Page 86 of In the Dust

Don’t say it, not now.

“I know a lot goes into this place; I grew up here. I came back to help so y’all would save some money and not have to hire new hands.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “It’s more than likely we’ll have to start looking into selling this place. Once these bills are past due. If we’re lucky, we’ll have about three months until the sheriff serves us foreclosure papers.”

I turn back to my sandwich and close my eyes for a minute. Three months. Deep breath, Dixie, you need to be strong.

“Okay,” I breathe out as I walk back over to the stove, pulling the pot from the heat.

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Usually, you have more to say.” He’s not wrong. “I figured we’d at least argue about saving this place.”

“It’s still early, and I’m spending time with Grandpa … Raincheck?”

A deep rumble leaves his chest. “It’s a date.”

A violent hacking cough sound starts coming from the other room. It stops me where I stand, and I look at Dad. “He sounds worse.”

A sad look crosses his face. “His cough is getting worse.”

I don’t want to think about it. That’s all that’s left; it gets worse and then he’s gone. I want to focus on the now and what time I have left.

“I know,” I say as I walk over to him and plant a kiss on his cheek.

I head back out to the living room and set the warm bowl of broth on the small TV table next to Grandpa’s chair.

“I put an ice cube in there for you, so just give it a minute.”

I set my plate on the coffee table as I sit back on the couch. Then I pick up one half of the sandwich and take a bite. The woody, smoked ham blends well with the rich flavor of the cheese. It’s one of my favorite sandwiches, but I can’t seem to stomach it as I watch Grandpa struggle with his soup.

He hasn’t been eating much lately, and it worries me. I know it’s a part of it, loss of appetite, but I’m still not ready. I manage to choke down half of my sandwich; I’ll wrap the rest.

Grandpa forces down three spoonfuls of the broth before pushing the bowl away from him. He sits back. “Play our song, Dix.”

I smile, trying to fight back the constricting sensation in my throat. I take our dishes back to the kitchen. When I return, I slide the wooden coffee table closer to the couch to open up an area for us.

The thick indentations on the vinyl represent a different song. I place the needle down on the fourth indentation and our favorite jazz song begins to play. A soulful voice as smooth as velvet begins to drift through the room.

“Help me up, dear.”

I place his hand in mine and rest my free hand behind his back for more leverage to help lift him. He’s become so weak in such a short amount of time that I can literally feel my heart starting to splinter.

‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ by Billie Holiday fills the room as we step towards the center.

I take his left hand in my right as I place my left hand behind his back, bringing him in closer. He feels so frail against me, as if he’s made of glass and one wrong move could cause him to shatter.

“I’ve missed this.”

I admire his soft features while we sway ever so gently back and forth. Years of laughter and smiles are represented in every wrinkle that adorns his face. His thin, snow-white hair leaves no trace of the dark brown it used to be. He turns his head to me, locking his warm brown eyes with mine. They hold so much love and adoration that it causes the breath in my throat to hitch. Mom got her brown eyes from him.

A single tear glides down my cheek as I rest my head on his shoulder.

“I’ve missed this too.”

Just one more dance is all I need.

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