Page 45 of Romance Is Dead

I spent the night on the couch, so miserable that even Daffy took pity on me. She curled up by my feet until she woke up at the ungodly hour of five in the morning, tickling and nudging my arm with her paws until I got up and fetched her some fruit from the fridge.

She rejected the apples, but the blueberries she deemed acceptable.

Pouring myself a cup of coffee, my brain slowly started to come online in the quiet kitchen, the sunlight diffusing the room with a warm glow. The more awake I grew, the more the anger and resentment that had filled my body the day before was gradually replaced by an empty ache.

It had only been a day, but I already felt Teddy’s absence like a physical thing — my chest vacant and hollow.

I didn’t know you could miss a person like this, like a piece of myself had been ripped away.

I wanted to tell him about the baby bonsai tree my dad was growing, and the dream I’d had last night about Natasha turning into a lemon.

But just as I reached for my phone I remembered, with the inevitably blank home screen telling me that he also hadn’t called or texted.

I’d told him not to.

I didn’t have a choice, I reminded myself as I rooted around the fridge for breakfast supplies. I pulled out eggs, a knob of cheese, and some ham for omelettes. I absolutely could not be with someone I couldn’t trust. Placing the food on the counter, I moved on to searching the cupboards for a pan.

Teddy had lied to me.

He’d used me.

And despite whatever he claimed to feel for me, he’d still been planning to throw it all away for a chance at fifteen more minutes of fame on another dating show.

I was better off now, no matter how much it hurt.

Woken by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, my dad eventually joined me in the kitchen.

I made us breakfast and afterwards he gave me free reign to spend the day moping around the cabin.

I watched an old Puzzle Face movie, finished crocheting my blanket, and even took a hike on a nearby trail, hoping the fresh air would bring me peace and clarity.

It did not.

Instead, not only did I manage to get hot, sweaty, and supremely uncomfortable despite the pleasant autumn weather, but I also had plenty of time to ruminate on the fact that the only thing I’d succeeded at in the past few weeks in addition to getting my heart broken and botching my friendship with Mara was failing to get justice for Trevor and Brent.

They hadn’t been perfect, but they hadn’t deserved the fate they’d been dealt, and they still had people in their lives that deserved answers and closure.

I’d failed them, even worse than I’d failed myself.

Trying to distract myself from yet another post-mortem of my entanglement with Teddy, I ran my mind down our list of suspects for the last time as I picked my way along the rocky path.

Scott and Natasha were out — they both had alibis for the night of Trevor’s murder. It was obvious Natasha had been annoyed with Brent, to put it mildly, but if she was already stressed about the production being slowed down, it wouldn’t make sense for her to kill him and make it worse.

Chloe certainly would have had motive to kill Brent after the way he had treated her.

I was living it right now, the rage and despair that came with a man betraying you when you thought he cared about you.

But why would she want to hurt Trevor? And she was already gone by the time the killer broke into my room and tampered with the tree.

Audrey would have had motive to get rid of Trevor if he’d figured out her identity and was threatening to expose her on his TikTok account. But other than Brent being obnoxious and hitting on her, there was no reason for her wanting to get rid of him.

It didn’t make sense. Something had to be missing.

After I got back to the cabin and showered, my dad and I ordered pizza for dinner. It was lukewarm by the time we drove all the way out to the restaurant and back, but neither of us had felt like cooking. After, we both grabbed some hard apple cider from the fridge and headed out back to the porch.

The late September evening was lovely as we stepped outside, the air cool and the sky orange-tinted from the sinking sun. The breeze rustled the leaves of the towering oaks as I sank into one of the Adirondack chairs, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my sweater tightly around myself.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the sounds of the day slowly slipping away. I wondered how long I was going to feel like a rotten piece of trash left on the side of the highway. Probably for the foreseeable future. At least I was already one day down.

Finally, my dad broke the silence.

“You still upset about that Teddy guy? Or are you bummed about the movie this time?” He let out a long whistle. “You’ve had a run of bad luck, Squish.”

He had no idea.

“I don’t know. All of it.”

“Listen.” He balanced his cider on the arm of his chair and leaned forward, resting his arms on the tops of his thighs.

“I know a thing or two about getting your heart broke. It’s awful, and I know nothing I can say will change that.

But if you let me, I can try to help with the next steps in your career.

Have you been putting any feelers out for a new agent? ”

“Not exactly.” I squirmed in my seat, taking a long gulp from my bottle. Tell him , a voice in my head whispered. Not yet , my heart whispered back.

“And my buddy’s still interested in you starring in that project of his, you know. Not just interested, to be honest, his heart’s dead set on it. If you’re on board, that is.”

“I’m thinking about it,” I hedged. I was being a coward — no wonder my life had fallen apart.

My dad sighed, his lips settling into a hard line. “I wish you could see what I see. I know it’s easy to be critical of your own work, but you’re so good at it. You absolutely shine on camera. You’re the best thing in every film you’ve ever made.”

Oh God, he was making this so much worse. Ok, I had to do it. Like ripping off a band-aid.

“Dad, I — ”

“No, I’m serious. If you could just — ”

“I’m quitting. Acting. I’m quitting acting.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, relief loosened my shoulders and unclenched my stomach. I’d done it.

“Oh.” My dad leaned back in his chair, temporarily at a loss for words. “You mean. . . for good?”

I swallowed, my mouth dry. “Yeah.”

“I see.” He rubbed his beard, taking a moment to absorb this new information. “When did you decide this?”

“In July.”

He whistled, long and slow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

So I told him everything — how I’d been afraid of disappointing him, afraid that our relationship would change.

Afraid that by admitting it out loud, I was giving up some integral part of my identity that I wouldn’t get back.

My dad listened, silent, his face growing more and more concerned by the second.

When I stopped, he waited to make sure I was done before speaking.

“Squish, have I ever done or said anything to make you think I’d be disappointed if you stopped making movies?”

Wordlessly, I shook my head.

“Good lord, I hope not. Listen, I meant what I said about being proud of your work. But I don’t love you because you’re a horror actress.

I love you because you’re you. Nothing could ever change that.

And hey. . .” He elbowed me gently on the arm.

“If you quit, that’s just another thing we have in common. ”

Tears burned my eyes, threatening to spill over. “I don’t know who I am if I’m not acting.”

“I know. But I also know you’ll figure it out.” My dad reached out to squeeze my hand. “And I know whatever it is, you’ll be great at it.”

Grateful, I squeezed his hand back. We once again lapsed into silence, crickets starting to wake up and chirp in the trees around us.

Mentally, I chided myself for waiting so long to tell my dad.

Of course it had gone fine. Just like Teddy had said it would.

My heart squeezed, wishing I could reach out and tell him.

Was this how it was going to be from now on?

Innumerable moments that I wanted to share with him but couldn’t?

“Oh!” My dad stood suddenly. “I have something for you. Let me go get it.” He retreated into the cabin, leaving me thoroughly confused. Moments later he reappeared, carrying what looked like a picture frame.

“I found this a couple months ago while going through some things in storage.” He handed me the frame, which was heavier than I expected. “Been waiting for the right time to give it to you. Now feels right. A nice bookend, if you will.”

Wiping the dust off the glass, it took me a moment to place where it had come from. It was a group photo of people I didn’t recognize, and judging from some of the fashions, it seemed to be from some time in the nineties. Why we ever thought neon color blocking was a good idea, I’ll never know.

Then it came to me: it was a cast photo from my very first movie, the one I’d been in with my dad when I was eight. The director had gathered the entire cast together on the very last day.

“Oh my gosh,” I gasped. “I totally forgot about this.”

As I scanned the faces, I remembered the first note I’d received after Trevor’s death:

Back in your very first role,

Did you know this would be the toll?

My first movie. . . Everyone was right here in this photo.

Pulse quickening, I started examining the faces closer, jumping from one to the next in search of one I recognized.

Was the answer right in front of me? I found little me, grinning with my dishwater blonde hair pulled into pigtails.

And there, right next to me, was a very familiar face.

I was staring at the killer we’d been looking for.

“Squish? Are you ok?”

Frozen, I couldn’t reply. My heart raced as I tried to catch up with this new information. Should I call them to confront them? Go back to the hotel and look for them? Call the police?

Call the police. Yes. That’s what I needed to do.

Pulling out my phone, I was ready to make the call when I noticed I had a text. It was from Teddy. Heart jumping into my throat, I clicked it open:

Teddy: You have until midnight to get to set. If you call the cops, he’s dead.

Below it, there was a photo. It was Teddy, tied to a chair with his wrists and ankles bound. I squinted, trying to make sense of it. The chair was on a dusty floor, and a pile of junk was behind it. Was this a joke? But then I noticed his eyes, wide and scared.

Not a joke.

I needed a new plan. Calling the cops was out the window — there was no way I was going to risk it. I needed to get to set. Now.