Song of the Fireflies. J. Redmerski A.

words stunned me. He had no idea how relevant the seemingly innocent comparison was.

      He smiled again and winked at me. “Yeah, I knew all about her.” He grinned.

      “Then you knew how I felt about her,” I said.

      “Umm-hmm.” He took another swallow. “You were in love with that girl from the moment you saw her. I may not’ve been around much, but some things are easy to figure out in just a few visits. You two were always together.” He rested his back against the chair. “I used to look at your mom like that.”

      “Well, something happened last night,” I began. “I’m not going to tell you the details—don’t want to drag you into it any more than I am just by being here. But I want you to know that it was an accident.”

      He narrowed his gaze on me subtly. “Was it her accident, or yours?”

      “It was Bray’s.”

      “And you’re sure it was an accident?” He looked at me in a short, sidelong manner.

      “Yes, she said it was an accident, and I believe her.”

      “Do you?” He raised his back from the recliner and slumped over forward, resting his arms across his pant legs. “Think about it, Elias. Think about it long and hard, because the answer really is the difference between you doing what the law says is right and you doing what your heart says is right. You have to be sure. One hundred percent, son.”

      I thought about it, just like he said to do, but I didn’t have to think long. I already knew.

      “I know it was an accident,” I said. “She wouldn’t lie to me. And I could tell she was telling the truth. Bray may be brazen and a little over the top sometimes, but she’d never intentionally do something like that.”

      My dad nodded once, accepting my explanation, trusting in me and what I believed. “Y’know, Elias, as your father, first and foremost I have to tell you that I don’t want to see you ruin your life to protect someone else’s.” He set his beer down again and got up from the chair. His camouflaged T-shirt hung sloppily over the top of his jeans. “But I’d be a fool and a hypocrite to expect you not to follow your heart.” He turned and looked down at me. “What do you need?”

      I stood up with him, leaving my beer on the coffee table, and I hugged him long and hard. I wondered if it would be the last time I ever saw him, at least without a thick wall of security glass separating us.

      I left my father that day with some extra cash to get us by for a little while at least, but more important, with his advice, which I always took to heart. He told me that I should try everything in my power to talk Bray into turning herself in before it was too late.

      “Are you sure that’s what’s stopping you?” he had said. “Because you think it’s too late?”

      “Yes,” I had lied. “We’re already in this too deeply to turn back now.”

      But my father was a smart man. He could see right through me and I knew that he could. Bray and I still could’ve turned back and done the “right” thing, but I couldn’t lose her again, and Bray didn’t want to lose me. We had already established that before we left the ridge that night. And that was the way it was going to stay.

      I went back to our motel room with burgers and fries.

      We ate in silence. Silence seemed to be the norm for a while. And we watched television, both afraid we’d turn the news on at ten o’clock and see our faces staring back at us from the screen next to a reporter. But for the first several days, from Savannah to Fernandina Beach to Daytona Beach, we were still in the clear. Bray’s cell phone hardly ever rang. Just once when her sister, Rian, called to see how she was doing. Bray let it go to voice mail.