Soft groans. My fingers in dark hair. A kidney-shaped mark in the cool Manhattan air, thick with the possibility of falling snow.
I’ve seen that mark before.
Five years ago, on a balcony in New York, on the man I’ve always assumed was Gus’s father.
Chapter 23
Russell
Jules has been acting weird.
We’re standing together on set, sandwiched between two large black cameras. Around us, the set ofToday, Tomorrowbustles, people with headsets hurrying past, calling out information to one another, and holding up hand signals I don’t understand.
I wonder if this is what other people feel like in the emergency room, hearing words they don’t understand and feeling on the outside of the communications between doctors.
It’s humbling to be on this side of the equation, Jules and me on an island in the middle of the chaos.
This morning, I woke up before her and snuck out to get coffee. When I came back, acting for Gus like I hadn’t spent the night before at their apartment, we all sat together at the island and shared breakfast. Multiple times, I caught her staring at me, eyes roaming my face like she was trying to find something there.
When I asked her about it, she deflected. I’ve written it off as a product of her son going on TV today.
“I just feel like I’m going to make a wrong move,” she whispers, glancing down at the cords that run along the floor likethick, dark snakes. “And bring everything toppling. How much debt do you think I could rack up if I set these cameras going down like dominoes?”
Today she’s wearing a simple black dress, and each time I glance at her, my mind helpfully provides me with a play-by-play of what it would feel like to peel it off her. How it might bunch around her hips before falling to the floor, that flush that spreads over her skin when it’s bare?—
Now isn’t the time, but with her hair pulled up and her neckline dipping down—even modestly—it’s a lost cause for me to focus on anything else.
I put my arm around her, pulling her in close, practically feeling her nervous energy oozing off her skin. “I’m not going to let you do that.”
“Because you don’t want to be held liable?” she jokes.
Turning, I bring my lips close to her ear, loving the way she shivers at the touch, “You were willing to fake marry me. I don’t want to find out what you’d do if you owedToday, Tomorrowmoney.”
Laughing, she turns so our lips are nearly touching, her eyes shining under the studio lights as she whispers, “That’s different and you know it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’reyou,and?—”
A short woman in a headset drifts over to us, making a motion with her hands that can only meanquiet on set,and Jules is instantly quiet, like she might do all the damage she described just by making noise during the filming.
I desperately want to hear the rest of what she was going to say, but I’m quiet as well, pulling her closer to me as we refocus our attention on the little set before us.
Bathed in bright light and in front of a large screen showing a real-time view of Michigan Avenue, Gus sits with the two hostsofToday, Tomorrow, swinging his legs so they bounce against the white armchair under him.
He’s wearing a Christmas sweater—one Jules told me Ettie got for him—and a pair of dress pants that she ironed. His hair, while combed and smoothed this morning, and again by the hair and make-up people, is back to being a bit wild, though much tamer than his normal state.
The set is an amalgamation of different holiday decorations—a large green ornament glinting in the light, tinsel hanging from a large menorah behind the hosts, who are both wearing knitted cardigans and leggings, looking comfortable and festive.
Shifting seamlessly from loose laughter with Gus, the one closest to us turns and addresses the cameras, her voice just slightly more professional when she does.
“Welcome back from the break,” she says, “I’m Christie Elliot?—”
“—and I’m Charlie Elliot—” her twin sister says, tilting her head and smiling winfully at the camera.
“—and right now onToday, Tomorrow, we’ve got a great segment for you. All month, we’ve been highlighting some of the best wishes for Santa from our local Chicago kids, and today’s—our last before the Christmas break—is, I have to say, my absolute favorite.”
“To catch you up,” Charlie says, leaning in conspiratorially toward the camera, “We had Zoe, who asked for a puppy after the loss of her dear Gizmo last year—” a pause while that footage flashes on the screen, “Neveah, who asked for a new couch for her family to spend quality time on—” footage of a little girl showing her mom the new living room furniture while her mom hides her face in her hands, “—and Ali, who asked Santa for the ultimate water slide to share with his siblings next summer.”
