“They told us to draw stars,” I say, thinking myself clever. “So, I drew us. My teacher got mad, but I don’t care.”
Maddie begins to cry again, and I cautiously approach the bed. “If you feel bad, I can get you some medicine. I think we have some at home.”
She shakes her head, sniffing and pulls a used tissue to her face to wipe her tears away. “I’m not that kind of sick.”
“What’s wrong?”
She waves me away. “I heard from my old agent today, just a little sting of rejection. It will pass.”
“You weren’t right for the part,” I declare because that’s what she taught me. “Or the part wasn’t right for you.”
“There are no parts left for me, Lucas,” she sighs.
“It’s just not your time, you have to keep your head up. I’ll get you some juice.” I race to the kitchen and grab her favorite glass from the sink, rinse it out and fill it up with carrot juice. Back in the bedroom, I thrust it at her, spilling a little on her comforter and wincing when she sees it.
She cracks a smile and shakes her head. “I’ve created a monster.”
“You know it, Dame,” I say, chucking her chin.
Laughter erupts from her as she sets the juice down and motions for me to come closer. “You know better than to toss that word around.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come closer, Lucas. Let me look at you.”
Swallowing, I take a step forward as she scrutinizes me. “Wow, look at you. You’re getting so big. Hopefully, you grow into that nose.”
“I’m eleven tomorrow.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “And then you’re sixteen and then you’re fifty-six. Do yourself a favor and remember that.”
Unsure of what she means, I just nod. “Okay.”
“Hit them hard, or they’ll forget about you before the tape runs out,” she says on a shaky voice just as another tear falls. Climbing up into the bed next to her, I throw my arm around her like my favorite character Terrance does in The Sky’s Limit.
“I won’t forget about you, Maddie. I promise.”
Pushing from my chair, I roll the script in my hand and walk toward my mark.
This one is for you, Maddie.
Mila
Humming to the radio, I drive down the stretch of road leading to our beach house, hopes for the night floating around my head, a bag of supplies in my back seat. It’s only when I’m close to home that I see endless rows of cars parked on either side of the street. “What in the hell?” I mumble after clicking my signal to see our driveway full. I manage to find a spot several houses down. Giving myself a little pep talk, I carry the bags that originally felt light in weight that now weigh heavy in my arms as I’m forced to haul them to the house. The sun beats down on my shoulders and music blares from all corners of our home as I approach. Opening our front door, I feel a thud and peek my head around. A man I’ve never seen greets me. “I think you might have the wrong house, miss. This is Lucas Walker’s place.”
“Is it?” I snap, balancing the bags on my leg and holding up my wedding ring. “Does this gain me entry?”
“That’s Walker’s wife, you idiot,” another guy says, stepping toward me with a grin. “Sorry about him.”
“And you are?”
“Lance, I’m one of the crew.”
“Ah,” I say as I attempt to shove through the warm bodies blocking the doorway, the bags getting heavier by the second. The smell of weed wafts into the living room from the kitchen terrace as I set the grocery bags down. A blonde in a bikini top and barely-there shorts raises my favorite wine glass and a bottle I’d been saving for a special occasion. “Would you like a glass? It’s really good.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, snatching the bottle from her hand and hearing “bitch” muttered behind me. Taking the bag I’d waited weeks to pick up down the hall and into our bedroom, I toss it into our closet as I try to talk myself down from murder one to assault and battery. At least Lucas had made our bedroom off limits, and I was relieved to see there wasn’t a soul in sight. Standing in my closet, I fume as I tip the wine back.