Page 80 of Heart of the Sun

The prom?“No. When did you do that?”

“A few months before you moved to LA.” She looked up at the branches above, one finger twisting in her hair. “I had this stupid fantasy that if we went to the prom together,we’d have this moment on the dance floor where you’d wrap your arms around me and look into my eyes and… I don’t know. Somehow it would set the whole world back in place and we’d return to those magical, golden days.”

I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t even realized she’d been thinking much about me at all during that time. She’d seemed so focused on her music and all her friends, living the life any beautiful seventeen-year-old girl should live. I’d distanced myself because I had no role in that sort of carefree existence. My life was falling apart as I watched each piece of my legacy dismantled and sold.

She turned her head, her gaze moving over my face. “You were in the barn working and I gathered all my courage and asked if you were going to the prom. You told me you didn’t have time for stupid dances and then you turned away.”

My chest deflated. “Shit. I’m sorry, Em.” I did remember that now. It had hurt me because I’d misunderstood it. “I didn’t know you were asking me to go with you. I thought your question was an indication you didn’t see what I was going through.”

“Maybe it was, partially anyway. Like I said, I thought you were angry and so I didn’t know how to approach you. I was confused and hurt too. And I was also seventeen. But see, Tuck, it was just a moment, a moment where either of us could have reacted differently—better maybe—but we didn’t, and so life moved forward the way it did. That’s what life does in the wake of our choices, good, bad, or in-between.”

My heart warmed. I appreciated the grace she was extending to me. I realized she was relating that moment, and perhaps several others between us, to that dreadful night Abel died. “Life moved forward with no dance-floor moment,” I said. “The one that would have righted everything.”

She turned her body and rested an elbow on the floor, supporting her head in her palm. “Do you think it’s too late to try it now?”

“To dance?”

“To dancethedance.”

“Here?”

Her lips were so close, and there was a tiny smear of yellow cheese on the corner of her mouth. The need to lean in and lick it off and taste her was so strong, I almost moaned, swelling to life, my body so needy. “Well, maybe not here,” she said. “I mean, we’re horizontal right now and there’s no music. But…in general. Do you think there’s such a thing as creating a moment that rights everything that’s gone so horribly wrong? If one moment can ruin everything, maybe one moment can fix it too.”

The way she was looking at me, as if life itself hinged on my answer, made my breath hitch. And for some reason, whereas I would have immediately dismissed the whimsical idea before right now, something inside was tempted to say,maybe. Maybe there is such a moment, a few seconds that undo every wrong. Maybe.Only Emily could do that—help me see possibility and hope where before I’d seen none. Only her.

And right then, it felt like a form of magic. It felt like—together—we could find that moment if it existed at all.

The sudden boom of gunfire made us both startle, and I got on my knees, peering over the wall of the tree fort, my heart hammering. The noise had come from a short distance away, probably someone hunting in this small section of woods. “We should go.”

“Darn. I was hoping this was a good place to camp.”

“We’re essentially in someone’s backyard,” I said. “There’s a neighborhood right over there. And if folks are hunting nearby, it isn’t safe. Also, if there’s danger, we’d be cornered up here.” I turned and started down the ladder. “We’ll camp somewhere safer that’s close by and start off again in the morning.”

We put our backpacks on once we were on the ground and turned back the way we’d come. The sky dimmed another few shades, turning from gold to amber to twilight blue. It was a chilly night and our breath gusted from our mouths as we moved through the damp forest. We walked for thirty minutes or so, winding back through the park, toward the road where I was pretty sure we’d taken a wrong turn. A glow appeared between the break in some trees, and we slowed. “A fire,” Emily whispered, her teeth chattering slightly. The sound of a harmonica met our ears. “Music,” she said, the longing in her voice was deeper than it’d been when she’d mentioned the campfire.

We had matches, but lighting a fire was always risky, depending on where we were. It would draw others even if it was a necessary risk.

“They’re laughing,” Emily said. “And I hear women.”

“That still doesn’t mean they’re safe.” The way her voice rose hopefully though, told me she was excited by the possibility of more social contact. I’d seen the way she’d lit up each time there was an opportunity to experience fellowship and conversation. I’d always been a loner, happy to be left in my own head, while Emily flourished in a crowd.

“It’s a good bet, Tuck. Come on.” She pulled me closer, and we looked around the trees where we could see four people sitting on two fallen logs situated around a blazing fire. There were two women, a young man, and a teenage girl. I let out a slow breath. I could likely take all of them on if they threatened us. Unless they had a weapon. But I didn’t see one anywhere.

“A guitar,” Emily said, breathless. It wasn’t hard to hear the longing in her voice. Music was her gift, but also, it had always filled her own soul. Emily needed music like she needed air. I’d known her since she was a baby, and it’d always been the case.

“They might not want us to join them though. Everyone is rightfully suspicious right now,” I said. Because regardless of the longing in her eyes, her safety was still my job.

“Leave this to me,” she said as she pulled me from the trees.

The man stood when he saw us, his stance tense, expression wary. “Hi,” Emily said with a smile as she set her backpack down. “We were hoping we might join you.” She reached into the front pocket. “We have marshmallows,” she said, holding up the full bag like a hostess on a game show, displaying the grand prize.

The man’s shoulders relaxed and the women who had leaned together sat back where they’d been and smiled. “Come get warm,” the older of the two women said.

We took a seat and introduced ourselves. “It’s nice to meet you both,” the older woman said. “I’m Prisca, and that’s Vincent and Martha and Ady.”

“Where are you heading?”

“Home to Denver. We were on a cruise when the lights went out,” Prisca said.

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