He leaned forward and templed his fingers in front of his chin. He looked remarkably like Father John at that moment, and I fully expected a lecture. But it didn’t come—only a few sentences that carried more power than any of Father John’s speeches.
“I won’t tell, Sam. It’s your past—your story to share. But remember: it doesn’t define you.” His words hung above us. “Never let something so unworthy define you.”
I got my promise of secrecy, but now it doesn’t feel good.
I’m going running,
Sam
FEBRUARY 15
Dear Mr. Knightley,
Happy Valentine’s Day! I know it was yesterday, but still . . . Happy Valentine’s Day. I thought about the library yesterday. I bet they have a great LOVE display up. I need to visit there soon. Mr. Clayton and Mrs. G and the staff feel so far away. I e-mail occasionally, but that feels empty and impersonal. Everything feels that way—I barely have time to keep in touch with Kyle.
He was proud of me about our names in the article and we’re good now. He’s doing great and still at Grace House. Coach Ridley put together a winter running plan for him, and he’s going to tackle the track team next month. His e-mails are full of Ridley, which is nice because I know from his tone that Ridley is good for him. Father John confirms that the coach is a solid man. Kyle needs that. And Kyle has a new girlfriend. Not sure if he needs that. I’m kidding. She sounds cute.
Alex sounds good too. He texted me yesterday.
Alex: Happy Valentine’s Day. Hallmark holiday, but still fun. Plans?
Me: Dinner with boyfriend then back to work. :)
Alex: Poor boyfriend. Have more fun.
Me: Come visit and I will. Muirs miss you.
Alex: Soon. Gotta go.
I can’t believe I wrote that. It sounded flirty. I meant to express a simple truth, but was so embarrassed when I read it over. Yet it’s true; I get electric whenever I receive a text and I hang on every word the Muirs relay from him. I hope I haven’t crossed some line—one I don’t even know exists. But it was Valentine’s Day, and everyone gets to be flirty on Valentine’s Day, right? Besides, that silly text was the best fun of the day. Dinner with Josh wasn’t so rewarding . . .
It started well. Josh took me to Spago, which is very romantic. I had asked to go to Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder. After Hannah’s engagement story, I imagine it to be dark, cozy, and perfect. But Josh says the lines are always too long and he doesn’t trust a host who claims he can remember your face rather than write down your name. So, no go there.
But Spago was lovely; I’m not complaining. Josh pulled out all the stops: he held my hand, opened the car door for me, took my coat . . . everything. I felt cherished, adored, and beautiful. But, as is my way, I put my foot in it during dessert and the evening banked south.
Over a wonderful crème caramel, Josh started talking about the future and seemed to include me in his plans, so I felt it was time for honesty. I owed him that.
I pulled my article out of my bag and asked him to read it.
He pushed it aside. “Sam, I want to be with you tonight, not read your classwork.”
“It’s more than that. Read it, please?”
He sighed and flattened the pages on the table. As he read, I told him that theTribunewould be publishing it in a couple weeks. His eyes widened with excitement. Then his expression changed. He stopped after the first two pages and pushed it back.
“This is pretty disturbing, Sam. What were you thinking? Where’d you get all this?”
“That’s me, Josh. I’m this girl. Kyle and I wrote this over Christmas break while you were in Cincinnati.”
“This is what you were doing? I thought you were resting.”
“I was. I was healing in many ways.”
“Who’s Kyle? Did he stay with you in your apartment?”
“Kyle’s fourteen. He’s a foster kid who lives at Grace House Settlement Home. I went there after the hospital. It’s where I lived from about age fifteen until I came to Medill. Kyle and I worked on this for over a week, and then I went to the Muirs’ house. I told you that.”
“You told me about the Muirs. You never mentioned this.” He took back the paper and read more. “This is you . . . ,” he mumbled.
