“There's a picture in When the Lights Go Down: A Short Illustrated History of Film of Alec Matto smoking in a chair in a room with a slice of light blaring over his head toward a screen we can't see. 'Alec Matto reviewing dailies for Where Has Julia Gone? (1947) in his private screening room.' Joan had to tell me what dailies are, it's when the director takes sometime in the evening, while smoking, to see all the footage that was filmed that day, maybe just one scene, a man opening a door over and over, a woman pointing out the window, pointing out the window, pointing out the window. That's dailies, and it took seven or eight matches on the roof over the garage for me to go over our breathless dailies that night, the nervous wait with the tickets in my hand, Lottie Carson heading north on those trains, kissing you, kissing you, the strange conversation in A-Post Novelties that had me all nerve-wracky after I talked to Al about it, even though he said he had no opinion. The matches were little he loves me, he loves me not, but then I saw right on the box that I had twenty-four, which would end the game at not, so I just let the small handful sparkle and puff for a bit, each one a thrill, a tiny delicious jolt for each part I remembered, until I burned my finger and went back in still thinking of all we did together.”

“The matches were a little 'he loves me, he loves me not,' but then I saw right on the box that I had twenty-four, which would end the game at not, so I just let the small handful sparkle and puff a bit, each one a thrill, a tiny delicious jolt for each part I remembered, until I burned my finger and went back in still thinking of all we did together.”

“I remember once I came into his room alone, when no one was with him. It was a bright evening, the sun was setting and lit up the whole room with its slanting rays. He beckoned when he saw me, I went over to him, he took me by the shoulders with both hands, looked tenderly, lovingly into my face; he did not say anything, he simply looked at me like that for about a minute: "Well," he said, "go now, play, live for me!" I walked out then and went to play.”

“Where the road sloped upward beyond the trees, I sat and looked toward the building where Naoko lived. It was easy to tell which room was hers. All I had to do was find the one window toward the back where a faint light trembled. I focused on that point of light for a long, long time. It made me think of something like the final throb of a soul's dying embers. I wanted to cup my hands over what was left and keep it alive. I went on watching the way Jay Gatsby watched that tiny light on the opposite shore night after night.”

“And I love you.""Remember the night we sat here, and I fed you all the clues the future Em had given me to convince you I was legit? The bluegrass, the belly ring-""The designated hitter?""Yes." He grinned."Hmph.""What else did I tell you?""That you had a teddy bear named Rupert."He rolled his eyes. "About you, and the first time I saw you."Answering made me feel shy, but I did it anyway."That I said I would take your breath away the first time you saw me." I was still holding his face, and he reached up to put his hands over mine."You did it then. And you just did it again." His kiss was sweet, soft, and easy at first. I felt urgency stir just under the surface, but I refused to let the desire to hurry things interfere in the moment. I wanted to savor every single one.We had all the time in the world.My brother's voice floated down from the open window. "Emerson!"Well, as son as my grounding was over, we had all the time in the world.”

“You were broken before I ever took you to the Everneath.Remember how you were when you showed up on my doorstep? That had nothing to do with me.You came broken and that was the fault of this world.Not mine."I nodded again,a little less aggressively. "Why do you care if I get hurt?"All he said was, "I hate to see it.Whether you go with me or not,I don't like you getting hurt." But his face seemed to say more.As if there were something he wasn't telling me.Before I could ask him about it,his iPhone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out,read the screen, and then walked over to the window. "We'll finish this later.""Tell me why you care," I said.He put his hands on the windowsill. "Because it's you. Despite what you think of me,your pain will always be my pain.""There has to be more to it than that. What aren't you telling me,Cole?"He grinned. "How are you so good at reading me when you can't read anyone else around you?" He sighed, and as he climbed out the window,he said, "I love it.”