Morning was around him, bathing him in its soft glow. The grass was wet, the flowers dew kissed. The sky was adorned with clouds and sun, and the blue that he was so used to was now a burning orange.

Cal bent down on one knee to pet the Scottish Terrier.

The dog seemingly smiled and bounced about, sending the small dog tag into a jingle.

“Hungry, aren't you?” Cal said the words quietly, although he made no move to get the animal breakfast. In fact, he stayed there for a long time after, just petting the dog and somehow soothing the ache inside of him.

“Are you going to feed that animal, Cal?” The aged voice was soft, reaching his ears from the open window of the house.

He gave the dog one last pat, then saw to the animal's food and drink. When he came back into the house, it was only to find his grandmother waiting for him, hands on her hips.

He knew what that meant, and for a few moments he waited for her to speak. When she did nothing of the sort, he asked, “Am I in trouble?”

“Not yet.” Her smile was sad, and when she moved to one of the kitchen chairs, it struck him all over again how fragile and slow she was getting. “Sit down, Cal. Sit here.”

He did as he was told. Some of his friends badgered him about her. They said at eighteen years old he should make his own way in life. But Cal couldn't leave her. She'd been the only parent figure he'd ever had, and now she needed him. He couldn't deny her that.

“Cal Brown, you're going to send me to an early grave.”

He blinked at her, studying her features, trying to read into her glassy, sharp eyes. “Huh?”

“You know what I'm talking about.” She reached out and patted his hand. “Tell me what's bothering you, Cal.”

He couldn't help but smile. “Why do I get the feeling you already know?”

“Because I do—I just want to hear you say it.”

Of course she'd make it hard for him. She had never been an easy woman—and she certainly never spoiled him or catered to him. But she had loved him, and in a world where everything around him seemed to be unstable, he had groped for that love. It had kept him going—and maybe still did.

He sighed. “The nightmares. They keep getting worse.”

“You scream a lot.” Her eyes were compassionate, her lips slightly trembling. “I always want to go to you, like when you were little.” She paused, the trembling growing worse until he could feel it in the fragile hand laid across his. “I don't think it will help anymore, do you?”

“Listen, Nannie.” He sat up straight, leaning forward, fire consuming his features. “I need the truth. I can't go on like this.”

“The nightmares.” She bit the edge of her lip. “Tell me again—tell me the recent ones. What do you see?”

“It's always the same.” Cal withdrew his hand from under hers. He wished the burning would go away. He wished his heart would stop squeezing, and the lump would swallow down.

“Go on, Cal,” she urged sweetly.

“I'm little.”

“You were four.”

“I'm always sitting on someone's lap, listening to a watch.” Cal dropped his eyes. “Then the watch stops ticking. I don't remember what happens next—as if that part just sort of blacks out.”

She nodded. “And?”

“And then I'm outside, under a bush or something. There's fire—screams—gunshots.” Cal's lips trembled. “That's all I remember—now tell me the truth.” Cal swallowed. “That man—he was my father, wasn't he?”

“Yes.”

“And my mother?”
Her features twisted, and for a moment, a look of fear swept across her features. “Cal, I can't tell you.”

“Why not?” Cal stood to his feet. “Nannie, you have to!”
“I don't have to do anything but pay taxes and die, young man.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Now, listen. The truth has been buried a lot of years. I don't see the point in digging it up—and I wouldn't, except I see what it's doing to you.”

Cal didn't move.

“What I have to say isn't pretty. They're will be people you'd like to find and kill. If I tell you the truth, I want your word that you will never, not ever, do anything to seek revenge. Do you hear me, Cal?”

“I promise, Nannie. Just please.” Cal stepped closer, kneeling in front of her. “Please, tell me.”

“Your mother had an affair with a man named James Cornwall, shortly after you turned four. Your father heard about it, and declared publicly that he was going to kill that man for messing around with his wife.” She paused, eyes searching his face. “Should I go on?”

“Yes,” it was a breathless whisper, even as he stared up at her with tears. “Please.

“James Cornwall must have heard the threat, because two nights later, he entered your house.”

“Just after I was sitting on father's knee, with the watch.”

“Yes.” She took in a breath. “He shot your father, while he was holding you. Your mother screamed, and in a frantic rush threw you out of the house to protect you.”

“I must have went under a bush.”

She nodded. “Must have. James pleaded with your mother to go away with him, but she refused. Now she was a witness, so his only choice was to shoot her and catch the house on fire to destroy the evidence. It's said that searched all night looking for you, but he never found you.”

“Why hasn't he found me, since then?”

His Nannie frowned. “Cal, I...”

“What?”

“Cal, I changed your last name. I brought you across the country, and buried every ounce of the past. Keeping you safe was all that mattered.”

“What is my name, then?” he whispered.

“Cal Jordon.” It was the last words she said before he left the room, not speaking another word.

<>

Rage surged through him in waves so strong, so pungent, that it left him breathless. He gripped his bedpost. He took in a breath. How could she not tell him—all those years—knowing his nightmares? How could she change his name? How could she run from it, like a coward hovering in a dark corner, afraid of the one thing that needed faced?

Cal clenched his fist, sighing. Maybe he had no right to judge her. After all, she was only a frightened woman with a baby to protect.

But he wasn't a baby—not anymore. Now he was a man.

“Cal, honey.” Again her voice.

His jaw muscles worked. Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

“Are you alright?”

“No.” He turned slowly, facing her. “I can't stay here, and you know it.”

“You promised.” Her face, her aged features, turned crestfallen and broken, as if he'd just handed her the moon—only to take it away again. “Cal, you promised,” she whispered again.

Cal didn't speak. Not for a long time. When he finally did, his voice was soft, forced, “Nannie, what do you really expect of me? Go on being someone I'm not, with a name that isn't mine? Hiding from the man who killed my parents?”

“You aren't hiding, and you aren't someone you're not. You stopped being Cal Jordon a lot of years ago. You left a bad thing behind, but you've got a better future.”

“Where?”

“Here—with me. You can make a life for yourself. You can find yourself a Mrs. Brown and—”

“And let James Cornwall go free? Unpunished? Is that what you'd have of me? Just forget it and shrink away from it?”

“The police haven't found him all these years. Do you really think a kid just out of high school could do any better?”

“Maybe the kid out of high school has more of a reason to find him. Maybe he won't give up as easy. Maybe I'm what it would take to finally bring justice.”

“And maybe you're digging your own grave.”

<>

Cal stepped outside. Again, the familiar and sweet scent of morning hit him in the face, and when he lifted his eyes to the horizon, he found the sun ascending into an orange sky.

The Scottish Terrier was immediately at his heels, barking and wagging its tail.

Cal bent to one knee. “She was crying last night,” he whispered to the dog. He closed his eyes. He closed them tight. He closed them and he had no will to ever open them again. Why in the world had he promised her to stay out of it? To leave revenge to the Creator, and to pretend it never happened?

But he had. He'd promised his grandmother—and now he was going against it. He'd packed his things today. Just a school duffle bag with few clothes, some money, and a sandwich. Just enough to break her heart. Just enough to bring tears to her eyes when she woke up and found him gone.

What was wrong with him?

He opened his eyes, scanning his surroundings, looking far past where he'd ever paused to notice.

God, show me what's right. Even as he prayed this, he knew. He knew that if he went inside and grabbed that bag, that if he crossed that threshold and boarded that bus...

Then he'd be making the biggest mistake of his life.

Maybe his name wasn't Cal Brown—but it was who he had become. Maybe his life wasn't everything he wanted it to be. Maybe he'd been wroned and maybe he'd been haunted. He'd suffered a life without parents—and it was all one man's fault.

The Scottish Terrier's saw-paper-like tongue licked his hand. Very lightly and slowly, Cal smiled. Maybe it was all worth breaking a promise and a heart—but then again, maybe it wasn't. Maybe he wanted to spend the rest of his life under a name that wasn't his, in a town where a sweet, stubborn old woman lived, with a dog that licked his hand. Maybe he wanted to greet each morning, as he was doing now.

With each breaking dawn, maybe he'd remember all he'd lost. But at least he'd be home with the one person who had ever truly loved him. At least he could have hope that the next breaking dawn could only be easier, that the pain could only be duller. Because time heals, that's what he'd always heard. He had to believe that. He just had to.

Cal gave the dog one last pat, then went back into the small house. His grandmother wasn't up yet, but Cal paid no mind.

He went back into his room and unpacked the bag. He had just finished feeding the dog his sandwich, when his grandmother opened her bedroom door.

She didn't say a word, and Cal didn't either. Instead, they walked to a window, and groped for the silent promise that with each breaking dawn would come healing that no revenge could ever bring.