Firewood

“Let’s refill the firewood.” Pappy is hiding something between his legs. I am enamored by his salted smile and never bother to look. I hide a secret in my skirts: a biscuit with jam for the woodchuck under the floorboards.

A hand steadies me. The chuck is frozen at the treeline. My hand slips into fabric and pulls out crumbling biscuit. I extend it. The animal meets my eyes and approaches. Trust.

“That’s my girl.” I hear the click of Pappy’s rifle before I realize what is happening.

In the echo of gunshot, I hear Grammy sharpening the butcher knife.