7. Dahlia #2
Dahlia looked up, her gaze meeting his eyes in the dimness.
For the first time since she had returned to the valley, she did not feel the need to defend her choices or justify her absence.
The protective armor she had worn like a shield in Chicago felt thin, almost useless in the quiet of the old barn.
"I don’t know any other way to do it," she whispered.
Beckett
The wind howled against the side of the barn, a persistent scream that made the thick timbers groan, but Beckett barely heard it.
Beckett’s focus was entirely on the small metal hinge in his hands.
He rubbed an old cotton rag along the rusted brass bracket, his movements slow and rhythmic, keeping his eyes down so he didn’t have to face the sudden stillness that had settled between them.
A few feet away, Dahlia sat on an upturned pine crate.
Her shoulders were hunched, her arms crossed tight over her chest as she shivered under her damp cardigan.
The warm, golden light of his kerosene lantern sat on the edge of the workbench, casting long and soft shadows across her pale face.
In this dimness, with her dark hair curling damply against her neck, she looked so much like the girl who had left the valley three decades ago that his chest tightened with a familiar ache.
Beckett had spent years trying to convince himself that the space between them was natural, that the choices they had made were the only ones that made sense. But standing this close, with the scent of pine resin and rain wrapping around them, those arguments felt thin.
"The wind is catching the eastern corner," Beckett told her, his voice dropping into a low tone that was still able to carry over the storm.
He set the brass bracket down on the wooden bench, his fingers lingering on the cold metal.
"But don’t worry, we should be safe here.
Our families built these frames to bend with the weather, but the roof needs work before the real winter hits. "
“I know.” Dahlia didn’t look up immediately. Her thumb traced a small groove in the side of the pine crate, her expression thoughtful in the amber light. "My father was always so certain about this place. He believed the farm would always find a way to survive."
"Yes, that’s why it was built to last," Beckett murmured, his knuckles brushing against the dry fabric of his work pants as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Do you remember when we were young?” He glanced upward.
“We used to sit up in the rafters during these storms, throwing wood shavings down into the empty bins.
You always wanted to climb higher than the beams would allow. "
“Yes, I always wanted to be higher. To touch the stars.” A faint smile touched Dahlia’s lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
"My father would always tell me to never give up on my dreams but just be careful to not fly too high too fast.” She gave a soft snort.
“I spent so much time looking at the horizon back then.
I thought if I just went far enough, I would find a life that made sense. "
"You wanted something bigger," Beckett replied, his eyes fixed on her face. “There was never anything wrong with that. Your parents were always so proud of you. They knew they couldn’t keep you here on the farm. You were meant for bigger things.”
“Mmm,” Dahlia breathed. “I felt like a traitor when I left for college. While my mother was telling me to go, I could see the flash of hurt in her eyes, like I was betraying her by leaving.”
“I think you must have mistook that look,” Beckett defended Rosalind’s intentions.
“Your mother wanted more than anything for you to succeed. That’s why she pushed so hard to ensure you had what you needed to go where you were meant to go.
” His eyes met and held Dahlia’s. He felt the familiar extra few thumps of his heart and the instant draw towards her. “I…” He stopped and swallowed.
“Then why do I feel like I’ve let them down?” Dahlia’s voice was soft. “Not just my parents but my sisters.” She sighed wearily. “It’s like there are these walls up between us.”
“I don’t think it’s just about you,” Beckett said, glad that she hadn’t noticed his slight hesitation or hadn’t pushed him to continue to say what he’s stopped saying. “Each one of your sisters carries their own burdens, guilt, and remorse about leaving in their hearts.”
“Not Junie,” Dahlia reminded him. “She stayed.”
“Yes, but her pain is more about her missed opportunities,” Beckett pointed out. “I’m sure if Junie had a chance, she would’ve left too.”
“Well that just makes me feel a whole lot worse.” Dahlia gave him a brittle laugh. “As the oldest this should’ve been my burden to bear—I’m the one that should’ve stayed behind.”
“Don’t do that to yourself,” Beckett advised her.
“Junie’s life and choices are her own. No one is responsible for them.
” His eyes held hers and all the suppressed feelings, words left unsaid, rose up inside him.
He took a slow breath, his chest rising against the stiff canvas of his jacket.
"The night before you left for the city, I stood outside your kitchen window for an hour.
Trying to work up the courage to ask you to stay.
" The confession trapped deep in his heart since they were teenagers spilled out.
Dahlia froze, her thumb stopping against the wood. Her eyes widened and darkened with shock that seemed to suspend the very air between them. "Why didn’t you?"