Page 85 of In the Dust

24

Imove the record player out of grandpa's room and into the living room. Then I head back into his bedroom to flip through his old records, stopping when I find the Billie Holiday and Louis Armstrong vinyl’s. I run my fingers across one of the covers, stirring up the smell of old cardboard and plastic. Memories of late-night dancing in the living room with him come flooding back.

Granddad is leaning back in the recliner; his lips are slightly parted with light snores escaping them. A small grin crosses my face as I slide the old vinyl out of its sleeve and place it on the record player. I turn the power knob until I hear a small pop, then I gently lift the needle. As the disk begins to spin, I place it near the edge of the large record.

A beautiful, timeless classic strums through the speakers. Whimsical piano notes float through the air, followed by the best jazz trumpeter, Louis Armstrong. His rich, distinctive voice fills my ears. Gravelly notes singing ‘La Vie En Rose’, one of my favorites.

Before plopping down on the couch, I slide my phone out of my back pocket and sneak a quick picture of the old man snoring on the chair. I let out a little groan as I sit back, throwing my feet up on the coffee table. I haven’t heard from Colton since this morning, so I decide to send him a little something.

Me: I miss your face. Come over for dinner tonight?

Colton Wesley<3: Miss you more. Wouldn’t miss it.

I quickly closeout the app and set my phone on the table as Grandpa stirs.

He clears his throat. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

I let out a small giggle. “You sure did.”

He closes his eyes again, tilting his head back and forth, “Louis, one of my favorites,” he reminds me as he begins to hum the beautiful jazz song.

“I know, Gramps.” I pause for a moment, taking in his tranquil look. “Do you remember dancing to different songs with me when I was younger?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart. You were so little.” He opens his eyes to look at me. “I would hold your little hands while you stood on my feet. You were too clumsy for your own good. It was just easier to carry you.”

For goodness’s sake, I told myself I wouldn't cry. But here I am, trying my damndest to hold back these tears.

“How about I make something quick for lunch?”

“Make it light. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

I give him a small smile before making my way to the kitchen.

Dad is sitting at the table with an exasperated look while clutching a piece of paper in his hand. As a matter of fact, the table is littered with papers. He must be going over the monthly bills.

I pull the refrigerator door open and begin rummaging for a few ingredients to make a quick sandwich. I peek my head into the pantry and grab out a carton of broth and pour it into the pot on the stove.

I look back at Dad as I walk over to prepare my sandwich. “Whatcha doin’?”

He takes a deep breath. “Going over bills for the month.”

“Will everything be okay?” We can’t sell this place.

“You want the truth?”

No. “Yes.”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to make the bills this month, kiddo.”

No. Surely, we can sell the cattle or something. Suddenly this sandwich doesn’t seem so appetizing.

As if he’s reading my mind, he adds, “Even if we were to sell the cattle, we’d take a loss. The market is better around March.”

I need a miracle. We need a miracle. Those seem to be few and far between with our family. We seem to get the short end of the stick.

“So, what do we do?” I shift from one foot to the other, still holding a butterknife. “I could get a job.”

“Kiddo, I wish it was that simple. It takes a lot to run this farm. It’s not just the bills. It’s feed, it’s maintenance, vets, and other necessities.”

---