Ultimately, Ryan and his friends were expelled, and Christian received a five-day suspension for fighting. Students who had previously never gotten involved attested to the fact that he had been bullied relentlessly before the incident.
When Christian returned to school, things were a little different. Girls began issuing sympathetic, friendly smiles, when before they never gave him a second glance. A couple of boys even gave him nods of respect. All was quiet. But he never discussed any of this with his parents, and right about the time he was beginning to feel like he might want to stay, his family relocated to another part of town.
His mother wasn’t likely to let him stay at that school anyway. She couldn’t stop talking about the whole incident; Christian tried to do everything he could to forget it.
In the fall of 1992, Christian moved to his new high school. He was invisible there, and it suited him just fine.
Until he fixed his sight on Evelyn. But pursuing her was downright laughable, given his history. He’d never even had a girlfriend, and she was breathtaking.
On his first day, he found a seat in the furthest corner of the room in History class. Again, he tried to remain hidden. The teacher briefly introduced him to the group, and Evelyn was the only person in the room who didn’t regard him with indifference. Instead, she turned around and gave him a welcoming smile. He was so completely taken with her, he wasn’t sure if he smiled back.
It was weeks, maybe even a couple months, before he finally worked up the nerve to approach her. Without a word, he handed her the sketch he had drawn during class, then disappeared around a corner. Since he had never seen her act unkindly toward anyone, he was reasonably sure she wasn’t going to laugh at it, or embarrass him in anyway. At worst, she would ignore it altogether.
Then again, what if he was wrong? Panic flooded him when he realized he might have just opened himself up to whole new world of misery.
The next day, she waited for him outside class with the paper in her hand. Christian stopped in his tracks, debating whether to pretend he didn’t see her and head to his locker instead. How stupid was that? He had been dying to talk to this girl. And she didn’t have any of her friends with her, so maybe she wasn’t there to ridicule, or make him feel like some kind of low-life stalker. He decided it was probably safe to proceed, and forced a casual grin.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“Um. . . .” Evelyn toyed with the strap of her backpack with her free hand. “This drawing . . . it’s amazing.”
He didn’t know what to say. “It’s nothing.” Shit! Did that sound arrogant? “I mean . . . thanks.” His face felt like stone. Smile at her, you idiot!
Evelyn gazed down at the picture, giving him time to admire her long, thick lashes, the occasional strands of gold in her dark hair. Being this close, he could catch the scent of her floral shampoo. There was something very frail about her, and it made him feel a little less gangly than usual. She had the tiniest wrists he’d ever seen; her narrow frame seemed almost breakable. Yet her interactions with others revealed an ease and grace he longed to have in himself.
“How long did it take you to do this?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know.” His gaze wandered. “Ten minutes?”
Evelyn’s eyes darted from the image to him. “Nuh-uh!
“Yeah.” He nearly chuckled. Nearly.
“God, I wish I could draw like that! How did you learn to do this?”
He shrugged. She was really impressed. A girl had never been impressed with anything about him. The way she looked at him—she could see him.
And it was terrifying.
Evelyn waited for him to say something, but she would be waiting an awfully long time. Worried an ignorant statement might fall from his mouth, his brain shut down.
“Well, I guess we better get into class,” she said. Instead of folding the paper, she stuck it flat in between the pages of her textbook to smooth out the creases. She was keeping it!
“No one’s ever drawn a picture of me before. Thank you.”
He was a goner.
Looking back, Christian remembered how amazing it felt to have Evie smile at him, admire his talents. He’d been damn lucky she even spoke to him that day, all those years ago. How could he have done something so stupid as to betray her?
With a sigh, he lifted her hand, still so frail, to his lips. He cradled it gently in both hands and whispered, “Evie . . . I’m sorry. I love you.”
Twenty-Five
When Sophie stopped outside Sam’s classroom Friday afternoon, she was surprised to see him speaking with Ian. She hadn’t seen or heard anything more about Ian since the whole thing with the website broke, and assumed that he wouldn’t be returning.
Sam glanced up and spotted her standing in the doorway.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked. “Is it okay if I come in?”
“Sure,” he said before turning to Ian. “Look who came by to pay a visit.”
Ian sheepishly lifted his hand in greeting. “Hey, Miss Cook.”
“Well, if this doesn’t make my whole week, getting to see your handsome face!” Sophie gave him a smile.
“Thanks.” Ian blushed. “It’s great to see you guys, too.”
“Ian says he’ll be coming back to stay on Monday,” Sam explained.
Sophie took a seat beside them, attempting to hide her concern about the news. “That’s . . . great!” She shot Sam a questioning look.
“It’s gonna be fine,” Ian insisted.
They sat in silence, and Sophie burned to say something. She didn’t think it was a good idea, but managed to hold her tongue.
Sam finally spoke. “You know, you really scared Miss Cook with that video you made. Kinda scared me, too.”
Ian lowered his head, and it was as if the afterschool din suddenly fell away. Student voices in the hallway ceased. The courtyard outside was now empty. Even the air conditioner ended its cycle and the room fell jarringly still. Sophie stared at her fingernails, wondering if she should change the subject. Honestly, none of this was any of their business, but Ian had to know this was likely to come up.
“I was definitely in a bad place when I made that,” Ian admitted with a nod. “It’s pretty embarrassing now.”
“Hey, you had every right to feel the way you did,” Sam said.
Ian shifted in his seat, then faced Sophie. “Miss Cook, I’m sorry I scared you. I want you to know that I would never do anything . . . stupid. I wouldn’t do that to my mom. I wouldn’t do that to my sister.”
Sophie said nothing, the lump in her throat holding her voice. This kid is just so incredible!
“We’re both relieved to hear that, buddy,” Sam reassured him.
“So, you’re sure you’ll be okay here?” Sophie asked.
Ian smiled mildly, rubbing his hands over his jeans. “I’m sure. I can’t let other people run my life. Why should I have to go to another school? This is a good school, and I like the teachers here.”
He stared at the floor, seeming to mull over something else.
“Well, at least you won’t have to deal with those kids anymore,” Sam said. “Jake and his associates. They’re gone now.”
“Jake e-mailed me,” Ian blurted. “An apology.”
“Really!” Sophie retorted. “Oh, I’m sure he is quite sorry now, with the load of crap he’s gotten himself into! Funny how that works.”
With a slight grimace, Sam closed his eyes for a moment.
“I don’t know, Miss Cook. I think he meant it.” Ian rose from his seat and leaned on a desk, intermittently running the tips of his fingers along its surface. “He told me that it was the worst thing he’d ever done, that he never meant to be such a jerk. You know, Mr. Collins, he has a sick mom, too?”
“No. I didn’t.”
Ian shrugged. “Maybe you guys think I’m stupid for buying it, but I think I believe him.”
Sophie remained motionless, in hopes that Ian wouldn’t no
tice the covert glance she gave Sam, expressing her dismay. She worried Ian would only open himself up to more abuse.
“Maybe you can believe him,” Sam said.
Sophie turned away and rolled her eyes. Then she stood up and gave Ian a sincere embrace. “You’re a better man than me, Ian.”
“I hope so,” he joked.
Each of them released a guarded chuckle.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you guys on Monday,” Ian said. “Have a good weekend.”
Sam shook his head, waiting until Ian was out of earshot.
“What is it?” Sophie asked.
“Why couldn’t you just support him?”
“What?” His tone bewildered her. “What do you mean?”
“Come on! Your disapproval of his take on Jake’s apology. Completely obvious.”
Was he actually angry with her? “I’m sorry if I don’t want to see him get screwed over again.”
Sam sighed. “Everyone gets screwed over some time or another, Sophie, it’s just a matter of degree.” He had tamed his impatience and sounded surprisingly calm. “It’s part of life. There was nothing that boy did to instigate what happened. It’s just part of life! And he is choosing to move on from it. Not be a victim with a chip on his shoulder. Do you have any idea how remarkable that is?”
He turned to get some water out of the mini-fridge. Sophie didn’t know how to respond as he took a swig from the bottle. He swirled the container in small circles, pausing before continuing. “I’m sorry if you find it so unnerving that some people forgive that easily. Maybe he won’t always be that way. I hope he will.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “I know you don’t believe it, but forgiveness doesn’t have to be synonymous with being a doormat.”
With that, he set down his water. “I need to make a pit stop before heading home.” On his way out, he briefly squeezed her shoulder, then brushed passed her into the hallway.
Sophie stared after him with her mouth hanging open, before plopping into a nearby seat.
Twenty-Six
Sophie sprawled out on her couch, sipping coffee, replaying yesterday’s exchange with Sam. His reaction was so unexpected. They were good now—Sam never stayed mad about anything for long—but why did she feel like a reprimanded child? She never said Ian was unremarkable. He was definitely remarkable, but also vulnerable. Sam would just argue, aren’t we all?
Come to think of it, she saw an awful lot of Sam in Ian. Maybe she dwelled on things too much. After all, Sam managed to make it to adulthood more or less in one piece.
Stop being a worry wart! she imagined Evie saying. You worry too much, Sam had chided.
Sophie reached for Sam’s t-shirt, which lay beside her, and thoughtlessly began rubbing it between her finger and thumb. She gazed blankly at the window as the morning light streamed through.
Okay, maybe she was wound a little bit too tight.
She held Matthew’s face in her hands. He was crying, but they were tears of anger. “You have to let it go. You have to,” she said. “This is consuming you!”
Matthew yanked her hands away. “How can you say that? He killed my father!” He rose to his feet. “And you’re telling me to let it go?”
“Don’t you think I miss him, too?” she asked, her voice breaking. “But he’s gone! The person who did it is gone. Are you going to spend the rest of your life seeking him out, when your son and I need you now?”
“He was supposed to be Dad’s friend.”
“I know that,” she answered. “But what would you do if you found him? Kill him?” Matthew said nothing, leaving her momentarily speechless. “And is that what Ping taught you? This person you loved and admired so much?”
A knock at the front door startled Sophie. Jerking forward, she splattered coffee onto the floor. She searched for something to wipe up the spill, but had to leave it for now when the knocking resumed. “Okay, I’m coming. Hold your horses!”
Her brother-in-law stood on the front porch.
“Christian,” she said, catching her breath. “Hi.”
“Hi. Can I come in?”
“Uh, sure.” She stepped back and he took a tentative step inside. “Have a seat. Just not over there,” she added. “I spilled some coffee. Just, uh. . . .” Given what she had just seen, the coffee, and now Christian showing up, she was scattered. “Give me a minute to clean up this mess.”
“Do you need help?” he called as she hurried to the kitchen.
“I’m good!” She grabbed some paper towels and returned to the living room. “So to what do I owe this visit?” Dropping to her knees, she blotted the coffee from the carpet. When he didn’t answer, she looked up.
“I’m not sure where to start,” he said.
Sophie wadded the wet paper towels into a ball and set them on the table beside her. “Start at the beginning.”
“I owe you an apology.”
“Don’t you mean you owe Evie an apology?”
Christian rubbed his forehead. “That goes without saying. But, I also need you to know. I wasn’t trying to deceive you when we spoke at the mall.”
“Oh, you mean when you assured me Evie was the only one? Yeah, I’m pretty damned pissed at you, Christian. I’m not gonna lie.”
He nodded. “Yep.”
She squinted at him. “So is this why you came, to sit there passively while I rip you a new one? I’m sorry, but there’s gotta be more to it than that.”
Christian locked his fingers and leaned forward on his lap. “Evie sees something in me that no one else sees. I’m convinced it was that way from the day we met. I realize that more than ever now, and I won’t risk losing it again.” He ran his hands to the back of his head and stared at his shoes.
“There are reasons for the mistakes I’ve made, Sophie,” he muttered. “I’m not saying they excuse anything, but . . . .”
Sam once said the same thing. That there are always reasons for the things people do, whether they recognize them or not. But shouldn’t be confused with excuses.
“Maybe this is a conversation you should have with Evie,” Sophie said.
He shook his head. “I don’t have to. She already knows this. It’s why she’s willing to give me a second chance.”
It was true. Evelyn was going to give him another chance, and Sophie had to ask herself, would she be able to do the same? Before she met Sam, her answer would have been an emphatic no. Besides, she was confident Sam wasn’t capable of doing such a thing, so the point was moot.
But what if he was?
In all honesty, though she’d been no fan of Christian the past few years, she never thought he was capable of betraying her sister. What if Sam made such a mistake? Would it be so simple to walk away, especially if, like Evie, she believed he was truly sorry? Could she give up on him so easily? She hadn’t even known Sam a year. Evie and Christian were high school sweethearts.
Squirming with discomfort, she realized Sam might be converting her to gray instead of black and white. She didn’t like gray. Black and white was easier.
“I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this, if you say Evie already knows.”
Christian hesitated, his brow knitted. “Because you’re the only sister I’ve got, Sophie. And I know you don’t think of me as a brother, but I would like it if we could start over.”
Not what she expected. “Really?”
“You’ll probably think it’s stupid . . .” He rose, picking up the paper towels and bringing them to the kitchen. Sophie assumed he meant to avoid eye contact as he spoke. “But that day at the mall, you told me about the painting, and you said you hadn’t told anyone else . . .” He stood at the edge of the kitchen. “It meant a lot to me.”
She had been grateful for his advice, the friendship they shared, however brief. Maybe there was a reason he was in her life. Nevermind that she found him immensely irritating. After all, he had miraculously—expertly—crystallized a place she had only seen in dreams.
“I don’t think it
’s stupid,” she admitted.
Christian exhaled. “Good. Then maybe there’s hope for us, eh?”
He would not be an easy one to know. So closed off. So serious, and mopey! Then again, if someone as special as her sister saw something worthwhile, maybe he wasn’t all bad.
However, she’d keep that to herself. For now.
Twenty-Seven
Topeka, Kansas, 1947
Natalie rocked her son in the porch swing of their new home. The place wasn’t nearly as big as the farmhouse she grew up in, but it was far more charming. It was a warm summer evening. Crickets chirped and children played a game of kickball in the street. It had taken some getting used to—the sounds of a neighborhood, the glow of streetlights invading her bedroom at night.
Matthew eased through the squeaky screen door, drawing Natalie’s attention. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave her an apologetic smile. She returned her consideration to baby Oscar.
Matthew took a couple steps onto the porch and touched the railing, taking in the bliss of the evening. “I’m so glad we moved here. It doesn’t get much better than this, don’t you think?”
“It’s lovely,” she answered, staring straight ahead.
Matthew’s eyes fixed on her, but Natalie would not return his gaze. “I’m sorry I scared you by what I said. Or . . . I guess . . . by what I didn’t say.” He was referring to his failure to respond to her question, the one about his father’s killer.
She glanced at him briefly before looking to the street.
“I didn’t mean it, Nat.”
Oscar was sound asleep as she brushed his cheek. “When you first came back home from the war, you seemed so different,” she began. “I mean, I guess that’s not surprising. How could you not be different? But you were different in a way I wasn’t expecting.”
“What do you mean?”
“You seemed more peaceful. More . . . accepting?” she questioned. “Not such a hothead, which was nice.”
Matthew leaned back on the railing and faced her, giving her his full attention.
“And then you started to tell me about this friend you made, Ping, and all the things you talked about while you were there. The book he gave you. . . .”
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