Miguel looked up, surprised. “Really?”
“Really.”
A cautious smile spread across Miguel’s face. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure. That would be cool.”
72
Lee
As she knew it eventuallywould, Depression became too strong and painful for Lee to bear. Her sister’s words—You love pretending you’re looking out for everyone else, but it always comes back to Lee Perkins in the spotlight—echoed in her ears as she stuffed things in her suitcase.
In her mind’s eye, Lee could imagine herself back in Los Angeles, swanning around the circuit, accepting accolades for her noble journey across the ocean to save her sister. She’d probably tear up a little when she told her tale, splay her fingers on her chest, inhabit the brave big sister who’d put her career on hold for family. The narrative was already crystallizing, another perfect anecdote for talk show appearances.
God, Regan was right about her. Had every moment of care, every rescue, every time she’d dropped everything to help—had it all been a charade? To quote Markos the cop, possible.
Possible, it was all—and always—a show.
Even her love felt suspect now. Did she love Flora and Isabelle, or did she love being the one they called when everything fell apart?
On her phone, Lee checked in for her flight from Athens to LAX. Flight 447 departed the next day at 2:15p.m.,an eleven-hourflight. Lee wouldn’t make it to touchdown. She wasn’t going back to a life of clinging to a dull version of sanity, Depression whispering in her ear day and night. Somewhere over the Atlantic, she could let go. The offer of a massive film role didn’t bring her solace. She was not needed by anyone, all the calibrated meds weren’t helping enough, and there was no reason to suffer any longer. It was too much, and that was OK. She’d made a journey to save her family, and now it was time to save herself.
Lee’s boarding pass appeared on her screen. Seat 3A, first class.
Pure, clean relief flooded through her; it made her shoulders drop and her breathing slow. She had a plan. She had control. She didn’t have to figure out how to live. Not anymore.
Everything she’d told herself about love, about family, about being the person others could count on—lies. Pretty lies she’d wrapped around an ugly desire to be necessary, a search for a way to escape the fact that she had nothing to offer, that she was empty and in pain.
One last performance to go.
73
Regan
Regan waited for her girlsin the American School of Athens pickup line. Although the other moms waved to her kindly, Regan was sure they thought she was a goddamn idiot. Shewasa goddamn idiot. It took all her strength to resist the desire to flee, to drive away and text François…allow herself the pleasure of hope and possibility. She bit her tongue and held one hand with the other and she sat still and watched the door of her daughters’ beautiful school.
She texted Cord:I can’t do it.
You can.
Do I have to?
Yes.
The night before, as they chatted, Cord told Regan that Step Nine, “Making Amends,” would help ease her shame. “The shame makes you go back out,” said Cord, using AA-speak. “Going back out” meant drinking for Cord…for Regan it was contacting François. It was incredible how similar their recoveries had turned out to be. “Just tell the girls you’re sorry and you know it was a scam and it’s over.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“Oh, no, it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But you’restrong, Reeg. Look at all you’ve done already. You can do this.”
A bell rang, and girls in uniforms poured into the front courtyard, some running to parents, others gathering into groups and standing on their own. When Regan saw Flora, she started the engine and rolled her window down. “I’m here! Flora!” she cried. Flora turned, looking surprised, nervous when she spotted her mom. Flora approached her sister, who was surrounded by a crowd, grabbed her hand, and spoke to her. Both girls came to Regan’s car and got in the back seat.
“Why are you here?” said Isabelle, furiously. “We take the metro.”
“I know, but I need to talk to you both.”
The girls were silent. Regan drove the car down a side street and pulled over, parking. She looked at her hands as she said, “I was scammed. I get it now. I am…I am heartbroken about what I put you through. It was dumb and I hate myself, girls. I see it now, and it’s over. It’s over and I’m sorry. I know I can never…I know you will never trust me again. And I wish I could go back, but it is what it is and I messed up and I hurt you. My job is to love you and I—”
Regan stopped talking because her daughters had unbuckled their seatbelts and exited the car. Each slammed a door, leaving Regan utterly alone. She began to cry. They had abandoned her, and she deserved this. She put her palms to her face.
