“And you remember the summer?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
“That’s not fair,” he teases.
“Poor baby!” I say. “But you have things that I don’t. You remember when we met; I’ll never know what that felt like.”
Luke turns and kisses me gently and then a little more forcefully before we settle back to look at the stars. I snuggle close to the boy I don’t ever want to lose, hoping that somehow I’ll save him.
The memory of his death is still there, but so is hope. Right now, in Luke’s arms, I feel confident and capable. I will save this boy. I will know the man.
Luke and I stay nestled together until he nudges me.
“We’d better get going,” he says gently. I guess I dozed off. “I’m not letting you fall asleep without a note again.”
“Why not?” I ask, stretching. I kiss him on the cheek and add, with a sly smile, “You don’t have to worry, Luke. I’ll remember you in the morning.”
48
6/15 (Wed.)
Outfit:
—Navy shorts and spotty tank
—Red two-piece
—White flip-flops (lost one at the lake)
IMPORTANT:
Police found Jonas’s kidnappers (they are “cooperating,” whatever that means). Mom already told Dad. She’s emotional but that’s understandable. So am I. I stared at an age-progressed picture of Jonas for an hour, trying to remember him. Didn’t work, but there’s something there… not sure what it is.
>Some things should be a surprise.
Inside, I’m shocked to find my mother, home early, sitting alone at the kitchen table.
“How was your last day?” she asks, forcing small talk.
“Fine,” I say. “I made it to all of my classes, eventually. I handed in that project. It went as well as possible, I guess. What’s up, Mom?”
“They want us to come down to the station,” she says nervously.
“They know something?” I can feel my brain pulling together pieces from memory and notes to form a complete picture.
“Yes.” Mom stands, ready to leave.
We drive in silence the twelve minutes it takes from the garage to the parking lot in front of the police station. We wait two minutes to see Captain Moeller. When we’re all settled in his office, he tells us that they have conclusive results.
I move to the edge of my seat. My mom covers her mouth with her hand, presumably to thwart an impending scream.
We wait.
Captain Moeller clears his throat.
I want to jump across the messy desk and rip the words from his voice box.
Finally, he speaks.