Naomi swallows the burn in her throat. “Oh yeah, all fine.” She waves her hand dismissively to mask her lie. “There’s a couple things I’ve been meaning to grab for ages, didn’t remember until I was back here. Just some sentimental stuff.”
Naomi really wants to see if she can find any useful information or tenuous connection to Harlow or Colton—clues as to how she could fit into all of this—in Faye’s old notebooks and paperwork. It’s a long shot, but she needs to at least check.
Aunt Mary frowns, placing her recently lotioned, wrinkled hand on Naomi’s. “Follow me.” She guides her to the basement door. “It’s all down there to the left. Sure you don’t want me to heat up some ziti for you?”
“I’m sure!” Naomi smiles for half a second before journeying down into the musty basement.
*
A bare lightbulb hums over her head as she stares at the four cardboard boxes piled up on the cement floor. All that’s left of her sister. She checks her watch and gives herself twenty minutes to sift through the things before she has to order an Uber to the train station. She’s too edgy tonight to take a train after 10 p.m.
Naomi peeks into the two boxes on top and shakes her head. She doesn’t know why she bothered keeping any of Faye’s clothes and makes a mental note to sort through those another time. She lifts them and places them to the side, crouching down to analyze the contents of the other two boxes on the floor, seemingly filled with notebooks and photos. She coughs, dust filling the air, as she removes a stack of polaroids from the top.
She sifts through them quickly, trying not to get too emotional at the memories. Some from their road trips, making silly faces on the drive. Some on the beach, cliff-jumping and playing volleyball. Some from karaoke nights and others from Faye pretending to pose like she’s on the cover of Vogue.
Naomi bites down hard on the inside of her cheek as she places the photos to the side, deciding to take them with her, before opening one of the notebooks.
Her chest tightens as her fingertips slowly graze the velvety cover of Faye’s black leather journal. She bites down harder on her cheek, tears stinging her eyes as she remembers her sister’s obsession with writing in this threadbare notebook. She took the tattered thing with her everywhere, constantly writing down her ideas, transferring them from her phone to her book.
“Why don’t you just keep your notes in your phone?” Naomi asked once.
Expecting some sassy response said with a hand on her hip, Faye surprised Naomi with a poetic answer. “Because I like seeing the words written imperfectly perfect on an organic piece of paper. It makes my lyrics feel more special, like writing them down is an art form in itself.”
Naomi wipes a tear away as she opens the book, seeing her sister’s handwriting on the front page.
~ideas for future number one hits~
Faye P. Barnes
2015
Naomi swallows hard as she flips through the pages, eyes casting over teenage Faye’s musings, ranging from rhyming prose and notes about melodies through to random lists of words she’d like to use.
Seeing how talented a songwriter she was even at sixteen makes it all the more tragic. She was so smart. Seemed so close. What the hell happened?
Naomi recalls the last few months of Faye’s life, how she struggled to find her feet when Naomi said she was going to move in with Matt in the summer of 2021. Naomi even fronted three months of rent to give Faye more time to find a roommate or a new place, and almost offered to move back in at one point following one of Faye’s mini-breakdowns.
But toward the end of the year, things seemed like they were turning around for her, despite her mood swings. She moved into a new studio apartment in Union Square, started getting her hair and nails done and buying designer clothes. To Naomi’s shock, when she eventually asked Faye how she was affording her new lifestyle, she said she had sold a song to a record label.
“What the hell, that’s huge!” Naomi said. “Why didn’t you tell me!?”
“Didn’t wanna jinx it,” Faye replied, cheeks red. “I hoped you wouldn’t notice and I could just surprise you when it came out. It may not even get made, they just bought the rights. But hopefully I can keep writing some more good ones and one of them will hit or I can bag a longer-term contract and get paid yearly advances.”
Naomi tried to get more details from her, on both the song and who she had sold it to, but Faye stayed uncharacteristically secretive. It worried Naomi at first, when she started disappearing for days and weeks on end after that, especially considering only a year before Naomi had received a call telling her Faye was in the hospital. But Faye was no longer with that guy and had promised Naomi she was doing much more exciting things, that she was doing well.
“I’ve been off working with some songwriters and producers,” Faye told Naomi when they eventually caught up one day for dinner. “Good things are happening, I promise!”
Naomi struggled to read her, though. She seemed happy and, judging by the restaurant she had picked and the hefty tip she left, she also seemed to be doing well financially. But she also seemed on edge. Looked tired and stressed. Her collar bones and hip bones were more prominent than ever before, jutting out from her cashmere sweater dress.
“And they’re paying you for that? Have you sold more songs?” Naomi always thought songwriters got most of their money off royalties or major contracts. She still couldn’t work out how Faye was affording her new lifestyle.
But once again, Faye was evasive, just nodding and then changing the subject. Naomi chalked it up to Faye just being desperate for things to work out that time, something Naomi also deeply wanted for her, so she let it go, figuring she could press her for more details some other time. She had no idea her window for questions would close so soon.
A sinking feeling takes root in Naomi’s stomach. Knowing what she knows now, she’s surer than ever that she was right about Faye’s story not adding up. That she wasn’t telling the whole truth. That the money wasn’t just coming from songwriting. Naomi wonders what Faye could have gotten involved with. Drug dealing? OnlyFans? Escorting or some other kind of sex work?
There were endless possibilities, from good to bad to fatal. Because, as smart and witty as Faye was, she could also be reckless and impulsive, often letting her ambitions and desires get in the way of rational thinking, making her put her trust in the wrong people. She was the sort of kid who would have most certainly followed a stranger into a van if he told her he had candy, with tunnel vision for her prize. “I’ll worry about the consequences later,” she’d say.
Naomi imagines her investigation revealing answers she doesn’t want. But she needs the truth. She puts the songbook on top of the photos, deciding to take it with her so she can pore over it later.
