Page 22 of Wed By the Lumberjack

There’s a general feeling of discomfort, but ten minutes drift by and soon everyone’s digging in.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Heath whispers as I poke at my buttery, mashed potatoes.

I hesitate but Heath’s worried expression tells me he won’t drop it anytime soon. He probably thinks it’s related to my memory.

I feel fickle for even bringing it up.

“I swear I’m not trying to be materialistic, but where’s my ring? Did they take it off when I was admitted into the hospital?”

He blanches and that unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifies.

“What’s going–”

“We didn’t pick one out yet,” Heath says quickly, reaching for another ear of corn.

“Oh...Why not?”

“I was saving. I want you to have your dream ring. Do you remember what it is?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “A moissanite ring. People say it's a fake diamond but it’s not. It’s its own gemstone straight from the stars and perfect for our budget if we’re saving.”

“And the cut?”

“Emerald with a simple, thin silver band. Hey, do you think that’s another recent memory?”

“I think it is.”

I smile. Slowly things are coming back to me.“But I don’t need a stone,” I try to assure him. “A simple band just to show I’m yours will do. Heck, it can even be rubber.”

Heath shakes his head. “Mossinete, emerald cut with a thin silver band it is. I promise.”

“Dixie,” Cole says with a grin. “Look what I found. Polaroids from the treehouse.”

My heart beats faster as I lean over the table to take them from him. “I can’t believe they’re still intact.”

“We put them in ziplocs. The colors are a bit wonky, but you can still make out everyone well.”

The first photo is of all four cousins. Ash is the tallest and suddenly I have a vivid memory of him having to duck his head each time he came or left the treehouse. Beside him, Heath’s staring, not into the camera, but slightly over it, like he’s looking at the person who’s struggling to take the photo.... Me.

I know it’s me from the two fingers blocking out Kai’s head. One has chipped blue nail polish, my go-to when I was twelve.

The next photo has me in it. I’m sandwiched between Heath and Cole. Cole’s grinning at the cameraman but Heath is looking down at me.

My smile at his buckteeth disappears as I take in my own appearance. I look... haggard. There are black rings around my eyes and my shirt collar is all stretched out like it’s seen better days.

Each photo lets me know it’s a different day by the boys’ changing flannel shirts, and my hair length that gets progressively longer and messier. Otherwise, I’d have no idea because in most of the photos, I’m wearing that same ratty shirt. It’s not even a girl’s top. It’s a male one like my... dad’s.

My dad.

Douglas.

Douglas had worn that shirt before. I remember he handed it down to me when his beer gut got so big, he couldn’t fit in it anymore. I’m swimming in it, then again, I swam in all my hand-me-downs. Sure, they were always too big, but the other problem was that I was too small. Practically malnourished despite the litany of snacks that appeared in all the backgrounds of the photos.

I suddenly have a vivid memory of gorging myself on those snacks, till the point that I’d make myself sick.

With a shaky breath, I change the photo again and I barely have time to register it when Heath snatches it from the pile.

Too late. I’ve already seen it.

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