Chapter 2 #2
Joshua turned the legal pad around so Colin could see it. At the top of the page, in Joshua’s careful handwriting: Email to Kyle—draft.
Below it was… nothing. Just a few crossed-out lines and what looked like the beginning of a sentence that had died halfway through.
Colin raised an eyebrow. “Productive morning?”
“Shut up.” Joshua tossed a pillow at him. “This isn’t all I’ve done. But for the past half hour I’ve been trying to figure out how to say ‘we’re coming’ without sounding like we’re making promises we can’t keep.”
“What have you tried?”
Joshua grimaced. “Every version sounds either too confident or too hedging. ‘We’d love to visit Farmville’—too tentative. ‘We’re committed to supporting your students’—too formal. ‘Let’s make this happen’—too bro-y.”
Colin snorted. “Too bro-y?”
“You know what I mean.”
Colin moved to sit on the arm of Joshua’s chair, looking down at the legal pad. “Read me the last thing you wrote before you crossed it out.”
Joshua sighed. “‘Kyle, thank you for reaching out and for trusting us with your students’ stories. Colin and I have been talking, and we’d like to—’” He stopped. “See? It sounds like a rejection letter.”
“It sounds like you’re overthinking it,” Colin said. He reached down and took the pen from Joshua’s hand. “What if you just tell him the truth?”
Joshua looked up at him. “Which is?”
“That we’re coming. That we don’t have all the answers yet, but we’re coming anyway.” Colin clicked the pen. “That you met him at a conference, that his email stayed with you, and that we want to help build something in Farmville that lasts after we leave.”
Joshua was quiet for a moment. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Colin handed him back the pen. “Stop trying to sound like a psychologist. You’re not sending a grant proposal. You’re not psychoanalyzing his relationship with his mother. You’re talking to a human being who needs our help.”
Joshua stared at the legal pad, then started writing. Colin watched over his shoulder as the words appeared:
Kyle,
I’ve been carrying your email around in my head for weeks now. The student you lost—the ones you don’t want to lose. I can’t stop thinking about them.
Colin and I have been talking, and here’s what we’ve decided: we’re coming to Farmville. We don’t have every detail figured out yet—but we’re coming. Probably mid-June, for a night or two.
We’re not going to pretend we can fix everything. We’re not going to swoop in and solve problems that have been years in the making. But we can show up. We can help you build something that lasts after we leave.
Step one: What does Farmville need? What do your students need? What can we do in a night or two that will have a real impact on these kids’ lives? An impact that will last after we leave? Either write or call with your answers so we can start building.
Talk soon, Joshua
Colin read it over Joshua’s shoulder, then squeezed his husband’s shoulder. “That’s perfect.”
“You think?” Joshua chewed his lip, staring at the words.
“I think it’s honest. I think it’s human. And I think Kyle’s been waiting for someone to say ‘yes,’ not ‘maybe.’” Colin stood and moved back to the couch. “Send it.”
Joshua’s finger hovered over the laptop’s trackpad. “What if—”
“Send it, Josh.”
Joshua took a breath, typed the email into his laptop, and hit send.
For a long moment, they both just sat there, staring at the screen that now showed Message Sent.
“Holy shit,” Joshua whispered.
“Yeah.”
“We’re actually doing this.”
“We are.” Colin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “OK. Now what?”
Joshua didn’t answer right away.
He stared at the screen for a moment longer, then slowly closed the laptop.
“We build it,” he said.
Colin blinked. “Build what?”
“The framework.” Joshua stood and crossed to the bookshelf beside his desk. He pulled down a thick three-ring binder and set it on the coffee table between them.
Colin looked at it, then up at him. “Jesus, Josh, what the hell is this?” Colin asked slowly.
Joshua ignored the question. He opened it. Inside were colored tabs dividing thick sections. Handwritten labels. Each section heavy with papers.
Colin’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “Jesus.”
“If we’re going into towns where there are no resources,” Joshua said, “we don’t show up with good intentions and a guitar. We show up with structure.” He glanced at Colin. “We show up ready.”
“Yes.”
Joshua flipped to the first tab: Group Agreements & Confidentiality Guidelines. “First five minutes of every session,” Joshua said, “we establish ground rules. Confidentiality, respect, no outing anyone, no recording, no social media posts.”
Joshua turned to the next section.
“Workshop Guide: Identity discussions. Navigating school. Family rejection. Faith conflicts. Gender and shame. Grief. And more.” He paused.
“We standardize the structure but leave space for each town’s reality.
” He turned to the end of the section and pointed to the page.
“Every section ends with a set of questions the counselors work through themselves—so they can start seeing the specific needs in their own communities.”
“And liability waivers?” Colin asked.
“Drafted.” Joshua tapped another section. “We won’t hold a single event without signed permission if minors are involved.” He opened the next tab: “Sponsor Packet. Every contact we work with gets one. Activity outlines. Supply list. Consent templates.”
He flipped a page. “Red Flag Protocols. Crisis escalation instructions.”
“Escalation, how?” Colin’s voice sharpened automatically.
“If a kid expresses active suicidal ideation, reports self-harm, discloses abuse at home, or indicates they’re not safe, there’s a step-by-step protocol. No improvising. No guessing.” He met Colin’s eyes. “We are not winging that.”
Colin nodded once. “And if it crosses into school liability?”
“Then we loop in administration immediately. Documentation. Chain of communication. Clear handoff. We don’t carry what isn’t ours to carry.
” He indicated the tab. “There’s a crisis contact sheet in the Red Flag section,” Joshua added.
“National resources and space for each town to add their local numbers.”
He opened the book to the Red Flag Protocols section. “There’s a mandatory reporting section in there, too. If a kid discloses abuse or says they’re not safe, it outlines what we’re required to report and how to do it without breaking trust any more than we have to.”
“Jesus, Josh, this is incredible. How long have you been working on this?”
Joshua’s soft, brown eyes met his. “Well, to be honest, I’ve been building these procedures for a long time.”
Colin fingered the next tab. “Gender Identity?”
Joshua nodded. “Trans kids have different confidentiality risks. And higher stakes if someone outs them.”
Colin leaned back slowly. “You’ve been thinking about this way longer than you let on.”
Joshua lifted the next divider: Parent Communication. “Permission slips. Consent language. What parents are told up front. What confidentiality means here—what we share, what we don’t, when it holds, and when it doesn’t.”
Colin leaned forward again, studying the tabs. “Local Resource Inventory?” he asked.
“You asked what happens after we leave. This answers that question. Before we arrive, the contacts fill it out. Closest affirming therapist. Safe school contact. Crisis numbers. Where to send a kid if things go bad. We don’t step into a town until we know what safety net exists after we go.”
“Nate’s piece?” Colin asked, peering at the pages.
Joshua’s mouth softened.
“Nate already said it: journals. Every kid gets one along with writing prompts. ‘Letter to my future self.’ ‘What I wish adults understood.’ ‘What I’d like to tell my fourteen-year-old self’.
Stuff like that. I’ve got over a hundred of them in there.
All Nate will have to do is walk into the room. The setup is already there.”
Colin stared at the open binder for a long moment.
“And follow-up?” he asked quietly.
Joshua flipped to the next tab.
“Thirty-day check-in. Ninety-day check-in. Virtual follow-up circle if the sponsor wants it. We don’t just show up and disappear.”
Silence stretched between them.
Colin closed the binder slowly. Not because he was finished—but because he needed a second to rein in his emotions.
“You—you didn’t just plan an outreach tour,” he said finally, his voice soft.
“You built something that will continue to grow for years after we’ve left…
decades. God only knows how many kids will have their lives changed for the better by what you’ve done here.
” He drew in a deep, tremulous breath and shook his head in wonder. “Josh, it’s magnificent.”
Joshua looked down, embarrassed.
Colin leaned closer. “Lord, Josh… this is leadership. Real leadership.”
He rested his hand against Joshua’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. “I married a man who doesn’t just show up for people. He builds the scaffolding they stand on for years after he leaves.” His eyes locked on Joshua’s. “I’m so proud of you.”
Joshua tried to speak, then bowed his head.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “I just didn’t want us to walk into any town blind.”
He hesitated.
“And if one of these towns turns out to be… more difficult than it seemed at first,” he added carefully, “I wanted us prepared. Not naive.”
Colin’s jaw tightened.
“What about security?” he asked.
Joshua tapped a tab. “It’s right here. Advance notice to local law enforcement. Clear exit routes. No public advertising of exact times if a situation feels volatile.” Joshua met his gaze steadily. “And if you say no to a town, we don’t go. I mean that.”
Colin studied him. “I hope you’re serious,” he said quietly.
“I’ve never been more serious.”
Another beat of silence.
Then Colin exhaled, long and steady.
“Okay,” he said. “We do it right.”
Joshua closed the binder gently, then smiled, but there was steel underneath it now.
Colin nodded once then tapped the binder with two fingers. “You’re printing one of these for every stop? For every contact person?”
“I am.”
“And who will be paying the printing bill for this hugely thick binder? Not to mention all of the ancillary materials that go along with it?”
“Um…”
“Hey, I’m just kidding.” He kissed Joshua’s cheek. “I’m happy to pay all printing costs, mo chroí.”
Joshua snickered. “Well, thank you, my yedid, but as the sponsoring organization, Rainier’s paying for the supplies, binders, and printing costs.”
Colin stood, empty coffee mug in hand, grabbing Joshua’s as he passed. “OK. What’s next?” he called as he poured.
“Transportation?” Joshua asked.
Colin returned and settled back on the couch, setting their mugs on the coffee table.
“But that’s already on the agenda. David’s coming with me to look at vehicles tomorrow.
” Colin lifted his mug to his lips, then blew out a frustrated breath.
“We can’t plan any of this until we nail down who’s actually coming with us.
” He began to tick names off on his fingers.
“Nate’s definitely in—need to call Trent—David’s a hard no for most of it.
Jeff’s a wildcard. And Alex...” He trailed off.
“Alex,” Joshua repeated quietly.
They looked at each other.
“We need to talk to Sharon and Paul,” Colin said. “Before we lock down dates or routes or anything. Because if they say yes, that changes which towns are safe. And if they say no...” He shrugged. “It doesn’t change the tour, but it changes how we approach parts of it.”
Joshua nodded slowly. “When?”
Colin checked his watch. “It’s almost eleven now.”
“OK. Let’s give ourselves the rest of today to just... process. Make some preliminary lists. I’ll reach out to Trent. Then tomorrow we call Sharon and Paul.” He met Joshua’s eyes. “No pressure, no guilt trips. Just honest conversation.”
“Agreed.”
Colin’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. He picked it up, glanced at the screen, and snorted. “David.”
“What’s he say?”
“‘Your edits are perfect. Also, you’re a dick.’” Colin grinned. “He’s using my suggested language and submitting it Monday.”
Joshua laughed. “That’s our Davy.”
Colin set the phone down and reached for the legal pad. “OK. Let’s make tomorrow’s list. What do we need to know before we can plan anything?”
“If Trent will be our designated driver.”
Colin nodded. “He’s on my call list.”
“If Nate can stay for the whole tour.”
“He’s on your call list.”
“If you can get that kind of time away from the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office and UVA.”
“Yeah. I have a couple of bosses I need to talk to. I’ll do that on Monday.” He made a note on his phone, then looked back up at Joshua. “Next?”
“It’s been an intense couple of days. Let’s…” He gave Colin a comical grimace. “Let’s say ‘that’s it’ for now and unwind a bit.”
Colin nodded, toying with Joshua’s fingers. “You call Nate. I’ll call Trent. Then we walk along the Rivanna.”
Joshua stood, lifting his phone as he bent to kiss Colin’s cheek. “Meet you on the porch in five minutes.”