Page 33 of To Catch a Firefly

I give him the two words that have never gotten easier in the three years since he’s been gone. “Night, Luck.” I keep the other two for myself.Miss you.

There’s a whispered “bye” and then the line goes dead. I stay seated in the back of my truck for a minute longer, looking out over the fields and imagining golden sands instead of husk-wrapped corn. I imagine Lucky here beside me.

And I wonder if I’m even capable of letting him go.

Chapter 12

Lucky

“What do you think?” Danil asks, holding up a forest green tunic with elaborate stitching. “Could I pull it off?”

“Honestly? Yeah, I think you could,” I tell him. Danil looks good in just about anything.

He purses his lips, examining the shirt before turning toward the stall owner. It’s our last morning in Morocco, and even though we don’t have a guide today, Danil and I decided to stroll through one of the many marketplaces before heading to the airport.

Danil haggles using the tips he picked up earlier in the week while I step outside the stall. The narrow street we’re on is bustling with activity, tourists and locals alike filling the space. The stall across the street is selling spices, each variety mounded up in large, shallow bowls. Piles of turmeric, black pepper, saffron, and cinnamon are among them. The colors remind me of the dunes. Beside that is a stall filled with brightlycolored blankets, tea towels, and scarves. One scarf in particular, threaded through with green, brown, and yellow, makes me think of Ellis. Of Nebraska and corn.

Always fucking corn.

“Ready?” Danil says, at my side.

I give him a nod, and we weave our way down the cobbled street toward the exit. There’s a small sandwich shop on the next street over, and we stop there, Danil getting a mint tea while I get Moroccan spiced coffee. We sip our drinks while we wait for our food.

I’m about to ask Danil what his plans are for our hop back to New York City when my phone rings. I pick it up with a smile when I see my mom’s name.

“Hey, Mom. Pretty early over there, isn’t it?”

“Hello to you, too,” she says. “I’m doing just fine, thanks for asking.”

I huff a laugh, but my mom keeps talking.

“You’re heading home today, right?”

Home.

“Yeah, we’ll be back in New York tonight,” I answer.

She hums. “Are you getting enough rest?”

“Yes, Mom,” I say dutifully. “I’m sleeping fine.”

Danil’s lips quirk, and I roll my eyes.

“Good, good,” my mom says. I hear a muffled voice, and then, “Your dad says hi.”

“Hi, Dad,” I say, and my mom relays the message. “How’s Mrs. Cole?”

After a small, barely there sigh, my mom says, “She’s okay, Lucky, all things considered. She had her last day at the plant earlier this week, so she’s at home now. I think that’s for the best. She’s been using her wheelchair a lot more lately, but Ellis… He’s there for her.”

I nod, throat tight. I have no doubt of that.

“I worry,” my mom says, “about him, sometimes.”

My pulse skitters. “Why’s that?”

“He’s such a good boy.Man,” she corrects. “But I hate to see him put his own life on hold. At least he has a date to the corn festival this weekend.”

It takes a second for her words to sink in, but once they do, I can barely breathe. “What?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper.

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