Chapter 36
LENNON
“T hat’s all for today, folks. Grab an application for the Fulright Fellowship on the way out, if you’re interested. Keep up the caffeine consumption!”
As soon as Professor Glannon stops speaking, the lecture hall erupts in activity. Laptops are closed. Pens clicked. Backpacks unzipped.
“What’s the Fulright Fellowship?” I ask Eric as we pack up our bags.
“It’s a grant for continuing study in the field of journalism,” Eric explains. “It usually involves placement at an elite newspaper and it’s open to every senior journalism major at any school in the country. Clarkson students have won before, but it’s hard to do. Super competitive.”
“How do you apply?”
“There’s an essay prompt. Also, to qualify for consideration, you have to have spent a couple of years working for a newspaper in some capacity.”
“Oh.” I expected the requirements to be something I couldn’t meet. Not being a senior year transfer, for example. But…I could apply, it sounds like. “Are you going to apply?”
Eric laughs. “Yeah, of course. Along with a bunch of other fellowships. Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I only just learned about it now.”
“Don’t you want to work for a paper?”
“Of course.”
“Then you should definitely apply. I’ll read your essay for you, if you want. Give you some feedback before you send the application in.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “What’s the prompt?”
“ Can people change? ”
“Really? That sounds like a question on a philosophy final, not for a journalism grant.”
Eric shrugs as we walk outside. “They’re looking for good writers.
It’s not a research assignment you need sources for or an interview you have to conduct.
Just show them you’re capable of writing something compelling.
If you can write it about a three-word prompt, you can write it about breaking news. ”
I nod. “That makes sense.”
“If you want to talk about it more, we can meet in the library one night this week. I—I’ll see you later, Lennon.” Eric changes whatever he was going to say once he sees what I’ve just spotted.
Caleb is sitting on the bench across from the journalism building, talking on the phone as he waits for me. We’re supposed to go grab lunch off-campus.
“Thanks, Eric. See you next class.”
Eric nods and disappears into the crowd. I met him, Abby, Amanda, and Joe at a local coffee shop last weekend to work on assignments. None of them mentioned Caleb or brought up what happened the last time we all hung out at the pizzeria.
It was nice. It made me feel like I’m finding my own place here, not just fitting into Caleb’s world.
He looks up and smiles as I approach. Caleb is wearing a Jays baseball cap, one Gramps gave him for his birthday last year. Gramps mostly loved Caleb because he knew how much I do. But I know it secretly thrilled him I was dating the Caleb Winters, baseball star.
And Gramps was obsessed with baseball. He could name every player’s hometown and rattle off years of stats at the drop of a hat.
Once upon a time, at least. There were days he couldn’t remember what year it was, much less the team’s starting line-up.
He’s been gone for three months. In some ways, it feels like far more time has passed. My life today looks so wildly different than I ever imagined it being. I’ve met people and experienced things I never would have in Landry.
In other ways, I’m not sure I’ve fully accepted he’s gone.
There are moments when I’ll catch myself living in that fantasy world.
When I’ve just woken up, or been focused on something else, and I’ll think of something I want to tell him.
The split seconds it takes to recall that I can’t are some of the hardest ones to get through.
Grief isn’t a linear path from loss to rediscovering joy and laughter. It’s a trail of zigs and zags, of ups and downs, that eventually leads to more happy days than sad ones. It’s a journey that never really ends, just becomes easier to travel.
It also has a way of making some things more meaningful. Others less so. It’s a reminder not a single moment we have is guaranteed. That worry about the future takes time away from the present.
“Yeah, okay. Bye.”
Caleb hangs up the phone right as I reach him. Stands, so I’m looking up at him instead of down.
“Hey. How was class?” he asks, slipping his phone in his pocket and then pulling his hat off to run a hand through his hair.
I don’t think Caleb has any idea how that move affects me. If he did, he’d do it all the time, just to amuse himself.
Sometimes, no matter how well you know a person or how many times you’ve looked at them, you stare at them the way a stranger would. And Caleb is just…really hot.
“Lennon?”
“Good, yeah. Class was good.”
Caleb nods as we start walking along the paved path toward the parking lot.
I’ve taken an elbow to the side or experienced a close call with the skateboarders who love to fly around campus many times before.
But Caleb walking beside me is like being enclosed in a bubble.
Everyone walks around us, instead of trying to walk through straight.
“Have you heard of the Fulright Fellowship?” I ask.
“No. Why? What is it?”
“It’s a journalism grant. I don’t know much about it. My professor mentioned it at the end of class, and Eric was telling me more on the way out.”
“Are you going to apply?”
“I guess so. Apparently, it’s really hard to get.”
“I have faith in you, Matthews.”
I smile. “Who were you talking to?”
“Colt.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Pretty good. He wants to plan a winter break trip, since we’ll both be tied up with baseball over spring break.”
We reach his truck. Caleb tosses his baseball bag from the cab into the bed, and then we’re headed downtown.
He takes me to a hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop I’ve never been to before.
Gramps and I hardly ever ate out and Landry has a small selection of restaurants.
Exploring all of the eating options here has been an unexpected highlight of attending Clarkson.
Caleb pays for my lunch.
It’s something he’s always done, ever since we first started dating. He’s a perfect gentleman when it comes to the tiny details most guys don’t seem to bother with—opening doors for me and walking closer to the street when we’re on the sidewalk.
When it comes to money, he’s never bought me extravagant gifts or flaunted his wealth in any way.
I’m not even sure exactly how much money he has. I know he has a trust fund and I know he inherited a lot when his grandfather died. The only time he alluded to how much was when he brought me the bank account papers.
The bank account I haven’t touched. Because now that Matthews Farm has sold, I don’t need to. I have money of my own—lots of it.
And I haven’t told Caleb that.
I haven’t told him the property is gone or disclosed the dollar amount.
Caleb hasn’t asked. So maybe he’s already assumed it sold.
He knows as well as I do plenty of people with lots of money want to live in Landry.
If there was more property available, working there would be a real estate agent’s dream.
And the property that is available goes fast.
Once we’re settled at a table with our food, I decide to stop putting it off.
It’s not like he won’t find out about it.
I’m sure it’s a topic of gossip in Landry.
I don’t think Caleb has talked to either of his parents lately, or they probably would have mentioned it.
Maybe now, they’ll stop thinking I’m after Caleb for his money, which has been heavily insinuated on the few occasions I’ve met Mr. and Mrs. Winters.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
He looks up from his turkey sandwich, expression serious. “Okay…”
“Don’t look so freaked out. It’s good news.”
Mostly good news, at least. It’s still strange to think someone else will be living on Matthews Farm.
People born in Landry rarely leave. Until Caleb, there was never a thought I might end up somewhere else.
I pictured getting married in the white church in town.
Walking my own kids to Landry Elementary in the mornings the same way Gramps walked me.
Growing old in the rocking chairs on the front porch of the farmhouse.
I didn’t ask the realtor for any details about the buyer when I signed all the paperwork.
I’d rather picture it the way it was when I left for Colt’s birthday party.
Not empty, the way it was the last time I saw it.
And not bulldozed to make room for a larger house, maybe lots of larger houses, which is probably what’s happening right now.
“What?” Caleb raises one brow, waiting impatiently.
“I’m rich.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, maybe not compared to you. But compared to most people, I am.”
Caleb’s expression doesn’t change. “You sold the farm.”
His seriousness punctures the happiness I was trying to project. “Yeah. The closing was last week.”
He exhales heavily. “Okay.”
“Okay? That’s it ?” I wasn’t sure how he’d react to the news. But I thought he’d say something more than a two-syllable word with no inflection.
He picks up his sandwich. “What do you want me to say, Lennon? It was your decision to make.”
“I wanted you to be happy about it, Caleb. I talked to Louis yesterday to check in on the horses. He said Winters Stables is interested in buying them all to add to the breeding program. Once that’s done, I won’t have any responsibilities in Landry. After graduation, I can move anywhere.”
“Because that’s what you want or because you think that’s what I want?”
“Caleb! Hey!” A female voice cuts through the tense moment. But Caleb doesn’t look away from me. Not right away.