Dear Mr. Knightley (35 page)

That’s it, Mr. Knightley! I’m so stupid, so blind. That’s how Scrooge did it. He realized that others were more important than he was. Scrooge laid it all down because he didn’t
need to be first. He finally saw more outside of himself. All those years he hoarded vapor—meaningless security—to protect himself. And he destroyed others in deep and crushing ways. He finally recognized the cost, and that others paid it. Then he saw it clearly . . . And they came first.

I’ve been so busy protecting myself that I didn’t see it. I don’t need protecting. I’m safe, aren’t I? And even if I weren’t—I am not defined by that fear. Just because I like the color yellow doesn’t make these walls any more or less yellow. They simply are yellow. And I’m still standing. I don’t need Alex to tell me that. I don’t need running to show me that. Others don’t need to pay the price as I push and pull to simply confirm what is. I’m okay.

Maybe that’s the first step to surrender. Maybe that’s my first step toward the joy the Muirs talk about all the time. Self-protection keeps you from love, Mr. Knightley—all love. I am so sad at how I’ve kept them at a distance—the Muirs, Alex, Father John, Kyle, Hannah . . . anyone and everyone who has ever stood by me. I played God in our relationships. I determined their value and their worth by how much I let them in, by how much I let them determine my worth. I’m not God. And I don’t need to work so hard anymore . . .

I love Alex—plain and simple. I love Alex, and I want him to come before me. I don’t care what it costs. Giving him the truth and fixing the hurts I’ve caused is more important than anything I think, feel, own, expect . . . No matter what happens between us, I can free us from these lies. I can be honest.

So, Mr. Knightley, here is the part where I need you. I figured this one out before I realized all this other stuff—and it still feels right, so I’m going to press on.

We need to meet. We need to meet so I can say thank you and good-bye. Ashley talked about my “hiding places” this morning. You’re one of them. I found sanctuary in these letters, but no more. If I’m going to truly love my new parents, my new friends, and especially Alex, I need to be real. I need to be present.

I want to do this properly, though. I want to be brave and show you the respect you deserve. I want to thank you in person. Father John gave me your foundation’s e-mail for this letter. It was like squeezing a state secret out of him, but you need this tomorrow. And it doesn’t violate our agreement, Mr. Knightley. That ended with graduation. I am asking you to do this as a friend, as someone I have come to trust and rely upon. So please, Mr. Knightley, e-mail me when and where we can meet. Please let me say good-bye properly.

And, Mr. Knightley, forget my theory about Icarus. If you don’t sail high, with the risk of crashing and burning, do you really live? Can you love? I doubt it. I’m ready to fly.

Love,

Sam

NEW YORK

Sam stepped out of the cab. New York Presbyterian Hospital loomed in front of her, darkened by shadow. The street was packed and noisy, but she heard nothing. She couldn’t drag her eyes from the building. With all the people bustling in and out, only two men mattered—two men in all of New York. First Alex. Then Mr. Knightley. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. No e-mail.

Start with Alex. One step at a time.

The noise of the cab pulling away penetrated her fog.

I can do this. Just be honest.

“Ms. Moore?”

“Yes?” Sam turned toward the door, searching.

A petite woman stepped forward from under the awning. She had straight blond hair, cut neatly below the chin, and looked chic in her black slacks and crisp black wool coat. She smiled and stretched out her hand. “I’m Laura Temper. Mr. Knightley asked me to meet you and escort you upstairs.”

“He’s
here
?” Sam put her hand to her throat.

“Yes.”

“Oh . . . I . . .” She shook her head and pulled her shoulders back in an effort to gain courage. “I’m pleased to meet you, Laura. Thank you for all you’ve done for me these past couple years.” Sam thrust out her hand, willing her voice to sound approachable and friendly. But she couldn’t separate her mind from her mission. “Did he . . . ? Did Mr. Knightley show you my letters?”

“He did not.” Laura turned and gestured toward the revolving door. “Shall we?”

Sam followed.

The older woman’s heels made staccato taps on the stone floor. She offered no conversation, and Sam’s thoughts skittered in cadence with the
click, click, click
.

Did Mr. Knightley meet Alex? What’s been said? I feel sick. I should’ve eaten . . .

The ride to the sixth floor was over too quickly. The elevator opened onto a small lobby, and straight ahead Sam saw the Muirs standing in close, tense conversation. The professor was visibly upset.

“Darling!” Frances noticed her first. She pulled Sam into a tight hug. “I texted you earlier that Alex is going to be fine. Why are you so pale?”

“Where is he?”

“Room 607, about five doors down on the right.” She moved her hands to Sam’s cheeks, forcing her to focus. “He’s fine, Sam. Breathe.”

Sam let out the breath she’d been holding and offered a small, flat smile. “Forgot about that.”

“It helps, dear. Now go see Alex.” She turned to Laura. “Thanks for waiting for her, Laura.”

Sam turned back, startled. “Wait—you know each other? How?”

No one spoke, but Frances nodded.

“Then . . . have you met Mr. Knightley? Is he with Alex?”

Frances paused and glanced at her husband. “He’s in there too.”

Sam didn’t hear another word as she walked away. The
hall tunneled before her eyes, its edges blurring.
It doesn’t matter that they’ve met. It changes nothing
. She reminded herself of all she’d laid down and how far she’d come.
Stay focused
.

She stopped outside Room 607. Now was the time for courage and conviction—not fear. She rounded the corner, and tears sprang to her eyes. Alex lay in a hospital bed, attached to more tubes and monitors than she could count. He was propped up on pillows, with purple and blue bruises across his face, pain etched in his eyes, and deeper lines across and around his mouth than she remembered. But he was awake—awake and staring straight at her.

“You’re here.” He smiled and grimaced with the effort.

Sam hesitated and looked around the room. “You’re alone?”

“I am.”

“But Mom said Mr. Knightley was in here.”

“I know.”

“Know what? You know him?”

Alex scooted over in his bed, stifling a wince, and patted the empty spot next to him. “Come sit, Sam.” He held out his hand.

Sam looked around the room, perplexed. “Alex?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m scared.”

“Why? Why are you scared?” Her heart shifted and broke the tiniest bit. Alex’s feelings meant more than her fears. Wasn’t that what this journey was about? She sat gently and reached over to brush a tear from the corner of his eye.

“I never meant to hurt you.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“You didn’t. I hurt you.”

Alex closed his eyes. “No, you didn’t. I always knew. You unfolded your heart in every letter . . .” He hesitated. “Every letter to me.”

“To . . . you?”

“Forgive me . . . ,” Alex whispered. He opened his eyes and stared at her with such longing that for a moment Sam lost herself in the confusion. Only for a heartbeat—

“
You?
” She recoiled, and before she knew it she was across the room. The hit came to her heart, not her head—it couldn’t be true.

“Sam, come back.”

She swiped at her eyes. “This whole time? Mr. Knightley?” The truth settled, full of details and emotions—full of the letters she had written.

“Alex?” Her voice broke, and the tears started.

“Don’t cry, Sam. Please. Come sit down. I can’t reach you over there.”

She covered her face with her hands and stepped backward until she bumped the wall. She held one last thread of hope—it couldn’t be true.

“No, this way . . .”

Without removing her hands, Sam stood still.

“Let me explain.”

She shook her head, her face still hidden.

“Then listen from right there.” Alex cleared his throat. “Grace House solicited my foundation years ago. You started out as just another grant. But when I read your college writing, I wanted to know you. Father John thought you needed to be drawn out, and I thought letters would be a good way
to achieve that. I never expected more.” Alex delivered the speech all in one breath, then stopped and inhaled.

“But you came to campus. I slammed into you.” Her voice sounded sharp in her own ears. She moved her hands down—just enough to see him over her fingertips.

“You did.” Alex smiled softly. “You barreled out of that lecture hall and into my life. I came to campus to catch a glimpse of you, not to meet you.” He paused. “I didn’t plan it. You could say ‘I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.’”

“Not funny. Quoting Darcy will not get you out of this. First that proposal and now this . . . You asked me to marry you. Was I going to stumble across my letters someday? How long were you going to let me write? Forever? Were you—”

“Sam, stop. I wanted to tell you. I was going to, I promise.”

“But you didn’t. Not until I pushed you into meeting me. Not until . . . you read my lette—in the e-mail! How could you do this to me?” She fluttered her hands, trying to encompass the enormity of the pain and exposure.

Alex leaned forward and stretched out his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I tried so many times, and I tried not to cross that line. To keep a distance until you knew the truth. I screwed up.”

“You crossed that line every day. With every letter. Kyle, you know about Kyle . . . my appendix, my classes . . . why I run . . . my parents, Josh . . . you know all about him.” Sam gasped. “You’re another Josh.”

“Don’t say that. I love you. Every bit of you. I’m not a Josh.” Alex’s voice became hoarse and raspy. “Please forgive me.”

“I . . . I can’t. You’re not who I thought you were.” Sam dropped her hands and watched Alex’s eyes travel with them.
His gaze rested on her fists, clenched at her sides. Neither spoke. And then she did the only thing she could—she turned and walked out the door.

As she rounded the corner, she heard Alex gulp in a wrecked breath. It sounded like a sob, but she refused to consider it. She reached the hall before her legs gave way, and she grabbed the wall for support. She looked toward the lobby and remembered the Muirs waited there. She couldn’t handle their questions. Not now. She slid down the wall and held her head in her hands.
How could he?

Her legs ached. Eventually the thoughts stopped firing and only a soft gray color remained in her mind. She slid further down and sat, truly believing she could rest there and never move again. She closed her eyes and knocked the back of her head against the wall. The thump felt good.

She felt someone sit next to her, but she didn’t open her eyes.

“I thought I’d find you out here.” The professor. Dad.

“You know?”

“He told us everything last night. I’ve never been so angry in my life. I don’t know what he was thinking. The cowardice, the deceit . . .”

“I can’t forgive him.”

“You don’t have to. You can walk away.”

“Walk away?” Sam’s eyes popped open.

“You trusted Mr. Knightley. Alex betrayed that trust. He played false.” The anger in his voice startled her. She knew how deeply he loved Alex.

Sam closed her eyes and imagined life without Alex, and then she pictured Alex’s life without the Muirs. She saw
herself walking away.
No Alex
. Then her heart squeezed tight.
No Alex?
And the Muirs? Life without the Muirs would kill him. Was that what she wanted to do to him?

The professor cut through her thoughts. “I guarantee this whole thing terrified Alex. What a mess. I haven’t seen him so invested, not even in—”

“He was scared, Dad. You said it yourself, and even I see that.” Sam thumped her head against the wall again, letting weariness wash over her.

“That doesn’t excuse him.”

“It doesn’t, but
you
can’t walk away.”

“I won’t,” the professor whispered and bumped her shoulder.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her.

“I love him like he’s my own son.” He paused and bumped her shoulder again. “But you
are
my daughter, dear Samantha, and I stand with you. I will do whatever is needed to protect you. You can walk away and never see Alex again if that is your wish.”

Sam felt a single tear fall as she absorbed the depth of his commitment and love for her. She sat for a moment. “I don’t know.”

He smiled, soft and knowing. “What don’t you know?”

“Part of me wants to walk. I’ll admit it.” Sam swiped at fresh tears. “But, Dad, that’s not who I want to be, always running away. This summer meant more than that. Alex and I . . . we became friends. No, we were more than that. We understood each other. I let him in, Dad.” Sam paused. “I thought when he walked away this fall that I’d misunderstood, but I hadn’t.”

The professor took her hand and squeezed it, but he said nothing.