When the two girls attended the same elementary school, Jackie looked after Megan. She walked her to class, made sure she had her lunch, and let her hang around her older friends, the few that there were.
At first, Megan accepted Jackie’s help as the natural order of things. But as time wore on and she became enmeshed in her own social network, Megan wrote Jackie off. She went from being Susan Pevensie’s little sister, Lucy, to Cinderella’s wicked stepsister Drizella. At least that’s how Jackie saw it, and on some days, Deirdre thought she was right.
It wasn’t just that Megan no longer had time for Jackie, it was that she taunted her, belittled her, did everything she could to crush her spirit. Jackie was so caught off-guard by the sudden change that she just absorbed the abuse, never fighting back.
Once, when Megan was trying to impress a group of friends visiting the house after school, she locked Jackie in a closet until Jackie swore that she, Jackie, was a lesbian. Megan didn’t really know what the word meant, and Jackie, two years older, didn’t understand why Megan thought it was an insult. But the cruelty with which the taunt was administered left no room to question Megan’s intentions. By the time Jackie caved to her sister’s demands, screaming, “I’m a lesbian, I’m a lesbian!” she was hysterical. She didn’t hear Megan unlock the closet door or leave the bedroom. Deirdre found Jackie asleep in the closet two hours later, when it was time for dinner. Jackie offered no explanation.
(While she didn’t sell her sister out, Jackie did, later that night, when everyone was asleep, steal Megan’s favorite lip gloss, Raspberry Sparkle. She managed to keep her laughter in check the next day as her sister frantically tore the bathroom apart looking for it. It was a small but significant act for Jackie. The lip gloss was a kind of trophy, proof that she shouldn’t be trifled with, even though she was trifled with more often than not. Jackie still kept the lip gloss in the back of her underwear drawer, wrapped in a pair of socks.)
That now, in the wake of all that was happening with their father, they found solace in each other’s arms, in each other’s company, was a sign to Deirdre of how much life was changing in the Stone household.
But just because Jared was sick didn’t mean the world had to turn completely upside down. Deirdre had had enough.
“Are you fucking kidding me? All of America watching our daughters watch their father die? This is supposed to be good news?”
“But, D,” he began.
“But nothing. We can’t go through with it.”
“I already signed. We’re committed.”
“No, Jared, you’re committed. We’re outta here.” Deirdre got up from the table and started to leave the room. She made it all the way to the door before Jared said, “It’s five million dollars.”
Deirdre stopped in her tracks.
“D, I’m going to die. No matter what we do, I’m going to die. Let’s at least cash in.”
Deirdre didn’t turn around, but she didn’t leave the room, either.
PART THREE
Lights, Camera, Action
Friday, September 25
The day the cameras moved into the Stone family house, it was raining. A cool, misting drizzle, more typical of January weather in Portland than late September, made the air thick with moisture and with anticipation.
A collection of men hauled large black chests from two vans parked on the street. Jackie and Megan watched from Jackie’s bedroom window and thought that the men looked like roadies setting up for a concert.
Deirdre stood in the foyer as they passed and thought they looked like angels of death.
Trey wondered if they had kibble.
Jared didn’t wonder anything; he was lying on the floor of his office, snoring.
As the television crew unpacked its equipment and began placing cameras and microphones all around the house, Glio found himself lying on a long flat table staring up at a bright light. A cloth strap held his head firmly in place. Without warning, the table began to slide into a tube of some sort. There were a few clicks and some whirring sounds, and the table slid back out.
A twenty-something woman with patrician features, a Texas accent, and pert breasts smiled at Glio. She told him that the radiologist would read the scan results and send them to his doctor in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
The memory being consumed was Jared’s first CT scan, and Glio delighted in the range of emotions he got to experience. There was awe at the technology, lust for the nurse, fear of the report, and, of course, fatigue and confusion. It was like a never-ending-memory bowl at Olive Garden, and Glio wasn’t shy about going back for seconds. Or thirds.