“Tell them that I’m a reasonable person. These are the only demands I’ll make during my tenure as judge. But the St. James statement is nonnegotiable. And it should be easy to align yourself with what is right, don’t you think?”

I hung up. The pressure on my chest released and I breathed deeply in and out a few times, trying to slow my heart rate. Then I snuck back into the church and stood at the back as Melanie finished speaking and sat down. I realized that the casket had made its way up the aisle while we’d been whispering, and I’d missed it. We’d been arguing in front of Cassidy this entire time; shame made my throat tighten. I whispered toward her spirit, I’m sorry. Sorry for Alex. Sorry for my mistake. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Epilogue

Melanie

Thank you for coming.” Melanie speaks into the microphone. “My family and I appreciate your presence today in celebrating my sister’s life.

“We gather in memory of Cassidy May Holmes. She grew up here in Houston with my two older brothers and me and my twin. She sang and danced. She loved Drew Barrymore movies.

“I blinked and she was gone.

“My sister.”

Melanie had watched her parents walk together up the stairs of the church, leaning heavily on each other, tired in a way that it hurt her bones to see them. The family had elected Melanie to give the eulogy. So she begins to talk about Cass’s childhood, her formative years. Melanie recognizes her anger. As she speaks, she thinks, Cassidy had been born, which in itself is lucky enough. She grew. Meal after meal, tiny body growing like a weed, the audacity of her lungs taking in breath and nourishing her blood.

“During her last year of high school, she had the opportunity to compete in a nationally televised singing competition, which was the springboard for her career. Though she didn’t win, she impressed the judges enough that one offered her a job a little while later. And so the global phenomenon of Gloss was born.”

At the mention of Gloss, Melanie’s eyes roam the crowd of black-suited mourners, looking for the members. Merry is easy to find, with her halo of white-blond hair, and after another glance up from her notes, Melanie spots Rose sitting demurely in the back. The story about Rose and Cassidy’s relationship had come out the day before, and Melanie wonders how Rose has the audacity to show up. None of her family had known about Cassidy’s sexuality, but then again, Cassidy hadn’t discussed her personal life with them much.

“But while Cassidy’s professional life was at an all-time high, her personal one was more subdued. People who knew Cassidy, the person—not Cassidy, the performer—reflected on her quiet nature, her love of baking, and how much she enjoyed being at home. And in her years since leaving the music industry—”

Her eyes alight on Joanna, seated next to Alex, his hand resting on a cane. His leg is stretched out in front of him, his ankle in the aisle. Edie is nowhere to be seen.

People have this notion that depressed people are shut-ins. Antisocial. That they have no families and no friends. It’s true, Cassidy pushed her family aside often—eschewing home visits, skipping Thanksgivings—but she always made it back for Christmas. She’d laugh and smile, they’d go to the movies on Christmas Eve, she’d bake her signature cookies.

Melanie flew out to see her, maybe once a year. The last time she saw Cassidy was several months ago. The sisters took turns petting Cass’s old dog, Penny, the only other relic from her Gloss days besides an MVA statuette in her bathroom cabinet, which almost took Melanie’s eye out when it fell from a high shelf as she searched for makeup wipes. “Shit!” she’d shrieked, and Cassidy came running, bursting into the bathroom.

“Oh, that thing,” she’d said, stooping to pick up the statuette, which was now dented slightly.

“Don’t you have a better place for that?”

“Nah. Where would I put it?”

Her house in Pasadena was on the smaller side.

“Out, somewhere, maybe? On your coffee table? On a bookshelf?”

Cassidy stuffed it precariously back into the bathroom cabinet. “I don’t really care about it,” she said, closing the door as the statue thumped against it.

But she must have—right? She saw it every time she had to get toilet paper. It was hidden, but it wasn’t forgotten.

She had weathered the fallout from Gloss, she hadn’t moved back to Texas, and Melanie couldn’t understand why.

At the pulpit, Melanie continues: “—in her years since leaving the music industry, Cassidy had an active life. She sought roles without high profiles, like volunteer positions at soup kitchens and senior living centers, behind the scenes. I think she wanted to do things that mattered and help individual people.” She swallows.

Their parents’ faces in the front row are tear-streaked. Melanie’s twin sits stoically, trying not to cry, holding her husband and son. Patrick and his boyfriend, Robbie and his wife, they’re all passing a pack of travel tissues down the pew.

The last time Melanie saw Cassidy, she asked her, “If you still have that mansion in Hollywood, why not stay there when I come to visit?” They were sitting on the porch of the small house. Cassidy passed her a can of lemonade. “It’s huge. I wouldn’t have to take over your bed and you could sleep on something besides a couch. I mean, you basically use it as an off-site hotel for Mom and Dad when they come.”

“But then we’d have to be in that house. I should just sell it.” She smirked, her Sassy Cassy grin.

“Well, why don’t you sell it? What good is it doing you?”

She shrugged. She clearly didn’t need the money. In her will she gave the bulk of it away to charities and an equal share to their parents and every one of her siblings. She’d made the will years ago, before her nephew had been born, and hadn’t updated it. Even the small slice Melanie received was enough to retire on.

Melanie had returned home, not realizing it would be the last time she saw her sister in person. It was such an ordinary interaction. Sure, she’d noticed that Cassidy was slow to answer emails and phone calls. Her voice was subdued when they talked and sometimes she seemed tired. But other times, she sounded completely fine.

It breaks Melanie’s heart now to think that she was hurting. That she only saw the strong, pleasant side of her sister that she would paint on for the few days they were together.

Melanie remembers that a couple of days before she passed, Cassidy called unexpectedly. Her voice was calm and detached. “Penny died,” she’d murmured, and Melanie expressed her sympathies. She was quiet for so long that Melanie thought the line had been disconnected, but then her voice came again. “Mel? Do you think I’m a good person?”

“Of course I do,” Melanie answered, not sure why the question had been asked. Cassidy didn’t bring it up again and her younger sister let it slide from her thoughts.

But when her father called her, his voice breaking, Melanie knew immediately what had happened. Although she hadn’t recognized the signs before, they all stacked up now. She beat herself up over her obtuseness. She should have checked on her more often. She should have done more, been there more.

She had gone to L.A. with their parents after the suicide, to identify Cassidy as well as help the police with any questions. Melanie had walked up the driveway of the gated mansion with a uniformed escort and peeked inside. She’d never been there before, but there was one thing that she knew was out of place: the MVA statuette, sitting on the coffee table.

Melanie still didn’t know what it meant.

Blink, and Cassidy was gone. All those years. Her multiplatinum records, her dozens of televised appearances, her outfits on display at the Smithsonian—none of that mattered; they were done fifteen years ago. But the delicate tap when she dented a sugar cookie dough ball with one finger, the delight she had when scratching a dog under the chin, the way she made people feel when they were around her—that had disappeared. Evaporated like ether.

“She was vivacious and amazing, and she will be missed,” Melanie concludes. “I wish I had known what Cassidy was going through. We love her and her memory will live on with us. Thank you.”

She returns to her seat, swiping away tears.

And that’s why Melanie unlocked her sister’s social media. She wanted people to know that the real Cassidy—the woman who had been such an integral part of Gloss—was not a taciturn introvert in the years following her rift with the rest of the group. It’s just, her mind fought against her. Had it been another day, if she hadn’t felt a certain despair already, if Penny hadn’t died of old age, if she’d read a different book, if she’d heard a different song on the radio, would she have reconsidered her plan?

Would she still be here now?