by Shyla Colt
“You’re tense. I’m assuming it’s been a long couple of days.”
I remain silent.
“Don’t worry. Last year I worked on a tour with a band. I know how much the traveling wears you down, even though you love what you’re doing.”
“Yes.” I exhale, grateful to speak the truth for once, even as I criticize myself for letting down my guard.
“Just take this time to unwind and let me work my magic.” She hums an upbeat tune, and the tension flows from me like water. I lean into her touch, seeking her warmth and the unexplainable aura that tugs me toward her. I’ve been closed off and cold inside for so long.
“Okay, time to open those beautiful brown eyes.”
I lift my heavy lids, and she smiles. “Welcome back. Look up. I’m just using a concealer.” Her fingers dab on a few dots. She blends with a sponge. Pleased, she nods her head in what I think is approval. “And a very light highlighter and powder.” Grinning, she steps back. “Okay, now for your approval before I use a setting spray.” I look in the mirror and find myself pleasantly astounded.
“I look like me.”
“That’s the point, right?” she asks playfully.
I smile sadly. “Depends on who you’re asking. Can you add a bit of eyeliner and mascara?”
“I’m on it.” She makes the adjustment, and I approve the look. The setting spray is applied, and I watch as she cleanses her equipment.
“I know this is terribly unprofessional ...”
My heart plummets. This is where Hart proves me wrong, and I realize she’s just like everyone else.
“But can you write an encouraging note to my sister, Fiona?”
“For your sister?”
She nods. “You’re her favorite K-Drama actor.”
“You seem like you take good care of her.” How can I compare this woman who’s so selfless to Chung-Ho? She could be lying to get on the show.
“I promised my mother I’d help her and Dad adjust now that she’s gone.” She sighs. “I’m not sure if I’m doing a good job, but I’m trying, and for my mom, that was what mattered most.” The sorrow in her voice is too real to be faked.
“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“Oh, she was.” She nods.
I look around the room and grab a pad. “You said her name was Fiona?”
“Yes, F-I-O-N-A.”
Hwaiting, Fiona! Thank you for supporting Secret Heiress.
Yoon Kim
I hand the note over, and she hugs it to her chest. “You’ve just made me the coolest big sister around.”
“I wish I could see her face when she receives this.”
“Do you want me to send you a picture?”
I hesitate. It’s not against the rules, but it’s frowned upon.
“Yes, please.”
We exchange numbers and Sang reappears. My heart pounds. Am I being pulled into another con? “Oh, this is very nice, Mrs. Hartley.”
“It’s just Hart.”
A sweet name for a sweet woman?
Chapter Two
Hart
Fiona runs toward me. “How did it go? You took forever.”
“They wanted me to do make-up for someone.”
“Who?”
“Read this and find out.” I hand the note over and start to film. Her eyes grow comically wide, and she glances up at me and back to the letter before screaming and jumping up and down. I turn the camera to myself. “That’s one happy fan.” I press send before I can overthink it. He wouldn’t have asked me to do this if he wasn’t interested. Not in me, in seeing a fan happy. I shove the phone into my back pocket. I refuse to stalk my phone, waiting for him to respond. He has a long day ahead of him and better things to do than respond to me immediately.
“Come on. I’m starving. While we’re in Austin, I want to take you to one of my favorite eating spots.”
“Rudy’s?” she asks, mentioning the mouthwatering barbeque spot.
“Nope, I’m feeling the need for Tex Mex. We’re going to Chuy’s.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me.
“You already gave me more than I ever hoped for. Yoon Kim knows I exist.” She sighs, and I remember my own days, when idolizing musicians consumed me.
“He does indeed.” I wink.
“Did you get to talk to him for a long time?” She tucks a fist under her chin and focuses all her attention on me.
“Only a little.” I place my thumb and pointer finger an inch apart. “You know I like to stay professional. Even asking Yoon for his autograph was crossing lines I normally don’t.”
She stops. “You did it for me.”
“Baby sister, don’t you know I’d do anything for you by now?”
She throws her arms around me and squeezes tight. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the rare embrace. Contemplative and subdued, she’d been closed off lately. Inhaling the familiar fruity scent of her body spray, I will happiness into her. This trip has been good for us. Getting away from home, collecting goodies at rest stops, and singing along to the music. With high school homework, projects, studying, and my schedule, we can be like ships passing in the night. I must do better. Picking up shifts and side gigs helps us stay afloat while waiting for health insurance and life insurance to payout.
I feel the weight on my shoulders increase. Good thing I have sturdy legs. We make our way out of the building and back to the car. Chuy’s is a welcome sight. White walls stand out against the electric blue base, and eclectic stone wall décor. Stepping inside is like a blast from the past with its checkerboard patterned floor, Formica tables, with diner-style booths. Pink walls are lined with colorful pictures and lights.
“This place is amazing,” Fiona says.
“Right? Wait until you taste the food. It was one of my favorite spots to come to when I lived in Austin.”
It was the perfect place to stretch my wings when I moved out of the house. Close enough to be home in under two hours, but far enough away to breathe and make silly mistakes of youth without censor. We put our names on the waitlist and take a seat on the bench.
“Is there anything you want to do before we head back?”
“No.” She toys with the bottom of her T-shirt and looks down. “It’s nice to be away from everyone who knows what’s going on at home. I feel like a freak at school. People whisper and treat me differently. Teachers give me pitying glances. Home is the only place I can escape from that, and only if Dad’s not there.”
“Why do you mean about Dad?”
“I’m acutely aware that we favor Mom. Haven’t you noticed he avoids us?”
I lean forward, bending down to look at the face half shielded by her curls. “He’s just busy with work. We have a lot of bills coming in.” I decided to be honest with her. Teens don’t like to be lied to, and once you break their trust, it’s near impossible to get back.
“Is he?” She scowls. “What about when he is home locked away in his room or the study?’
“I can’t speak for him. But we all handle loss in different ways.” I reach over and grab her hands. “You know he loves you more than anything in this world. He’s doing the best he can.
Fiona snorts. “I hate being alone, and all anyone wants to do is give me space.” Her voice wavers. How could I not spot this?
“Do you feel lonely, Fi?”
She nods her head. “Dad stays locked away like a king in a tower, you’re always working, and I feel so removed from all my friends.”
Her words make my heart hurt. “You know you can always come to me. I’ll work on cutting down my hours, so we can spend more time together. That’s the whole reason why I came back.”
She peers at me through a curtain of hair. “It is?”
“Yes. Because sisters have each other’s back, and right now, our family needs each other more than ever.”
The hopeful smile makes the entire trip, and anything I might have to endure later because of it, well worth it.
LE
TTERS SPILL OUT OF the mailbox as we pull into the driveway Sunday morning. I sigh as the freedom and fun of Austin disappears under a gray raincloud. My throat dries, and my heart accelerates. He hasn’t gotten the mail since we left.
“Hartley?” Fiona’s voice quivers.
“It’s okay.” I smile, reassuring her when I’m panicking inside. He’s been in a deep depression. Would he harm himself? No. A few months ago, I wouldn’t question it. Now, nothing feels certain. “Wait here.”
Shaken, Fiona turns to me. She’s been through enough. I won’t let her walk into anything else.
“Should we call someone?”
“No. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’d be just like Dad to stay cloistered inside all weekend without concerning himself with the outside world.”
“This is true,” she whispers.
Losing Mom drove home the fact that parents weren’t invincible. They’re aging and flawed.
“I’ll be right back.”
Opening the car door, I slip out of the car and walk up to the front door. When I unlock it, I wrinkle my nose at the foul smell of rot. Eyes watering, I cover my mouth and nose with my hand. I want to cry out for him, but I’m afraid he won’t answer. Forcing myself to move farther into the house, I stop in the kitchen. The sink looks like it belongs to a hoarder. Dishes are piled up haphazardly, and trash overflows from the stainless-steel trash can. A napkin sticks to the bottom sole of my show. Disgusted, I shake my leg to fling it off.
Empty bottles line the kitchen island. Oh, Dad. Nothing good comes from downing three bottles of Irish whiskey. I let my hand fall.
“Dad?” I call out. The silence that greets me motivates me to move faster. I run into the living room. Blankets are balled up on the couch, but it’s empty. An empty pizza box rests on the coffee table.
“Dad,” I yell louder, running full out to the study. I push the heavy wooden doors apart, and my heart drops. Dad is passed out at his desk with pictures of Mom strewn on the surface. I skid to a stop, tripping on the corner of the rug a few feet away as I stare at his back, unable to see if it rises with his breaths.
“Dad.” My voice cracks. He doesn’t stir. I scramble over to him and shake him hard as tears run down my face. “Dad. Wake up. You’re scaring me.” Sobs clog my throat as I continue to shake him. He’s still warm.
“Huh.” His raspy voice brings me to my knees. I clutch the handle of his chair. Rolling his head toward me, I take in his ashen color and the spittle running down his chin. He looks like a lifeless doll.
“Dad. You have to stop this,” I croak.
He opens dull, blood-shot brown eyes. The skin around his eyes is sunken in along with his face. It’s like he dropped another ten pounds while we were gone.
I never should’ve left him.
He smacks his lips. “Whas going on?”
“How long have you been here like this?” Body odor slaps me in the face. Leaning away, I breathe through my mouth.
“You back?”
“Yes, and Fiona cannot see you like this. I know this is hard, but she needs you.” I need you. I’ve become a parent in the blink of an eye, and I have no clue what I’m doing. Gripping his arm, I force him to his feet. “You have to shower and sober up.”
“Leave me be.”
“No,” I bark. “I can’t do this on my own. We have to move forward.”
He shrugs me off and stumbles back. Clumsy, he trips over his own feet and falls sideways. Visions of his head smashing against the corner of the desk flash in my mind. I rush forward and right him, correcting his overbalancing.
“She already lost one parent. Don’t make her lose another one.”
He blinks, swimming up from his stupor. Grunting, he lurches forward, heading toward the bedroom they’d moved downstairs when Mom got too ill to travel the stairs. I bow my head, wondering if I’d gotten through to him at all. The sound of the pipes starting up tells me he’s at least showering. I walk over to the windows and open them, letting fresh air in before I jog to the living room and grab the pizza box. Shoving the trash down, I pull the bag and carry them all out the front door. I wave at my sister, who leaves the car.
“What happened?”
“He was closed up in the study. Passed right out at his desk.”
She snickers. “Classic Dad.”
“I had to shove him to the shower. Give me a minute to air the place out before you come in. Trust me, your nose will thank me.”
Feigning amusement, I force myself to casually walk to the trash can and back into the house. The second I clear the doorway, I race to the kitchen, opening windows, rinsing off soiled plates with hot water, and loading them into the dishwasher. I spray refresher and place a clean bag in the trashcan. I’m scrubbing the counters when Fiona makes her appearance.
“Oh, this isn’t too bad. I was expecting it to look like the aftermath of a frat party.”
I smile, glad she can’t see the empty bottles I smuggled out earlier.
“I brought these in. Are we in trouble?” Fiona holds up the pink notice letters from the water company, gas and electric, and phone. I close my eyes, kissing another chunk of my savings good-bye.
“No, honey. We have the money, but Dad’s head is just all over the place. I’ll make sure they’re paid on time from now on.”
“Okay.” She exhales.
“You don’t worry about this stuff. This is my job, yeah?”
She nods.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and get unpacked? I’ll finish straightening up and start dinner.”
Things are more dire than I believed them to be.
YOON
I unlock the door of my home and smile at the sight of my little sister. She’s sitting on the couch with her ever-present computer on her lap. Glancing up, she smiles.
“Oopa, welcome home.”
“Byeol.” It’s good to see her so happy and healthy. There were times growing up when that wasn’t the case. Born with cerebral palsy, she required better care than my mother and father could provide. The bare minimum never gave her the tools to be independent or thrive. Back then, the majority of the money I made went to her. She was the motivation for enduring the grueling schedule and lack of control over my own life.
She’d gone from a wane girl with little mobility to an independent woman with a love for life. The therapy didn’t give her back the full function of her legs, but the doctors and therapists did improve her mobility and give her the confidence to get around independently. In the world of manga, she found her place to belong. She writes a reasonably popular series about a fantasy world that exists alongside our own. Her characters all handi-capable, and I couldn’t be prouder.
“How long will you be here for?” Setting the tablet aside, she scoots over on the couch to give me room to sit down after I shed my shoes and put on slippers.
“A few weeks while we film more episodes, and then I’ll go back to film the contest.”
“I’ll take it.”
“It’s nice to see my house is still standing.”
Byeol rolls her eyes. “If you were that worried about it, you wouldn’t keep asking me to house sit.”
I laugh.
“Tell me all about America.”
“It’s loud, busy, and confusing.”
“Oopa!” she cries.
I laugh. “I didn’t get much time to see anything. We’re on the move constantly. Every minute of our day is scheduled. Their airports are interesting.” I shrug.
“It saddens me that you don’t get to experience more.”
“I’m lucky—”
“Don’t feed me the lines they use to keep you in line. Especially Sang,” she hisses.
“I know you don’t like him, but he’s done a lot for both of us.”
“For us, or his pocket? You deserve better than he gives you, oopa.”
I lean my head back against the couch. I’ve toyed with the thought of ending our professional relationship for over a year. His
abrasive managing style, harsh criticism, and controlling ways keep me on edge.
“I feel like I owe him for all he’s done,” I admit.
“He was paid handsomely for that.”
I grunt.
“Are you going to keep punishing yourself for what Chung-Ho did?” she asks softly.
“I should’ve seen through her lies.” I shake my head, sickened by the desperate way I clung to her. I was an easy target ripe for the picking. I ignored everyone’s warnings and observations, explaining away what, in hindsight, was obvious.
“That’s what professional liars do, play their role convincingly. It takes a ruthless person to do what she did. The blame is on her. You deserve happiness and real love.”
“Maybe that doesn’t exist for people like me. Perhaps it’s the price I pay for living in the limelight.” Darkness creeps over me.
“No. I don’t believe that, and neither should you. Tell me a story. You always have at least one.”
“I actually have a video.” I cue up the video from Hart.
“Yoon! That was so sweet of you. Look how happy you made her. Who’s the other woman?”
“That’s Hart. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’ll be on the competition. She’s trying to win the spot on the show for her sister.” I retell the story, and my sister tears up.
“What a wonderful sister.”
“She seems to be.”
“Anyone who sacrifices that much for her family cannot be anything like Chung-Ho. Did you answer her?”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. “We’ve talked a few times. Just texts.”
“You like her.”
I deny it immediately, “No.”
She claps her hands. “You sure about that?”
“Yes. It’s easy to talk to Hart because she’s also in the industry.”
“Oh, is that why?” She tilts her head.
I scoff, and she laughs. “How are Mom and Dad doing?”
She lets me change the subject, and I relax, taking in her updates as I get caught back up on everyday life. Half the time, I feel like I live on another planet from everyone else.
My phone rings. Sang’s name pops up on the screen. I grunt. “Hello?”