Page 68 of For The Record

“You really saved me, Skye. Not just from him, but you reminded me that I was worth something. That there was a life outside of this, outside of this movie deal. I’m always going to be grateful for that. I was about to go through with it, you know?”

I find that hard to believe. Maybe because I’ve spent so long thinking there’s no life outside the entertainment business, thinking that I would never make it in life if I didn’t make it as a somebody. “You’re my sister. You would’ve done the same for me.”

How do I tell her that I wasn’t even there for my sister? That it wasn’t concern for Isabelle but curiosity about Antonio that drove me to take her wallet and drive to the Beverly Wilshire? I swallow down the words.

Maybe it’s not what got me there, but what happened afterwards that matters. Maybe I’ll just keep it to myself.

“We’re not exactly the sisters fromFrozen, Skye,” she says with a laugh.

Then again, maybe not. “No, but…”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she says, defensiveness creeping into her tone. “I just meant… you know what I mean. We barely ever see each other.”

Maybe it was wrong of me, of her too, to idolize acting or singing or dancing as the ultimate career. And maybe it was wrong, too, to let that idolization consume either of us, to transform us into people who would sacrifice self-respect and dignity for it. And if I saved her from that—if this conversation is guiding me away from that path—who am I to judge?

“That could change.”

She loops an arm around my shoulders and yawns. “We’ll see.”

It’s a start.

#

@IsabelleHolland14: someone stop me from drunk tweeting

@SkyeHolland1: you are out of my hands now

@IsabelleHolland14 @IsabelleHolland14: :( :( :(

Chapter 32: Leo Perez

I wake up with one remembrance: My parents are dead.

This same memory has run through my mind every day since the hospital, never letting me slip into blissful ignorance of forgetting what happened. Will I live the same day all my life, like some kind of twisted Groundhog Day scenario?

As I get up and go about my day, I don’t have some kind of hollow sensation in my chest. No heavy burden of painful grief seems to rest on my back. Nor am I numb and devoid of all feeling. I feel normal. But I should feel different, shouldn’t I?

Shouldn’t I feel like the sky is falling? Like the world is ending, like my life is collapsing around me? I don’t feel that, yet I don’t feel nothingness either.

Yet at the same time, my mind’s range of motion feels like that of a bumper car, afraid to run into anything in case it hurts. I will be fine, I decide. I will be fine as long as I remain in this small, narrow, self-contained path. I will be fine if I don’t touch the wound. I will be fine if I leave it under its bandage. It will heal. It has to.

Carefully, I take down all the family photographs around my house, turning the frames facedown, and putting them in a cardboard box. As I do so, I notice that they’re gathering dust. I make a mental note to have the housekeeper come in more often than once a week. The thought almost breaks me when my mother’s voice fades into my mind:Leo, you need to be home more. Leo, you should have a wife around to do these things for you. Leo…The words twist into me like a knife, digging in like a corkscrew. I shut my eyes and shut it out.

She never met Skye.

Now she never will.

I can’t think. I can’t feel. I won’t do either of those things until this is over, until the storm has passed. I have to keep going. I have to… But what good did burying myself in work ever do for me? What has it done for me, bereft as I am now of my mother, of my father? It splintered my family once already and drives another wedge between us now.

I make a plan, turning my parents’ death from an emotional trauma into a cut and dry checklist. The auto shop will go to my uncle, or, if he doesn’t want it, it’ll be sold. The garage where I learned to change tires and fix brakes will belong to someone else now. My parents’ house will be sold or renovated to be rented out. I’ll need to go over their will and last testament with their lawyer. I have to…

Restless energy clamours inside of me, fighting to get out in the form of tears or anger. I can’t let it escape. I can’t, or it will break me on its way out. Pausing, I realize someone is asleep on the sofa, dark hair spilling over the arm of the couch, soft snores emanating from the leather cushions. It’s Raina. Why didn’t she sleep in the guest bedroom?

I toss my jacket on a nearby chair and pick up a throw blanket, unfolding it and tucking the edges in by her sides. She rolls over but doesn’t wake up, a breath stirring her hair. I pick up a pen and notepad on the counter, about to write a note to her when my phone buzzes with a notification.

You okay? —Ed

Ignore. As good of a friend as he may be, I don’t know if I would have the energy to face him right now, or anyone else, even if just through a screen. Especially anyone from work. A dozen lost memories, a thousand missing possibilities flash through my mind, each tinged with a heavy dose of regret.

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