Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later
Man, the woman could eat. Jory had made Cali a pasta carbonara with double the bacon and triple the cheese, and from the moment the aroma of the rich sauce met her senses, she breathed it in and lowered her lids in complete satisfaction in a way he was becoming very familiar with, in and out of the kitchen.
He’d got the call that the growth was benign. It was a huge relief that came with a caveat: he’d have to be extra vigilant with check-ins so the doctors could keep tabs on him, and monitor any possibility of change. Cali had jumped in with the ferocity of a war-time nurse, which Jory combatted by promising he’d be on top of it. She calmed down, but it didn’t stop her from making sure he took care of himself.
On The Demon, they’d made it through the final scenes in harmony when they collaborated and in discord when they’d pushed each other. At night they’d taken the edge off when they took turns running their own private show.
Now, sitting at his kitchen island after a rigorous bout of “taking the edge off,” they leisurely ate as Patsy’s light snores rumbled through the baby monitor.
“She got a new dissertation board,” Cali said hopefully, although Jory knew she was worried. He hated the uncertainty that so often took root in Cali’s countenance, but he had found a new satisfaction when he helped her alleviate it. Her fears weren’t gone, and probably never would be, which was something he’d have to learn to live with. But he had patience and determination.
“When does she present?”
“Day after we get back to Toronto.”
Jory winced. He knew Cali had to go back, but it didn’t make his worry over her leaving any less. This air of uncertainty was also something he was learning to deal with, to understand that a separation didn’t have to mean forever. He reminded himself that Melanie had already asked Cali to come back and shoot the season finale, and even better, he was going up to Toronto next weekend when production took a short hiatus while the studio decided who would replace Howard.
Then, after a week at the beach house, followed by his father and Astrid’s wedding, he and Cali would start a gig together—on Jeff Cummings’s new show. Jeff had decided to take them both on as a team, locking them in for the whole series after seeing early cuts of their work on The Demon . With a little luck, a gig like that could go on for years. Not only that, Jeff had brought Patsy on as a Classics expert since the series was an updated retelling of the Greek myths. Jory guessed more snoring through baby monitors was in his future.
“What should I bring up to Toronto?” he asked.
Cali regarded him quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“What kind of clothes?”
“It’s summer.”
“Yeah, but it’s Canada.”
“Oh.” Cali shrugged. “Bring a coat, a hat, and some mitts. You know, summer wear.”
“Really?”
“No, not really.” She shook her head. “It’ll be thirty-five degrees.”
“That’s freezing!”
Cali’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and then understanding dawned. “Sorry, it’s ninety-five degrees in your draconian way of gauging temperature.”
Jory put on a guttural Canadian accent. “Sohrrey. Sohhhhrey. You’re so cute.”
Cali pushed up nonexistent sleeves, readying for a fight. “Canadians are not cute. And ‘sahrry’ isn’t any better. Sahrry. Sahrry!”
Jory stood up from his chair, threw his napkin down in mock outrage, and stalked her around the kitchen island. Cali squeaked with excitement and jumped from her stool. “Sahrry! Sahrry!” She bolted for the living room, but he easily tackled her on his now favorite couch.
He was about to assail her with his mouth when his thigh connected with something hard in her pocket. Guilt flooded her features, for what he didn’t know. So, he tickled her. “What’s in your pocket?”
“Nothing! Nothing! Stop!” she squealed.
“Are you hiding some hard-boxed contraband?”
She gasped for breath and jerked around as she tried to keep his hands away. It didn’t take him long to pull out a brand-new cartridge of Super 8 film. Cali stilled under him.
“What’s this?” Jory rattled the cartridge.
Cali bit her lip while she tried to shrug it off but was clearly nervous at how he would react. “I thought you could start shooting your own memories.”
Jory’s nose started to burn. Cali looked like she was worried her gift had been a bad choice. As if anything so considerate could go wrong.
He kissed her soundly. When he felt her relax, he whispered, “Thank you” against her trembling lips.
Jory sat up, swinging his feet over the edge of the couch to grab the camera from the table. Cali pushed herself up to sit beside him. Jory felt a sudden rightness in the moment, like he and Cali were always supposed to sit together like this, loading film in a camera, breathless in anticipation of what they could make together.
Guiding the cartridge into place, Jory snapped the camera shut and swung it toward Cali, his new favorite subject.
What he saw through the eyepiece shocked him: Cali’s face filling with alarm.
“No, no, no.” She waved her hands in front of her as she sprang from the couch.
Jory lowered the camera. “Wait. Are you … camera shy?”
“No, no. Not at all,” Cali lied. “I just prefer to be behind the camera.”
Jory stood up and slowly advanced on her as though she were a skittish fawn and he was the big bad wolf. “But who else would I film, if not you?”
Cali backed away. Her eyes darted from side to side, searching for escape. “I don’t know, the couch?”
“The couch doesn’t blush as well as you do.” Jory raised the camera back to his eye and pushed “Record,” the satisfying whirr of the film vibrating through the camera.
Cali put her hands out to ward him off. “Come on! Stop it! Seriously!” And she bolted for the bedroom with a screech.
He chuckled, feeling alive and playful and so in love as he followed her. “Don’t run in there—or this is going to be a much different kind of movie.”