Page 71 of The Starfish Sisters

He nods. “A few.” Inclines his head. “All.”

I grin. “Really?”

“Of course. You’re the only famous person I know, and I liked watching you grow up and become this ... powerful person.”

It feels impersonal, but what did I expect? “Thank you for that.”

“But you don’t actually look the same in person. I mean, I guess nobody does.”

“Right. There’s a lot of artifice in the screen version.”

He meets my eyes. “The real-life version is a little less intimidating.”

That’s a lot closer to what I might be seeking. My heart is racing a little, and when I reach for a napkin, my hands are shaking. Pulling back into my body, I take a breath.

“Are you okay?”

I’m about to lie, to blow it all off, but instead I tell the truth. “Not really. Not for a while. I’m rattled by ... everything. The attacks. The sneakiness of someone on my property.” I lift my shoulders. “You.”

“Yeah. Me too, honestly.” I see him swallow. He takes another sip of coffee. “I read about the attack. Are you recovered?”

“Physically.” Saying it aloud settles my body a little. “I don’t really want to talk about that, though, if that’s okay.”

“I get it. No worries.”

The music has settled into a soft bit, swirling around us like this is a movie. I smile as I say, “So, you have the advantage. You know a lot more about my life than I know about yours.”

He leans back. “Uh. Okay. Where to start?”

“Tell me everything.”

For a long minute, he’s quiet, just looking at me. Then he takes a breath. “Let’s see ... everything since I last saw you ...” He ticks off items on his fingers. “Juvie, Seattle with my dad, community college, lost years, married, settled down, got divorced, moved back to Seattle to take care of my mom, watched my old girlfriend become a big star, got married again, divorced again, came back to Blue Cove about seven years ago.”

So much pain in those simple sentences. For me, for him. “I never thanked you for burning down the church.”

It surprises him into a laugh. His eyes crinkle and I can see the crooked eyetooth on the right, and the sound is exactly the same, slightly hoarse and comically high pitched. “My pleasure, ma’am,” he says with a salute. “Where’d you go when you—”

“Got out of the home? Yeah.” That’s tender territory. “Beryl helped me emancipate myself. I lived with her through the rest of high school. How long were you in juvie?”

“Eighteen months. I got lucky. No criminal history, and extenuating circumstances.”

I think of him then, a smart, fierce young man of color. “Juvie had to have been hell for you.”

He looks away, shrugs, but I can see the sorrow around his mouth. He clears his throat. “They showed pictures of you after your dad—”

“Tried to kill me?” I fill in with a humorless laugh.

“Yeah.” His jaw goes hard, and there’s a suspicious sheen over his eyes. “God, I felt so helpless.”

Now there’s a river of dark emotion rising, and I can’t avoid the tears in my own eyes. “You set me free, Joel. You totally did.”

He bows his head, and I can feel the weight of our losses, but the silence gives me space to calm myself down. We sit in the quiet for atime. The music lilts around us. Outside, clouds chug across the sky. The ocean washes to shore.

I’ve forgotten how still he can be, his limbs quiet when other people would be wiggling or tapping or restless. I forgot how much I liked it, how much space it gives me to breathe.

After a time he says, “Now you. Tell me everything.”

“Me? Um ... let’s see.” I lift my hand and count on my fingers to mirror him. “Got sent away to Portland, came back and lived with Beryl, went to New York after high school, got discovered”—I spread my hands, liketa-da—“made a bunch of movies, bought a big house in Hollywood, and made some more movies.”