Chapter 1 #2
eclipse together. He’d lived full-time in Julian for a year, and she hadn’t taken the three-hour drive down to see him. But
Carly had no intention of coming to watch the eclipse—even if it was “rare and cinematic,” as her dad said. Because if she
traveled to Julian, then she’d know for certain that he was never returning to Los Angeles. So she’d declined the invite,
hoping he’d finally understand that his leaving had been the wrong decision.
Of course, neither of them knew that seeing her would be his dying wish.
Carly thought putting together her dad’s favorite movie snack would ease her pain. She thought that by coming to the theater
she’d get some kind of closure. But as she looked around the empty lobby, she couldn’t help but feel complete and utter rage.
If he hadn’t moved to this cookie-cutter small town to pursue his half-baked dream, Bruce would still be alive. If he and
her mother hadn’t had their first date in a movie theater, maybe none of this would’ve happened in the first place. Why were
both of her parents gone from this world when so many other people got to keep theirs for longer?
The bucket shook in Carly’s unsteady hands.
Being here without him was too excruciating.
For the first time since arriving in Julian, she finally understood her dad was really gone.
Her throat burned. She couldn’t breathe.
The hot, bubbling sorrow that had built inside her blow by blow finally tumbled out as a scream.
She clenched her jaw, hurled the bucket of candy as hard as she could and it exploded against a framed poster.
Carly let out a loud sob. The flood of tears was so intense that the tightness in her throat couldn’t compete with the force
of her own pain. Her body swayed from the grief, and she collapsed to the floor. Her dad, that clever, sweet bear of a man,
was gone.
After what felt like hours but was probably more like minutes, Carly had no more tears left. So when the front door squeaked
open and she spied Hank—the janitor her dad had told her about—she couldn’t so much as fake a hello. Hank looked at her, then
at the trail of spilled candy.
“I’ll clean this up.” Her hands instinctively went to the floor.
“Let me,” Hank said as he approached. Why hadn’t Hank come to her dad’s funeral? Was Julian just filled with soulless, rude
people?
But then Adam popped into her head. He hadn’t been rude. He’d tried to help. So, naturally, she’d gone and chased him off.
“You go outside,” Hank added. “Get some fresh air. See the eclipse. Your dad would’ve wanted that.”
The eclipse. Yes, Carly had forgotten about the total eclipse that was happening because, well, her dad. She wordlessly agreed
to let Hank do his job, and then numbly moved toward the exit.
Outside the theater doors, the sun was low in the sky and filled Main Street with warm light.
A preschooler rode a scooter down the sidewalk as her mother chased along behind.
The child’s delighted squeals blended with Carly’s own sniffling.
A chunk of her life had ceased to exist, but somehow everyone else carried on like that didn’t matter.
As she glanced down the street, there were a handful of people in eclipse glasses, and kids lying on their backs with their faces toward the sky, delighting in the novelty.
The whole scene would be quaint if she weren’t in mourning.
The truth that Carly didn’t belong in Julian hit her like a punch. She belonged in Burbank, where she’d grown up and had a
studio apartment waiting for her. The sooner she could wrap up her dad’s affairs, the sooner she could get back home and leave
behind the reminders that he was gone.
Home. The thought made Carly slip her phone out of the pocket of her black midi dress. There was a text from Daniel, her closest
friend. She didn’t have a ton of those.
Daniel: Call me, okay?
She would call him, eventually.
Then she clicked into her email. Being a screenwriter was a mostly solitary endeavor. So when she saw the new email with the
simple subject line of “script,” she felt compelled to open it.
from: therealmarilyn@
to: CarlyHartWrites@
subject line: Script
Carly, I read your script. I think it has potential. Let’s set time to discuss. xx
She read it again. Then again. Carly had recently sent a script to Marilyn Montgomery—one of the most successful screenwriters in the business—after her dad had called in a favor.
But she never expected a reply; favors were called in all the time in Hollywood, and often nothing came of them.
But Marilyn had read her script. She said there was potential. She . . . wanted to discuss it?
Normally, knowing that an Academy Award-winning screenwriter thought her script could be something would elicit the kind of manic excitement that might frighten the nearby children. But in this moment, where Carly
could barely stand from grief, all she could do was smile. A genuine smile, because she knew her dad would be so proud.
Her life was about to change. She couldn’t call Marilyn, not when she might start crying if another human so much as spoke
to her, so she typed a quick response back. Thank you for reading! I will send availabilities shortly! Thank you, again! She hit Send before she added another superfluous thank-you or exclamation point, and immediately got a failure-to-send notification.
Carly frowned, and out of sheer desperation, placed a call to Daniel. Only, the voice that greeted her was an automated recording.
The number you’re trying to call is not reachable.
Before she could overthink it, voices rose around her and the people nearby pointed toward the sky.
Maybe the service was glitching because everyone was outside on their phones and livestreaming the eclipse. She’d try emailing
again as soon as it was over. What the hell; she might as well see the eclipse. Her dad had been eager to watch, and if she
couldn’t be with him physically, maybe this was a different way to honor his memory. Carly took a deep breath, shaded her
eyes with her hand and looked up.
This, however, was absolutely a mistake. Her retinas instantly burned. She blinked back the sting and tried to open them again,
but her lids felt stuck together. All she saw was black. Had she just blinded herself on top of everything?
There was a flicker of an image—white folding chairs and her dad’s coffin—followed by his voice—Come find me, Carly girl—so clear and loud her breath caught.
Then, as quickly as it had all come on, her eyes opened. “Dad?” Carly said.
Main Street came back into focus—the kids lying on top of towels, strangers pointing toward the sky. Of course he wasn’t there.
She must’ve heard his voice in her fog of grief. Come find me, Carly girl echoed like a drum in her head, though. Logically, she knew that her heart wasn’t actually breaking, but how else to explain
the sharp and sudden pain in her chest? She placed a hand to her forehead, let out a shuddering breath and wished the day
would just end already.