Page 2 of Lost in the Moonlight

The truth whispered back that she’d earned it the hardest way possible.

She’d died, and I hadn’t.

I’d finally laid her to rest, hadn’t I? Replaced her ghost with new guilts and then buried those as well. Moving to Cherry Baywas supposed to be the last shovel of dirt tossed on the grave of my past. I was turning the corner my parents, and the entire world, had expected me to turn more than a decade ago. Turning the corner my ex, Felicity, had screamed at me for not taking.

I pulled the sweats and a pair of socks onto my freezing body before returning to the king-sized bed to retrieve my cell phone from the nightstand. A single glance at the twisted wine-colored sheets proved I hadn’t been sleeping even before I’d been drawn to the window and the quiet tombstones that complemented the heavy, Gothic furniture of my bedroom. I’d made this room mine specifically because of its neighbor, hoping the solitude would bring me restfulness and never suspecting it would return Sienna instead.

I maneuvered around more boxes to get to the door. The only thing I’d unpacked so far was a crate of artwork that now rested in the sitting area of the suite. A stack leaned up against the dresser, practically hiding the flat-screen television sitting atop it. Some of the art was finished and framed, while others were barely marked canvases waiting to be completed. The painting at the front was a poorly designed imitation of Sienna’s that hung in my D.C. gallery.

We’d created the two pieces together as teens, laughing and snickering behind our art teacher’s back. Mine was full of amateurish lines because I’d been distracted by her, while Sienna’s was a masterpiece made by a sixteen-year-old. Her art now welcomed people to the gallery as she might have if she’d lived, with vibrant colors, strong strokes, and an eye-opening look at our world.

The hallway was dark, but its parquet floors shone in the moonlight as I made my way down the circular staircase. The white marble columns and mother-of-pearl inlaid ceiling had called to me the instant the realtor had shown me the two-story Colonial. With its silvery satin wallpaper and white woods, walking in the front door felt like entering a dream instead of a nightmare. Hopeful instead of hopeless. And I’d needed the hope. The escape.

Slipping past the antique door with its stained-glass panes, I headed straight back to the kitchen, where I glanced out the bay window to the graveyard. When no sign of my ghost greeted me, I flicked on a single drop light, turning incandescent moonlight into warm sunshine.

I’d saved as much of the original artistry of the house as possible while enlarging rooms, hardwiring technology, and hiding solar panels amongst the gray tile roof. But it was in the kitchen I’d done the most work. When my family came to visit, I wanted them to see something here, something in me, they hadn’t seen in a long time—happiness. In this vibrant room hinting of flowers and cheerful meadows, I’d started to convince myself I could achieve it.

Here I’d found a respite from the ugly rumors. Peace from the nonstop barrage of media making me into a monster and Felicity into a saint. I’d started to step into the light of day.

But I should have known better.

I’d never truly escape the dark shadows that had chased me long before gossip, trauma, and ghosts. I’d forever be a figure shrouded in the night with my idiopathic insomnia causing me to rise after mere hours of sleep. A move to a town and a house that looked like it had stepped from the pages of a fairy tale wasn’t going to prevent my sleeplessness any more than the drugs the doctors had once prescribed—drugs I now refused unless I’d gone weeks without rest.

The phone I’d stuffed into my sweats’ pocket buzzed, jarring me from my brooding. One glance at the ridiculous text from my youngest sister eased the heaviness in my chest.

KATERINA: Perchance to dream my brother sleeps while I was out dancing amongst the strips of black and spotted stars.

Two in the morning in Virginia meant it was only eleven in LA, early for a Saturday night in Hollywood.

ME: Dare you torture me this early with your Shakespearian-inspired drivel?

KATERINA: A sister can hope you wouldn’t respond because you were ACTUALLY SLEEPING. I thought things were better lately?

ME: Maybe I was and your text woke me?

KATERINA: You’d have ‘Do Not Disturb’ on if that was the case.

ME: Which stars were you dancing with? Anyone I’ve seen on screen?

KATERINA: I don’t kiss and tell.

I snorted into the silence.

ME: I didn’t say kiss. I said dance.

KATERINA: Don’t try to pry information out of me without answering my question first. How have you been sleeping?

ME: I’ve had several good nights in a row.

KATERINA: I guess that’s decent for you.

ME: Before I forget, the moving company sent some of your boxes with mine. I’ll stuff them in a guest room until you can decide what you want to do with them.

KATERINA: I can’t even remember what’s in them. You could probably toss everything, and I wouldn’t even know.

ME: Fat chance of me doing your dirty work. The ones I’ve opened are full of clothes. If I toss them, you’ll claim there was a one-of-a-kind Dior dress in there, and I’ll have to cough up an unseemly amount of money to try and replace it.

KATERINA: You’re such a cynic. But you’re probably right. Plus, it gives me an excuse to come see your new place. Are you coming with Dad and Mom to California?

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