Page 63 of Dear Mr. Knightley

Dear Mr. Knightley,

Classes began yesterday. I’m ending my time here with Government Policy Reporting, Advanced Public Affairs Reporting, Web Technologies, and Advanced Nonfiction Long Narrative.

Debbie says my schedule is suicidal and she’s right; it’s tough.

But I figure that’s why I came. There’s more I need to learn, and I have no distractions.

That sounds more pessimistic than I mean it.

Let’s just say, little keeps me from a strong finish.

Kyle is good. Josh and Alex are gone. And everyone else is too busy hunting down jobs.

Running and the Muirs keep me going. I decided to attack the Chicago Marathon again this year.

It’s a month away and I have only two long runs left before taper begins.

Kyle is eager to run with me this weekend, but I can barely spare time from work to knock out twenty miles, much less add the commute time to and from Grace House.

He didn’t question or pester me—which makes me think he knows the truth: I’m retreating.

I can feel it—not into books, but into my work. Nothing feels bright and shiny anymore.

Except the Muirs. I head up there about twice a week now and am met with good food, better hugs, and solid advice.

The professor loves to review my work and has a remarkable ability to critique without being critical.

It’s a gift I appreciate. He mentioned Alex the other night. I feigned indifference.

“He believes this next book may be his best.”

“Does he?”

“I’m proud of him, Sam. He’s had a tough road and I’ve worried these past couple years, but he sounds stronger now.”

“Hmm . . .” I pretended to read.

“I’m glad you spent some time with him this summer. Always good when the kids get along.” The professor chuckled.

And despite myself, I smiled. Alex was right—the Muirs love their “kids.”

We went back to our reading—at least the professor did. I didn’t read another word all night. I sat there with Unbroken carefully placed in front of me, feeling exactly the opposite.

Time to run,

Sam