The Mountains Bow Down by Sibella Giorello

you.”
    I buttered another roll and stared out at the room, waiting for my steak. If I had to, I could eat my way through this mess.
    Oh yes.
    I could.

    After a perfect filet marred only by Jack’s company, I walked through the ship’s thematic wonderland designed to stave off midsea boredom. Every public area had a grand theme, from dining rooms that resembled Italian trattorias and Japanese sushi gardens to outrigger lounges and leather-scented English pubs.
    There was even Pharaoh’s Tomb, where my Aunt Charlotte was holding her seminar. Appropriately cavernous, the tomb room had pillars painted into leafy palm trees and gilded sphinxes that bookended a low wooden stage where, according to the ship’s daily schedule, a standup comic would appear in the blue hours.
    Unfortunately, the audience here now didn’t understand what a joke this show was too. Sitting in the front rows, the beautiful movie people stared at the table on stage draped in velvet and displaying dozens of polished crystals. Under the lights, each stone gleamed with promise. My aunt stood beside them, proud as their earth mother.
    Next to her Sandy Sparks held a microphone and spoke in a somber voice.
    â€œThis is a tragedy,” he was saying. “Nobody saw her suicide coming. And Milo, obviously, the man’s devastated. I’ve spent some time with him, and I’ve been trying to decide where this leaves us with the movie.”
    He paced the stage. My aunt still wore her formal wear from dinner, but Sparks was dressed like a little kid. T-shirt and jeans, tennis shoes and a bright-blue baseball cap with some kind of Roman warrior over the bill.
    â€œNobody worked harder than Judy to get Milo where he is today. Not even Milo. If that sounds crass to you, you didn’t know the woman. She wanted Milo to own the box office.”
    I glanced around the room. In the deep shadows a bar ran along the back wall. I walked over, still listening to Sparks, and asked the Filipino bartender for a club soda with two limes.
    The movie people seemed to hold their breath as Sparks spoke, waiting on his next words. Only his wife wasn’t listening. Larrah cupped a hand over her mouth, talking into her cell phone while Sandy glared at her.
    â€œI’ve decided to keep filming,” he said. “It’s what Judy would have wanted. We’re going to honor her life by not quitting.”
    The applause continued for several moments, until Sparks held up his hand.
    â€œBut one condition. And I’m serious about this. If anything leaks to the press about her suicide, or anything about Milo’s condition, I’ll know where it came from. When I find out who’s talking—and I will—you won’t be able to collect garbage in Hollywood. Is that understood?”
    Nods all around. Except Larrah. She was still on the phone. Sparks lifted the warrior baseball cap, running a hand over his thinning black hair.
    â€œAnother person Judy believed in was Charlotte Harmon and her work with crystals. Judy said this movie could reach number one at the box office if we just followed Charlotte’s direction.” He smiled at my aunt. “Are you ready?”
    My aunt’s face looked drawn and sad, but she took the microphone. Larrah Sparks snapped her phone shut, then raised her hand.
    â€œYou have a question?” Aunt Charlotte asked.
    â€œI feel sad about Judy,” she said. “Do you have a crystal for that?”
    My aunt nodded. “Grief. I feel it too. And I do happen to have some . . .” She paused. “Judy asked me to bring . . .”
    My aunt gazed at the crystal display, unable to finish what she was saying. After a long uncomfortable moment, she looked up. Under the stage lights her tears were white. “The stone is called Jet. It has a lot of healing properties. Judy asked me to bring some. I thought it was in case people got sick.”
    She dabbed her eyes with the