Page 85 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
“Keep your money. I cannot be bought.”
“Don’t be foolish. Everybody has a price. Name yours.” His tone is demanding.
Done with this conversation, and with him, I turn and storm away, leaving him standing in the library, mumbling a string of curse words under his breath at my dramatic exit.
We dine on blackened swordfish steaks, creamy risotto, and grilled asparagus, which is delicious, but I’m too rattled by my run-in with Hayes to fully enjoy it. Thankfully, he didn’t join us for dinner, and no one mentions his presence here.
Hart’s father seems extraordinarily hard on him, and his mother is completely indifferent.
Their stilted conversation stops and starts with plenty of long pauses. It’s a bit like a car accident you can’t look away from.
Hart finds my hand under the table and gives it a squeeze. He may come from one of the wealthiest families in the United States, yet in all the ways that I was rich—with loving parents, and a hefty dose of self-acceptance—he was poor. As far as I can tell, money is the only thing these people have in common. They don’t share inside jokes with one another or laughs or smiles. Certainly not a hug or kiss.
After dinner, Hart walks me back to the foyer. My tote bag, files, papers, and coat are still resting on the bench where Hart left them two hours before. The foyer is dim now, cast in shadows.
“I guess this is it then,” he says quietly.
“I guess so.”
I don’t know when I’ll see him again, and frankly I’m not brave enough to pose the question. Maybe it’s better this way.
He faces me, meeting my eyes with a sad smile. There’s a steadiness to him. Complete stillness and peace, like he knows what comes next. Like he knows what I’m thinking even though my mind is scattered.
He doesn’t promise me that it will be okay or assure me that everything will work out. He just folds me into his arms and holds me, and I let him. It’s a small comfort that for now is enough.
When I’m seven thousand miles away, I will savor this memory. The feel of his arms around me. His scent surrounding me. And the steady thump of his heart against mine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Know When to Let Go
Nairobi, Kenya
In my rental apartment, my home for the next few months, I make myself a pot of noodles. I packed a bunch of things I like from back home. It isn’t that I dislike Kenyan food; I actually do like it. But bringing a piece of home along with me allows me to maintain my sense of self. There is comfort and familiarity in it, and those things are important, I’ve learned. It was the same reason I packed my Aveda body lotion, Colgate toothpaste, and my favorite drugstore shampoo. There have been times over the past dozen or so years that I’d wake up and not even know which country I was in. It’s a disorienting experience.
Since I know that the next few days will be a whirlwind of activity, I got a head start on my latest blog post while on the plane. I even had Joslyn proof it for me, so all I need to do now is type up the final draft.
Pulling out my laptop, I get to work.
Sophie Scholl was named one of the most important women of the twentieth century and voted one of thegreatest Germans who ever lived even though she only lived to be twenty-one years old.
She was twelve when the Nazis came to power. Like nearly all of her friends, she was recruited to the “Hitler Youth” where she got to wear a uniform and be part of a movement that was rapidly growing.
But Sophie was raised as a Christian and was taught that all people were created in God’s image. All were precious to God, and all were equal. But Hitler’s message was completely different—that her race was the superior one.
She saw her Jewish friends being denied basic human rights. She watched the invasion of Poland and realized with horror that the Nazi party she was part of was in complete opposition to the truth she believed in—that all people were equal. She knew in her heart she had to do something, and she organized an underground resistance and began mailing thousands of leaflets to people all over Germany in an attempt to get them to see the truth.
She knew speaking out against Hitler would mean certain death, but she did it anyway. Sophie was soon arrested and executed. But a final leaflet had already been mailed to England where it was printed by the millions by the Allied forces. Loaded into bomber jets, her final leaflet rained down over her entire nation and into the hands of millions of her fellow Germans. One young girl was brave enough to pay with her life to do what was right.
I click “Post” and close my laptop, wondering what it would be like to have that much bravery, that much courage. And then I’m quiet for a long time.
“This is good,” Joslyn says, nodding. She’s leaning over my desk, reading the timing-and-action plan I’ve created over my shoulder. “I’d maybe combine these two sentences,” she says, pointing to the final paragraph.
My cell phone begins to ring. It’s Hart. I plan to tell him I’ll have to call him back later, but when I answer, all I can hear is hysterical laughing. Did he butt-dial me?
Joslyn hears it, too, because her mouth lifts in a wry smile.
“Hello?”
