Page 29 of Catch the Sun

“I’m busy forever.” Two jade-green eyes narrow at me, her head tilting with suspicion. “Wait. Are you flirting with me again?”

I sniff, folding my arms. “Definitely not.”

“Okay.” The word is drawn out and her eyes are squinty and searching. “But you still want to be friends?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Her eyebrows arc up. “I could make a list. Do you like lists? I love lists.”

“Go for it. I’m intrigued.” My arms flex and I don’t miss the way her focus flicks to my muscles for a beat before she blinks back to my face. Smirking, I add, “While you’re at it, add an evaluation of my biceps to that list. I’d love to know how they rate.”

Color stains her pretty pale cheeks as her eyes flare. Then she whipsaround, hair flying with her from underneath the beanie, and storms away. “Goodbye, Max.”

“See ya.” I send a two-finger salute to her back before returning to my position beside the garden.

Ella flies by on her new bike moments later, just as the rickety screen door snaps shut behind me. When I turn, I spot my father leaning forward on his cane with two sunspotted hands as he stares at the cloud of dust Ella’s tires left behind. “Hey, Dad.”

He looks better today. Sober. Moving around.

Relief sweeps through me as I take in his too-big corduroy pants and half-tucked flannel. My father is no less gaunt and frail, but his eyes hold a semblance of a spark as he glances my way.

It’s a good day. I live for these good days.

“She seems like a nice girl,” he notes, tipping his head toward the gravel road, his thin hair fluttering when a breeze rolls through.

“‘Nice’ isn’t the word I’d use. More like…moody. Unapproachable.”

Obnoxiously intriguing.

“Huh.” Dad takes a wobbly step forward, then peers up at the sky of blue and patchy white. “Your mother…she was a slippery one, too. Hard to catch. Harder to hold.”

I stiffen at the reference to my mother. “I’m not interested in Ella like that.”

I’m not.

Sure, maybe I was trying to get a rise out of her at the bonfire last weekend—and yeah, of course I think she’s pretty. She is. She’s that piece of fine china perched on the top shelf, out of reach, for display only. Dusty and shadowed. Breakable. People stare at it, curious and admiring, but they don’t dare touch it.

But I’m notinterestedin her.

Not like that.

Romance is out of the question for me, and considering her reaction to my harmless flirting, she’s very much on the same page.

Works out.

“I never see you with any girls, Maxwell,” Dad says to me, expressionclouding. “Your brother has a girlfriend. You’re just as good-looking and likeable. I want that for you.”

“I’m fine. I stay busy.” Readjusting my baseball cap, I wave a hand through the air, showcasing the fruits of my labor.

My father takes another slow step forward and glances at the vegetable garden thriving with snap beans, turnips, and kale. The tiny spark in his eyes evaporates. Glancing around, he blinks a few times as he fully takes in the glowing green grass, well-manicured chrysanthemums, and de-weeded flower beds, like he’s seeing it all for the first time. “Max…” Emotion has his throat bobbing, his balance teetering. “This is too much, Son. I feel…” He almost chokes. “I feel like I’ve failed you.”

I frown, pulling off my cap and swiping the disheveled hair off my forehead. “You haven’t. I enjoy doing this.”

“You should be enjoying your youth. Nights out with friends, boat rides on the lake, camping, girls.”

“That’s McKay’s scene. I’m good.”

His head swings back and forth as he zones out and stares dazedly at the front of the house with a weary sigh. “We never finished,” he says softly. “It’s one of my greatest regrets.”

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