“Forget that, Sam.”
“You’ll live in Independence Cottage—no Dr. Wieland if you don’t want to talk, no social workers, no meds if you don’t need them. It’s a safe clean place to live while you get your GED and some business classes.”
This is her Medill—her one shot to make a new dream. I wanted her to see that, and I tried to convince her by sharing all the good things that have happened to me: Grace House, Kyle, Roosevelt University, Medill, and theTribune. I left out Ernst & Young.
I also told her about my letter from Hannah, whom Cara knew from our days in Charing Cottage, describing her lovely beach wedding in Maine. I contrasted that with Constance’s glamorous ceremony in New York. I wanted Cara to see a bigger world in a whole variety of colors.
“Sounds great, Sam. You’ve done a lot, but nothing changes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sammy-girl, lots to do, but nothing to feel.” Cara whispered the words with a singsong lilt. And my nickname came out just loud enough to pierce my heart.
“That’s too far.” I grabbed my bag as a deep, painful, red blur flashed before my eyes. “Do what you want, Cara. We’re done.”
“Don’t leave.” She rushed the words out. I heard desperation in her voice, and that’s the only thing that made me stop.
I turned, more furious than I’ve been in my entire life. The nickname had ignited a fire, rather than a fear, in me.
“Do you want to go there, Cara? Do you? Because I’m not hiding anymore, and if you want to fight . . .” I paused and waited for her to look me in the eyes. “I will decimate you.” With each word I stepped closer, until I stood above her.
Cara blanched. “I only said it to hurt you. See if I still could. I’m sorry. Please?” She took a shuddering breath, cringed with the pain, and looked to the ceiling.
I stepped back, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath myself. “I’ll stay.” I dropped my bag. “But it was too far, Cara. Don’t do that again—ever.”
“I know.” She held my eyes for a moment before concentrating on her blanket. “I used to get so jealous of you and be glad when you shut down and went away into your head. It made me feel strong. I want to feel strong again.”
I understood, so I stayed. But I didn’t sit, and it wasn’t comfortable. We skirted around our feelings and protected our secrets for a few minutes before I realized we were done. I reminded Cara about Grace House one more time and left, leaving my anger with her. No sense in carrying even that home.
Maybe Cara and I will be more someday, but right now I feel closure and peace. I hope I helped her too. Maybe she’ll take my advice and return to Grace House. It will change her life and, as I’m learning, change isn’t always bad.
It’s been quite a couple days and I’m ready for some lighter fare—which starts tomorrow night—with Alex. I didn’t tell him where I’ve been these past two days.Coward. He texted a few times, and I simply replied that I was busy with work.
I want to share, but think of the can of worms I’ll open if I mention Cara—too many worms. Here’s the exchange from earlier:
Alex: Where are you? 2 days too long! Don’t say you’re busy or I’ll march to Trib Tower and demand your release!
Me: Don’t get me fired. Free now and like being missed. Such nice compliments will get you anything.
Too flirty? I still can’t define our relationship, and I press every now and then to see what he’ll do. Despite his criticisms about deflecting, Alex does it better than I do.
Alex: Need a date for dinner @ Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder. Lobby 6pm tomorrow?
Me: Can’t wait.
So there it is. Still no clue about our relationship, but I get to go to Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder. FINALLY! That’s worthy of caps, don’t you think? I’ve probably built it up in my mind, but I’m so excited. I need to text Hannah.
Oh . . . I gotta go. The timer buzzed. I tried a new recipe, Forty-Clove Garlic Chicken. It sounded wonderful and smells even better; but now I wonder how long I will stink. Will forty cloves of garlic wear off by tomorrow night?
Have a good evening, Mr.
Knightley . . .
Sam
AUGUST 3
Dear Mr. Knightley,
