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My eyes continue to prickle with tears as my heart swells to twice its size. “Thank you. You always know how to make me feel better.”
I think about my dream, and how Brant had both Aggie and Bubbles resting in his lap as he sat on top of Rupert. Our two beloved elephants had finally met.
How I wish that were true.
“That’s because I love you, Junebug,” he whispers. Brant bends over, pressing a light kiss to my hairline. “So much.”
“How much?” I ask.
My voice cracks. My throat tickles.
He inches away, peering down at me with all the love in the world. His handsome face is all I see. His warmth is all I feel.
I gulp.
“To the moon and back,” Brant says.
“That’s not enough,” I murmur, inhaling a frayed breath. Then I smile, with Aggie tucked beside me on the hospital cot, a hand gripping my sword while the other holds on to Brant. All the things that make me brave. “How about…over the rainbow and back again?”
PART II
THE SECOND TRAGEDY
12
FIRST BASE
JUNE, AGE 14
Celeste gasps through a mouthful of strawberry-glazed doughnut. “Hayden is coming?”
“He said he was. Marty too.”
Marty. Sigh.
A warm July breeze causes the tree branches to shimmy as I sit on the patio with my best friend, twirling a can of Dr Pepper between my fingers. My sunglasses block the glare from the afternoon sun blazing down on us, and my long hair is woven into a single braid over my shoulder. One of my favorite songs, “Dangerous” by Big Data, is playing, the perfect soundtrack to this summer Saturday as my friend and I chat about the upcoming soiree.
I stretch my legs, hoping for a semblance of golden glow. I’m pale like Mom, my porcelain skin practically allergic to sunlight.
Annoying.
Leaning back in the lawn chair I’m happily content, when I’m startled by something hitting me in the face.
“Put some clothes on, Peach. Jesus Christ.” Theo tosses a beach towel at me as he strolls out through the patio door.
I scoff, lifting my sunglasses. “I’m wearing clothes. Jeez.”
“Those aren’t clothes. That looks like the shit you used to dress your baby dolls in, for Christ’s sake.”
Glancing down at my teeny denim shorts and tight halter, I purse my lips. “You’re being a hypocrite. You’re not even wearing a shirt.”
He scratches at his bare chest—bronzed, because he was blessed with skin that does that.
So not fair.
“I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl who looks twice her age,” he barks back. “Brant’s got a friend over who said, and I quote, ‘Little sis has got legs for days and a nice rack to boot.’ No.” Theo whips his hand though the air like he’s trying to slice oxygen in half. “Fuck. No. I’m not having you eye-raped on my watch, absolutely not.”
Celeste and I share a look before she turns away, hiding behind her half-eaten doughnut.
