Page 72 of Catch the Sun

He doesn’t seem to react. “Maybe it is a date.”

“What? No. You promised.” I glare at him and his web of lies. “I don’t date. I don’t do romance or kissing or any of that stuff. I’m going to die a virgin and possibly a nun. I haven’t decided yet. Churches smell weird, but nuns are really nice andSister Actmade it look appealing. Pros and cons, I guess.”

He stretches out his legs and his dark slacks brush against my partially exposed thigh. “What does virginity have to do with this?”

My cheeks grow warm. “I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t have to be a romantic date,” he says, still staring skyward. “We’re just friends. Friends go out on platonic dates all the time.”

“We danced together and now we’re stargazing.”

“And losing your virginity is next on the list? Sounds logical.”

“If this was a real list, then yeah, it would probably be fourth or fifth. Kissing is third. Or maybe hand-holding.” I consider the imaginary list and nod as the bullet points come together. “Dancing, stargazing, hand-holding, then kissing. Virginity-losing is definitely fifth.”

“If this was Andy Sandwell’s list, maybe you’d be right.”

“No. Andy would never be caught stargazing.”

This gets a grin out of him. Max tilts his head toward me, his eyes flickering with twinkle lights. “Well, my list is different. No kissing, no virginity-losing. You’re safe with me.”

There’s a chilly bite to the air but I don’t feel cold. And I know our conversation is all in good fun, but the statement rumbles through me like he just wrapped me up in the warm quilt we’re lying on. Tipping my head back to stare up at the star patterns, I release a small sigh. “I do feel safe with you,” I admit. “You make me feel like…”

He’s silent for a beat. “Like what?”

There’s a knot in my throat. A burning lump of feeling that I don’t know whether to swallow down or purge. “You make me feel like a regular girl.”

“You are,” he says softly.

“I’m not. But it’s nice to feel like I am sometimes.” When he doesn’t respond right way, I fidget beside him as our shoulders graze and blades of grass tickle the back of my neck through a worn hole in the blanket. My thoughts take on a somber edge and I blurt out, “Jonah sent me letters from prison.”

Max glances at me. “Do you usually send letters back and forth?”

“No. I’ve considered contacting him…but I haven’t yet. The last time we had any correspondence, I was watching the guards lead him out of the courtroom in handcuffs and that was nearly two years ago.”

That moment is seared in my brain like a nasty burn.

The verdict was read:

Guilty on all counts.

I remember every word, every whisper, every tense beat of silence as Judge McClarren drank in the verdict and gathered his thoughts.

And then he read off Jonah’s sentence to the packed courtroom. “In all my years on the bench, rarely have I encountered a case that has affected me so deeply, both as a judge and as a fellow human being. The senseless loss of Erin Kingston and Tyler Mack is a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the darkness that can reside in humanity. This verdict, though aligned with the law, will never truly compensate for the void left in the wake of such a gruesome tragedy.”

My heart was in my throat. Between my teeth. It felt like I was chewing on it as blood sluiced across my tongue, but it was only the shredded inner lining of my cheeks that I’d been biting raw.

My fingernails gouged into the heels of my palms.

I was sweating, hardly able to breathe.

Adjusting his silver spectacles, the judge took a deep breath and continued, tone stern and grave. “Given the severity of the crime, the pain caused to the victims’ families, and after considering all presented evidence and testimonies, it is the judgment of this court that the defendant shall be sentenced to death as prescribed by the laws of this state.”

I screamed.

My mother howled beside me as she collapsed.

We were the only two people in that courtroom mourning while everyone else stood, cheered, and cried completely different tears.

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