Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Sorry, I can’t. I’m...”
“Your dad’s birthday’s tomorrow, right?” Adam said, knowingly.
“Yeah.”
Wes was touched he’d remembered. At least, he would be if he could feel anything except disgust for the prison and the people who looked at it.
“I understand,” Adam said. But he didn’t, because Wes couldn’t tell him. Not right now.
Wes pulled Adam close to the prison, wishing his warmth could penetrate its walls.
“Talk tomorrow, okay?” Adam said, and Wes nodded, desperate to get home so he could sort himself out. He’d text Adam later and apologize for not being as affectionate as he wanted to be. For being strange.
He pulled on his coat and hat, only remembering he’d given his hoodie to River as he closed the front door behind him.
And someone shoved a news camera directly in his face.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adam
Adam heard indistinct voices outside as he cleaned up the dinner dishes, but paid them no mind until someone shouted. Then, curious, he poked his head out the front door. A woman with a microphone was standing on his driveway speaking into a camera. Was it...the news?
“What the hell?” Adam muttered, stepping into his boots.
“Adam Mills?” the woman said when she saw him.
“Uh, yeah?”
“I’m Tamara Michaelson and we’re filming for KCWY. I’d love to interview you about your lights! We’re doing feel-good pieces to intro and close out each news broadcast, and the story of your lights is just the thing for us. I tried to call you, but your number isn’t listed.”
She was blinking at him brightly.
“Oh, um, wow,” Adam said. “I can’t believe you think this is newsworthy.”
“A parent’s love for their child is just the kind of up story our viewers will love,” Tamara Michaelson said.
“Well, sure, then. Cool.”
Adam was just sorry Gus had gone to bed already, because she would love this.
“Daddy!” a familiar voice hissed from the front door.
And there was Gus, in pajamas, boots, and a hat, looking excited and guilty.
“Can I please come see?”
Adam smiled and gestured her outside. She’d be a grouch in the morning, but it was the last day of school before vacation anyway.
“Yay!”
She pulled her coat on as she came.
“You must be Gus,” Tamara Michaelson said with a smile. “Want to be on TV? If it’s all right with your dad, that is.”
It’s your funeral, Adam thought, but said, “It’s fine with me.”
Tamara Michaelson and the camera operator set up the shot of the house lit up sky-high, Adam and Gus in front of it. Gus was vibrating with excitement.
“Do you think Wes sees us?” Gus asked, waving at his house.
“I’m in Garnet Run, standing in front of a labor of love. Adam Mills and his daughter, Gus, have been collecting lights to decorate their house all month, and a recent outpouring of support on Instagram has made it a sight to behold. Mr. Mills, can you tell us how this began?”
“Well, I asked Gus what would make her happy this year, and she said she wanted a lot of lights, so—”
“The most lights,” Gus corrected. “I wanted the most lights ever.”
“It looks like you’ve got them!” Tamara Michaelson said cheerily.
“No,” said Gus. “I looked it up. The most is by the Gay family, in New York.” Tamara Michaelson opened her mouth, but Gus continued. “Daddy wanted me to be happy because we had to move and I was sad.”
“Why did you have to move, sweetie?” Michaelson asked, clearly hoping for some viral video tale of a holiday miracle.
“Papa didn’t want to be my dad anymore, so Daddy brought us back here, and said we’d have the best time on our own. But we’re not on our own anymore,” Gus rambled.
“That’s right,” Michaelson said, trying to regain control of her interview. “You have a lot of people who want to help you.”
Gus shook her head. Adam knew what she was about to say: that they had Wes now. But Adam cut her off.
“That’s right,” he said. “I want to thank everyone who sent or dropped off lights. It was so generous of you, and Gus and I really appreciate it. Right, sweetie?”
“Right!”
Michaelson nodded at him gratefully and turned back to the camera.
“There you have it,” she said, voice fixed precisely in human interest timbre. “A community’s generosity can make all the difference in a family’s life. Good night, and happy holidays.”
She turned back to Adam and Gus and held out her hand. Gus shook it, then Adam.
“Thank you,” she said. “That was great.”
“I hope you can edit,” Adam muttered.
She winked at him and gave a warm smile.
“Not necessary.”
* * *
Back inside, Adam attempted to get Gus back to bed, but she was so hyped up that it took an hour to calm her down. When he’d finally turned out her light, leaving her in the soft glow of her kale plant, Adam collapsed on the sofa, flicked on the TV fire, and took out his phone to fill Wes in on the excitement, in case he hadn’t seen it from his window.