Page 28 of Grizz

The Strip is mayhem disguised as magic, which is the perfect distraction.Every block is some new imitation of a dream, a city pretending to be another city.Venice, New York, Rome.It’s all neon and illusion, and somehow it works.The lights blur together until you can’t tell what’s real and what’s performance.

I walk past a fake pyramid, an indoor jungle, a replica of the Colosseum.People stagger past me with yard-long margaritas, laughing like tomorrow doesn’t exist.

Then I see it.

The Eiffel Tower.

Or at least the Vegas version of it—half-sized, over-lit, trying its best.Still, it stops me in my tracks and I study the steel frame that rises toward the desert sky.I stare for a long moment, hands in my pockets, that strange ache stirring in my chest.

Without really thinking, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I land on the name of the one person who would appreciate this.

I hit dial.

She picks up after the second ring, her voice coming off as a long-distance hug.“Grizz?”

“You’ll never believe what I’m standing in front of right now.”

A pause.“What?”

“Where did Mom always dream of going?And why?”

There’s a quiet laugh on the other end, soft and sad.“You’re in Paris, in front of the Eiffel Tower?”

I look up at the neon tower flickering above me.“Halfway correct.”

Eliza laughs.“That’s right… you’re in Vegas to play the Spades.”

“Yeah.”

“She would’ve loved that,” Eliza says finally, sharing with me the grief that remains after losing her.“Remember how she used to talk about the lights?Said she wanted to see the world shine at night.”

I swallow hard.“Yeah.I remember.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty, it’s full.Of memory.Of everything we don’t say.

“I miss her,” she says quietly.

“Me too.”

I turn away from the tower, watching the tourists take selfies in front of fake Paris, all smiling.You’d think they were in front of the real one.I head back toward the hotel.“How’s Dad?”

Eliza sighs.“Good days and bad,” she says.“You know how it is.”

I nod, though she can’t see it.“Yeah.”

Eliza is older than me by two years and we were as close as two siblings could be growing up.Where I got all of Dad’s enmity, she mostly got his apathy, as did our mother.We were a trio, and Eliza and my mom were my guiding lights in the hell my father created.Mom died two years ago of liver cancer.

“Wish I could be there to help out,” I say, always fighting off the guilt that Eliza is strapped with our father and I’m off living my life.

“Liar,” she teases softly.“But you do enough by paying for the part-time care to help me out, which is top-notch.”

Our dad insists on living in his home and Eliza has not been able to talk him out of it.He’s still functioning and able to take care of his own physical needs.While he only intermittently recognizes people to deep degrees, he’s able to shower and dress himself, cook meals and stick to a written schedule.But he does need more supervision than Eliza can handle with her full-time job as a dental hygienist, and so we have a paid companion who stays with him several hours a day to keep an eye on him.Even with that help, Eliza is still over there every day to make sure he remains safe and to ensure he’s not deteriorating.

My sister is an absolute saint.

“How are you doing?”she asks, voice singsong in that way that tells me she wants to gossip.“Are you staying out of trouble?”

“For the moment,” I assure her.“I can’t promise what that will look like in five minutes.”