Page 157 of South of Nowhere

Shaw gazed at him levelly. “Han, I’ve been attacked with a shovel, been shot at and nearly drowned. My sister’s associate got shot. She was nearly killed too. And she and I saved Nowhere from Noah’s flood. Her fee and my reward? Those normally would cost a quarter million dollars and you’re not being charged one penny. You’re a good mayor, I can see that. People like you and respect you, and you stood up today when the town needed you. Stick with what you’re good at.”

His eyes on the trickling river.

Shaw could read his face. The debate.

Finally, a sigh.

“All right, Mr. Shaw. All right…”

He unenthusiastically reached out and shook Shaw’s hand.

The men parted ways. As Shaw walked to the bike, his phone chimed. A text from Dorion:

Problem. Tony’s camera caught a blue SUV, Oregon plates, driving to and from Compound. He went to check. Mary Dove left a note on door. She was expecting a delivery. She said pleaseredeliver. And gave the address of motel she booked here. If it was Margaret and she saw it, she’s on the way to Hinowah. We’re at Mrs. Petaluma’s.

He replied.

Leaving now.

70.

Colter parked the Yamaha outside Mrs. Petaluma’s house.

Mary Dove’s pickup was nearby, as was Dorion’s SUV.

There was another vehicle too. Annie Coyne’s Jeep Wrangler, back to its topless state. The forecast was in. No rain was predicted. One weatherman said that the recent inundation would have virtually no effect on California’s drought.

Colter walked to the front door and rang a bell.

“Come in.” It was his mother’s voice.

He slipped off his shoes—protocol, it was clear—and stepped inside. He studied the cozy place, filled with mismatched furniture, in many different styles, from mission to JCPenney house brand to contempo black leather. Family pictures and Indigenous decorations and paintings and drawings. Comfortable in the way that Annie Coyne’s house was, and in a way that his house—he actually owned one, in Florida—decidedly was not.

He smelled cooking fish and upon entering the kitchen he found Mary Dove in charge of the stove, and Dorion, Mrs. Petaluma and Annie at a round table that dominated the space. Mrs. Petaluma was shelling peas. It wasn’t harvest season, but Colter had seen a hothouse on the south side of the property. Crops all year round.

Annie looked his way. She was pleased to see him, as he was her, but there was a pall in her eyes. He recalled the slim piece of paper that foretold the likely end of her generations-old farm.

He whispered to Dorion, “Tony’s text.”

She nodded. “I saw it. We’ll have to warn her before we go outside again. At least she’s got her weapon.”

Colter noted the big Ruger on their mother’s hip.

He wondered again. What was their half-sister’s mission?

Mary Dove took the colander holding the peas and boiled them, then drained the pan, and added butter and some herbs from a small window garden. Mrs. Petaluma removed a potato casserole from the oven. Colter asked about the location of the china and utensils, as he, Coyne and Dorion set the table.

The plates were handed out and each person filled theirs to near the breaking point.

“Need a levee to keep the sauce in,” Dorion remarked.

Laughter.

Mary Dove occasionally said a type of grace in the Colter household before meals. It was not spiritual, but simply a recognition that the family was together. It often ended with “And another day has passed, and we’ve survived.”

This often drew a smile from everyone, even—until his last months—Ashton.

Today, though, the meal was ceremony free, and they dug in. The hamburger had dented but not derailed Colter’s appetite.

---