Page 183 of Catch the Sun

The ironic parallel would be funny if it weren’t so tragic. And I worried, at first, that if I ever saw Max again, I’d still see his brother’s face shining back at me with malice. I’d see dark eyes, instead of crystal blue. Callousness instead of comfort.

But I don’t.

All I see is Max.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe out.

And I am sorry.

For everything.

I stand from the bench, holding in a cry. A cry of longing, of despair. Of things we can’t change and things we still can. Of unknowns and well-knowns and tragedy and fate.

My legs carry me over to the stretch of woods that border a small creek.

I hear him follow.

I hear his familiar footfalls. Heavy boots against rugged earth.

The water is near-frozen as my feet stall at the edge of the creek, my tears like tiny icicles glued to my cheeks. “I made a list,” I murmur softly as Max steps beside me and we’re shoulder to shoulder. “I made a list of all the things you wanted me to do. I’ve kept a running tally.” Bending over, I pick up a small stone with my gloved fingers and brush my thumb along the ridges. “But I still haven’t figured out how to skip a stone.”

Max watches as I arch my arm and toss the stone across the water. It bounces off an ice formation, then disappears into the black abyss.

I sigh, turning toward him with a defeated shrug. “You became my unskippedstone. Forever out of reach.”

He stares at me with glazed eyes, the collar of his dark-brown coat tickling his jawline. Then he plucks his own stone from the ground, swings his arm out, and gives it a graceful toss.

Skip, skip, skip.

Plunk.

“Have you found a bridge to toss sticks into?” he wonders, searching for another stone.

“Yes. There’s a small bridge a few miles away. I’ll drive over there every once in a while.”

“Watch the sunrise and sunset?”

“I do. As many as I can.”

“Horses are a given,” he notes, glancing back at the stables. “Do you dance?”

Max tosses another stone with perfect rhythm.

“Yes. Every Friday at a local bar.”

“Do you dance alone?”

The underlying question is evident. I nod again, slowly, watching another pebble leave his hand and dance its way across the newly rippling surface. “There hasn’t been anyone else for me, either.”

Pausing, he glances at me, relief filling his eyes. Then he takes my hand in his, outstretches my fingers, and places a grayish rock in my palm. “Try again.”

I sigh. “It’s pointless.”

“It’s not. You’ll get it.”

Shaking off my jitters, I try to concentrate as I sweep my arm out and whip it forward.

Plop.

---