Page 98 of Escaping Our Reality

Phillip is at least a better actor than Dad. I’d say he’s par on target with Mom. He smiles at Ry, but his eyes are beady and hard. He looks at Ry likes he’s a thief, about to make a getaway with the family silver. “So, tell me how you two met. There has to be some type of story there.”

I shake my head, deciding to give a little more sanitized version of the truth. The story of meeting in the coffeehouse is just lame. “No story, really. I went out to visit that gas station that Carrie went to a few times before she went missing. Remember, the detectives went to all the places Carrie went in the months leading up to her disappearance?” Phillip nods, swallowing down the warm brown liquor. “Well, Ryland works at the body shop right across the parking lot from the gas station. Us meeting was just happenstance, really.”

Phillip nods, paying special attention to the closeness of our bodies. His stare is so intense, it actually weirds me out a little bit.

He shakes his glass back and forth. “Well, that is definitely interesting. And did you know Carrie, Ryland?”

I’m taken aback by the look on his face. He looks angry and annoyed. No wonder Kristie never dates. My parents are rude, but Phillip is just plain scary.

Fortunately, Ry and I are saved from this odd torment. A waiter steps out onto the patio, ringing a water glass, calling us all inside the dining room. The hosts—aka my parents—are assembling everyone for a small speech. Same as they do everysingle year. Anything to stand in the spotlight for even the briefest moment. It takes several minutes for everyone to filter in, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by me that Phillip and Kristie seem to be exchanging harsh words over in the corner. I did see her flirting with some of the college guys earlier. I’m sure that went over as well as a vegetarian at a slaughterhouse.

Dad clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming. Another year has come and gone. It’s so hard to believe. None of this would be possible without the hard work of my lovely wife. Susan,” Dad holds his arms open wide, “come over here, darling.”

Feigning modesty while the crowd politely claps, Mom shoos Dad away. Finally, laughing and forcing a blush to her face, she races to his side. “Robert,” she pats his chest, “don’t embarrass me.”

He fake laughs. “Never. Never.” Everyone else in the room fake laughs too. What the famous doctor does, everyone does.

“We are all so proud to be a part of the North and Camden Academy legacy. And what better way to leave a lasting mark on the world than through charity work. Giving the gift of time, kindness, love, and… money.” Everyone claps and chuckles. Dad points at some old guy in the corner. “That’s right, John. Don’t think you can drink the champagne and eat the beef tenderloin without pulling out your checkbook before you leave.” John smiles and nods, toasting Dad with his champagne flute.

“The North and Camden Academy Charitable Fund has done so many amazing things throughout the years. But I don’t think anything has been as special to my heart as the work the charity will be doing in the months to come, work spearheaded by one of the loves of my life.” Dad holds his hand out in my direction. “Ella, sweetheart, come and join your old, sentimental parents.”

I wanna strangle him. He knows I hate to be in front of a large crowd like this. He barely showed any interest at all inthe graduation charity trip. I did all of the research, all of the planning, and presented it to the student council and the charity foundation board all by myself. Now he wants to take credit. All because it serves the current agenda in front of him.

Not knowing what I’ll do, Ry gently places his hand on the small of my back, providing silent encouragement, letting me know he’s got my back. That whatever I do, he’ll stand behind me.

What choice do I have?

Squaring my shoulders, stiffening my spine, and folding my hands in front of me, I join my parents at the front of the room.

“I don’t think it’s news to anyone that personal tragedy has overwhelmed our family this year.” My father twitches his nose, and my mother dabs the corner of her eye, wiping away non-existent tears. Whispers of condolence and sympathy travel through the crowd. “But even in the hardest of times, human resilience and strength can triumph. Turning the darkest devastations into the smallest iota of hope—of devoted sacrifice—is what makes us all grow as people. Grow as a community. Grow as a foundation for our future generations.

“We all know that annual tuition was set at $40,000 at the last fiscal meeting. I think we, in this room, can all consider ourselves lucky for having the resources and ability to provide the very best education to those we love. Our daughter’s passion for sharing love with everyone around her is what led to this momentous occasion. Susan and I would like to officially announce our donation to the North and Camden Academy Charitable Fund to establish…” he pauses for dramatic effect, “the Caroline Hill Memorial Scholarship for the Underprivileged!”

And with a flourish, Mom pulls the black velvet from the large portrait on the wall.

What. The. Hell.

Admiring gasps and loud applause threaten to clog my eardrums. My mouth falls open as I study the larger-than-life portrait. It’s a black and white painting of Carrie outside by the pool. Dressed in a short cocktail dress, the picture captures the radiant glow of my sister as she laughs. Perfectly painted lips pull across her brilliantly white smile. Perfectly styled blonde hair sways gently in the breeze. Perfectly manicured nails reach up, fondling the diamond pendant dangling from her neck.

She’s laughing at a story Uncle Ray told us. How do I know? Because I’m standing right beside her, laughing myself. But I’ve been cropped out of the picture. I know the picture well. Holt took it. My parents weren’t even here at the time. Carrie wanted to have a nice family dinner for Caleb’s birthday. His parents came into town. Uncle Ray and Aunt Teresa came over. Uncle Ray grilled steaks. Aunt Teresa, me, Carrie, and Raylee cooked all the side dishes. My parents were at a medical conference somewhere. San Francisco, maybe? After Carrie went missing, Holt posted the picture to his social media accounts.

I don’t care that I was cropped out of the picture. I don’t care that my father didn’t congratulate me or express accolades regarding my work on getting the graduation charity trip set up. I don’t even really care that he’s giving money to a scholarship fund so more kids can go to my school and become spoiled, entitled assholes.

What bothers me is that word.Memorial.

Do I think my sister is dead? Yes. Yes, I do. But I would never say that out loud to a room full of strangers.

To have my ignorant, self-absorbed parents stand up here and basically announce her death to everyone—and wrap it up in a pretty money bow—in their exclusive circle of rich pricks? That’s a whole new low.

My father taps his hand in the air, asking the crowd to lower their volume. “To support the dreams of our daughter,Caroline, we have decided to pave the way for three bright young youths who might not have the opportunity to thrive without our support. Three scholarships for three young minds for the full four-year high school education. Susan and I are donating $480,000.” My father bows, acting as if he is overcome with emotion. “Excuse me, our sweet Carrie is donating $480,000. To Carrie!” He raises his glass high in the air. Everyone else in the room does the same.

And then my father downs his drink. I focus on the glass, my vision blurring. Vodka and cranberry juice, maybe? Dad likes that drink.

People immediately begin to flock around Mom and Dad, and even me, showering us with compliments. Congratulating us on our generosity. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I want to scream. I wanna scream at the top of my lungs. What’s wrong with these people!

Suddenly, I’m being pulled from the crowd. It’s such a whirlwind, I don’t even know what’s happening to me. I’m having chest pains. Nausea. Dizziness. An out-of-body experience.

Am I too young for a heart attack?

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