ONE MORE MONTH LATER (SEPTEMBER)
“Quiet on set!” the director shouts. He’s not talking to me, because I don’t talk to anyone. I stand off in the corner, quietly eating my snacks, waiting for the director to say it’s time for me to fall out of a building. Or escape from an explosion. Or drive a car.
I can’t remember what I’m supposed to do today, and I don’t really care.
I’m just numb.
When Lily first disappeared, I spent every waking moment searching for her. Agatha swore she didn’t know where Adam had taken her. She said they didn’t trust her anymore and wouldn’t let her see or talk to Lily. Without money of my own, I was limited to whatever internet searches I could pull up.
What did I find?
Nothing.
It hit the town of Brookhaven like a shock wave. Even though she hadn’t been out in a lot of places, the people she had seen already felt connected to her. Because that’s what Lilydid. She made people love her. Just as quickly as they formed an attachment to her, she was ripped away from them.
Like she was ripped away from me.
Now it all makes sense, why Lily was so heartbroken that last night. I have to believe—Ihaveto—that she knew she was leaving but couldn’t tell me.
I don’t think she’s necessarily in danger, but I’m beyond livid with her family for trapping her again and taking her away without giving me a chance to explain my side. I asked my manager, Patty, to help me look for her, but she doesn’t seem invested. Peter won’t answer my calls. Gwen tried to help, but there isn’t much she can do either.
Now I feel like I’m wandering blindly, without any direction. I don’t know where to go or what to do. I just know that I need to somehow find her.
So I threw myself back into work. My first job was in the kids’ movie, and it was a welcome distraction. Just like working with the kids in the play, I was able to have fun on set, messing around despite being heartsick over Lily. It solidified my decision that I want to find a way to work with kids again. I even went back to Brookhaven to see the kids performRomeo and Juliet, and the fight scenes looked…well, they looked like children doing fight scenes, but at least they were well-choreographed.
After the play, my next movies were all adult action. So I’m miserable and missing Lily, wishing I could quit and find a different direction, but stuck because I need the money. I dislocated my shoulder at my third job, which set me back a few weeks, but now I’m in Joshua Tree, filming some movie that’s set in the desert. At least it’s October, when the temperature is a little more temperate.
Lily took my leather jacket. Agatha said she couldn’t find it anywhere, and I hope that’s a sign that she wanted me with herin some way. She also took Galileo, and I hope he’s giving her some comfort, wherever she is. I wear mybe stillbracelet to keep me anchored, but I still wanted something else to mirror her keychain. Shortly after she left, I found a keychain of a grand piano. This way I can feel like she’s with me, too.
I don’t talk to anyone, I don’t socialize—I just do my job and go home. And when I’m home, I listen to classical music, the only way I can feel close to Lily. I lie in bed, remembering the nights we spent in the theater, the way she created the most incredible sounds I’d ever experienced, and wishing I’d had the courage to tell her how I felt sooner.
And regretting that our first kiss was on the street corner, where someone could see us and send that picture to Tristan.
If only we’d been more private. If only we’d taken our time and told her family on our own terms. Instead, it came across like she was hiding yet another boyfriend, someone who was manipulating her without her family’s knowledge.
I get what it looked like. I get why they did this.
But that doesn’t mean they’re right.
Two hairdressers walk up to the snack table, chatting away. “So, who are you styling for the awards show this weekend?” one of them asks.
“Glen Powell,” the other says.
“No way,” the first one replies. “Ugh, I’m so jealous.”
I roll my eyes. I’m beyond sick of Hollywood. So tired of the name-dropping and obsession with fame. I just want a normal life.
I start making my way back to a solitary corner, trying to find some peace.
“What about you?” the hairdresser asks her friend.
“I was supposed to do Adam Stone,” she says.
That name makes me halt in my tracks. I don’t turn to look at them, but I freeze and listen.
“But apparently he’s not coming anymore,” she continues. “I guess he’s flying out to London for a music concert or something?”
“You probably lucked out. He’s such a jerk.”
