Page 89 of In the Dust

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Itwiddle my thumbs, staring at Dad at the kitchen table. He got home a few minutes ago, and I wanted to talk with him before I gave Gina my answer. The offer stands until nine tonight, which is about thirty minutes away. “I have a way to help the farm.”

He shakes his head, “Gonna sell your kidney?” he jokes, sliding the papers away from him.

“No.” I sit beside him, placing my hand on his. “How much would save the farm?”

He pats my shoulder. “I never wanted you to worry about bills, Dixie. I don’t want to talk about this with you. Just know that everything will be okay. Home is where we make it.”

I look out the window, it’s dark and you can’t see anything. “So, Dad, how much?”

“The harvest made us lose a significant amount, and we’re in debt with the banks from repairs we’ve made. We’re going to need around eighty thousand dollars in the next week.” He frowns.

I sink into the chair; so this could change everything. “You know how none of you told me about mom’s painting being safe after the fire?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Someone just offered fifty thousand per painting, mine and Mom’s.”

He opens his mouth to speak but stops himself.

“What do I do?” I ask him.

“I’m going to leave that up to you.” He sends me a soft smile. “But when you make your decision, don’t do it out of fear because I promise you at the end of this, we will be okay. Your mother’s paintings are gone, Dix. So don’t do anything you will regret.”

“What would you do?”

He shakes his head, realizing the gravity of my decision. “I can’t answer that.”

I walk outside, needing a moment of space to think. Colton doesn't follow, and neither does Dad.

I walk up to the destroyed structure that was once my mom’s studio. My eyes trail the room. The easels are all gone.

The canvases all burnt to nothing.

Paintbrushes, aprons, oils, and pastels … They’re all gone.

The one painting …

It’s all I have left.

And I just realized I got it back.

I can’t hold back my sobbing anymore.

The painting being all we have left of her is what I keep telling myself but in reality, if we lost this farm … it would mean losing even more, and I don’t think my family could handle that.

Dad mentioned doing something I would regret. Does he mean not selling it or selling it? Regardless, this … this a decision I would never regret.

Without fear. Without limits.

“Gina?”

She answers on the first ring. “Hey, Dix.”

“Sell them.”

Tears fall down my cheeks in streams as I hang up, feeling a sense of loss all over again.

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