Page 143 of Catch the Sun

The afternoon was filled with reminiscing and swapping stories over the years: Jonah’s tales more harrowing, and mine a mix of sweet and sour. Thesweeter moments took over as we ate chicken casserole at the kitchen table—my brother’s favorite meal. We made it together and I savored every bite.

It was the best casserole I’ve ever had.

My orange backpack is settled in my lap as we stare out at the glimmery lake and I fiddle with the key chains.

“I can’t believe you still have that thing,” Jonah says, flicking stones at the water.

They skim across the surface and my memories bleed together.

Flashes of Jonah trying to teach me to skip stones when I was just a little girl fuse with images of Max’s chest flush against my back, his careful arms instructing me as he whispered in my ear.

It’s all about the rhythm.

I glance at the backpack decorated in black Sharpie, then up at Jonah. “It’s the most precious thing I own,” I tell him. “It was the only tangible piece of you I had left.”

He nods. “I wrote to you. Did you get my letters?”

Guilt nibbles at my insides, leaving tiny holes. “Yes,” I croak out. “I read them thousands of times.”

“You never wrote me back.” His features crease with disappointment. “I thought you hated me.”

“Part of me did,” I admit. “But part of me loved you, too. And that’s the part of me that hated myself.”

“You really thought I did it?” he wonders, voice cracking on the last word.

“Yes.” My eyes close tightly, pain skittering through my veins. “I don’t know,” I mutter. “Some days I couldn’t believe you would do that. I couldn’t fathom such a thing. You were Jonah. My devoted, heroic big brother who always kept me safe.” I drag my finger down the front of my backpack, tracing the Winnie the Pooh design. “But those were the days that hurt too much…to the point where I could hardly function, could barely breathe without choking on the lump of grief. It was easier to imagine that you were where you belonged, instead of a reality in which you were going to be executed in cold blood for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Jonah leans back on both palms, his hair tangling with the warm breeze as hesoaks up my words. It’s a perfect sixty-five-degree day, the sun a brilliant yellow,the treetops undulating against a blue sky. He tips his head up and squints at the clouds. “Remember that day we were playing Pooh sticks on the bridge and our sticks kept getting stuck in the weeds?”

Golden memories flicker through my mind as sunlight slants across the lake. “Of course I do. I remember everything from our childhood.”

“You were only five or six. I think it was the summer before Dad separated us and took you away from me,” he recalls, bitterness seeping into his tone. “Anyway, you started crying. Said it was unfair and the river was cheating.”

I snort a laugh through my heartbreak and shake my head. “So dramatic.”

“You were.” He smiles. “Then you made us walk down to the water’s edge and pluck all the sticks out of the brush. You wanted to give them a second chance.”

Sighing, I tuck my chin to my chest. “I never thought I’d get a second chance with you,” I tell him sadly. “So I started playing Pooh sticks by myself.” I look over my shoulder at the bridge standing tall above us, a few yards away. “I’d play them on that bridge over there and I’d pretend you were with me.” I consider telling him about Max and about how he gavemea second chance—a second chance at living. A second chance at peace. My eyes water but the words dry out. “I guess I don’t need to pretend anymore.”

“When you’re stronger, we should play,” he muses, pulling at some bladesof grass and letting them flutter from his fingers. Then he sits up straighter and looks at me, a question in his eyes. The mood shifts, a cold front rushing in. “Tell me more about that night. About the fall.”

My heart thunders. “What? Why?”

“I want to know the truth.”

“You do know the truth. I tripped and fell. It was stupid.”

He studies me, rubbing his fingers over his short goatee. Dubiety shimmers back at me, lingering deep within the green. “Sorry, but I have a hard time believing that. You’re savvy when it comes to the outdoors. I taught you everything you need to know. There’s no way you’d stumble off a cliff all alone at night.”

“Well, I did. It was dark and I was trying to see something over the ledge.”

“What were you trying to see?”

My mind races with fictional scenarios, twisting up my tongue. “I–I don’t know. A snake or something.”

“A snake in December?”

“I don’t remember, Jonah. My memories are still hazy.” My pulse thrums faster as sweat slicks my brow, trying to give me away.

---