Page 71 of In the Dust

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The moment Dad walks through the door the next morning, covered in soot and riddled with exhaustion, I take my first real breath since he left.

I throw my arms around him and fall to my knees. He follows, checking me over. “Dixie, what happened?”

Colton walks up, talking quietly. We have to be quiet because Grandpa took the news about the shed as bad—maybe even worse than I did.

He’s finally asleep, leaning back in his recliner. Colton calmed him down; he’s good at that. “Dixie ran out into the smoke,” Colton tattles.

“Why would you do that?” Dad scolds, anger scrunching his face.

“Mom,” I cry out. “Her shed.”

He can tell from the desperate croak in my voice that it’s gone. It’s like having to relive losing her again. His face falls, and he brings me to him. “Dixie May,” he breathes, “I’m so glad you're okay.” A break of silence passes over him. “Happy birthday baby girl.”

I don’t miss the tears that fall for yet another loss. He looks up at Colton, mouthing ‘thank you’ behind my back. I feel it against my shoulder.

Happy birthday to me.

* * *

The next morning,the house is eerily silent as I make my coffee. I don’t add honey, feeling like something sweet doesn't match the apocalyptic look outside the window.

I take a sip of the hot, bitter liquid as my eyes scan the field.

I know the shed is destroyed, but I didn’t realize how much the fire had devoured everything it came in contact with. The trees are all scorched, but thank God Colton made the break so the animals were okay, so me and Grandpa and our house are okay.

A fleeting sense of hope rises over me; we will make it through this.

Dad walks up, sliding a pastry my way. I shake my head, knowing if I eat anything I won't be able to keep it down. “Did you sleep?” he asks.

I notice how he didn't ask if I slept well. He asked if I had slept at all. “Yes,” I lie.

He walks outside, and I follow. My hand clamps over my mouth as the misty fog parts and reveals empty space where our silos used to be. Metal still shoots up from the ground, the remnants of the structure. Like a skeleton.

A gasp escapes my lips. “We lost the silos.”

He looks like he’s about to share some awful, terrible news. “We didn’t only lose the silos, Dix.” He holds his mug to his chest, looking anywhere but my glossy eyes.

“What do you mean?” I croak.

He brings me over to a table, and somehow, it’s warm. The fire kept it warm for us. He swipes his hand over the chairs, wiping off a heavy coating of ashes. He doesn't stutter, he doesn't beat around the bush; he just expresses the truth of the situation. “We’re probably going to lose the farm.”

“Why?” is all I can manage. It isn't a question of why we’re going to lose it.

I know why. It’s because the harvest went up in flames just like everything else.

I’m wondering why it’s happening to us.

Why, of all the bad things people do, is it my family who deals with so much loss?

He clamps his hand over mine, looking me in the eyes. “Fire doesn’t choose who it takes from, Dix. We’ll figure this out as a family.”

I try to pull from his strength, but I can tell he’s scared. Scared to move to a new place, to lose our family's farm. As tears drip down my cheeks, I muster the closest thing I can to a smile before I hug him with everything I’ve got.

* * *

The conversation was heavy,and the moment he retreated to his room … I took off.

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