Page 263

I stumble a little as I fold it into a paper airplane. Haven’t done it for years.

“Merry Christmas, you scary fuck. Better days ahead for me and you.”

Thankfully, she flies.

I watch my last note to Inky sail into the trees. I’m sure it sticks on some branch, but sooner or later, the wind will carry it away.

Bittersweet, even if I’m glad as hell to see him go.

I hear the balcony door open.

I sense her walk up behind me before she folds her small hands around my chest a second later.

When I turn around, I’m stunned how gorgeous she looks, her chestnut hair curled around her shoulders in gentle waves and amber eyes twinkling. This delicate royal-blue dress hangs off her with a pink flower print.

“Blue again? And pink? You must be trying to keep me crazy, woman.”

She giggles. “I thought you’d like it.”

Like? Goddamn, I’m unhinged when she wears that color.

My wife’s a total smokeshow, despite how conflicted I feel about the dress’ length.

Too long on her legs to feast my eyes on her, but enough length to satisfy my jealousy.

I inhale her deep and slow.

Sunshine.

I don’t know why she always smells that way, but I’m addicted.

She stays with me quietly, holding my arm while we watch the sunset.

I don’t want to ruin this moment prematurely.

So I close my eyes, training myself to remember every little detail. But when I open them again, life looks more vibrant than ever.

There’s no way I deserve this, considering my upbringing, not to mention how many lives I’ve ended before their time.

But tonight, nobody interrupts our moment.

No bad doctors, no assholes losing faith, no late-night fire to put out.

So I pull my wife a little closer and kiss her solemnly.

We linger outside until it’s time to go.

The Sharp ’N Flat Jazz Club is an atmospheric lounge tucked in an alleyway on a side street, but you wouldn’t know it from the crowd they draw.

You’d expect Rivermont to be a hive for the sick and elderly, but it has a surprising crowd of younger people too. All the nurses and staff in the surrounding area need somewhere to unwind on the weekends.

When we step out of the car, the line of people waiting to get in stretches around the block. Sylvie turns back and starts to walk toward the end of the line, but I grab her arm.

“Nope. We get the VIP treatment here.” We walk toward the door, past the crowds of people waiting outside. A cool blue neon sign illuminates the bouncer’s face as he guards the door.

When we come into view, he doesn’t even need to check the clipboard tucked under his arm. That not-so-anonymous check I dropped off for Christmas last year did the talking.

He unhooks the velvet rope with a smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Ferrazzo, welcome.”