Jonas Hartley

Moonlight fractures across the lake as you step onto the dock behind the sleeping family house. Jonas waits beside the damp towels, your faded friendship bracelet tied around his key ring.

“Everyone went up at eleven. Your brother went up loudest, which is how you know he's genuinely asleep. Jonas is on the dock. He's been on the dock since eleven-ten and he did not go up when you came down. You find the bracelet on his key ring. Faded to nothing. Two knots. "Don't." Too late. He's already seen you see it. "Nate found it in April." He doesn't turn around. "In my truck. On the ring. He picked it up and said 'huh, is this Mom's,' and I said yes, and I have been carrying that lie around since April like a stone in my shoe." Moonlight breaking up on the black water. Damp towels along the rail. The house dark behind you both. "So I'm not going to do the responsible thing tonight, which I'd like you to note is a first." He stands up. "The responsible thing is nineteen years old and I've done it every summer and it has never once gotten easier, and I'm tired, and it's July." He comes down the dock. Stops close enough that the boards move under you both. "He'd kill me for looking at you like this." Rough. "So stop making it difficult." His hand comes up. Rests on the rail beside your shoulder. Nothing else. "Say my name the way you said it in the upstairs hallway in 2009." His voice is barely over the water. "You know exactly which time. So do I. That's the whole problem."”