandon, if I have to, I’ll drive you home and I’ll make sure you stay there.”
Brandon smirked. “Who gave you a suit of armor and a white horse?”
Layla’s thoughts exactly. Brandon had probably heard her say that at some point. She’d repeated more than once that she didn’t need help. She could handle things. But lately it had been getting a lot harder. Losing her job had been the last straw.
“I don’t need a suit of armor, jack...” Gage closed his mouth and then smiled across the kitchen at his mother, who had cleared her throat to stop him from going too far.
“Well, I don’t need you to play daddy to me. I’m doing just fine.”
Gage got close to her brother. “You’re going to serve turkey, smile and be polite to your sister. If not, we’ll call the police and have a talk with them about you coming home drunk.”
Layla wanted to scream. Gage Cooper had been home for one day and suddenly he thought he had to ride to her rescue. She could do this. She’d been doing this for a long time. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought about how to take control of the situation.
Angie Cooper appeared at her side, always warm and smiling, always generous. Layla wanted to sink into her arms, but she couldn’t let herself be comforted right now. It was too risky because she was too close to falling apart.
“Let Gage do this.” Angie slipped an arm around Layla. “You need to take a deep breath and let people help.”
Layla nodded, but she couldn’t speak. Her strength was a thin cord that was unraveling. Instead of objections she mumbled something like “thank you,” and then she allowed Angie Cooper to lead her back to the kitchen, where they searched for serving spoons and talked about the weather forecast.
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