Page 60 of Dear Mr. Knightley

Dear Mr. Knightley,

The professor had a heart attack. At least that’s what I think happened. Mrs. Muir called it “atrial fibrillation.” He had chest pains and shortness of breath and passed out. I call that a heart attack.

“He’s going to be fine, dear. I wanted to call so you wouldn’t worry.”

“Does Alex know?”

“Yes, dear, I called him. Robert has had episodes before, and this one wasn’t as bad as others. The doctors here have examined him thoroughly and given him new medication.”

I leaned against the counter. There was nothing I could say. I know this was about them, but I could only think of myself. Horribly selfish. But I felt like a fool for wishing, for letting them in, for wanting them to be mine.

“Sam?”

“I’m here.”

“He wants to talk to you. Just a moment.”

“Mrs. Muir, he should rest, please don’t—” I didn’t want to hear the professor’s voice. I wanted them to fade away. I wanted to finish washing the dishes, keep their garden, pay their bills, and in a month—pack my bags.

“Sam?” The professor’s voice was soft and breathy.

“I’m here. Are you okay?” I wiped my hand across my eyes, leaving a trail of suds.

“Did I scare you?”

“I think you scared everyone.”

“I’m sure I did, but I bet I got you . . . I bet I got you good, Sam.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, Sam, I see so much in you. We’re alike, like father and daughter. And I think you feel . . .” His voice grew soft and drifted away.

The line fell silent, and I panicked. “Professor? Professor?”

“Sam?” It was Mrs. Muir. “He’s asleep, dear. He’s been so anxious to talk to you, and I think now that he’s heard your voice, he can rest.”

“My voice?”

“Don’t you know how much you mean to him?” She paused. “Sam, God was good to us today. Don’t forget that. Robert will be fine, and we’ll be home soon.”

“I don’t know . . .” Tears trickled down my checks. “This doesn’t sound good.”

“Oh, darling. You should see the look of peace on Robert’s face right now. We were right next to a police officer when he had the episode, and he’s been given a wonderful report. We are blessed.”

I wanted to believe her, to have her faith and confidence. I felt my heart trip forward—almost to hope.

They’re going to stay in Paris a few days longer so the professor can rest before continuing to Spain. And if he gets too tired, they’ll stop completely and wander in the “pink light” of Paris. I didn’t get that. Is the light really pink there?

I hung up the phone, and fear crept back into me. I felt small and alone. I called Alex. It was the first time I’d initiated contact—a huge mistake and not my finest moment. I didn’t even say hi.

“You knew. You knew and you didn’t tell me? Don’t you think I care? I know they mean more to you, but I’m staying in their house. I’m not a nobody, Alex. How could you do that to me?”

“Nice to hear from you, Sam.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“Give you what? Mom M called me twenty minutes ago. I didn’t call you because you were her next call. Calls one and two, Sam. I don’t think you could’ve found out any faster.”

“Well . . .” My anger lost its steam. “Still . . .”

“Still what?”

“I don’t know.” I put on a new coat of mad. “You should fly over.”

“I’m not flying to France.”

“He should mean more to you than that, Alex. I—” What would I do? That moment surprised me. What would I do for the professor? Almost anything . . .

“Sam, stop. This has happened before. Pops is fine, and I’m not going to insult him by acting like it’s worse than it is. He wouldn’t want that.”

“ ‘I beg your pardon. Excuse my interference. It was kindly meant.’ ” I cringed.

“Caroline Bingley? Really?” Alex paused. “You think I insulted you? Is that it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I didn’t.” Alex’s voice got gentle, and that upset me even more. “Is that what you do when—”

“I’m hanging up.” I felt so embarrassed and exposed.

“Sam, don’t—” I didn’t hear another word. I can’t believe I did that to Alex. What must he think of me?

I need to finish the dishes,

Sam

Later . . .

I won’t be able to sleep until I update you.

As I finished the dishes, I sobbed. I can’t explain why. I’ve known the Muirs a shorter time than some of my shortest foster placements.

But they could slip away. The professor could die.

I could die. Everything changes, you know.

Each and every moment things change. I was beginning to think that change could be good, but I was wrong.

I know I’m twenty-four and I don’t need a mom and a dad, but I wanted them.

That’s a lie too—I need them. I hoped the Muirs could be mine and nothing would take them away from me. And the heart attack broke my heart.

Then the doorbell rang. I scrubbed my eyes with a dish towel as I raced to answer it. Alex was the last person I expected to find.

“What are you doing here?” So much for making a good impression—ever.

“I thought you could use a hug.” Alex stepped into the doorway and held me for the longest time. It wasn’t romantic. It was strong and comforting and exactly what I needed. I held him tight around his waist, sniffed into his shirt, and rested.

When I started breathing normally, he stepped back. There was a very embarrassing wet mark on his shoulder, but he kindly didn’t note it.

“I’m so sorry.” I started swiping at it with my dish towel. “I was so rude to you.”

“It’s okay. It was a shock. And I’m sorry if I appeared blasé. I’m not, you know. I love Pops very much.”

“I know you do. You’re not blasé about anything that I can tell.”

“ ‘Accept my thanks for the compliment.’ ”

“No Lizzy. I can’t believe I did that to you.” I almost started to cry again, for completely different reasons.

Alex smiled and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No more quotations.” He tilted his head out the open front door. “It’s a gorgeous night, Sam. Let’s take a walk.”

We walked to the lake and then stopped at Homer’s for ice cream on the way back. I was so tired from the stress and sobbing that I don’t think I was good company, but Alex didn’t seem to mind. He told me more about his relationship with the professor.

“We’d go down to the Boys and Girls Club every Saturday and play basketball and stuff. Pops would sit on the side and read to anyone who’d listen. I played ball.”

“On Saturday mornings? Not what I’d expect.”

Alex laughed. “I know. Pops made me do it. I was so angry when I got to NU. It was me against the world. Pops was trying to show me it wasn’t, and that I wasn’t alone feeling that way.”

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 in Redemption , 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.