Page 30 of Wed By the Lumberjack

The left side though is covered in soot, and one exterior wall is so charred, that I could see straight into the home itself if it weren’t for a blue tarp blocking out the elements and shielding the interior from view.

So the roach had survived.

As I walk around Goldie to open Dixie’s door, she lets out a soft cry and stumbles into my arms. I wrap them around her, bringing her close to my chest as she begins to tremble uncontrollably like she did in the treehouse.

I want to tell her that it isn’t that bad. I want to reassure her that me and the boys could fix the damage within a few days. But I know it’s the memories we can’t replace, so instead, I run my hands through her long hair and massage her scalp, keeping quiet until she’s ready to talk. It’s not until the sun’s fully over the horizon that she finally says, “I don’t know if I can forgive myself.”

“Dixie–”

She lets go of me and turns to face the remains. “This place was Gran’s dream cabin. I tried so hard to fight for it, and yet I couldn’t save it.”

“It was an accident, one that your father started. This isn’t your fault.”

Stifling a cry, she shakes her head sadly. “But I participated.”

My heart shatters at the hollowness in her voice.

“Gran would be so ashamed of me.”

I cup her face. “Look at me. I’ve never met your Gran but I know for a fact she’d never blame you for this. You told me that she apologized to you for raising such an incompetent son. She knew what sort of person your father was. She knew the sort of person you were, that you are. She’d never blame you. Never.”

“But–”

“No buts. You defended yourself.”

“I–”

“Defended yourself. Say it.”

I can see that she wants to resist.

“Dixie, why do you want to blame yourself so badly?”

“What do you mean?”

“You blame yourself a lot.”

“No I don’t.”

“You blamed yourself for crashing into my truck.”

“Because I did.”

“Because you were running from someone and we both know who that someone is. Then you blamed yourself for a fire that would’ve never happened if someone wasn’t smoking.”

Her beautiful eyes flicker to the cabin.

“Just like you constantly blamed yourself for those bruises when we were kids.”

She looks at me, her lips parting to protest but she seals them again.

“I bet you blamed yourself for moving away too, right?”

“I didn’t tell,” she whispers. “I think a teacher saw the cuts on my arm.”

I freeze. “What do you mean? I thought you moved away because Douglas was on the run for the damages at the Watering Hole?”

“I think that was part of it, but it was the principal’s call requesting a meeting the next day that triggered him. He blamed me,” Dixie swallows, her eyes distant. “Because I didn’t wear long sleeves at school that day because it was hot–”

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