The Best of Me(15)

The truck, Marilyn was told, was owned by Tuck Hostetler. The driver, who would soon be charged with felony death by motor vehicle and involuntary manslaughter, was eighteen years old and already in handcuffs.

His name was Dawson Cole.



Two miles from the outskirts of Oriental—and the curve he’d never forget—Dawson spotted the old gravel turnoff that led to the family land and automatically found himself thinking about his father. When Dawson was in the county jail awaiting trial, a guard had appeared suddenly and informed him that he had a visitor. A minute later, his father was standing before him, chewing on a toothpick.

“Runnin’ off, seeing that rich girl, making plans. And where do you end up? In jail.” He saw the malicious glee in his father’s expression. “You thought you was better than me, but you ain’t. You’re just like me.”

Dawson said nothing, feeling something close to hatred as he glared at his father from the corner of his cell. He vowed then and there that whatever happened, he would never speak to his father again.

There was no trial. Against the advice of the public defender, Dawson pleaded guilty, and against the advice of the prosecutor, he was given the maximum sentence. At Caledonia Correctional in Halifax, North Carolina, he worked on the prison farm, helping to grow corn, wheat, cotton, and soybeans, sweating beneath a blistering dog-day sun as he harvested or freezing in icy northern winds as he tilled. Though he corresponded with Tuck through the mail, in four years he never had a single visitor.

After his release, Dawson was placed on parole and returned to Oriental. He worked for Tuck and heard the townsfolk’s whispers on his occasional supply runs to the automotive store. He knew he was a pariah, a no-good Cole who’d killed not only the Bennetts’ son-in-law but the town’s only doctor, and the guilt he felt was overwhelming. In those moments, he would pay a visit to a florist in New Bern, then later to the cemetery in Oriental where Dr. Bonner had been buried. He would place the flowers on the grave, either early in the morning or late at night, when few people were around. Sometimes he stayed for an hour or more, thinking about the wife and children Dr. Bonner had left behind. Other than that, he spent that year largely in the shadows, trying his best to stay out of sight.

His family wasn’t through with him, though. When his father came to the garage to start collecting Dawson’s money again, he brought Ted with him. His father had a shotgun, Ted had a baseball bat, but it was a mistake to have come without Abee. When Dawson told them to get off the property, Ted moved quickly but not quick enough: Four years of working in the sun-packed fields had hardened Dawson, and he was ready for them. He broke Ted’s nose and jaw with a crowbar and disarmed his father before cracking the old man’s ribs. While they were lying on the ground, Dawson aimed the shotgun at them, warning them not to come back. Ted wailed that he was going to kill him; Dawson’s father simply scowled. After that, Dawson slept with the shotgun by his side and seldom left the property. He knew they could have come for him at any time, but fate is unpredictable. Crazy Ted ended up stabbing a man in a bar less than a week later and was hauled off to prison. And for whatever reason, his daddy never came back. Dawson didn’t question it. Instead, he counted the days until he would finally be able to leave Oriental, and when his parole ended he wrapped the shotgun in an oilcloth, boxed it up, and buried it at the foot of an oak tree near the corner of Tuck’s house. Afterward he packed his car, said good-bye to Tuck, and hit the highway, finally ending up in Charlotte. He found a job as a mechanic, and in the evenings he took classes in welding at the community college. From there, he made his way to Louisiana and took a job at a refinery. That eventually led to the job on the rigs.

Since his release he’d kept a low profile, and for the most part he was alone. He never visited friends because he didn’t have any. He hadn’t dated anyone since Amanda because, even now, she was all he could think about. To get close to someone, anyone, meant allowing that person to learn about his past, and the thought made him recoil. He was an ex-con from a family of criminals, and he’d killed a good man. Though he’d served his sentence and had tried to make amends ever since, he knew he’d never forgive himself for what he’d done.



Getting close now. Dawson was approaching the spot where Dr. Bonner had been killed. Vaguely, he noticed that the trees near the curve had been replaced by a low, squat building fronted by a gravel parking lot. He kept his eyes on the road, refusing to look.

Less than a minute later, he was in Oriental. He passed through downtown and crossed the bridge that spanned the confluence of Greens Creek and Smith Creek. As a boy, when trying to avoid his family, he’d often sit near the bridge, watching the sailboats and imagining the faraway harbors they might have visited and the places he one day wanted to go.