Dawson’s phone rang. It was Christine.
“Hi, love,” he answered. “How’re you?”
“Good. How are things going over there?”
“Just getting started, really. How are the boys?”
She told him Sly was at school while she stayed at home with Hosiah, who was doing well. He was spending less time in bed and more time constructing his toy cars and rockets.
“There’s a little problem, though,” she said. “Sly had a nightmare last night.”
“A nightmare? About what?” But Dawson knew already instinctively. “The beheading?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no.” Dawson let out a long sigh. “Poor kid. I underestimated how much this was going to affect him. How is Hosiah reacting?”
“He seemed to be fine after you gave him the talk yesterday, but he heard Sly yelling out in his sleep before I did, so that has thrown him off again.”
“I’m sorry, Christine. If only I hadn’t been so careless.”
“No point crying over spilled milk,” she said briskly. “What’s done is done. Now we have to fix it. Any ideas?”
Something occurred to Dawson. “What about you and the boys coming to spend the weekend with me? Seeing me alive and well will go a long way to reassuring them, don’t you think?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed, her voice taking on new energy. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“I’ll ask Abe if it’s okay with him for you to stay with me in the lodge. Don’t tell the kids about our idea until I confirm with him.”
“There’s not much petrol in the car, though,” she said, “and I’m low on cash until next pay day. I’ll have to borrow a little money from someone. Mama can probably give me something. Alternatively, we can go there by tro-tro to save some money.”
“No, never,” he said in alarm. Tro-tros, the ubiquitous, privately owned minivans that transported the masses from point A to B, were often in a dangerous state of disrepair. Like his mother, who had had a mortal fear of tro-tros, Dawson saw them only as deathtraps. “Just get some cash, and I’ll pay back whatever money you borrow when you get here.”
Hosiah was waiting to talk to his dad. Dawson immediately detected the increased energy in his son’s voice when he came on the line, and gone was the slight underlying breathlessness he had had before.
“When are you coming back, Daddy?” he asked.
“As soon as I can. You sound much stronger, Champ.”
“Yes, I am. Soon I’ll be able to play soccer again, won’t I, Daddy?”
“Yes, I’m sure you will.” He was going to tell Hosiah that he still needed to take it easy, but he had said that enough times. The boy was intuitive about his body and knew by now how far he could push himself.
