This Story Might Save Your Life(19)

The opening is standard TSMSYL. I talk about how hot it is for the end of September, and Joy mentions her new whisper-quiet air-conditioning system. “Just listen to that.”

“I can’t hear anything.”

“Exactly.”

I scrub forward, knowing the next part is a deep dive into Halloween candy—dark versus milk chocolate, nut versus nougat—and then Joy sets up the day’s topic. “We’re going way back for this one. To the year 1999.”

“Time travel. I’m game.”

“You’re fourteen years old. It’s early January. Holidays are over. Your parents are back at work, but you’re still on winter break. You roll out of bed around ten, grab some leftover pizza from the fridge, and head straight for the living room. You’ve got your heart set on a day of PlayStation, but there’s a note on the TV: DO NOT turn this on until you’ve returned ALL XMAS DECORATIONS to the attic!”

Past Me groans. “Not the attic.”

Joy’s laugh is diabolical.

“That’s right. You do as your parents asked, and just as you’ve lugged your last box up there, the attic ladder snaps back into place.”

“Of course it does. I’ve seen this movie.”

“No matter what you try, the ladder doesn’t budge. And it’s cold. Your breath is coming out in big white clouds. You start ripping open dusty boxes in search of a blanket. And this is when you find yourself face-to-face with … a creepy doll.”

Past Me laughs.

“How do you get out before (a) Chucky comes to life, and (b) you freeze to death?”

I smile, remembering the look on her face when she said this—mischievous grin offset by one deep dimple, cheeks pink, bangs so long they were almost touching her lashes.

“Is my sister in the house?” Past Me asks. “Is she the one who locked me in the attic?”

I hit pause, realizing my mistake with a sinking stomach. My sister loves Joy. I can’t let her learn about this from anyone else.

By the time Quinn and Mallory return from the kitchen, I’ve got Sarah on speakerphone.

“How long have they been missing?” Sarah asks.

“I don’t know.” It’s the chorus of my life right now. “Could be twelve hours. Could be twenty-four.”

“What can I do? Tell me what to do. Do you need me to come out? I can move my patients around and be there tomorrow.”

I’m tempted, but her practice is only barely in the black. She can’t afford to fly out here just to hold my hand, and Sarah being Sarah, she wouldn’t let me reimburse her for it either. “You don’t have to do that.”

“This isn’t good, Benny. You need someone. I don’t want you to be alone.”

“He’s not alone,” Quinn says. “He’s got me and Mallory.”

I toss a grateful glance her way as my phone dings. We all look down at it.

“And Luna,” Mallory adds, still staring at my ex-wife’s message.

“Luna,” my sister echoes. “Did you say Luna?”

“She just texted.” I read it aloud in monotone: “What the hell, Benny? What’s going on? Do you need me to come over?”

Sarah blows out a soft whistle. “I didn’t know you guys were still talking.”

We’re not. Barely ever. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She’s just worried about Joy.”

“God, that’s complicated. Are you going to write her back?”

“It would be weird not to.”

She hums in agreement and makes me promise to keep her in the loop. “I’ll jump on a plane the second you say go.”

I thank her, end the call, and bury my face in my hands.

“Um, Benny…” Quinn says.

When I look back up, Mallory is holding out her phone.

I squint at it, trying to understand what I’m seeing, and the blood rushes from my head.

We have 359 new messages on our website.





Joy Moore


EXCERPT FROM UNTITLED JOINT MEMOIR WITH BENNY ABBOTT

Eleven Years Ago

My first year with Xander was, in a word, dreamy. He was kind and thoughtful and respectful of my schedule. I read the scripts he was considering. He offered feedback on the logos and websites I designed. We watched movies with my feet in his lap and made love on his pillowtop mattress. He brought me coffee in bed, and sometimes eggs, and sometimes sourdough toast with butter and jam. We went to film mixers and craft lectures and trade shows and film festivals. He met with movie directors and scriptwriters. I met with art directors and copywriters. We traveled: to Big Sur, and Yosemite, and Joshua Tree. We worked out together, and napped together, and everything was calm and easy, and in my head I tossed around words like adult and grown-up and settled. I liked those words. I was pretty sure he liked them too.

The only downside to our twosome was that I was spending less and less time with Benny, who had no interest in being the third wheel on our outings. “Go on, go on, have fun,” he always said, but after a year I could no longer stand it.

“We need to find Benny a girlfriend,” I told Xander.

“Funny you should mention it,” he said. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

“Do you have someone in mind?”