Page 30 of Perfect Order
It’s like I fall through the cracks. Here, I’m not seen. What do I have to do?You were always seen, my Lee. Always.
What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I wake up and have it all? What’s it going to take?
Screw my dreams.
Maybe Leanne had the right idea all along. She’s turned into this mega success overnight.A sob emerges as this one comes into focus. The right idea? Christ, Kylie.
Finally, after having my heart torn to shreds, the entries begin to lift.
Tonight might be the turning point. From the stage, I spotted Carys Burke in the audience. After my set, she asked if I had legal representation. Since I’d just received a call from the NEO Agency to possibly represent me, I dropped that bit of info.
Blunt as I heard she could be, she pulled out her card and said, “Come see me first.”
Leanne didn’t understand when I exploded on the phone when I called, but she was happy for me. “I told you!” she screamed in my ear. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I've craved her emotional support. It's bad enough I've been dependent on her financially. But one day, I’ll be someone. And then I’ll be able to be as generous as she is. Even if I’ll never be as self-sacrificing.
God, I don’t know how she juggles it all but if it takes the rest of my life I’ll make her as proud of me as I am of her.
“I was always proud of you, Kylie. Always. There was never a day I wasn’t,” I say aloud to the empty room, praying she can hear me wherever she is.
I’m about to flip the book shut when my nail catches a page that’s slightly worn. I flip to it and whisper, “What the hell is this?”
In her perfect penmanship is a page titled, “People I’d love to see run over by a New York City bus”
And there’s a list of five names:
Owen Witt.I wince when I easily recognize the name of Mastadoon’s drummer. Kylie’s breakup with him was rough and very public. As hard as I tried, even I couldn’t keep everything out of the press. And knowing how much she was hurt, I begin to understand this list more.
Kory Andrews.The power forward for New York’s basketball team was head over heels for my sister. Or so the world thought. I knew better when I found those pictures of him with his side piece, Bunny, on vacation and gave them to my sister so she could prepare before they hit the media.I agree. A bus would have been nice.
Sebastian Tim.My brows shoot to the top of my head.Our finance broker? Why? For what reason?I don’t know, but I’ll damn sure find out.
Terrence Landon.“I know this name. Why?” Then I shout, “Snowy-T? I never heard a damn thing about you and my sister.” I tap the book in earnest now. “Why are you on my sister’s imaginary hit list. And why is someone like Hutnik not on here?”
Because I come to the final entry. It’s an enormous “I” that’s underlined and circled. I study it for a moment. “If she meant herself, she’d have said ‘me.’ Not ‘I.’ So, ‘I’ means someone.”
Surging to my feet, I snag my phone and take a picture of it, forwarding the list to my handler. Then I decide to gather some intel the old-fashioned way.
I pick up my cell and place a call.
“LLF LLC. This is Angie. How may I direct your call?”
“Hey, Angie. It’s…”
“Erzulie. Hey. Are you looking to speak with Carys?” Her immediate warmth wraps around me.
“Is she available?” I ask cautiously.
“She’s actually on a call. I can interrupt if it’s urgent,” she offers.
“No. It’s just…I just wanted…you don’t even have to let her know I called,” I finally conclude. I’m not really certain why I did except I feel like I need to be doing more to find out who did this. I can’t possibly leave something of this magnitude to men who didn’t know her. Didn’t know us.
But Angie says something that jolts me. “Sometimes when the world’s on fire, it’s easier to find your way walking the same path you’ve already taken. Don’t think any of us will judge you if you feel you’re ready to get back to work. There are days it can be the only thing that might help you put one foot in front of the other.”
Almost robotically, I wander out of the living room and enter the one space I haven’t been able to breach for fear of it escaping: Kylie’s room. I push the door open and enter her closet, filled with her style, her scent, her essence. Amid an explosion of Free People funk is enough sparkle to light up New York on New Year’s Eve. And in many ways, it’s my Lee’s soul in designer clothing.
Realizing Angie’s calling my name over and over, I murmur absentmindedly, “You’re right.”
“Do you want her to call you? She has a break in about an hour.”
