Page 3 of Sweet Courage

“Mason is dyslexic.”

Now confusion gave way to wide-eyed surprise. Her grip on her own hands tightened. Her jaw dropped slightly open, then snapped shut again before she finally found words. “I should have known.”

“No. Do not blame yourself. Even qualified teachers confuse early signs of dyslexia with ordinary alphabet challenges. Every kid confuses b and d or m and n. When a kid like Mason flips the last letters and writes Lost instead of Lots, a specialist in neurodivergence will pick up on that as a potential sign of dyslexia, but the average kindergarten or first-grade teacher will not. Do not blame yourself.”

Jess pressed her lips together. One breath. Then: “So what do we do?”

Delighted that Jess didn’t go into denial like some parents who consider a learning difference a sign of genetic failure, but was ready to take action, Kat slapped her hands together and leaned forward. “Now, we give him the tools for success!”

Chapter Two

“I really tried to order everything I needed.” Alice Sweet sighed. “Some days, with so many interruptions, I can’t remember if I’m coming or going.”

All Hanson could think was welcome to my world.

“I could have sworn I had bought lemons. How can I make lemon meringue pie without lemons?”

He knew the question was rhetorical so he didn’t bother to answer that. “If there’s time, I could run to the store and pick some up for you.” The way Alice’s gaze ceased darting from one corner of the kitchen to the other and settled on him, he knew what she was debating. Could he find his way to the store and back? “It’s a straight shot from the road in front to Main Street. I couldn’t possibly get lost.”

A deep sigh accompanied sagging shoulders. “No. You couldn’t.” She smiled. “But the time it would take to drive to town and back, I wouldn’t be able to bake a pie before dinner.” This time her eyes traveled from the oven to the fridge to the counter and then, back to him. “Maybe I could have you pick up a pie from the café. If I call ahead, Agnes can have it ready for you.”

As ludicrous as it was, her trusting him to run an errand in town made him feel the most normal he’d felt since that stupid explosion rattled his brains and scrambled his ability to remember whether he was coming or going—literally. “I can do that.”

Now her attention diverted out the kitchen window. Lips pressed tightly together and eyes narrowed in concentration, she swung around to face him. “Do you know how to drive a stick shift?”

Did he?

“My personal car is the only one available. The men each took a truck out to work the fence lines, and not a single family member is at the ranch today.”

Forcing his mind to dig back into its memory banks, visions of his father’s Corvette came to mind. That old sports car had a manual transmission and he did remember taking Madeleine Thompson to senior prom in his dad’s car. “Yes. I do.”

“Wonderful.” Her smile beamed as she reached for a hook by the back door and spinning about, tossed him the keys. “You get going. I’ll call Agnes and let her know you’re coming.”

With a nod, he squeezed the keys in his hands until the jagged edges bit into his palm, pushed to his feet, and not till he was seated in the old SUV did he breathe easy. The vehicle was so old that the diagram on the gearshift had faded with time and only his muscle memory would get him out of the front drive. Maybe.

Curling his fingers around the knob, he closed his eyes, pleased to find that his left foot had depressed the clutch and his right hand had moved the stick. Thank heaven muscle memory had indeed kicked in. Another few minutes and he was off Sweet land and rolling toward town, and couldn’t have been happier if he’d won the Irish Sweepstakes. Once he’d reached town, he breathed even more freely. Leaving the car in what he hoped was neutral, he pulled the parking brake and stepped out of the SUV. He’d done it. He’d driven alone to a semi-familiar place and not gotten lost. It would not have been best-case scenario had he found himself in Oklahoma instead of on Main Street.

Inside the café things were slow. He supposed at mid afternoon they were experiencing the post lunch and pre-dinner lull. Not sure which way to go, actually, he couldn’t decide if he was confused because this was his first time inside the café, or because of how his brain had been perpetually scrambled since the explosion.

“You must be Hanson.” A smiling woman in a waitress uniform scurried in his direction. His next question was did he stick out like a sore thumb because he was in khakis and loafers instead of denim and boots, or if it was merely obvious to everyone in this small town that he was new. “Alice phoned ahead. You’ve got our last two lemon meringue pies. Have a seat and I’ll bring them right out.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He did his best to flash a friendly smile then sat on the nearest red vinyl covered chair as instructed. On her way back to the kitchen, the lady stopped to say a few words at just about every other table. Something told him she was not just a waitress.

The bell over the front door rang reminding him of a scene from some long-ago movie where store fronts were small, quaint, and real bells announced newcomers. Laughter was the first sound after the bell. A soft, sweet rumble that had his gaze dropping from the brass bell to the long-haired blonde wearing a bright smile and, eyes twinkling, muttered something softly and slipped her cell phone into her pocket. By the time he was five years old, his mother had taught him not to stare, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d seen plenty of long-legged, bright-eyed blondes in his day, even dallied with a few along the way, but none had grabbed his attention with the strength of a five-hundred-pound gorilla with no intention of loosening his grip. If the sun broke through the roof and shined a beam of light onto her while angels sang the Hallelujah Chorus, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Here you go.”

Regretfully, he turned his attention to the voice beside him.

The lady stood with two cardboard boxes tied together with red and white twine.

“Thank you.” Accepting the package, he wished he’d had a hat on to tip. Something about this town made him feel like he should be doing old-fashioned gestures.

“Alice knows to keep it in a cool place till she serves tonight.”

“I’ll remind her. Thank you again.” He was speaking to the nice waitress but he was much more aware of the blonde chatting away with a couple and their two small kids at a nearby booth. For whatever reason, he understood how the moth simply could not resist the pull of the flame even if flying into the fire meant assured death. Too bad. Another place and time and, well….wasn’t that his life story from now on?

Pies safely placed on the floor of the back seat, Hanson sucked in a deep breath, placed his hand on the gear shift and unlike before, his mind went completely blank. More than once the doctors had warned him that if he overexerted, did too much, being tired would affect his ability to think clearly. They simply didn’t mention that driving into town and picking up a couple of pies could be overexerting. Sucking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes once again. His foot bumped against the clutch, or was it the brake? And his hand squeezed the stick shift knob but didn’t move. Where the heck was drive?