Alano
9:36 p.m.
“You boys have given me much to reflect on,” my father says.
I’m not hopeful about seeing any real change because of my father’s ego, but it brings an end to what has been a tense evening.
Everyone picks up after themselves, bringing their dishes to the sink for Mr. Rolando to clean. My mother swaps my father’s
flask for a glass of water. Paz and I bring the lawn chairs and Bucky outside. I’m grateful for this fresh air.
I turn to Paz. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know. It’s weird. I won’t lie, I wanted to Hulk out on your dad a few times, but we’re using words and not fists
and that feels great now, but it sucked how shoulder shrug–y he was about the first End Day error. Like it was nothing.”
I almost tell Paz about my father seeing ghosts, but that’s not my secret to tell. I’m preparing to share my own soon. Maybe
this Friday on the anniversary of Frankie Dario’s death so Paz won’t feel alone in his trauma. For now Paz needs to know that
my father has many flaws, but detachment isn’t one. “My father has been haunted by that error for three thousand six hundred
and fifty days.”
Paz looks at me and then up at the night sky like the stars will show the equation. “That’s bad math.”
“Math isn’t bad.”
He rolls his eyes. “Your math is off. It hasn’t been ten years yet.”
My math teachers always said to show my work, even if the answers come quickly to me. That’s what I do now. “A year is usually
three hundred and sixty-five days, so multiply that by ten and you end up with three thousand six hundred and fifty days,
but then you have to add the three Leap Days from 2012, 2016, and 2020, which is almost unnecessary since you have to subtract
them again because we’re three days away from the ten-year anniversary. Leaving you with...?”
“Three thousand six hundred and fifty days,” Paz says.
“Three thousand six hundred and fifty days of my father being haunted by your past.”
Paz sits with all of this. “Okay, your math is good, but it really doesn’t feel like your dad cares about what happened to
me.”
“I imagine he’s struggling to treat you as a victim when he sees you as a threat.”
“I’m never gonna live that down,” Paz says, his eyes going blank.
I grab his hand, bringing him back to me. “You will with the only person who matters,” I say. There’s no forgetting that Paz
almost hit me, but once he honors his word by undergoing his treatment, I can forgive him. Especially since I know what truly
birthed that anger. “I’m really proud of you for addressing the first End Day with my father. His apology didn’t give you
any closure?”
“Saying sorry doesn’t change how bad my life got screwed up,” Paz says.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I shake my head. “Poor choice of words.”
“It’s fine, it’s whatever.”
“Paz...”
He sighs. “Look, getting an apology from your dad just really throws me in my feelings because I’m never gonna get one from
mine.”
If Frankie Dario had received his End Day alert, maybe Paz would have gotten an apology. Gloria too. We’ll never know. “Have
you ever tried getting closure?”
“Like what, doing a séance?”
“If that’s what you want.” It may not have been what I meant, but I would respect Paz engaging in that practice just as I
do others around the world who commune with their ancestors. “Anything that helps you move on, especially as we approach the
anniversary.”
Paz shrugs. “I wrote a letter to my dad on my birthday. It was also Father’s Day.”
I never pieced that together. “What did you say?”
“What I wish I had said before killing him,” Paz says.
I’m curious if he’ll open up more about that, but before I can ask, my mother pops her head out of the door and asks if we
can come back inside. “Something’s happened,” she says.
Dread fills my chest. I call Bucky, and we all return to the living room. “What happened?”
My father glances at Paz’s parents. “We should speak privately.”
“Why? Does this concern Paz? Are they talking about us on the news?”
“It does not concern Paz, but...” He closes his eyes in frustration.
My mother hands him another glass of water. “They will all find out soon anyway.”
My father nods. “There’s been a death—or there will be.”
Everyone is quiet. I’m dizzy thinking about the possibilities. Who could be dying that has my parents worked up? One of our
heralds back in the city? Roah Wetherholt? An executive like Aster Gomez? Or is this less about my parents getting worked
up and more about them sharing sensitive info that will break my heart? I might faint as the fear overwhelms me.
“Please don’t say Ariana or Rio,” I say on the verge of tears before remembering that there’s no way of knowing if Rio is
about to die or not. If he’s even alive this very moment. Maybe this isn’t about a Death-Cast alert but a death threat made
to Rio like I received. Is someone threatening him because he knows me? Because we’re friends? Used to be friends?
“Sweetheart, no,” my mother says immediately. “It’s not Ariana or Rio.”
I could still cry from relief. “Then who?”
“Marcel Bennett,” she says.
“Who’s that?” Paz asks.
“A new hire,” I say. Marcel was originally in the running for Death-Cast’s secret Project Meucci promotion before we decided on a different actor who lost out because he refused to sign the NDA. That’s when I persuaded my father to hire Ariana because we could trust her even without the NDA. Then he had to fire her once her trust was called into question. “When did this happen?”
“Minutes ago,” my father says. “Marcel Bennett graciously reached out to Aster after receiving his alert, thanking us for
the opportunity.”
Death is the ultimate callout for not coming to work.
“I’m sorry he will be lost,” I say.
“That’s so tragic,” Ms. Gloria says.
“This promotion is starting to feel cursed,” my father says, as if the ghosts he sees are conspiring against him. “But we
will persist.”
The gears are turning in my head as I remember some of the incredible self-tapes that were submitted to us. Tons of new local
talent from colleges and the theater scene, even some television stars with many credits to their names. But I turn to the
boy who needs more than an apology to turn his life around. “What if Paz filmed the promotion?”
My father and Paz look at each other before staring at me.
“A young man just discovered it’s his End Day,” my father says. “I am not sure now is the best time to be discussing this.”
I’m not falling for my father believing that I’m being insensitive. He has often said that life goes on even when a Decker’s
is coming to a close. No, my father’s resistance is that he doesn’t want Paz.
“You need an actor by Thursday morning. Paz is an actor,” I say.
“Absolutely, but we are filming at headquarters.”
“We’ll go to New York together,” I say. I turn to Paz. “Would that work for you?”
Paz looks between his parents and mine. “Um...”
“The job pays,” I say. I’m sure Paz would do it for free, but we all know that’s not the problem.
My father says, “While I would delight in your return to New York, mi hijo, you understand that this promotion is delicate.”
I can read my father’s mind. He’s concerned about the optics of unveiling his next phase of Death-Cast with a figure as controversial
as Paz. I have to reason with him politically. “Casting Paz in this project will show the world that he and I can’t be secret
Death Guarders if he’s the face of the new Death-Cast campaign,” I say, knowing that I’m appealing to my father already. I
drive it home with guilt. “Death-Cast ruined Paz’s life and now Death-Cast can give it back.”
The best apology isn’t words. The best apology is action taken to make things right.
My father glances at Naya before staring at me. “I would like to rebuild everyone’s hope in Death-Cast. We are not perfect. No person or company is, but we have done good for millions worldwide.” He turns to Paz. “I am sorry that Death-Cast failed you, but I will grant you this opportunity along with an invitation to the gala so you may witness the heartfelt speeches by those who have benefited from our services. Of course, will need to be in attendance too.”
“I’ll be there,” I say before asking Paz, “Will you?”
Paz runs his hands through his curly blond hair before turning to Ms. Gloria. “Mom?”
“When is this gala?” she asks.
“Thursday evening,” I say.
Ms. Gloria grabs Paz’s hand. “I want this for you if you want this, but Friday is... well, you know. We should be together
on that day, Pazito.”
“You’re invited to New York too,” my mother says to Ms. Gloria and Mr. Rolando.
“I’ve missed a lot of work already.”
“Then we can arrange for Paz to return on Friday morning or put him on a red-eye after the gala. First-class, of course, as
we do for all our stars,” my mother says, winking at Paz. I’m thrilled that she’s on board with this plan.
Ms. Gloria nods slowly and inhales a deep breath. “This is your call, Pazito.”
Paz is quiet. I should have discussed this with him privately. I definitely don’t want to pressure him into doing promotions
for a company that upended his life, I only want his wounds to heal. Everyone around the world will see this campaign. Maybe
that’s a bad thing. The last thing I want is to invite more chaos into Paz’s life.
Now I’m scared I’m doing just that.
Paz walks up to my father. For a moment I’m nervous he’s going to hit him, but he shakes his hand instead. “Thank you,” he says before hugging Ms. Gloria as Mr. Rolando cheers.
My father comes over and shakes my hand too. “Excellent negotiating, mi hijo,” he says. “I have taken your words to heart,
and I hope you see that I can be receptive to your needs. I cannot help but be overprotective as your father, but I will work
harder to find a balance that allows you more freedoms. It would mean the world if you will reconsider giving Death-Cast your
full commitment, both in its service and in one day serving.”
If I’m granted the life I want, I can see myself leading in the future. “Maybe,” I say.
“I will do what I can to regain your confidence,” my father says.
That is a long road, but it’s as if we’ve walked miles of it tonight.
As my parents speak with Ms. Gloria and Mr. Rolando about the arrangements of me going home to pack and what time Paz will
need to be ready for tonight’s takeoff, I pull Paz into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot,” I say.
“I’ve had worse spotlights on me,” Paz says. Then he throws his arms around me and gives me the tightest hug. “Thanks for
making me an actor again, .”
Honoring the Begin Days contract is far more fulfilling than my original promise to help kill Paz when he was desperate for
his End Day.
I’m so happy that this has worked out so I can still be there for Paz on the anniversary. “How are you feeling about returning to New York?” I ask.
Paz steps back. “The timing is wild, obviously, but what better time to face my ghost.”
“Maybe this is what was fated all along,” I say before lowering my voice. “It was never about you dying. It was always about
moving on.”
“I hope so.”
This will be the most healing trip if I can restart Paz’s acting career and give him closure on his father’s death. “What
about bringing the letter you wrote Frankie?”
“For what?”
“To say goodbye, Paz. In reading about different programs for confronting trauma I saw that CBT—cognitive behavioral therapy—has
a practice where they encourage people to write letters to move on from unhealthy relationships or negative thoughts. Some
people even burn their letters for closure on unfinished business. Or we can bury the letter somewhere Frankie took you. How
about near that movie theater where he carried you home when you were crying? You said that was a happy memory.”
“My old building,” Paz says softly. “I wanna end this where it all started.”
I really hope this will help Paz get rid of his ghost.
If only burning letters would stop my ghosts from haunting me.