knew he should just get out of here. Especially if cops were snooping around. He stood up and clasped Mikeâs hand for a moment. âTake care, man. Weâre all pulling for you.â
With what looked like a major effort, Mike opened his eyes again. âThanks, Sam. You know . . . I, uhâwell, cheesy shit isnât my specialty, but youâre a great friend. I mean it. The nurses told me youâve been calling and coming around every day. That means a lot to me, you know?â
Sam couldnât bear to look at him. He withdrew his hand.
Yeah, Iâm a great friend, all right,
he thought, nauseated.
I almost got you killed.
He should have told the police what he knew about Ella right away. But it was too late. And if that detective went digging any further, he might discover that Mike hadnât stuck that needle into his arm. Then there were going to be a lot of questions. Questions Sam didnât want to answer.
GAIA
When I was five years old, my mother told me about the meaning of Christmas. She told me about Mary and Joseph and the manger and the baby Jesus. I thought being born in a manger sounded like fun, what with the horses and all, but my mom pointed out that it must have been hard on Mary.
Â
My favorite part of the story was when the Three Wise Men came. It was amazing to me that they could be guided to one little baby by a single star in the sky.
Of course, I didnât get what myrrh was. I still donât.
Anyway, I guess Mom wanted me to know that Christmas was supposed to be about more than trees and stockings and parents shoving each other in the aisles of Toys âRâ Us. Itâs really funny, too, because my mom was Jewish. But religion wasnât the point. The
story
was the point. And since my Dad wasnât Jewish and since we celebrated Christmas, she knew Ishould have some understanding of it. Some
real
understanding. Thatâs the kind of person she was. Smart. Inclusive. Empathetic.
Back then, I didnât know how many Christmas Days I would spend alone. I didnât know I should cherish every string of popcorn and piece of tinsel. Ironically, when my mother died, Christmas stopped for me.
But this year was different. This year Sam Moon went out and got me a gift that Iâll treasure forever. That makes this the bestâthe onlyâChristmas Iâve had in years. Peace on earth and goodwill toward men. I feel all of that.
So what if itâs not December? Nobody knows what day Jesus was
really
born, anyway, right?
an intimate moment
In the filtered light from the bridgeâs lamp, a blade glistened. A tingle shot through her veins.
I wanted this, didnât I?
she realized.
Â
NOBU WAS THE KIND OF RESTAURANT that ended up in every âBest of Manhattanâ article and cost more per meal than some families in third-world countries earned per year. But that was fine by Ed. That was the whole point, actually. Since he and Heather had sat down, Ed had already spotted one of the stars of
Sex and the City
and Donald Trumpâs ex-wife (Marla or Ivanaâhe could never keep them straight).
Shameless Desire
Normally Ed would consider coming to a place like this a disgusting and mildly pathetic waste of money. But tonight he didnât care. Tonight was a celebration.
There was actually a possibility.
A
real
possibility. Heâd been given a vision of a world where this bulky wheelchair would be a thing of the past, where he could sit across from his beautiful and brilliant bombshell of a girlfriend in a normal seat and lean over and plant his lipsâ
Okay, he knew he shouldnât get too excited. The chances were good, not great. But still, he could actually allow himself to use Dr. Feldmanâs favorite four-letter word. He could actually allow himself to . . . yes, ladies and gentlemen, drumroll, please: hope.
âSo whatâs this all about, Ed, anyway?â Heatherasked, scanning the menu. She laughed.
With what looked like a major effort, Mike opened his eyes again. âThanks, Sam. You know . . . I, uhâwell, cheesy shit isnât my specialty, but youâre a great friend. I mean it. The nurses told me youâve been calling and coming around every day. That means a lot to me, you know?â
Sam couldnât bear to look at him. He withdrew his hand.
Yeah, Iâm a great friend, all right,
he thought, nauseated.
I almost got you killed.
He should have told the police what he knew about Ella right away. But it was too late. And if that detective went digging any further, he might discover that Mike hadnât stuck that needle into his arm. Then there were going to be a lot of questions. Questions Sam didnât want to answer.
GAIA
When I was five years old, my mother told me about the meaning of Christmas. She told me about Mary and Joseph and the manger and the baby Jesus. I thought being born in a manger sounded like fun, what with the horses and all, but my mom pointed out that it must have been hard on Mary.
Â
My favorite part of the story was when the Three Wise Men came. It was amazing to me that they could be guided to one little baby by a single star in the sky.
Of course, I didnât get what myrrh was. I still donât.
Anyway, I guess Mom wanted me to know that Christmas was supposed to be about more than trees and stockings and parents shoving each other in the aisles of Toys âRâ Us. Itâs really funny, too, because my mom was Jewish. But religion wasnât the point. The
story
was the point. And since my Dad wasnât Jewish and since we celebrated Christmas, she knew Ishould have some understanding of it. Some
real
understanding. Thatâs the kind of person she was. Smart. Inclusive. Empathetic.
Back then, I didnât know how many Christmas Days I would spend alone. I didnât know I should cherish every string of popcorn and piece of tinsel. Ironically, when my mother died, Christmas stopped for me.
But this year was different. This year Sam Moon went out and got me a gift that Iâll treasure forever. That makes this the bestâthe onlyâChristmas Iâve had in years. Peace on earth and goodwill toward men. I feel all of that.
So what if itâs not December? Nobody knows what day Jesus was
really
born, anyway, right?
an intimate moment
In the filtered light from the bridgeâs lamp, a blade glistened. A tingle shot through her veins.
I wanted this, didnât I?
she realized.
Â
NOBU WAS THE KIND OF RESTAURANT that ended up in every âBest of Manhattanâ article and cost more per meal than some families in third-world countries earned per year. But that was fine by Ed. That was the whole point, actually. Since he and Heather had sat down, Ed had already spotted one of the stars of
Sex and the City
and Donald Trumpâs ex-wife (Marla or Ivanaâhe could never keep them straight).
Shameless Desire
Normally Ed would consider coming to a place like this a disgusting and mildly pathetic waste of money. But tonight he didnât care. Tonight was a celebration.
There was actually a possibility.
A
real
possibility. Heâd been given a vision of a world where this bulky wheelchair would be a thing of the past, where he could sit across from his beautiful and brilliant bombshell of a girlfriend in a normal seat and lean over and plant his lipsâ
Okay, he knew he shouldnât get too excited. The chances were good, not great. But still, he could actually allow himself to use Dr. Feldmanâs favorite four-letter word. He could actually allow himself to . . . yes, ladies and gentlemen, drumroll, please: hope.
âSo whatâs this all about, Ed, anyway?â Heatherasked, scanning the menu. She laughed.
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