Seventeen
Dallas
Her hands are soft and comforting as they slide over my tear-stained cheeks.
I know I need to get this out, need to speak, but fuck if I can find words right now.
I lift my hand, cupping it over hers, my calloused palms a stark contrast from her velvety touch.
I gesture to the tree behind me; the one Sam and I carved our initials into.
The tree we’d sit under for hours, planning the future. The tree we fell in love under. The tree we met under for years as teenagers, when we’d run away from the rodeo and our parents. I proposed under this tree. She told me she was pregnant under this tree.
This tree, in its own way, connected us to each other, our tether to some unspoken bond between us and the earth. This tree was also where my wife took her final breaths, and where I scattered some of her ashes after she was gone.
“I don’t know what this is, or what we’re doing, but I know how I feel about you.
You’re incredible, Annabeth. It’s possible that I may be completely jumping the gun here, but I can’t continue anything until you know, really know, what you’re signing up for.
” I pause, letting my words linger. I can’t read Annabeth’s expression, but the gentle nod she offers me tells me that she’s waiting for me to start.
“My wife, Samantha died when Billie was three. Colt and I have raised her together ever since. I honestly don’t think I would have gotten through it without him.” My hands shake, and my voice quakes as I speak, exposing my vulnerability.
Her lip quivers as she holds my face in her hands.
We’re both on the brink of letting our emotions get the better of us.
I’m about to continue, to try and explain, when she presses a trembling finger to my lips, as if she understands, and doesn’t need me to elaborate.
I want to. No, I need to. But also, that one gesture seems to subdue the growing desperation inside me to tell Annabeth how fucking useless I was.
“What kind of husband… fuck, what kind of man – am I that I didn’t see her struggling.
She was my fucking wife, and I let her go.
I let her face it alone, because I didn’t know what she was going through.
She was my wife, my fucking wife, the mother of my child, and I failed her.
She’s gone because I couldn’t save her.”
Annabeth and I close our eyes and just exist in this moment, neither of us speaking. Our hearts beat together in a gentle rhythm, and for just a second, I think I’ve lost her. Then, she speaks.
“You’re safe, Dallas. I’ve got you, it’s okay.” Her voice, barely a whisper, shakes as the words slowly leave her lips.
She presses her head to my chest, and I let my arms wrap around her, pulling her closer until my chin rests on her hair.
Her body rises and falls slowly with every careful breath, my own steadying as I hold her.
A sense of relief washes over me, and I find myself never wanting to let her go.
I want to keep her here, in my arms, and worship her forever.
This crazy, vibrant, beautiful, kind woman. She’s everything I’m not. I curl my hands through her hair, the soft, bubblegum strands twirling around my finger. Annabeth looks up at me, her eyes twinkling as they meet mine.
“Thank you, Annabeth,” I tell her, placing a kiss on her forehead.
“Does… does she know?” Annabeth asks. She doesn’t specify, but I know she’s asking if Billie knows the truth about her mother.
“No, not really. She knows Sam died, but Colt and I have always tried to shield her, to protect her. She was too young at the time for us to explain it – she still is. I should have seen the signs, should have protected Sam from herself, but I kept thinking it’d pass.
Kept thinking she’d just heal. It sounds so stupid and na?ve saying it out loud. ”
Annabeth’s breath hitches as she speaks, “She… herself…?”
“Yes.”
“Dallas, no. There was nothing you could have done. There was nothing anyone could have done. Depre—”
“Please, don’t say it. I know, I know. It’s just…”
“It’s okay.” Her voice still barely a whisper as she closes her eyes, as if to tell me that it just might actually be okay.
Maybe it is. Maybe, after all these years, it’s okay to not feel guilty.
I spent so long blaming myself, screaming into the void, praying to any fucking god who’d listen for answers.
Why her? Why then? I tried to hide my pain from Billie, tried to focus on anything but the agony of losing Sam, but in the end, I know that nothing I could have done would change things.
Sam was a light on Earth, a force to be reckoned with.
She was always destined for more than this town could ever offer her, but she was also doomed to be her own greatest downfall.
Even when we were teenagers, she was never quite still.
She bounced from hobby to hobby, never held down a job aside from the rodeo, and she never wanted to settle down.
I think even she was surprised when she agreed to marry me, when she decided to give up a life on the road and stay here in Hawks Hollow and raise our family.
I will never stop thinking that maybe in the end, I was part of the reason she couldn’t stay…
Did I ask too much of her? Did I try to hold back her spirit?
I wish I could tell her I’m sorry. I don’t know how much time has passed, but when I open my eyes, Annabeth is still here. Still holding me, not saying a word.
“Thank you,” I tell her. My voice breaks slightly as I repeat the words over and over again until I’m certain she understands.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah. Bet you wanna run away now, hey?” I barely get the words out before I’m releasing from her embrace, keeling over and laughing so hard I get a pain in my side.
“You’re a madman!” she squeals, her jade-like eyes twinkling as she shakes her head at me.
“Maybe so, but I’m a bloody good roper,” I announce, proudly. Just for show, I straighten myself and puff out my chest.
Annabeth seems to enjoy that, because she too bursts into fits of laughter, and we collapse in the grass beneath the tree. I let my eyes dart across the sky, and I feel a cool, calming breeze wash over me.
I can’t say for certain – I don’t believe in all that hippie crap – but I feel like I needed to come here today. Like some unknown force pulled me to this place, but it made damn sure I brought Annabeth with me.
Laying here with the afternoon sun beating down against my weathered skin and the horses grazing alongside us, I swear I hear Sam tell me it’s okay for me to be happy.
I follow the skyline to the trees and trail my sight down to the beautiful pixie lying next to me, her hair even brighter against the fresh grass.
“She’d have bloody adored you, ya know,” I tell her.
“Your wife?” she asks, quietly before continuing. “I’d love to hear about her someday, if you’d let me.”
I can’t help but smile as I sit up, glance over at the initials carved into the tree and let out a deep exhale before I say, “I think I’d like that.”
I had stayed under the bridge with Annabeth and watched the sunset again last night.
This seems to be becoming a daily ritual for us, and I can’t say that I don’t mind it.
We laid beneath the trees, sharing stories about our pasts.
She told me all about her time with the orchestra, I told her more about my late wife.
Annabeth had a lot of questions, mostly about who Samantha was.
I’ll be honest, it felt nice to talk about her again, that part of my life is something I’ve hidden from for years.
Annabeth’s gone out for dinner with the girls and although she’s sent me several completely adorable texts, the last almost twenty-four hours of not seeing her feel like total agony.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and my eyes light up as I see my daughters’ name flashes across the screen. “Bumble. Hey, princess.”
“Hey Daddy, losing your mind yet?” Her laugh radiates through the speaker, and I can picture the cheeky grin that’s no-doubt plastered across her face.
“Your Uncle forced me to go out for drinks, and I finally fixed the step in the barn.”
“You went out!” she gasps. I long to tell her about the last few weeks but decide it’s a conversation best had in person.
I still have no idea what she’s going to think about all of this, but I can’t dwell on that tonight.
No, tonight I’m going to talk to my daughter about her camp and think of all the million ways I want to cuddle up with her, eat popcorn, and watch her favourite movie – Spirit, of course.
“Don’t mock your old man. How’s camp?”
“It’s amazing. We went on a hike today, and then we made crafts by the lake. It’s so pretty in Wattle Ridge, you can see the whole town from the lookout. I love it here Daddy. Can we move?”
“Billie-Mae Northlane, we are bloody well not moving.” I chuckle, pressing the button on the kettle.
“Lame! It’s too late for coffee, you’ll be up all night,” she scolds.
“I’ll be up all night anyway, I have to do paperwork.”
“O-M-G, Dad, could you be any more boring?” Her teasing me like this just makes me miss her that much more.
I ease myself onto the stool, listening as Billie tells me all about her camp activities, the general drama that comes with being an eight-year-old girl, and how excited she is to come home.
She tells me how she’s missing me and Colt.
She prattles on for what feels like half an hour about missing Lenny, reminding me every few breaths how he likes to eat his chaff, like I didn’t teach her how to feed him.
I have to cut her some slack, she’s barely gone a day without seeing that bloody pony since we got him, so almost two-weeks probably feels like a lifetime when you’re eight.
I hear a teacher enter her room, telling her to come and get ready for dinner.
Billie tells me she loves me as the line goes dead.
My head lowers to my palm, the rough skin pressing against my beard.
“I miss you, you know. We all do,” I speak softly into the void.
I know Sam’s out there somewhere. Watching, listening, keeping an eye on us.
I wonder who she could have become if she hadn’t decided to leave.
Would she have stayed here with us? Would she always have felt regret over it?
I will never have the answers to those questions, but part of me likes to think that maybe, just maybe, she did what she thought was right.
I wipe a tear from my eye, caught up in the past as I rise from the chair and carry myself to bed, forgoing the coffee I intended on having, and deciding the paperwork can wait.
Climbing into bed, my head hits the pillow, and it feels like I’m lying on top of a cloud.
I plug my phone in, and am about to roll over, when it buzzes in my hand.
Annabeth: Sweet dreams, cowboy. xo
Me: Goodnight, Firefly. x