CHAPTER 1

  A bright orange flower grew between gaps in a broken road. Sadness. The flower didn’t belong in the city but in the wilderness. Another began to rise beside it. The tiny shoot pushed out of the cracks, and as it did so, the larger blossom shuddered with joy. Petals stretched to shine in the sun; its roots swelled and broke the concrete to give space for the smaller, growing bud.

  Before the new plant bloomed, a shadow covered the sun. An eagle fell with a piercing cry and crushed both flowers. Anguish ripped the air, tearing at the seams of reality. In its wild dive, the eagle destroyed itself, extinguishing three lives.

  As the petals withered and fell, the roots of the flower burst into flames. A blaze greater than the meager source could sustain rippled across the pavement, spreading through cracks in the street, threatening to consume the city. Eagles swooped from every direction, flapping their wings, beating at the inferno in a desperate attempt to halt the spreading flames.

  A surge of intensity engulfed the birds in fire, and the city burned—

  Muffled screams woke me.

  Remnants of the dream churned inside my head as I lay in bed, blood thundering through my temples, heart knocking against my ribcage. The city burned. My sister screamed.

  I took a deep breath, then shuddered. Just a dream. What nightmare haunted her?

  Aedelin’s muffled cries continued, but I waited for Mother’s hurried steps to pass my door, then the murmur of hushes and soothing words. Screams became sobs. The dream pulled at me, demanding my attention, but I waited.

  Ten or fifteen minutes passed as echoes of distress faded into the night. Then came the moment I waited for: a faint squeak of my doorknob turning. The hinges didn’t creak—Dad kept them well oiled—but I knew the flow of air from the hall cooling my neck accompanied Mom’s caring gaze.

  I used to be the first to Aedelin’s side. I used to linger in her doorway, adding my assurances to Mother’s that dreams couldn’t hurt her. I used to wait for Mom to check on me and share our concerns for my sister. Now, I pretended to sleep. I couldn’t do anything for Aedelin, but at least Mom wouldn’t worry about me being disturbed.

  After the near silent click of the door closing, my dream called to me, but I counted to sixty before sliding out of bed and tiptoeing to my drawing desk. Flipping on the lamp, I opened a drawer, searching under piles of old homework assignments and various art supplies for an unassuming composition notebook. By the time I finished recording my dream and sketched a rendition of its disturbing scene, school beckoned. New school, same old town.

  Mundane stresses of the first day of my sophomore year replaced ominous sentiments conjured by my fiery dream. As I walked home alone after an uneventful day, exhausted by a disturbing night, for one brief moment a light on my phone displayed a text from an unknown number, overpowering the gloom.

  Micah Sepich. Less than a year and a half ago his family moved to Pennsylvania, but every month seemed an eternity without him. When they left, I couldn’t even bring myself to watch him climb into their blue sedan. I refused to accept I might’ve seen my best friend’s face for the last time.

  Every detail of my life had been saturated with his presence. Playing in the woods behind our homes on sweltering summer afternoons. Eating lunch in his backyard under the shade of an orange tree. School evenings sprawled out in the living room racing through homework together. Micah always won. Then one day, he left me.

  To be fair, he had no choice in the matter, but it didn’t help that he didn’t own a cell phone. We’d emailed each other a few times, but most of our long-distance contact came through our mothers. Mostly in the form of pictures. The Sepichs at the Liberty Bell. The Sepichs at Independence Hall. Micah, with his half-smile and wind-blown, light brown and messy hair, pale blue eyes gleaming at the camera that captured him standing in front of giant red letters which spelled “LOVE”. If only he stood alone in that picture, without his parents. And if only he’d sent it to me, not his mother to mine.

  In the middle of composing a perfectly nonchalant response to his unexpected text, my phone buzzed. My stomach throttled my heart as I accepted the call, barely able to tone my excitement down from a squeal to a relatively calm, “You finally got a phone!”

  “Uh, no. This is my dad’s phone.” His voice sounded wrong. Not different—exactly how I remembered it—but wrong. He only spoke for a few seconds, on the edge of tears. He had to go but would see me in a few days.

  I barely choked out a goodbye before he hung up.

  I don’t know how long I stood there before my legs found the strength to move without collapsing, but once they did, I ran. Mother waited for me at home, and for once little Aedelin held us as we cried.

  The full weight of finality crushed me. Micah’s mother, Rachelle—one of my favorite people and Mom’s best friend—had died in a car crash. As a fragile teenage girl, I grieved her loss once already when the Sepich family moved a thousand miles away. Only now, in the presence of an undeniable truth of her permanent absence, did I realize how much hope I placed in my future plans to see Micah and his mother again.

  As a child, she’d been the one adult I considered a friend. My own mother cared in her way but never fully understood me, and my sister required so much attention. On the other hand, Rachelle connected with me on a fundamental level. She taught me about trees and plants while I helped in her garden, constantly complimenting my green thumb. As a tween, she uncovered a secret I kept from my best friend, her son. That I’d fallen in love with him.

  A week after his first devastating call, Micah called again from his dad’s phone the night before the funeral to tell me his father bought a new house in Madison, and he’d start school at JMPHS the next Monday. I barely kept myself from squealing. I wouldn’t just see him for a depressing day or two. An irreplaceable, Micah-shaped hole in my soul reformed. I lost Rachelle forever, but her loss returned my best friend and secret love. My broken heart soared.

  After he hung up, I did squeal, but a twist in my gut cut it off as I nearly puked. How could I feel so happy when his mother’s death brought us together again? Life offered cruel kindness. Silver lining. That’s all. I simply clung to a single, gleaming thread on the frayed tapestry of life. Whether an excuse or the truth, I had to live with my selfishness either way.

  The next morning, I sat two rows behind Micah in a bright and spacious chapel; a large Mormon church resting on a hill at the west end of Madison. Micah’s family wasn’t religious, but his uncle, Rachelle’s brother Thomas Gwynn, converted sometime before my birth, eventually becoming the faith’s pastor for the town. Or bishop, as they referred to him.

  According to Micah, his uncle insisted they hold the services here. It’d been a long time since I sat in these pews. As children, Mom and Dad regularly took me and Aedelin to the various churches around Madison. By the time I reached middle school, due to my sister’s increasing mental health issues, those ventures only happened on Easter and Christmas. I never liked the way people stared at us. In a small town like Madison, a single bit of gossip could ruin a life, and I didn’t need someone spreading rumors about me being a Chreaster, so a couple years ago I asked to stay home. After that, we ceased attending church altogether.

  During those early years, Rachelle’s brother convinced her to attend the Mormon’s services a few times, and she asked my parents to join them. In my memories of those Sundays, I sat beside Micah on these same padded benches, his mother next to him. The three of us would never be together again.

  The funeral passed in a hazy blur of tears and memories as Thomas gave the eulogy, carefully mixed with talk about life after death. I didn’t know if I believed his preaching, but Thomas impressed me. How could a man I’d never known express the grief in my soul? Rachelle must’ve been as good a sister to him as friend to me, her influence in our vastly different lives practically identical.

  From the teary eyes, nods, and silent sobs around me, I knew she meant as much to every person in the room. We mourned as one the loss of a woman loved for her kindness, carefree spirit, and infinite patience.

  After the eulogy, a small choir from a local Baptist church sang Amazing Grace, ensuring even the most stubborn eyes dripped. When the song finished, Micah’s father, Frederick, spoke.

  “This may come as a surprise, considering I lecture for a living, but I only have a few words.” He paused to allow nervous laughs to settle. Strange that such a serious man could make a joke at a time like this. His face showed no humor. I guess everyone dealt with grief in their own way.

  Clearing his throat, he continued. “First, I want to thank everyone involved in these services. Thomas, for the perfect eulogy, but also for offering the use of this beautiful chapel. The choir from St. James with inspiring music. Every one of you, for being here. Your support and love throughout the years and past week are appreciated more than even I can express.” He smiled grimly, but no laughs followed. “While I’m up here, I might as well confirm the rumors. Micah and I have indeed moved back to Madison. It’s a small home down the street from the St. James chapel.”

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  He paused and took a deep, staggered breath. When he spoke again, his voice broke as he barely managed to blink back tears. “Rachelle was one of a kind. We’re all better people for having known her. She’s no longer here to be everyone’s best friend, so we all need to step up and be the happy influence in each other’s lives she was in our own.”

  Nods and sobs broke out all over the chapel. I joined the sobbing group. Through tears, I saw Micah’s head fall below shaking shoulders. I wanted to hold him but would have to wait.

  He stood. To speak? Distracted, it took me a moment to notice everyone else standing. I rose as the funeral director pushed Rachelle’s casket up the aisle. Frederick and Micah followed, joined by Thomas and others who must’ve been his wife and small children, though I didn’t know them.

  I desperately collected the pieces of myself attempting to burst into more tears. As the casket moved by my row, Micah’s wet, pale blue eyes met mine. Warmth swarmed through me, and I managed to contain the torrent for the few seconds we held eye contact.

  When the end of the line reached my pew, I joined the procession, my family following. Dad picked up and carried Aedelin, hummed quietly into her ear, and gently stroked her ever-frazzled hair as she clung to him, eyelids shut tight. Considering the number of strangers surrounding us, she handled the funeral well. We made our way slowly with the rest of the crowd out of the chapel. Every shoe scuffle and nose sniffle echoed in the somber silence.

  Once outside in humid Florida air, noise from traffic on Route Ninety was out of sync with the solemn affair. An overcast sky promised rain—which would match perfectly with the surreal scene of Micah, Frederick, Thomas, and a few other pallbearers lifting the casket into the back of a hearse—but only humidity and tears dampened faces around me.

  A shadow blocked the sky, and a dark elbow poked my shoulder gently. James made his way through the crowd to stand next to me, interrupting what sunlight pierced the clouds, a poke his silent way of judging my mood.

  I tilted my head back to determine his. The boy’s eyes were moist, but his expression remained stoic as ever. He wore a white, button-up, short-sleeved shirt, and a black tie. Not yet sixteen, James already stood an impressive six and a half feet—a full foot and a half taller than me. Even on his dark skin, I made out the black stubble of a shaven beard.

  I’d known James since fifth grade, when he and Micah became friends. The three of us often spent time together, but after the last year without Micah, he’d become like a brother to me. I leaned into his side, and he put an arm around my shoulder as the funeral director closed the hearse.

  Free from his grim duty, Micah’s eyes immediately found us. After a moment of hesitation, he made his way over. Red eyes and tear-stained cheeks couldn’t mar his handsome features. A new black suit hung a bit loose on his slim frame, conveying a paradoxical sense of maturity and childishness that fit him perfectly.

  “Trying to catch up with your dad?” he asked James, smile hollow.

  The taller boy shrugged. James never spoke if a shrug or grunt sufficed.

  Micah’s gorgeous eyes found mine again, and my heart skipped a beat. “You haven’t changed a bit, Wynn.”

  I wanted to tell him I’d grown too—an AA to an A—but that wasn’t something to brag about, and innocent Micah probably wouldn’t know what I meant. Of course, that sort of talk wouldn’t be appropriate in any public setting, let alone a funeral, so I just gave him the best smile I could manage under the circumstances. It felt like a frown.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said. “Following us to the cemetery?”

  “Of course.” I took a step away from James and reached out. I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to hold and comfort him. Forever if possible.

  He took a half step backward and held up a hand. “I’m alright.”

  The refusal stung, but it was so Micah. What did I expect? He wouldn’t want to hug me in front of so many people.

  As much as I loved the boy, he didn’t reciprocate. Or at least, not romantically. I often wondered if he considered me more a sister than friend. Whatever his feelings for me, no matter how I tried to move on while he lived far away for an entire school year, I couldn’t help comparing other boys to him and finding them wanting.

  A force interrupted my misery, propelling me face-first into Micah’s chest.

  “Don’t be such a tough guy.”

  Micah was Micah, and James was James. Our large friend pulled us both into a tight bear hug. Micah gave in immediately, an arm around me, his jaw resting on my head. Flames burned through my body from every point Micah and I touched.

  It ended too soon. Even though I longed to hold on to him, Micah and I reflexively backed away from each other the moment James released us. I stared at the ground, afraid blood-scorched cheeks would give me away, hoping they would.

  “I’ll see you there,” Micah said, turning to the parking lot.

  Betrayed again by an overactive imagination. In my daydreams, I finally had the guts to express how much I needed him in my life. He’d admit I gave his existence purpose. We would embrace. Kiss. Live happily ever after. It wasn’t supposed to be… this. Why was life so unfair?

  Sourness knotted my stomach. How could I let his mother’s funeral annoy me because it ruined a stupid fantasy? We’d never been more than friends, but it felt unfair to lose Micah all over again, even in idiotic, imagined futures which would never come true. Death took Rachelle, and Micah would only ever see me as a short, awkward, neighbor girl.

  Reality loomed. I escaped.

  Eyes stung and the world turned blurry as I hurried away from the huddled mourners. Away from loss. Away from crushed dreams. I made it to the corner of the church and followed the sidewalk around to the north side, finally out of sight of the crowd, my only destination the closest place I could fall apart in privacy. I collapsed to my knees in the grass and let tears flow free. The sky joined them.

  Walking back to the car, I barely kept from crying. Wynn appeared exactly as I remembered her, but after a year and a half, what changed on the inside? Would she still want to be friends?

  I considered the way she leaned on James. Were they together? I couldn’t blame either of them if that were the case but didn’t know if I’d survive witnessing their romance every day. How could I live if my one hope vanished? We were burying Mom today, but I couldn’t bury my feelings for Wynn while determined to let them thrive.

  Opening the car door, I turned back to examine her again. I couldn’t help it. Somehow, without changing, she’d become more beautiful than ever.

  James stood a head taller than everyone in the crowd except his own father, but Wynn no longer stood beside him. Following his gaze, I found the girl hustling down the sidewalk. Letting go of the door, I hurried toward her. Mrs. Ethelston met me on the way, clearly as intent on following her daughter as me.

  “Oh, Micah, I’m so sorry. She’s taking this awfully hard,” she whispered through her tears.

  “It’s alright,” I whispered back, “I’ll talk to her.”

  She nodded but took a few steps before stopping. Wringing her hands, she stared after Wynn. I took another look at James, wondering if he might want to be the one to console our friend. He met my gaze, eyes tight, brows together, but only shrugged.

  Glancing at my father, I held up a finger. I didn’t want to delay the funeral, but Wynn mattered. I turned and all but jogged as rain sprinkled from the darkening sky.

  She hadn’t gone far. Around the corner, next to the sidewalk, she knelt in the grass, body shaking from sobs she attempted to muffle with one hand. I stopped short. What now? I didn’t have words to comfort her. I didn’t even have words to comfort myself. Should I leave her alone?

  Yet seeing her in this much pain bothered me more than anything else, even at Mom’s funeral. Unclenching tight fists, I took a deep breath and opened my mouth, hoping I didn’t make things worse. “I’m sorry, Wynn.”

  Her body went rigid, sobs cutting off with a choke.

  I reached into the pocket of my suit coat and pulled out a small packet of tissues Dad gave me this morning. Carefully sitting next to her on the grass, I offered them.

  She hesitated only a second, then took a tissue from the pack. “You don’t—” she started, voice breaking.

  “It’s fine.”

  “But the cemetery—”

  “Wynn, it’s alright.” I needed to calm her so she wouldn’t feel guilty about holding up the funeral. It was so like her to be worried about everyone else when she hurt. She reminded me of Mom that way. The two shared many traits but remained so different in others. Did she inherit those similarities from spending so much time with her?

  Throughout childhood, we’d been like siblings, spending as much time at the other’s house as we did our own. One of my deepest fears originated from those years of friendship; that she thought of me as a brother, dooming any potential future where we became more than friends. However dour, those concerns gave me the inspiration I needed to help her now.

  “Do you want to ride with us to the cemetery?”

  Wynn paused in wiping her eyes. “What?” She finally looked at me. Deep blue eyes pierced straight into my soul as always, even when red from crying.

  “She would want you with us. When you’re ready, we’ll go together.” I held out the tissues again and she took another.

  Through sniffles, she managed to say, “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  We sat next to each other as the warm rain became a drizzle.

  “I missed this,” I said, holding out my palm to let drops of water collect in it. “It rained plenty in Philly, but it’s not the same. It was too cold.”

  Wynn gasped and I worried I said something wrong, but she wore one of her iconic expressions; eyes wide with eager curiosity, mouth open, as if about to laugh. The face of a child on their first Christmas morning, only slightly spoiled by tear-stained cheeks.

  “Did you get snow?”

  I nodded, chuckling at her excitement.

  “A lot of snow?”

  “Tons.”

  “What was it like?”

  I shrugged. “Honestly? Pretty miserable.”

  Her mouth sank into a frown.

  “Well, it’s so cold! And I don’t mean like winter here. Remember that one time it snowed?”

  She bit her lip and smiled again, nodding. “It was so much fun. How could you not love it?”

  “Ha ha,” I said, “you’d think that, but remember how cold it was that day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, imagine it much, much, much colder, and not just for a day, but months at a time.”

  Her mouth twisted in disgust.

  “Yeah, gets old pretty quick. One freezing winter was enough for me.”

  She nodded, sheepishly tucking straight black hair behind an ear, revealing a familiar pattern of freckles I saw in my mind a thousand times over the last year and a half.

  Words tumbled out of my mouth unbidden. “I’m so happy to be home—” I barely managed to catch the words “with you” before they fell out.

  Staring at the ground, I collected myself. I nearly ruined everything. Maybe she liked James, maybe not, but either way, it terrified me to hint at how she made me feel. How awkward would our relationship get if she didn’t return my interest? Could I cope with discovering she considered me just a friend? Or worse, a brother? Maybe I could live with that reality, but not today. For now, I treasured even the vague hope of potential happiness.

  “I’m glad you’re home too,” she whispered.

  I fell into her blue eyes again.

  She glanced away, then spoke louder, faster. “I missed you. James missed you too, you know. We both missed you.”

  I nodded and stopped myself from reading too much into her inclusion of James in the conversation but wanted to give her a chance to tell me if their friendship had evolved in my absence. “I can’t believe how much he’s grown. What happened?”

  Wynn laughed silently. “Seriously! But what about you? You got taller too.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Almost six feet.”

  “Apparently, I haven’t changed at all?” The question contained a hint of expectation.

  Worried I missed an important detail—longer hair or maybe she grew a bit taller?—I changed the subject back to the matter which shouldn’t be ignored longer. “Feeling a little better?”

  She nodded but immediately turned somber again. We sat silent for another minute, then turned toward each other at the same time, eyes connecting, noses an inch apart.

  For the first time since I left Florida, a scent which could never be forgotten reached me. Even through the rain, I smelled her breath—a sweet mixture of honey and mint. She really hadn’t changed at all.

  I cleared my throat and stood, taking Wynn’s hands, pulling her up with me. “I’ll give you that hug now,” I said. As she stared up at me, sparks shot through my arms from where our hands touched. Clearing my throat, I asked, “Assuming it’s wanted?”

  Dropping my hands, she embraced me.

  The awkward group hug with James felt nice, but this one warmed me to the core. She leaned into me, head on my chest, arms tight around my waist as if her life depended on it. For the first time in the week since Mom died, I knew life would find a way to keep going.