“Of course. I wouldn’t get married without my sister there,” I said, sounding more certain than I felt. “Should we go?”
We left the restaurant through the front entrance rather than using the private back exit. It was important for us to be seen as a happy couple, and more important for me to be seen standing solidly on two feet.
Franny had done her job and the paparazzi were plentiful. Richard was all smiles, perfectly practiced smiles that said he was a little embarrassed by the attention, but he also understood that it was a necessary evil in showbiz. My smile was much more strained and made me look like I had just received a root canal. The paparazzi were used to my standoffish nature and had accepted it as part of my mysterious persona.
I waved to a small group of pedestrians standing nearby, looking awestruck. I knew that the flashes from the cameras would catch my diamond as I waved it around which was on my checklist of things to accomplish tonight. A few of the men with cameras asked us questions about the wedding, and we smiled coyly. Richard told them we were very excited and that we were trying to keep the details private. It wouldn’t keep them satisfied forever, but it was enough for now.
We went back the Richard’s place, a penthouse suite in the most expensive building in the Los Angeles area. I preferred my secluded house on the beach, but Richard said he didn’t sleep well near the water. We made love, or something like that, in the way that couples do when they’ve been dating for a while. It was over quickly and I was left unsatisfied, but I was starting to get used to that.
Richard was asleep almost as soon as it was over, his muscular arm thrown over my body in a possessive way. I shimmied out from under it and slipped out of bed. My overnight bag sat on the floor and I rummaged through it for some underwear. I pulled on one of Richard’s t-shirts and flipped through the mail I had picked up from my place earlier.
I didn’t get a lot of mail usually. Mostly just some catalogs and credit card applications. All of my bills were automated, and I didn’t have any real friends to speak of so I didn’t get a lot of invitations or cards.
I shouldn’t have said I don’t have real friends. I had friends that were as real as you can expect in Hollywood. My stylist and I spent a little time together socially, and I had also become close to several members of the Silver Lining cast. So I wasn’t a complete recluse, I just didn’t let myself get attached to people.
I took a seat in an oversized chair by the window. In the stack of mail, I discovered a plain white letter sized envelope. It was addressed to Glory Stark, a name I hadn’t heard in ten years. The handwriting was precise and fluid and I recognized it immediately. There was a hollow thudding in my chest that I suspected was my heart, but it could also have been a bomb about to explode. I glanced back at the bed where Richard was softly snoring. My finger slid easily under the envelope flap and I opened it quietly.
One sheet of paper, folded in thirds, rested inside. I retrieved it with shaky fingers. I sat it on my lap and stared at it, unopened. Richard snorted and I looked over to see if he was awake. He scratched himself with vigor and then rolled over, still asleep. I marveled that dating the most desired man in the country was nowhere near as glamorous as it sounded.
The letter was calling to me, the unread words forming possibilities in my head. It could be the letter I’d been waiting to receive for ten years, or it could be the one I’d been dreading. The only way to find out was simply to read it. It crinkled a little as I unfolded it, revealing the words within. I skimmed it first, trying to get a feel for if it was good or bad, but it didn’t fit either of the scenarios I had in my head.
Something was wrong back home, something involving my sister and her family. The letter wasn’t specific, probably because the author of the letter was trying to be as succinct as possible. It had to have been an impossible letter to write. Most of it made no sense to me. I had spoken to Vic a week earlier and she hadn’t mentioned anything negative to me. She’d sounded like she always did- tired, but happy. Her four kids were thriving and she was still happily married to her high school sweetheart, Jake.
But this letter was suggesting the exact opposite. I was caught off guard, unprepared for how to deal with such a letter. The only part of it I understood- the part I had been hoping to find inside- was the salutation:
Come home.
~Johnny.
I sat there for hours, folding and unfolding the letter. Reading each word carefully and searching for a hidden meaning. I knew that I shouldn’t be trying to find a hidden message when the real message was painfully obvious. My sister needed me, though she was too proud to ever ask for help. As I sat in the darkness, the bedroom lit only by the city lights streaking through the open window, I knew without a doubt what I needed to do.
“What are you doing over there, Glor?” Richard called out, his deep voice stilted with sleep. “Come back to bed.”
“In a minute,” I said, knowing that I was never going back to that bed. Someone else needed me, and I owed that person everything. I folded the letter and tucked it back into its envelope. I placed it in my overnight bag, along with my other possessions that were scattered throughout the room. I changed into my own clothes and left Richard’s t-shirt crumpled on the floor. All of this I did quickly and quietly, being careful not to wake Richard.
If he woke up, there would be a confrontation. I would have to explain where I was going and why. He would want to know when I was coming back to town, and I didn’t know how to answer that question. Even worse, I didn’t know how to tell him that I was never coming back to him. Our relationship was effectively over- he just didn’t know it yet.
Fully aware that I was a shameless coward, I left the ring on his dresser, reveling at the lightness of my newly unadorned finger. My spirit felt lighter, too. I locked the door behind me on the way out and then slid my key under the door. He would be angry and hurt for a while, I told myself, but he would move on quickly.
Twenty minutes later I was cruising down Ocean Avenue with the top down on my convertible. The ocean air was heavy with salt and smog and I looked forward to finally breathing in some fresh air soon. I dug my cell phone out of my bag and placed a call to Franny.
“Hey, Fran. Something’s come up and I’m leaving town for a while. You can try calling me later, but I doubt I’ll answer or call you back. I just need some time. I’ll call you when I’m back in town.”
I calculated that it would take two full days of driving to reach my destination, Princeton, Missouri; longer if I stopped to rest. I could fly instead and arrive in about four hours, but I needed the time to think. This trip was one I had thought about over the years, but it had still blind-sided me. I hadn’t been home in over ten years, not since the day I packed up my car and left for good. A lot of intense shit had gone down in Princeton, and some of it I wasn’t ready to face yet.
I decided it would be worth my while to swing by my place and pick up some personal items. In my hasty packing at Richard’s place, I hadn’t even remembered to grab my tooth brush. I also had a more valuable item in mind. After grabbing the essentials like deodorant and underwear, I pulled an old shoe box from my closet.
I opened the lid to quickly make sure everything was still in order and the folder paper on top caught my attention. I really needed to get on the road, but I found myself removing the letter from the box. The handwriting on this letter was slanted and winding- my handwriting. The story inside was over twenty years old, but the emotions that went with it were still an open wound.
Princeton, Missouri: 1990
I don’t know if you remember that day, but I can’t forget it. It’s part of my soul. Back then I was just six years old, still known just as little Glory Stark. Prior to moving to Princeton, my family of four had lived in a two room trailer in an even smaller town, so I had seen the move as a step up in the world.
While my parents unloaded our meager possessions, I ran around the house to check out the backyard. It was even bigger than I had
hoped. An overgrown tree toward the edge of our property drew me forward. At the bottom of the tree, I stopped when I heard a small voice call out.
It was then that I noticed the tree house buried up high in the branches. It was rustic and simple, but to me it looked magical. A tiny head emerged from the small doorway, a head that was covered with dark, wavy hair. It emerged a little further and I could see that it belonged to young boy about my own age. His skin had been browned by the summer sun and his eyes were an icy blue, like the color of a pond frozen over in the dead of winter.
“Who are you?” the boy called down to me timidly.
“I’m Glory,” I yelled back. “I live here now. What’s your name?”
“Johnny. Johnny Carter.”
That was how we met- at the edge of our backyards. We would go on to spend many days and nights playing in that tree house. Later, we would go there seeking refuge from the chaos that engulfed our lives. But on that day, it meant nothing more to me than a new adventure, and a new friend.
“Glory Stark! Get in this house right now and help your sister,” my mother called from inside the house.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Do you want to be my friend?”
“Sure.” It was the first time anyone had ever asked to be my friend.
I flashed you a smile, revealing my missing front teeth, then skipped back across the lawn and disappeared inside the house.
I often think back to that day and wonder how different my life would be if I hadn’t gone into the backyard. I also wondered how different your life would have been. It’s the one part of my old life that I will always allow myself to remember; I insist on remember us like that- innocent and happy, neither of us having damaged the other yet.
Home With You Page 14
