Page 26 of To Catch a Firefly

“Cora and Ron invited us over for burgers tonight,” my mom says, continuing down the aisle. One of the wheels on her walker catches on the corner of a rug, dragging a little before popping free. “I told them we’d be there. I hope you don’t mind.”

I shake my head. Of course I don’t. I like Lucky’s parents. They’ve always been kind to me and my mom. Good neighbors. Good people.

“Maybe I’ll make those lemon bars,” she says, but my mind is suddenly elsewhere.

On the shelf in front of me, tucked away and nearly hidden behind a few hardcover books, is a pink glass vase. It’s big, bigger than most pieces I find in places like this. But the color is perfect. I’m careful as I move the books aside so I can reach it. There’s a slight dusty sheen covering the glass, but it’s otherwise in impeccable condition. Not that it would make a difference, really. The color is right, and that’s all that matters.

“Found one?” my mom asks from further up ahead.

I nod, my eyes on the vase as I turn it in my hands. There’s a sticker on the bottom. Twenty dollars. Well worth it.

I check the area we’re in for any more hidden treasures, but not finding any, me and my mom make our way slowly back to the front of the store. I pay with cash before we exit, and then I help my mom into the truck. Not for the first time, I think about switching it for something with handicap accessibility. Soon.

It’s a forty-minute drive back home, but it passes quickly, my mom talking about some of the people she works with that she’ll miss. Not that she won’t still see them, she makes sure to tell me, but it’ll be different.

I know the feeling.

The air is on as we drive, keeping the cab cool, and my mind keeps straying to the pink vase sitting in the backseat, wrapped carefully in paper. I already have the rest of the colors. This is the last piece I need.

When we get home, it’s late afternoon. Mom settles into her wheelchair without a word, and I watch her maneuver into the kitchen with a pinch in my gut. After a day like today, it’s no surprise she needs the added support, but it never fails to make my stomach knot, seeing her in that chair. She sets about making lemon bars as I pull out my laptop.

I check for messages first. With Lucky having gotten home the night before, there’s likely nothing, but I check all the same. I try not to be disappointed when I see the empty inbox. I know Lucky’s too busy to message or call every day.

Even so, I start a new email.

Hey, Luck. When I woke up this morning, the sky was a gentle cyan that made me think of you. Not that it takes much for that to happen. But I woke with you on my mind, all the same. It’s been six months since I saw you last. Since I saw your smile with that hint of incisor. Saw those golden corkscrews floating around your face in the breeze. Saw your eyes, so bright and blue, looking at me the way you do. Six months since I hugged you to me and told you, once again, goodbye. It’s never good when you go, but I know it’s good for you.

I hope you’re happy. I know you are. I hope you’re living. I have no doubt of that, either. I hope, sometimes, that you think of me like I think of you. But then I hope you don’t because I miss you, Luck. And I don’t want you to miss me the same.

I think it was at thirteen that I first felt my heart beat for you. And break, just a little. Because I knew, like that tornado, you’d leave destruction in your path, and I’d be your willing victim.

I’d do it again.

I love you, my brilliant firefly.

I close the email when I’m done, and just like all the others, it sits lifeless in my drafts. I don’t know what it accomplishes, writing to a ghost, but it makes me feel…maybe not better, buta little lighter each time it’s done. Like I’ve shed some of the weight of all those unsaid words residing inside my head.

When I close my laptop, I face my mom. “Need help?” I ask her.

She looks over at me with a hum. She’s in front of the counter that sits lower than the rest, mixing bright yellow ingredients in a bowl. “I’ve got it under control,” she tells me. “Go on. I know you’re dying to take care of that vase. Just remember, dinner at the Buchanans’ in an hour.”

I give my mom a nod before grabbing my keychain and heading out the door. The vase is in the truck where I left it, and after tucking it under my arm, I make my way to the silo. We never used to keep it locked, but I added the precaution a couple years back. Not that we’ve ever had issues with theft around here.

I unlock the heavy door when I get there and throw it open, blinking a few times to acclimate my eyes. Flicking on the lights inside makes the interior marginally brighter, but even so, it’s dimmer than outside.

Glass runs along the curved interior wall of the silo, sitting atop shelves that I designed to fit the space when I started the upgrades in here. Every color imaginable rests along those shelves. Pinks and purples, yellow and blue. Red, black, green, white, gold.

My collection has grown quite a lot in the last few years.

I bring the vase over to my workbench. The tabletop is wood, worn but sturdy. Carefully, I unwrap the new piece, leaving the paper beneath the glass as I look it over again. The pink is exactly what I had in mind, brighter than the options along the wall.

Grabbing a cloth, I clean the dust off its surface. I give it a few passes before using water and then a dry cloth to make sure it’sspotless. When I’m done, it gleams under the low light. Cerise, maybe. It really is quite beautiful.

Satisfied, I set the vase on its side and put on my gloves. Without an ounce of hesitation, I pick up the hammer sitting at the edge of the workbench.

And I break the vase into pieces.

Chapter 10

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