Page 8 of Sunshine

So much of who I am today is because of Jason, because of the way he loved me. He might’ve only been two years older,but as a vibrant and shimmering sixteen-year-old boy who walked right into my desperately bored fourteen-year-old life, he shaped so much about who I became.

“You almost ready, sweetheart?” Mom breezes into my bedroom, eyes finding mine through the reflection of the mirror. She’s dressed in a black pantsuit with a silk black shirt and Louboutins on her feet. We both went to bed with red-rimmed eyes last night, but somehow she’s been able to smooth her sadness away like footprints in the sand as fresh waves wash ashore. My eyes flick back to my own face, studying the dark shade of purple that’s bloomed beneath my eyes. Sad isn’t quite what I look.

Empty, maybe.

But the traces of my crying are still present: puffy eyelids that swell over my lashes; dry, salt-crusted skin on my cheeks. I decided not to bother with makeup—it would be a waste. “Yes,” I say quietly back, pulling my gaze away from the mirror. “Let’s go.”

The drive to the only church in town is quiet. Barry navigates his brand new truck through streets so familiar to me I could traverse them with my eyes closed while my mother prods at her lipstick in the front seat. Annie sits pressed against me in the back, shoulder to thigh, with our hands clasped tightly between us. “I love you, Layla,” she whispers as Barry pulls into the church lot. “And I’m here for you, okay?”

My breath catches in a sob as I look down into her hazel eyes. She’s only thirteen, but somehow she’s become my only real sense of ease and comfort. I want to keep her hand in mine for the entirety of the service, but I know I can’t—she’s a child, not a crutch. I smile down at her, pressing my free hand to the side of her face as I kiss her temple. “I love you most, Annie.”

Her returning smile is a little uneasy, but I squeeze her hand in assurance as the truck rolls to a stop. I turn my attention out the window and find a swarm of people congregating near the entrance, all dressed in black. I recognize Jason’s parents right away, Mrs. Moore leaning heavily on her husband as she weeps, and a heavy surge of nerves rips through me.

Barry pushes out of his door, and Annie follows him out the other side of the car. But I can’t bring myself to move, my eyes locked on Jason’s mother.

“You can do this, Layla,” my own mother affirms. “I’ll be right there beside you. And your sister, and Barry . . . the whole town is practically here, honey. And everybody loves you, just as they loved Jason.”

I know she means well, but her words rake uncomfortably against my heart. “I’m fine,” I force out, then push my door open. I don’t wait for anyone before I start the short trek toward the steps I’ve climbed hundreds of times, finally tearing my gaze away from Mrs. Moore’s shattered face.

Sandy Barlowe, owner of the local sundry shop, rubs a hand up and down her own arm, noticeably uncomfortable with the weight of emotions around her. Big Eddie who, until now, I’ve never seen in anything but a pair of worn overalls and some version of a flannel shirt, looks stiff in a starched collared shirt. Eleanor, a kind older woman who owns the flower shop on Main, is the first to see me approach. Her eyes fill with warm affection, though it’s tinged in profound sadness. “Layla,” she breathes out, and like a bunch of curious owls, everyone cranes their necks to look in my direction.

My eyes land back on Jason’s parents, and I’m suddenly hesitant to even be here, like this is something intimate that I have no business being a part of. I nearly stumble when I reachthe sidewalk, but a warm hand grabs my elbow and rights me. “It’s okay, bug. One step at a time,” my mother murmurs next to me.

Annie’s hand slides into mine again from my other side, and I take a moment to muster the courage to continue forward. My eyes slide to the towering white church I’ve attended since I was a young girl—a place that holds so many memories. I’m not much of a spiritual person, but weekly attendance at service was mandatory in our house growing up, like it is for most families in this town. During high school, Jason and I would sneak eager touches from the pews in the back: a warm hand wrapped around my bare thigh, the feel of his mouth pressed just behind my ear when his parents weren’t looking. It was always more bearable with him next to me, and it pleased my mother to know the boy I loved came from a god-fearing family.

Mrs. Moore’s eyes catch mine, and with a shaky breath, I lean in to wrap my arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper as she sobs into my neck. “He loved you so much,” I tell his father, who feels stiff in our subsequent embrace. Ron Moore is currently serving his second term as mayor, and I’ve never seen him look anything but confident and near-regal in the way he stands tall for the people of this town. To see the evidence of his heartbreak is shocking.

He pulls back to look at me with a sincerity I’ve never seen from him before. “Thank you, Layla. He loved you too, you know.”

I give him a watery smile. “Iknow.”

Inside the church,it’s standing-room only. I’m pretty sure the entire town has shown up to celebrate the too-short life of their sparkling golden boy, the devastation of his loss like a crack in the very essence of what makes Saddlebrook Falls prosper. No one hesitates to make room for my family, though, as Sheriff Joe does his best to push crowds of people down the wooden pews so we can sit together near the front, right behind Jason’s parents.

I’m met with so much gentle love and whispered condolences that I’m not sure how to take it all in, let alone respond—but Annie and my mother hold tightly to me, acting as barriers as best they can. And when we finally settle into our seats and the service begins, it hits me all over again that Jason’s really gone.

I’ll never see him again. I’ll never get to admire the way the sun’s warm evening light glows against his skin. Or the way his eyes glitter as they take in the view of the ocean on a trip to the coast.

I’ll never again hear his low, hungry voice telling me how beautiful I am as his body moves against mine.

And I can’t stop the sobs from ripping through me.

CHAPTERFIVE

NOW

Jason’s celebration of life is happening at the Wild Coyote, the only dive bar in Saddlebrook Falls. Though ours is a conservative town, the people here aren’t without their vices. Even on weeknights, the Wild Coyote is filled to the brim with local townsfolk eager to take the edge off.

I’m able to snag an open parking spot along the side of the old brick building. My mom and Barry decided to stay home with Annie, but they let me drive the Mercedes here myself so I wouldn’t need to find a ride. I think they knew I needed a few quiet minutes alone, away from all the eyes on me, waiting for me to break.

I’m well aware that my face is swollen and raw from another day spent crying, but I don’t care. I don’t even look at my face in the mirror—none if it matters. Nothing in the world matters anymore without Jason. And I’m terrified that nothingever will again.

Stepping out of my mother’s car, I follow the path to the front door of the bar. The temperature outside has plummeted, but I hardly feel the chill. I didn’t even bother grabbing a jacket when I left my house. I welcome the cold against my skin, hoping that it might be enough to make me feel something.

Inside, my heels clack loudly against dark hardwood floors, drawing unwanted attention from everyone who’s already here. I keep my head low, my eyes locked on the ground as they trace the knots in the long wooden planks. The melancholic din greets me—so different to what the inside of this bar usually sounds like.

I can’t help but notice how dark it is the farther I get, like the lights might not be turned up all the way. Or maybe that’s just what it’s always like. I’ve only been here once—Jason’s best friend’s grandfather owned it up until he passed a couple of years ago. I’m not sure who owns it now, but I imagine someone in Wells’s family is still running things.

It struck me as an odd place for Jason’s celebration of life, considering he’d probably never spent much time here either. We were too young to be in a place like this before we all left for college. Well, not counting the night Wells used a spare key to score him and Jason another round of beers after their graduation party. I’d been anxious that night, caught up my own prickling dread that they were both about to leave for college, and I’d be stuck here for another two years alone.

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