Yesterday we saw one of Ashley’s friends and a woman coming toward us. Ashley paled, turned around, and took a different path. I followed.
“What just happened?” I asked.
“I can’t see him. He’s been dating her for a month now.”
“Will? You two are friends.”
“Yes. No. I mean, I love him, Sam. I have since I was eighteen.”
I stopped walking, stunned. “You mentioned him that night. The night you killed my eyebrows. You said he was a silly boy. You love him?”
“That’s what makes him silly.” She wasn’t laughing. “He’s one of Constance’s college friends. He hung around my senior year. He worked at JP Morgan and used to come to dinner and stuff. He’s never noticed me.”
“You never told me this. How is it you’re both here?”
“I knew he was coming to Kellogg. English lit got me out of New York, so why not here?”
“Seriously?”
“I know. Please don’t tell, Sam. It’s so pathetic. Please?”
“I’ll never say a word. I promise. But, Ash, have you told him?”
“Of course not! You don’t tell a guy that he’s wrong about you, that you’re not some flighty debutante who giggles all the time, that you’re real and that you work hard. He’s supposed to notice. Will’s never noticed. No one notices.”
“I’m sorry, Ashley.”
We walked in silence. I’m sure she was pondering Will. I pondered myself, Josh, my friends, my life . . .
Changing, being real and becoming who you want to be, is hard work. Right now, I’d love a good chat with Jane Eyre. She never lost herself. Not once.
I may need to find her,
just for a moment,
Sam
P.S. I’ll leave it because I wrote it, but you’re not a “George.” It feels awkward. I’ll stick with “Mr. Knightley.” Don’t you agree?
JUNE 15
Dear Mr. Knightley,
Johnson gave me a C! Everyone’s shocked that a C pleases me, but it does. It really does. And that was only part of my great day . . . Today was my first at theTribuneand it was terrifyingly extraordinary. I took the Metra early and savored every step from the Loop out to Michigan Ave. I grabbed a latté and felt very chic. But let’s be honest . . . I grinned like an idiot.
When I arrived, the lobby was full of interns anxiously awaiting our orientation program. College kids get the jobs in the mail room, copy service, and the newsroom. Only two writing spots are reserved for grad students. The other writer’s name is Mike and he’s from Columbia’s program. He doesn’t say much, but he seems nice. And shy. And cute. Clark Kent?
Orientation culminated in photos and a swanky little badge that I get to clip on my waist each day and flash to the security guard. We then ate lunch in the small café at the bottom of the building, where Mike and I sat with some college girls who flirted shamelessly with him. The poor guy is going to have his hands full. He didn’t mind it, but he didn’t engage them either. He seemed fairly serious about his sandwich.
We then reported to our assignments. I’m with Kevin McDermott, who runs the local interest stories and features—not hard crime, but the heavy-hitting local stuff, national stories with Chicago implications, and the downtown beat. It’s perfect for me: minor investigative journalism with a bent toward human interest and larger-format writing. McDermott’s also eager to promote my work and rattled a few topics he wants me to pursue. He has his own syndicated column and even offered me guest spots throughout the summer.
His cubicle is a war zone. Articles, pictures, magazines, food—everything fights for dominance. He cleared mountains of old newspapers from a chair for me to sit. I saw pictures of his “girl” (wife named Millie), their girls, and their girls’ girls. He and Millie celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary tonight, so I got off easy today.
. . . Which is why I’m writing you. I’m not complaining, but it’s lonely in Winnetka. The Muirs left Saturday, the Conleys are at their cottage in Michigan for the summer, Josh is in Vegas at some consumer packaging convention, Ashley sent me a text that she’s working her first auction tonight, Kyle’s at the movies with the Buckhorn boys, and Debbie’s phone went straight to voice mail. So here I sit—all excited with news to share and no one to listen.
I have flowers, though. Josh sent roses to celebrate my first day. The card readI wish I could be there in person. I know it went great. Love, Josh. They smell so good. And things are good with him too. He’s been busy with work, but when we’re together, it’s lighter and easier. I like it. Even though we only go out once a week, if that, we seem to be having more fun together.
Speaking of fun, Alex showed up at my doorstep last night. Well, the Muirs’ doorstep. He thought they were still here and was disappointed he missed them. But he rallied and stayed for dinner. I’ve been trying out some of Mrs. Muir’s favorite recipes, and last night was spicy shrimp pasta with parsley, called Shrimp Fra Diavolo.
