Page 14 of To Catch a Firefly

I never understood why my dad—a husker himself—up and left the way he did. Didn’t he have ties to this land? To the memories made here? Tous?

I guess maybe some people just aren’t meant to stay.

When I get to the silo, I feel restless. Unsettled. Inside, the air is balmy and still, and I head to the shelves of colored glass I’vecollected over the years. Jars, mostly, but the occasional plate or bowl, too. Usually, the colors soothe me. I like examining the different shades and the way the light plays off the surface. Today, it doesn’t help.

Spotting the discarded jars on the ground, I pick one up, weighing it in my hand. It’s grimy, the clear glass clouded over from years of being exposed to the elements. There’s a chip along the top, too. I run my finger over it before chucking the whole thing at the wall. It explodes in a shower of fragmented glass. Picking up another, I send it flying.

“Ellis?”

I ignore Lucky’s call, eyes prickling as I grab two more jars and hurl them. The sound as they hit the curved metal of the silo is satisfying. The clang and crash and answering echo.

Lucky’s eyes are wide as he comes to a stop inside the door. I pick up another jar, turning and throwing it at the opposite wall. It doesn’t hit as hard, but it still breaks, sending glass skittering to the ground.

“Your mom called,” Lucky says.

I’m not surprised.

“Said you might need me.”

Always.

Lucky steps forward as I send another jar flying through the air. “Hey.”Crash.

I shake my head roughly, reaching for another only to realize they’re gone. I broke them all already.

“What’s going on?” Lucky asks, sounding surprisingly calm. Or maybe it’s just that I’mnot.

When I reach for a blue jar off my shelf, Lucky’s eyes shoot wide.

“Hey,” he says again, almost a warning.

I chuck it at the wall. Lucky grabs my arm, but he’s not fast enough to stop me. Sky blue glass litters to the floor, joining theremnants of the clear jars like little supernovas in a sea of jagged ice. I stagger a step when Lucky tugs me around to face him.

“Ellis,” he says, shocked.

I pull from his grasp, my hands shaking, and toss another—the lavender jar I found when I was thirteen. And another—a bowl I picked up at an antique shop that’s the color of sea glass. Now it joins the discards in the dirt.

I’m reaching for a light brown mason jar when Lucky inserts himself in front of me, shoving me back with all of his weight. It’s the surprise of it more than anything that has me taking a step back. He does it again, his hands pressing hard against my chest.

“Stop it,” he gets out.

I try to brush him off, but Lucky comes at me again.

“I saidstop.”

I ready myself for another shove, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Lucky wraps his arms around me tight and plants his face against my chest. He murmurs calming words into my shirt, his grip unrelenting, and like the snap of those glass jars against the wall, every ounce of fight in my body shatters to dust.

I cry as Lucky holds me, my back heaving with the force of it, his hair collecting my tears. My friend is the only thing keeping me upright.

Lucky shushes me, his hands clutching my shirt tight. It lifts under the strain, and his palm ends up on my skin. I focus on the feel of it, on the tether it provides. On how, for a few endless moments, I can almost imagine everything will be okay, so long as Lucky is here.

When Lucky turns his face up, putting us nearly nose to nose, I realize his eyes are wet, too. I rub my thumb underneath each, marveling at the color. I’ve never been able to find anything remotely close.

It’s the reminder of the shattered glass on the ground that has my thoughts turning back to my mom. Lucky watches me closelyas I take a step back, dislodging his grip. His hand brushes my side before falling away, and I swipe at my face.

“Are you going to talk to me?” he asks.

And I know what he means. It’s not about the words; it’s about letting him in. I tilt my head toward the door and walk outside, where the air is cooler. It blows across my damp cheeks the moment I step from dirt to grass, and I turn my face up to the sky, inhaling the scents of earth and machine oil and citrus. The last one is Lucky.

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