Catching Sunshine | JJ Maybank

2 // The Gold

↠ 2 Months Ago ↞

It was silent on the marsh for once; no birds sang and no crickets chirped, as if they knew why we were here. What we had returned to do. I couldn't decide if it creeped me out, or if it felt nice to not be bombarded with sounds after barely having a quiet moment to think for the past three days. Shoupe had let us go home that night but first thing in the morning all four of us were being called down to the station for interviews. I didn't know why; we had already told them what happened. John B had told them what happened before he...

The Phantom had been found yesterday, floating upside down and torn apart. But there was no sign of either of her passengers and I got nauseous whenever I thought about how the ocean had managed to discard their bodies so quickly. A small, relentlessly stubborn part of me thought maybe they had been picked up by someone sailing past but no ships were known to be in the area and no one had reported fishing two bedraggled kids from the sea. So when I heard the Cameron's had announced a memorial service for Sarah, I forced that hopeful part of me to die. There was no use keeping that candle burning if I knew it would only be smothered in the end.

So who was left to memorialize John B? Four tired, traumatized, grieving teenagers. Charming. But regardless, that's what we had showed up today to do, even if all we had was an old box filled with various mementoes from our time together over the years. I swallowed hard as we approached the Château, gripping JJ a little tighter around the abdomen as he eased the pair of us into the yard where Pope and Kie already waited and turned the dirt bike off. Pope shouldered the hatchet he held and JJ slung his backpack off the back of the bike, its contents consisting of a blowtorch and the whittled end of a iron rod.

"Ready?" I whispered before we joined the other two, squeezing his sweaty palm once, twice, three times. His face was hollow but he forced a small smile to grace his features just for me. A curt nod was his only reply and together the four of us walked solemnly to the base of that mighty beech tree. For the most part, the little fish shack looked the same but my mind kept envisioning the police tape that, up until yesterday, had been garishly decorating most of the property. I forced the images away, trying to keep the promise I made to myself; I wasn't going to cry today. I had spent the better part of the last 48 hours in tears; it was exhausting.

Everyone continued to say nothing and Pope wordlessly picked a spot on the trunk of the tree and began swinging. The first initial thud of the blade against the bark made me flinch, making JJ's eyes glance over quickly. He kept doing that; every movement my body made, no matter how small, he watched me. I hadn't decided if he was keeping an eye out for signs that I was about to crumble or if he was afraid that if he looked away for too long that I would blow away on the wind. Probably a little bit of both. I was trying not to be annoyed by it, remembering how I promised to be less of a "stubborn ass" when it came to such things. That didn't make it any easier though.

Pope kept hammering away until sweat beaded at his brow under the late evening sun and he was left with a smooth, carved image on the surface of the bark in roughly the shape of a heart. That's when JJ's hand left mine and he stepped forward, igniting the blowtorch with a press of his fingers and heating the end of the iron rod until it glowed red. In a series of small, precise presses of the makeshift brander into the wood, he spelled out those simple yet painful words.

2003 2020
JOHN B ROUTLEDGE
P4L

Once he stepped back, I sucked in a breath when I saw the finished product. It was beautiful in the way that horrible things sometime can be and my stomach grew queasy all over again. I heard Kiara sniffle next to me but I couldn't bring myself to reach for her hand or even look in her direction, lest I find myself breaking down too. JJ produced that old, dented metal flask from within the confines of his flannel and raised it to a toast. Very rarely did that thing ever leave his side anymore and I eyeballed it with hatred so intense I thought I might burn a hole right through the side of it.