When Stars Fall

by Wendy Million

Tanvi glances at him. She’s been a rock, like Ellie. Isaac, Anna, and I are eroding from the inside out.

  “I’m fine,” Isaac mumbles. His mother grabs his hand, and he squeezes hers without taking his focus from the window.

  The rear door of the limo pops open, and Anna falls in, almost landing on Tanvi’s lap. Tanvi scooches closer to Isaac to make room for Anna, who tugs on the hem of her dress.

  “You were going to leave without me?” Anna glares at Ellie and then me. “Abandoning your sister?”

  If I wasn’t so fucking high, that comment would sting. When my parents lost my acting income, they threw her into modeling. We don’t talk about what happened to her from twelve to eighteen, but I can imagine, and it’s all toxic.

  “No,” Ellie says. “That’s why we’re still here. You know Wyatt wouldn’t do that.”

  We don’t mention our drugs or alcohol around Tanvi, but Anna’s still got powder on her nose, and I kick her foot. When she turns toward me, I pinch my nose. She runs the back of her hand across hers and then stares out the window.

  The silence in the limo is oppressive as we follow the hearse to the grave site. Kabir’s brother is doing a speech, and Ellie agreed to read a poem. The rest of us couldn’t face the performance. Did Tanvi experience this aching hollowness in her chest when her own parents died? Whenever the pills wear off, my brain is sucked into a black hole. That’s Ellie’s term, not mine. She calls it the black hole of doom.

  On those days, I’ve wandered the house raging about parents. One way or another, parents devastate their kids, either by being shitty like mine or dying like Kabir. The world is tilted, and I’m not sure it’ll ever level out again. This is a depth of heartbreak I never realized existed.

  “Are you okay?” Ellie asks in a low voice.

  I shake my head. Examining her hand, I lift it and press her palm to my lips. She leans her head against my side and sighs. “I can’t imagine a worse day,” I say.

  The ceremony passes in a blur of other people’s tears and the bottom of a pill bottle. When my brain checks in, I’m standing in the middle of my living room alone. I’m not sure how we got back to my place.

  “Ellie? Isaac?” I call out.

  “Why are you standing there?” Ellie emerges from the hallway with her brow creased.

  “No idea.” I shrug.

  “Wyatt, man, why aren’t you changed?” Isaac enters the living room from the opposite side of the house.

  I stare at Ellie while I try to get my bearings. I glance down, and the pieces of my suit seem to be in the wrong order.

  “We should stay home.” Ellie crosses to me and wraps her arms around my waist.

  “Short Stuff, don’t let him wimp out on me.” Isaac narrows his eyes. “Pull your shit together, Wyatt. He was my dad.”

  “I never really had a dad,” I whisper.

  “Yeah, mine was a good one.” There’s an edge in his voice that yanks me into the moment.

  “What’s that mean?” I take a step toward him. “He was good. He was a hell of a lot better than mine. You were lucky.”

  Isaac’s dark eyes are glossy. He sniffs and shakes his head. “Get your shit together. We’re going out.”

  “I’m not sure,” Ellie says, but Isaac shoots her a glare that would get him punched if I was even close to sober.

  “Short Stuff, my dad died. I watched my dad be put in the ground. I’m never gonna see him again.” Annoyance spills out of him. “You can tag along to babysit Wyatt if you want, but we’re doing this.”

  I stagger into our room, and Ellie follows on my heels.

  “I’m not sure about this.” She plays with her hair. She’s already changed into a dress fit for the club. Stripping off my suit, I leave it on the floor. “Wyatt, did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I heard you,” I snap. “He wants me to go, so I’m going.”

  “The two of you have been out of it all day. I’m worried, and your sister is going to be there, and she . . . She makes things worse.”

  “What are you trying to say?” With one leg in my jeans, I stop to stare at her.

  “We’re all sad, but I’m worried that one of you might go overboard.”

  “Get whoever it is to the hospital, have our stomach pumped or whatever they do to fix it. Tell my PR guy to label it ‘exhaustion’ and litter the place with NDAs. Voila. Problem solved.” I slide my second leg into my pants and do them up. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to cover up some bullshit.”

  She drums her fingers on the doorframe as I continue getting ready. She wants to say more, but she doesn’t dare.

  “Look, Ellie. I’ll slow down if that’ll make you happy, okay?”

  She nods but doesn’t make eye contact.

  The shirt she loves that matches my eyes is in my hand, and I slip it over my head. I cross the room to stand in front of her. “You don’t understand what this feels like.”

  “Do you?” She searches my face. “You and Isaac have popped so many Xanax and oxy and who knows what else the last couple of days. You’re chugging lean smoothies for breakfast. I’m not sure how you feel anything.”

  “Thanks for everything you did today. What would I do without you?” I sigh and loop my arms around her waist, tugging her close.

  Ellie frames my face. “I don’t want to lose you. I love you. You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m scaring you?” Normally, I’d brush off her concern, but she’s making no effort to hide her true feelings.

  “I’ve never seen you like this. You’re losing time—gaps in your memory. You’re not you when we’re together.”

  “I don’t want to accept this loss.”

  “Take all of it down one notch. I’m not saying stop; I would never ask you to stop.”

  I give a curt nod. Slowing down is easy. No issue.

  “I’m worried about Isaac too. There’s something wrong with him.”

  He lost his dad. He found his dad dead on their kitchen floor. She’s overreacting. I leave her to get my wallet out of the front pocket of my suit pants.

  “You should talk to him.”

  We talk all the time, and if something was really wrong, Isaac would tell me. Neither of us is any good at keeping secrets. I grab my pill bottle out of my other pocket, and I shake it. Empty. “Did you have any of these?”

  She stares at me for a beat before shaking her head.

  Going to the en suite, I count the pills out loud as I collect some from the various prescription bottles in the medicine cabinet. Variety is the spice of life. Then I add a few more. Tomorrow, I’ll slow down.

  “I’m not policing you,” Ellie says when I come back into the bedroom. “I’m worried. It’s a real thing.”

  “I don’t usually count pills. Maybe you can start keeping track for me.”

  “How would I ever do that?”

  “I counted them out for you just now.”

  “That’s bullshit. You probably added pills after you stopped counting.” Ellie turns to the doorway.

  I grab her arm. “I love you. I’ll slow down, okay? I’ll slow down.”

  “You two lovebirds done fighting?” Isaac appears at the bedroom door. He pushes his phone into his pocket.

  “Who are we going out with besides Anna?” I tug Ellie close so I can kiss the top of her head. She can never stay mad at me long.

  “Jimmy Walker, Bryson McCoy, and Aman Paul.”

  Those names don’t mean anything to Ellie, but I recognize them. “Since when?”

  “What?” Isaac laughs. “I’m expanding my social circle.”

  “They’re the same dickheads who got Anna in so much trouble the last time. I had to send Kyle to bail her out of fucking jail for disorderly conduct.”

  “Nothing like keeping it in the family.” Isaac chuckles. “I’m the brown brother.” He takes out a pack of cigarettes. “Come on, Wyatt. It’s bygones.”

  “I’ll come out ’cause
you asked me to. But I’m not talking to those jackasses, and I’m keeping Anna the fuck away.”

  “You take things too personally. Pop another Perc. I see a sharp edge poking through.” He backs up toward the front of the house. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

  I grab my keys off the table.

  “Who are those people?” Ellie’s hand is grasped in mine.

  “Bad news,” I say. “Nothing good comes from hanging out with them.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wyatt

  Present Day

  Haven keeps a running commentary during dinner. Who knew a young girl could be so chatty with strangers?

  “What do you think, Wyatt?” Haven takes another heaping spoonful of pasta.

  The amount of food she’s eating is surprising. She’s a tiny slip of a thing. I’ve tuned out the conversation, and I glance at Ellie for help, but she offers none.

  “Sorry, I think my mind wandered,” I admit. “What were you wondering?”

  “Kayaking and snorkeling tomorrow after school. There’s a cool reef not far out. Do you want to go with me and, uh, my aunt?” she asks.

  “If you want to come, you’re welcome to.” Ellie shrugs.

  “Sounds like fun.” I nudge Haven’s arm.

  Haven gives Ellie a triumphant look. A curious exchange. Having me back tomorrow is a victory? Nice to have someone in my corner. My support club is pretty thin on this island. Ellie shakes her head at Haven, love for her niece shining out of every pore.

  Pushing back my chair, I clear my plate and grab Haven’s. She thanks me, and I wink. Ellie trails behind me to the kitchen.

  “I have to help Haven with her schoolwork.” She puts her plate straight into the dishwasher.

  “That’s fine,” I say over my shoulder. “I’ll clean up here.”

  “I’ll have to take you to the hotel before Haven goes to bed.”

  She’s beside me, her shoulder almost, but not quite, brushing mine. As the sink fills, I focus on Ellie. Do women keep the same perfume for this many years? She smells like vanilla and flowers—exactly like I remember. The small space between us vibrates, two magnets struggling to stay apart. She adjusts the plug for the drain, and her arm brushes mine. She snatches her hand back like I’ve shocked her. It’s too humid here for static electricity. I know what she feels; I feel it too.

  “Calshae said she’d pick me up if it’s too hard for you to get me to the hotel.” The more time I get with Ellie, the better my chances will be at the end of the week.

  “Is that so?” She chuckles, leaning her hip against the counter to face me. “Trust you to get the hotel owner’s daughter to volunteer to be your personal driver while you’re here.”

  “She’s very concerned with customer service,” I tease Ellie as I sink my hands into the soapy water.

  “I bet she is.” She pushes off the counter and puts away the leftovers before disappearing to help Haven.

  Not wanting to disturb Haven’s homework routine with my presence, I take my time cleaning. I’m wiping down the counters when Haven comes in and throws herself at me, enveloping me around the middle. With a chuckle, I drop the cloth to pick her up. Her weightlessness amazes me. Her eyes are a striking blue, and she scans my face in return, grinning.

  “No one ever picks me up anymore unless they’re carrying me to bed,” Haven says.

  “You’re pretty light.” I bounce her in my arms to prove my point. She’s slight like her grandmother and aunt. There’s almost nothing to her.

  She shrugs. “I guess.” She loops her arms around my neck. “I’m done my schoolwork, so I have to go to bed.”

  “Already?” I check the clock. Later than I thought.

  “Yeah.” Her eyes connect with mine and she says, “You have pretty eyes.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “I do too,” she whispers.

  “You must get the color from your grandmother and your mother,” I say. “They both have blue eyes too.”

  Ellie appears in the doorway. “You ready?” she asks Haven.

  Haven hesitates for a beat longer, as though there is more she wants to say, something I’m not getting. She stares at Ellie in a silent exchange.

  “Let’s go.” Ellie motions with her hand for Haven to follow.

  “Want me to carry you to the room you’re sleeping in?”

  Haven hesitates, and Ellie half turns. Haven shakes her head, and I set her down. While I stand in the kitchen entry, they disappear behind the opaque door that conceals the hallway and bedrooms.

  On the back patio, I grab a seat in one of the recliners. The ocean waves lap against the towering cliff edge, and the tree frogs serenade me. Life is good here, in this house. I unlock my phone to find a host of social media alerts and Throwback Thursdays dedicated to me and Ellie. Ah, yes. The media storm is still swirling far away from us. I scroll through the posts with my fake accounts, liking some, reposting others. The temptation to write something, anything, almost gets a foothold in me. But if I fan the flames more and bring the press to her doorstep, I’ll be dead in the water. No one knows I’m here. She loves her privacy as much as I love the publicity. #Wyllie is still trending across several platforms.

  I click on my email. My manager has a note to call him. The costar in my next film dropped out, which is going to delay production. Camila sent me an update on Anna and Jamal. Everything seems well with them. I breathe a sigh of relief. Anna is a loose cannon, but I pay Camila well to provide stability when I’m not there to do it.

  Ellie comes out the doors and flops down beside me. “Success,” she says.

  “She’s sleeping?” I close my phone and stuff it into my pocket. I don’t want to remind Ellie about the world out there waiting for us to emerge.

  “Yep.” She crosses her hands and lays them on her stomach, kicking off her sandals. “I love sitting out here at night.”

  The silence is companionable before Ellie takes a deep breath. “So if you’re better,” she says, “how do you maintain it?”

  “Willpower?” I squint. At its most basic level, that’s the secret. She doesn’t want the simple answer. That answer never worked for me before.

  “I’m serious.”

  With a sigh, I stare up at the starry night, letting the cool ocean breeze blow over me. “I have Camila. She keeps me on the straight and narrow.”

  “And Camila would be?”

  “I call her my sponsor whenever anyone asks. The easy explanation. Everyone knows what a sponsor is. But I pay her a lot of money to do more than talk me out of the bottom of a pill bottle or a line of coke or a glass of lean.” Ellie’s face isn’t giving anything away. “She’s an addiction specialist.”

  Ellie sinks deeper into her seat. “She’s not here, so what’s stopping you now?”

  “Camila’s not usually with me anymore. A few years ago, when I first tried to get a handle on my addiction, I took a year off from everything. I’d been doing back-to-back roles for a while. People were tired of me. I was tired of me. I cleared my schedule and focused on being better.”

  “Any relapses?”

  “At first, yeah. A lot. I almost gave up. Being clean is hard. It’s still hard. Stress balls and chewing gum live in my pockets. I work out. Run. Channel those urges into other things. I don’t even take aspirin for a headache anymore.”

  “Alcohol?”

  “What about it?” I still drink, but it’s too early to admit that to Ellie. We’re starting to get somewhere. There’s no mixing of prescription drugs or codeine cough syrup with it anymore. The danger she’d see doesn’t exist.

  “You used to carry around water bottles full of Jim Beam or lean or both.”

  “I don’t do that anymore.” At least that part is true. “I’m committed to this change.”

  She sits forward in the lounger, bringing her knees up and encircling them with her arms. She rests her cheek on her knees and looks at me. �
��I want to believe that.”

  “I will prove it to you. It’s going to take more than a week. I realize that. At the end of this week, though, you’ll have to decide if you’re willing to take the risk.” I drop my feet off the side of the lounger, resting my forearms on my knees. The breeze carries a whiff of her familiar perfume. The memories. I close my eyes.

  “My reluctance is the drugs and alcohol,” she whispers. “But it’s not just that. I don’t enjoy the spectacle you crave. When we were younger, some of the attention was fun, until it wasn’t. Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, TikTok, and who knows what else—I can’t keep up, but you do. Most of it didn’t even exist when we were a couple. That kind of exposure isn’t good for me and for—well, I don’t want it.” Her face is lit by the soft interior lights flooding through the doors and windows. Her hair catches on the breeze, lifting and swirling. She brushes it behind her ears.

  “I’ll quit all of it. I’ll scale it back. Whatever. I don’t care about that noise. It’s fun, and it doesn’t bother me. But if you hate it, I’ll stop.”

  From my pocket, I take out the stress ball. I squeeze it and toss it from hand to hand, waiting for Ellie to come up with another obstacle to jump. Whatever blockade she erects, I’m scaling it, smashing it, removing it.

  She snatches the ball from me in midair. “I don’t want to live in LA again, ever.”

  Shit. Compromise on this point is going to be tricky. Anna and Jamal are in LA, not to mention Tanvi, who only has me left. “We could split our time.”

  “No.” She tosses the ball back.

  I catch it. “Come on, Ellie. You gotta be reasonable.” I reach for her hand, but she scoots over to the far side of the lounger and stands.

  “You should probably call Calshae for that ride.” Ellie heads into the house without a backward glance.

  I race after her and catch her arm in the living room. “You’re being irrational.”

  She rounds on me in a burst of anger. “I’m being irrational? You showed up here ten years too late. You expect me to flip my life, to start over again with you. My house and family are here, not in LA.”

  I close the space between us, and she doesn’t back away. I lace her fingers with mine. She deflates, the anger going out of her. She was always this way, quick to ignite, quick to burn out. Yet another reason I thought she’d come back to me. But she never did.