His heart throbbing in his chest, Ethan trekked through the forest. He was making the trip that he and Juniper had never finished—the trip to her secret cove. He had left his bike at his aunt and uncle’s house, because this time, he felt he needed to take it all in. He was leaving this afternoon, after all. It was his last day in this forest for the summer, and, he had decided, his last day for a long, long while. Once he left Ellison, he didn’t know if he could ever come back.
His parents were at his aunt and uncle’s house—his mom had made the drive down that morning, the soonest she could come after Uncle Robert had called to tell her what had happened. His dad had been in town for four days now, this time sticking around for more than a Coke and a quick hello.
When Ethan’s mom had arrived, she and his father shared tense greetings, not meeting each other’s eyes. Thankfully, Henry, brought home from the hospital just a couple of days before, was a welcome distraction. They both doted over the baby, which kept an easy peace. Still, as soon as the breakfast conversations were done, Ethan had slipped outside. He knew they were probably sitting around the kitchen table now in uncomfortable silence, but he tried to put that image out of his mind.
It wasn’t hard. He pushed through the trees and into the secret cove—and there, all he could think of was Juniper. He fell to his knees beside the brook, his legs no longer able to hold him. His stomach twisted with longing and regret, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He reached out an arm and trailed it through the running water, thinking about how he had lain there all those weeks ago, watching Juniper paint.
She had been a whirlwind of movement, a paintbrush in each hand and a rainbow across her face—he remembered how she’d laughed for no reason other than that she was alive. Had been alive. His heart ached as he stared up at the canopy of trees, the patches of blue through the green. At her funeral the previous morning, he had been ill at the thought of her lying in the coffin, motionless—she was, by nature, never still. That feeling hadn’t gone away.
Juniper’s funeral had been a small affair, and Ethan resented it. She deserved a marching band, a ticker-tape parade, and a guest appearance by Elvis Presley. But Ellison, Alabama, didn’t care about the strange girl who lived in a house in the woods, so there were seven people in attendance: Ethan, Gus, Cara, Robert, Henry, Abrams, and Juniper’s aunt, Annabelle.
The latter was a wreck through the whole thing, standing between Abrams and Gus and sobbing loudly into her thick black veil. She couldn’t even look at the casket.
“Poor woman,” Aunt Cara remarked as they followed the short procession into the cemetery. “We’ll have to find someone to take care of her.”
Ethan, dressed in a suit borrowed from Uncle Robert that was two sizes too big, had sworn that he wouldn’t lose his composure. He told himself that Juniper wouldn’t want him to cry. Even after everything, and even through his pain, she would have wanted him to celebrate her.
But when they lowered the casket into the ground, he fell to his knees beside the grave and wailed.
Two men from the church filled the hole with dirt and Ethan wanted to tell them to stop, because she couldn’t be dead, could she? She was in there, wondering what in the world was going on, and they were burying her alive. He waited to hear her cries, her fists banging against the lid, but there was nothing. Just Ethan’s sobs, competing in volume with Aunt Annabelle’s, and the sound of soil hitting wood.
When it was over, Uncle Robert put an arm around Annabelle and led her away from the grave. Aunt Cara stepped beside Ethan, who was still kneeling at the edge of the plot, and squeezed his shoulder.
“We’re going to take Anna back home,” she said, rocking Harry Juniper Shay in one arm. The baby blinked at Ethan. “Do you want to come?”
“Can I meet you guys at the house?” he whispered. “I just need some time.”
“Of course, sweetie. Take as long as you need.”
When she walked away to join Uncle Robert at the car, Ethan looked at the top of the grave, where the headstone would eventually sit. He had chosen the inscription himself. It would read In memory of Juniper Starfish Jones. Adventurer, niece, and best friend.
The finality of it all made his stomach churn.
With a shuddering breath, Ethan pushed himself to his feet and turned away from the grave. Gus was standing a few feet behind him, sporting a few days of stubble and a dusty old suit.
“Real sad,” he said, even now a man of very few words. He stood with shoulders raised and fists clenched, but Ethan could see the tears pooling in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Real sad.”
Gus—tough, kind old Gus—clapped a gentle hand on Ethan’s shoulder and stared at the freshly planted grave. “Awful, is what I mean. Terrible.” He shrugged as if to ask, what more can I say? “Gonna miss her.”
Ethan nodded, feeling new dampness on his cheeks. “Me too.”
“You know.” Gus sighed. “I know you didn’t look at the casket, but they put her in her favorite dress. That yellow one, you know, with the polka dots. And they put a sunflower in her hair.”
“Good,” Ethan managed to murmur. “She would’ve wanted that, I think.”
Gus dipped his head in agreement, then, unexpectedly, pulled Ethan into a tight embrace. “Anyway,” he mumbled gruffly, turning away. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Juniper’s grave was atop a small hill in the center of the cemetery, and Ethan watched Gus descend it with some difficulty. Meanwhile, Abrams was climbing back up, and the two men nodded as they passed each other.
Ethan had been surprised to see Abrams here—the man hardly seemed to leave his store. “Hi, Abrams,” he said as the man approached.
“Hello, Ethan,” Abrams replied, stroking his beard. “This is tragic, it really is. Juniper was one of my best vendors.”
Ethan muttered, “Yeah, well, she was my best friend.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong”—Abrams waved a hand in the air—“she was a wonderful girl. Had the heart and wisdom of a child.” He smiled, and for once it reached his eyes. “A wonderful girl, yes. And also wonderful at supplying fresh-cut flowers, as it were.”
Ethan rolled his eyes.
After a moment of silence, Abrams continued, saying, “I hear the police went knocking on Noah O’Neil’s door yesterday morning. Threw his mother into a fit, which I appreciate. Never met such an irritating woman in my life.” Ethan, who had not heard this, raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, they questioned him, and that Alex kid as well. Everyone knows what they did. Not that it matters, of course.”
Ethan felt his body tense at the thought of Noah and Alex. “Why not?”
“Ethan, don’t be a fool. They’re two young white boys from well-known families in town, and their victims were you, a half-Negro boy, and Juniper, the town loony. Even if the case makes it to court, which I doubt it will, they’ll never be convicted. The whole thing will be written off as a terrible accident, and they’ll go free.”
“Whatever,” Ethan snapped. He turned away from Juniper’s grave and pushed past Abrams. His tears were gone now, replaced by fire. “See you around.”
“Ethan,” Abrams said, grabbing the boy’s arm as he passed. Ethan glared over his shoulder, hot coals in his eyes. Abrams stared right back.
“Those pigs won’t ever end up in jail,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve it. And the guilt of what they did will eat them alive until the day they die.”
They do deserve it, Ethan thought now, pushing himself into a sitting position next to the brook. In his mind, they deserved to rot in prison for the rest of their lives. But in his heart, he knew that Juniper would not have felt the same way.
I know they’re terrible, she would have said, but I want to believe that they could become better. No one can be all bad, right?
And Ethan would have shrugged, not agreeing with her but listening as she described, in elaborate fashion, her ten-part plan to fix them.
Add it to the list, she’d say.
Ethan shook his head, wishing, as he often had these past few days, that she were here.
Sighing heavily, he reached for a stone along the bank and skipped in across the brook. He wondered, picking up another stone, where Noah and Alex were. Probably in their houses, waiting for a trial and a guilty verdict that would never come.
He wondered, too, where Courtney was; he’d been thinking about her. He’d seen her just a few hours before, when he’d visited Juniper’s grave, and he still wasn’t sure why.
The late-August sun had been high in the sky as Ethan returned to the cemetery. He rode his bike to the church and left it leaning against the front steps. He took the small envelope and watering can from his basket and circled the building to the cemetery.
When he reached Juniper’s grave, he dropped to his knees beside it and carefully opened the envelope. Soon grass would grow, but for now there was only fertilized soil. It was the perfect time.
He did it exactly as Juniper had taught him: he dragged his hand through the dirt, making three long rows; he shook the sunflower seeds carefully out of the envelope until they were all gone, then he covered them with dirt; he lifted the watering can and tipped it over, letting a gentle stream of water pour out.
When he was done, he stood up, brushed the dirt off his pants, and nodded. “There you go, June,” he said. “Soon you’ll have a garden.” He was just turning to go when he saw a girl ascending the slope. His heart raced.
But squinting against the sun, Ethan realized that it was Courtney, her head bowed and a bouquet of seven pink roses in her fists. She stared down at the flowers and didn’t seem to notice him.
“Sunflowers,” Ethan said, as she approached. Courtney looked up quickly, a hand rising to her chest; when recognition registered in her eyes, she did not look at all relieved.
“Sorry?” she squeaked.
Ethan shook his head, suddenly wishing he hadn’t spoken because now there was an ocean rising in his chest. “Sunflowers,” he repeated softly. “Her favorite flowers are sunflowers.”
“Oh.” Courtney shifted uncomfortably. “I just grabbed the first ones I saw at the store, so . . .”
Her light hair, pulled into a bun, left her face bare, and etched into her features Ethan saw only sadness. Her eyes were puffy, her lips were chapped, and red splotches marred her cheeks. As Ethan watched, she moved awkwardly to the grave and laid down all the roses except one. She seemed to be holding back a sob. Perhaps he should have been angry; this grief was not hers to feel. Instead, Ethan felt only pity.
“She’d love them anyway,” he said, for some reason wanting to ease her anguish. “She loved all flowers.”
In response, Courtney flashed the slightest smile of gratitude—but it became a frown almost instantly. She opened her mouth to speak, her bottom lip trembling.
“I talked to Noah and Alex. They didn’t realize—or, well, they didn’t know . . . they thought she could swim,” she finished emptily. “They didn’t mean for her to, well. To die.” She squeaked out the last word like a curse.
Ethan blinked at her. “That doesn’t change the fact that it happened,” he said. She nodded, agreeing, but didn’t turn to leave.
There was something else; he could see it in her eyes. She swallowed hard, and he waited.
“I’m sorry,” she said eventually, though the hollowness of her words made it clear that they were not the ones she wanted to say. “I know it’s not my place, and I know that it will never be enough, but I am. I’m sorry.”
And before Ethan could respond, she turned and hurried away through the cemetery.
Perhaps he should have let her go, but something urged him to follow her down the hill and through the gravestones. The cemetery wasn’t large, and it wasn’t long before, from several yards away, Ethan saw Courtney stop at a small grave near the edge of the forest and carefully place the last rose in front of the headstone. Straightening, she glanced quickly left and right and did not seem surprised to find Ethan standing there, watching her. Instead of speaking, she simply let out a breath that it seemed she had been holding for years and hurried away into the trees.
Once she had gone, Ethan walked slowly to the grave. The stone was small and unevenly cut, not nearly as elaborate as some of the others. The name looked as if it had been etched with a set of keys, and his heart sank for the boy who lay beneath the earth. Courtney’s fresh rose seemed out of place beneath the jagged, familiar letters. Cole Parker.
He frowned at the grave, wondering why—and wondering, too, if there might be something good inside Courtney, after all.
Juniper would have loved that. Ethan knew she’d never really hated Courtney. The girl was friends with terrible people, but she’d left flowers for June—and for Cole.
The thought of them both, two people in Ellison who’d died far too young, made Ethan shake with anger. He hadn’t known Cole, but he knew that the boy hadn’t deserved to die. And Juniper, well, she deserved to live forever.
Now, in the clearing, Ethan was on his feet and seeing red. He kicked at the grass, leaving a brown smear across his sneakers. He kicked at the water, spraying the bank and himself. And then he screamed. Loudly, angrily, he screamed for Juniper and for Cole and for the girl arrested on the bus and for himself, because none of them deserved the cards they’d been dealt. He emptied his lungs of air and his voice of sound as he stomped blindly around the cove, kicking at the ground. This anger had been building all summer, and now that it was out, he felt like he could tear down the entire forest with his bare hands.
When the anger at last subsided, Ethan found himself standing in front of the largest hollow, his and Juniper’s hiding place. The home of fairies, like in the very first painting she’d shown him. Choking back a sob, he crawled inside.
It was dark and cool in here, and Ethan sat cross-legged. If he focused, he could remember what it felt like to sit in here with Juniper, her knees against his, breathing together. As he stared up into the tree’s hollow trunk, the light shifted, sun suddenly coming through a hole in the bark somewhere above him. Immediately, his hiding place was illuminated.
And all around him, he saw color.
I have something to show you, she’d said that night. A piece I’ve been working on.
This must have been what she meant, Ethan realized, craning his neck to take it all in. All around him, painted straight onto the wood, were dozens of images. A redheaded girl drinking a vanilla milk shake; a dark-skinned boy running through the trees. A movie theater, a jukebox, fireworks. Ethan and Juniper on the lake, on Aunt Cara’s couch, rolling down Alligator Hill.
She had painted their summer.
Ethan stared at it all, trying to memorize every single last brushstroke. Tears flowed freely down his face. In the center, right where their bucket list was still taped to the bark, were a few simple words.
To E. from J. Thank you for everything.
“She was my best friend,” Ethan had said of Juniper, when his parents asked. Before they’d eaten breakfast that morning, Uncle Robert and Aunt Cara had been out of the room changing Henry and it was just Ethan and his parents. They hadn’t sat around a table like this in years.
His father asked him, awkwardly, if he was okay. His mother told him, emphatically, that he didn’t need to be. He sensed a fight brewing and looked desperately between.
“Please don’t,” he said. “Not now.”
Chastened, his parents looked down at the table. Then, after a moment, his dad said, “Tell us about her.”
Ethan had opened his mouth to respond, but realized it was an incredibly difficult question. There were so many things he could say about Juniper Jones—that she loved dancing to Elvis, that she had the best green thumb of everyone he’d ever known, that her heart was probably the size of the entire world—but none of them seemed like enough.
So: “She was my best friend,” he began. He told them about their invincible summer. About meeting her in the malt shop that day, rowing at the lake, climbing the tallest tree in Alabama, planting a garden, going to Montgomery. His mom nodded, tears in her eyes, remembering her brief evening with Juniper. He told them about Juniper’s compassion and patience and kindness; how she stood up for him and cared for him and saw the good in him even when no one else did. And he told them how, with every last fiber in her being, she wanted things to change.
“She’s the reason,” he had finished. He’d looked at his parents across the table, at the covered breakfast plates between them. “The whole reason I made it through this summer. She showed me that people can be good and there can be hope, even when it hurts.”
And it was true, he thought now, taking one last look at the painted hollow as the sun moved again and eased him back into darkness. The images were seared into his memory, and would be forever. When he closed his eyes, he saw only color.
Ethan suddenly realized that he was crying, but for the first time since that night on the lake, he wasn’t consumed by sorrow. He pressed a hand to his lips and his shoulders shook and tears ran down his cheeks, but he was also laughing, because Juniper was here. He felt her presence here, in this tiny cove, in this painted tree trunk, in the forest air. The brook babbled, and in the trickling sound, he swore he heard her laughter.
“I’ll never stop missing you, Starfish,” he promised, staring up into the hollow. He imagined her in here when the light was just right, painting furiously with a brush in each hand. “Never ever in my whole life.” He was certain that she could hear every word. As an afterthought, he added, softly, “But thank you. This summer really was invincible.”
Finally, he felt that he could leave. He had bags to load and a floor to sweep and a chicken sandwich to scarf down before he got into his dad’s car for five days of driving. He had good-byes to say to his mom, who’d promised she would visit soon. He had a conversation to stumble through with his father about all the things he didn’t understand about Ethan, and needed to. But he felt like he could do that now.
And so, with a deep breath, Ethan slipped out of the hollow. He gave it one last glance, seeing Juniper everywhere he looked. And then he ran. Over the brook, through the forest, past the lake, down the path—he ran. When Aunt Cara’s house came into view down the road, he slowed to a stop, resting his hands on his knees. Juniper’s smile burned behind his eyes as he turned and surveyed the cloud of dirt behind him. It lingered in the air for a moment, then, like a sigh, settled gently back down to the earth. All was still.