I Can Make This Promise: Chapters 11–18

The stone pathway leading back to the parking lot is dappled in shade and spots of sunlight.

She’ll insist on going through the box with me, but then she shows up late and gives me a sassy nonresponse to explain herself.

As I peel the cover open, an avalanche slides out: newspaper clippings. Loose flyers. Napkins scrawled with notes.

As Amelia surges ahead, I feel a sudden twinge of...something in my stomach. Guilt? Discomfort?

“What is it?” Amelia demands. She clambers forward, scooting to look over Serenity’s shoulder.

"...She was graceful and brave, and beautiful in her—” Amelia pauses, struggling with the next word. “Regalia? And it was terribly clever to use that platform to draw attention to Wounded Knee...."

“Theo went to South Dakota in the spring. He joined the Oglala Lakota in solidarity with their cause...."

Theo has always been greatly involved in activist efforts.

I’ve always wanted to be an actress, ever since I was a little girl. No matter how unrealistic or idealistic the dream might be, I’ve secretly clung to it with my whole heart.

“But—” I blink several times, staring at her. “But I can’t. Public speaking is one of my biggest fears.” My voice dwindles to a whisper. “That’s why I’m the animator. So I don’t have to be on camera.”

“We’ve read one journal entry. We have a lot left to learn about her, but this girl left everything behind to pursue her dreams in LA. Don’t you want people to know about her? Don’t you want her legacy to carry on, somehow?”

Uncle Phil and his friends go on these huge rants about their daily commutes, and the construction on a local bridge that has been clogging up the freeway, and Mom and Dad chime in with their own stories about driving around the area.

“Long time. And there are all kinds of foods she can’t eat while she’s got those contraptions, right?”

I tell him about my friends’ reactions. I tell him about how my parents keep evading my questions.

“I was a deckhand on a commercial fishing boat for many years. I was mainly stationed out at Bristol Bay, for months at a time...."

“It was our own fault; we took too many hauls the previous year. Not enough salmon were able to return to their spawning beds. We threw the whole ecosystem off-balance. The longer I stayed, the emptier those nets became, the more I realized that I was in the wrong business. I was a part of something destructive. And I wanted out. So I left.”

“I know this story probably seems very random, Edie. But believe me, it’s loosely related to Edith Graham. To everything that happened between her and your mother. And their tribal nation, their sovereignty. It’s all connected.”

A giggle rises in my throat. “Be nice to William.”
Uncle Phil scoffs. “William should be nice to me. I’m the one under attack here.”

It’s like we’ve gone through a time warp, and I’m tiny and helpless against his tickle attacks all over again.

“That’s amazing,” Uncle Phil says. “Absolutely incredible. So—how does it work? Will all the images be this detailed? This colorful? Are you some kind of prodigy, destined to animate award-winning films for Disney?”

“That’s amazing,” Uncle Phil says. “Absolutely incredible. So—how does it work? Will all the images be this detailed? This colorful? Are you some kind of prodigy, destined to animate award-winning films for Disney?”

I used a generic photograph of a mallard for reference, but Uncle Phil doesn’t need to know that.

The moon is outside my window. Its face is full and round, skin blemished with craters, and white as milk.

Movie studios used to sign deals with actors and actresses, in exchange for creating their personas and controlling their lives.

Sandy, a girl in my acting class, claims it was easier to get gigs back then.

I'd rather take these lessons, immerse myself in the Method, and let my own story-telling skills do the work for me.

I scuttle inside her room, and she snaps the door shut behind us.

They showed me the script, and it is so progressive.

Our gazes lock and I can’t move. Her grin turns smug, like a crocodile lurking in murky waters.

The back seat is cramped with Adam in his booster seat, me in the middle, and Libby’s giant legs sprawling into my space.

Amelia’s mom mutters something profane about drivers not using their turn signals.

The brick walls are covered in posters and stickers, all bright and colorful, abstract and strange. I slow down to stare at the collage.

There are grinning skulls; a ghoulish, blue-skinned woman with glowing yellow eyes; a caricature of a great, horned animal; illegible graffiti signatures; advertisements for local bands and theater productions.

There are grinning skulls; a ghoulish, blue-skinned woman with glowing yellow eyes; a caricature of a great, horned animal; illegible graffiti signatures; advertisements for local bands and theater productions.

There are grinning skulls; a ghoulish, blue-skinned woman with glowing yellow eyes; a caricature of a great, horned animal; illegible graffiti signatures; advertisements for local bands and theater productions.