Chapter 52
Gabrielle
“Hi, Dad,” I whispered, brushing my fingers over the warm bronze.
The Honors Court was an open-air colonnade, its walls lined in bronze.
Each plaque held dozens of names, grouped by graduation year, stacked from floor to sky in neat columns.
Nearly two centuries of students carved into permanence—every graduate of Page College, etched name by name.
Not just valedictorians or honor grads. Everyone.
I’d never seen another school with anything like it. Then again, I hadn’t seen that many schools. I was a legacy student, so Page had always been the plan.
I used to picture my name in here one day.
I sat on the edge of the fountain and let the silence settle. The morning sun beat against my back.
“Sorry I won’t be joining you up there, Dad,” I said quietly. “Not on that wall anyway.”
I remembered the look on his face the first time I flew a plane solo—pride and terror wrestling for top billing. How he’d gripped my shoulder after I landed, skin pale but voice steady. “Nice job, kid,” he said. “You’ve got this.”
“I thought I was supposed to follow in your footsteps. Do everything right, you know?” My voice barely carried. “But I think my path goes somewhere else. I hope that’s okay.”
A breeze snuck through the corridor, fluttering my hair into my mouth. I yanked it free and tucked it behind my ear. I fought the urge to laugh at myself—talking to someone who’d been gone nearly two years like he was just on the other side of the fountain, waiting with coffee and a crooked smile.
I wanted to believe he’d understand. That he’d forgive me for not seeing this through, for not finishing the arc he started. But I also knew he’d always wanted me to choose my own path.
“You always told me to trust my gut, Dad. Well, it’s telling me my path is with Cal.
” I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and let my chin drop.
“I love him. I really do. And this feels right. Even if it means walking away from everything you and I planned together.” I blew out a shaky breath, half-laugh, half-sob.
“Maybe he and I needed to come to Page to find each other. And now that we have…our roads are entwined, and they lead somewhere else.”
My words hovered in the air, unclaimed by echo or witness. The breeze stirred, carrying cut grass and chlorine from the ornamental pool behind me. It was ridiculous, how badly I wanted a sign—one shifting shadow, one bronze plaque rattled loose in the wind. But the dead stayed dead.
“For what it’s worth,” I said, softer, “I think you’d have liked him.
Even if every bone in your body would’ve wanted to throttle him for how it started.
He’s stubborn as hell—like you. Way too smart for his own good—also like you.
And he makes me feel…whole.” I stood and stepped to Dad’s plaque. “Wish us luck.”
I pressed my finger to his name, just once, then fished my phone from my bag. I snapped a photo of the plaque and sent it to Aunt Suzy with a single line:
Saying hi to Dad
After a few moments, her reply came through.
I needed that, sweet girl. Thank you.
Something eased in my chest. Another message blinked through.
Are you talking to me again?
Apparently so.
For what it’s worth, I’m so sorry for what I put you through. Both of you. I promise, I thought I was doing the right thing—protecting you.
I know that. And thank you.
So…how are things?
Cal is in his disciplinary hearing right now. We know how it ends, but my stomach is still doing flips.
What are your plans?
We’re still working that out, but…
I snapped a picture of my ring and sent it.
HOLY COW! That thing’s HUGE!
She fired off a volley of emojis: “wow,” “bling,” “heart eyes.” I smiled. Truly smiled. The rift was still there and probably would be for a long time. But maybe we’d just put a few stitches in the wound.
Your birthday’s in a few weeks. Why don’t you come down (both of you) and make a long weekend of it? Kemah, Galveston, whatever you want.
I’ll talk to Cal, but…that sounds nice. I’ll call you later.
My phone was still in my hand when a low voice made me jump.
“Not surprised to find you up here today.”
I turned. Dr. Lemke stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, his tie a little loose like he’d already had a long morning.
“How’d you know I was here?”
He tilted his head toward the administration building. “Nice view of the Honors Court from my window.”
I managed a small smile. “Spying on students, Dr. Lemke?”
He chuckled, then sobered. “Part of the job.”
He stood quiet for a second, then came and sat beside me on the fountain’s rim. The stone was warm beneath my palms, baked through by the sun.
“I wanted to catch you before you left,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
He glanced at the colonnade, running his thumb over the edge of his wedding band. “When your name didn’t show up on the fall roster, I figured you’d transferred. Don’t blame you. A lot of students vanish after a mess like this.”
“Are you here to scold me for bailing?” I asked, bracing for it.
“God, no.” He looked at me sideways. “I’m here to tell you I admire the hell out of you. I mean that. It takes guts to come forward like you did.”
I feigned nonchalance, pawing at my cuticles. “I just told the truth. Not that heroic, really.”
He shook his head, smile deepening. “Most people think the truth is like a fire alarm—loud, urgent, impossible to ignore. But more often, it’s a smoke detector.
Quiet at first, easy to unplug if you don’t want to hear it.
You could have kept quiet. Stayed out of the line of fire.
Let the rumors do their damage. But you didn’t.
” He caught my gaze and held it. “In twenty-plus years at this school, I can count on one hand the number of people who’d have the integrity to do what you did. ”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I said the only thing that came to mind. “It wasn’t for me.”
“I know.” He let the silence expand, long enough to feel intentional. “So, what’s next for you?”
“Honestly, it depends on what options Dr. Hawthorne has after…all this.” I paused, then corrected myself. “Cal.” I squinted against the sun. “We’re still figuring it out. But I’ve got a long list of engineering programs I’m considering.”
He nodded, listening the way a tree listens—patient, unmoving, collecting the words deep in its rings. “I remember your dad—good man,” he said, his voice gentle and even, as though we’d been sitting together like this my whole life.
I brushed a thumb across my knee. “From when he was a student here?”
He snorted. “Oh, heck no. I’m not that old.
” He grinned, then let it settle into something softer.
“Your dad was an active alum, though. When I first got started at Page, he was everywhere—alumni council, Greek advisory board, you name it. He was insanely dedicated. Always the first to show up, last to leave. Took a real pride in this place. In legacy.” He paused, looking up at the sky.
“He used to bring you to campus when you were knee high. I remember you tearing around the quad like your shoes were on fire.”
I laughed, but it felt strange.
“And I was real sorry to hear he’d passed.”
The words hit somewhere below my sternum. My eyes burned, and I looked away, feigning interest in the warped grid of bricks on the colonnade floor.
He waited, and the silence gave his words a soft landing. “He’d be proud of you, Gabrielle.”
I swallowed. My throat had gone tight. “Thank you,” I rasped. It was all I could manage.
He turned to me, elbows braced on his knees.
“You’ll land on your feet. I’ve seen more than enough to know that.
” He glanced at the wall of names. “But just because you’re leaving Page doesn’t mean you’re not a part of it.
You’re in the fabric here, whether you like it or not.
” He smiled, the lines around his mouth deepening. “You can’t get rid of us that easily.”
The unexpected comfort of it made my throat burn. I managed a nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He fished a business card from his shirt pocket, the motion oddly ceremonial, and handed it to me.
It was thick, textured, with the college crest stamped in crimson and gold at the top.
He’d written his personal cell number at the bottom.
“If you ever need anything—a recommendation, reference, someone to trash-talk the Ivy Leagues with—let me know.” He winked, then smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I mean it. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
“I won’t,” I said, blinking back a few stray tears. “And thank you.”