Chapter 17 Ella

Chapter 17

Ella

"This feels like a date." I lie sprawled out on the quilt beside Max, my eyes turned up to the Tennessee sky. The scent of dewy grass and damp earth hangs in the air as the dull hoot from a faraway owl serenades the darkness.

Wrinkling my nose, I turn to Max to gauge his reaction.

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 and Sister Act made 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.

Mom and I were also sentenced to death that day.

Jonah stared over at us when he was hauled from the courtroom, his face a mask of pure pain. Our gazes caught from a few feet away and he said loudly, tortured, with tears streaming down his cheeks from red-rimmed eyes, "I didn't do it. Please, believe me."

I hate that I don't believe him.

I hate that I still love him, miss him, need him here beside me, giving me warmth on my darkest days. I think that's why I'm so broken-down and damaged.

Forgiveness without love is one thing.

But love without forgiveness? That's like a tree without roots; it can't stand for long. It can never truly live.

That's why I'm so resistant to the idea of falling in love. I can't go through it again.

Brynn! told me I have "anti-love" eyes, and I think it's because of all the horrible things they've seen in the name of it.

I turn to Max and can hardly make out his expression through the blur of tears. All I know is that he's staring at me. He doesn't pull his eyes away, even though a sky full of stars hangs over us. "Sorry," I murmur. "I'm getting all emotional."

"Don't be sorry. I know it's not the same but, in a way…I can relate."

"You can?"

He nods, maintaining eye contact. "My mother walked out on us and never came back," he tells me. "She's not dead but she's not here. I can't put my arms around her or eat her blueberry waffles, but I also can't bring flowers to a gravestone or whisper words to the clouds and pretend she can hear me."

Max's knuckles graze against my own. I'm not sure if it's intentional or not, but I don't move away. I do the opposite by inching my hand closer to his until his featherlight touch evolves into willful brushstrokes. Rhythm. The sensation prompts my belly to clench and my skin to sizzle.

"There's no closure in something like that," he continues, the words breathy. "That kind of grieving is an entirely different beast. Grieving someone still alive becomes choice, instead of chance, and I've had a whole lot of experience with that." He swallows, dusting his thumb across the back of my hand. "Sometimes I think it's the only thing in this world worse than death."

I hear him but his touch is louder. It feels like a song, an orchestra trumpeting through my bloodstream. My heart is a bass drum, and when his fingers slowly, delicately, begin to lace with mine, the drumbeats crescendo.

For as good as I am at catching things, I can hardly catch my breath. It slips away from me, as does time. We stare at each other, our fingers gently tangling, our hands locking to parallel our gazes. Max's breathing is shaky, my limbs are quivering, and I've never been this close to anyone before. Not like this. The stars are overhead, but some may have fallen and crash-landed in my chest. At least a few. At least one.

Max's eyes close for a beat with a slow, lazy blink. And then he whispers, "Look at the sky, Sunny."

His words register like thick molasses and I can't seem to tear my eyes away from his. I think I'm in a trance. A spell-glazed stupor.

He smiles at me, gives my hand a tender squeeze. "Look up."

Finally, I catch that breath. It filters through me, unlocking me, and as the strange haze dissipates, I blink myself back to the bluffs and let his words sink in.

I look up.

Above me, stars begin to emerge, one by one, as if someone is gradually lighting up a giant cosmic pinboard. My eyes adjust to the night as the darkness opens up, unveiling an extravagant show of constellations. Then, out of nowhere, a bright streak flashes across the sky.

I turn to look at Max again. "What was that?" I choke out, the words all gasp and wonder.

"The Taurid meteor shower."

My gaze pans back up and my heart jumps. The Taurid meteor shower. The meteor is cutting across the night like a sharp, swift brush streak on an inky canvas. Then comes another and another, each one more enchanting than the last.

I can feel my pulse racing, matching the rhythm of each fleeting meteor. Every fiery trail feels like a hello, a postcard from the farthest reaches of space. Being under the open sky makes me feel tiny, insignificant. But there is also a strange sense of belonging as light beams slash through a backdrop of deep, deep blue.

"Ella?" Max whispers.

Tears gather in my eyes as my chest fills with a smothering feeling. "Yeah?"

"I lied about something."

I frown, tipping my head toward him. "You did?"

"Yeah. I said you were a regular girl…but you're not." His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and he turns to meet my eyes. "You're more."

He doesn't elaborate. And within everything unsaid, that heavy feeling in my chest ruptures and those tears begin to leak from my eyes. I don't apologize this time. I don't tell him I'm sorry for letting my emotions spill out, for allowing this moment to make me feel something other than the comfortable wash of nothingness. I'm not sorry.

I'm grateful.

When teardrops gather at the corner of my lips, I lick away the salt and inhale a wobbly breath. "We're hand-holding," I say. "What comes next on your list?"

It can't be kissing. He said there would be no kissing.

I don't want to know how soft his lips are, or how rough his stubble would feel against the skin of my jaw. I have no desire to feel his tongue against mine. I don't wish for any of that.

I don't.

Max's gaze slips to my mouth and holds. "Nothing," he answers, a slow smile stretching before his eyes pan back up. "This is where the list ends."

When the words register, my own smile spreads and I give his palm a gentle squeeze. The quote from "Little Gidding" flashes through my mind as I stare at Max, his hand filled with mine and his eyes filled with stars.

"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."

I like this ending.