His whole face lit up. “You should’ve seen it, Sam. It was a blast—a bunch of angry kids and scary thugs coming together to play ball. That gang leader inRedemption, Crit? He’s based on a guy from there. Scariest dude I ever met, but a good ballplayer and honorable on the court. Never left a guy on the ground without offering him a hand—weirdest thing.”
I smiled, thinking of Kyle. Someday—if I get the courage—I’ll introduce them. They’d really like each other.
“Why don’t you find something similar in New York?”
“I’ve tried. Once they learn my name, I never get past the development directors. They want my name and my money—and that’s important too, I’m not knocking it—but they don’t want me.”
“You should try again. You could make a difference, Alex, and you clearly loved it. Think of the new characters you might find.”
“True.” We walked without saying more for a while. He simply stayed beside me.
It was good. And I didn’t make it that way. Alex did. He also told me about the professor’s previous episodes, his medications, and what he does to take care of himself. It was good to hear. Not only because it didn’t sound so tragic after all, but because Alex made me feel like my knowing mattered.
And this is where I must stop, Mr. Knightley. Writing helps me process things, but these emotions are too much, too foreign. And I’m too tired. I’m so glad the professor will be well. But more . . . I can’t consider that right now.
AUGUST 22
Dear Mr. Knightley,
Summer is over. My internship ended two days ago. I wrote sixteen articles under a joint byline and seven under my own name. I edited seventeen of McDermott’s pieces, and by the end he trusted my voice and my judgment. He was a great mentor and I think he liked working with me. He hugged me as I left the building and said, “You did good, kid.”
I’m sad that it’s over. I didn’t knock the ball out of the park—Mike actually won an award for one of his fifteen solo articles—but I did good, solid work and I’m proud of it. Ms. Ellis asked me to apply for a full-time job after graduation. I didn’t get an offer, but she didn’t say good riddance either.
But now Alex is gone too, and I’m sad all over again. We spent the past two days in a frantic effort to see all that remained of Chicago: another Cubs game, Navy Pier, one museum, six different restaurants, a last run along the lake . . . He jotted notes and I took pictures, building details for the book as we walked along. I think he may even use a few of my quips and quotes—and he hinted about giving Cole a girlfriend.
“What happened with that detective Cole hated?”
“I never said he ‘hated’ her.”
“He should.”
“Why?”
“Conflict drives emotion, Alex. If he hates her at the beginning, he can love her at the end.”
“You are so set on him getting a girlfriend. Don’t you think once he finds someone, he’ll be all in? He’s a pretty intense guy. What if she doesn’t feel the same? Best not to rush it.”
I pondered this. “Don’t avoid it, though. That’s a cop-out.”
He laughed. “Love stories are too easy. They’re trite. Cole doesn’t need that.”
“Then don’t make her light and easy—make her tough, and real, and flawed. I’d like to read about that, because if it’s difficult, but beautiful, then I’ll believe it can be real. And you can draw that out. Complexity will give Cole time.”
Alex stopped and stared at me. “Okay, I’m sold. You sure you want to be a journalist?”
“For now. Gotta use all this training. But I’d like to write a children’s book someday—a book of fun stories that go completely wrong, but end well with the kids tucked into bed safe and happy.”
“That I’ll read.”
And that was how these two days felt too—safe and happy. I was so desperate to hang on that I asked if I could take him to the airport tomorrow.
“You’d have to get up at three thirty. I’ll take a cab.”
“It’s no big deal. I’ll go back to bed after.” My face flushed. I must have sounded pathetic.
Alex touched my chin and turned me toward him. “Have dinner with me tonight instead?”
“It’s your last night. What about your friends? Jim . . . or that other guy?”
