Chapter 22
Iwas raised from the age of six-going-on-seven by my three older brothers, so maybe that’s why I find my mentor slash degree advisor so cute.
Mr. Finch is a spry—Gabriel’s ex-boyfriend-current-close-friend Jacob Chambers would say a spry old fellow, so why not?—old fellow who wears a lot of tweed and a sun hat even when he’s not going to be in the field. It’s not like there’s much field in Manhattan, but that’s part of why I love it so much. Plus, the vest! I’m almost certain his field vest is antique. I’m almost certain he bought it in England, where he was born and raised.
“Ah, Remington!” He flips papers on his desk as I come in, then drops them jovially into a box. “I was thinking of you just this morning. How are your brothers?”
“Good! Really good. Jameson’s son was born a few days ago. His name is Henry, but they’re calling him Harry.”
Mr. Finch laughs and laughs, a booming joy that must fill up the whole hallway. Finally, he excuses himself and wipes at his eyes.
“Please pass on my congratulations. Such wonderful news.”
“I will.”
He pauses, considering me. “I sense you find the rest of your news perhaps less exciting.”
“I just—” I take a deep breath. “I asked to delay the travel component of the program when Jameson?—”
“Oh, yes, yes. I remember.”
It’s not the easiest, feeling like I’m being tugged in two directions at all times. I have been trying for years to go to Greece for my study abroad program. For years. Mason wanted to send a whole security detail. I didn’t want him to. We argued. Then he met Charlotte, and then Gabriel met Elise, and then it snowballed—bird joke!—and now there’s a new baby, and as much as I’m desperate to go to Greece, I’m equally desperate to be here.
This is history happening in real time. This is my life. When centuries go by and archeologists try to understand what things were like in this era, these will be the important things. Family brunches and new babies and singing happy birthday as loud as you can.
After everything, I don’t want to miss it.
“I need to be here.” It’s a simple, true explanation. “It’s not a good time for a six-week program. I wanted to ask you if we could come up with an alternate plan to wrap up my degree.”
He studies me, tapping the fingers of one hand on the opposite elbow.
“I have thought about this, Remington, I will admit.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“I think it would be…unfair to you to withhold your degree after all your investment and commitment. It would be unkind.”
“I—”
“Have you considered graduate studies?”
“Oh!” I have considered graduate studies. I have considered looking closer at Greece. I have considered a lot of things. “I’ve considered that, yeah!”
“What would you think of…” He hums, thinking. “A specialized program? A year for the master’s. Three months abroad. But not until next summer, so you’d have the time to refine your interests. Narrow your area of study.”
“That would be awesome.” My relief is as palpable as a mural finally uncovered after years under the dirt. “I think that would be really good.”
Mr. Finch grins, the lines in his face deepening. “I will submit a formal wavier for the undergraduate department, and we will meet—say, in April? And determine the course of your graduate studies. I would sit with you now, but I have a meeting—” He glances at his watch. “Ah! I’m five minutes past time. Off you go, dear girl.”
I float out of the building on cloud nine. The blustery wind doesn’t get to me. The traffic noise doesn’t get to me. Nothing gets to me.
Not even the mystery still clinging to the window ledges of my life.
There was a guy who…kept saving me.
That same guy saved Jameson’s wife, Lily, on their wedding day.
My brothers call him the Good Samaritan, but he’s the son of a murderer, and they fled the country.
I don’t know why the Good Samaritan did the things he did. His father, Malcolm Walsh, murdered my parents. He burned down the building they were in and that’s how they died.
Is his son trying to make up for that?
If he is, then why would he leave the country with his dad?
It’s the kind of problem that nags at me when I can’t sleep.
Why?
Why?
And where did they go?
I know it’s not a question that should occupy a lot of my time. Everybody’s watching out for us. If they come back to New York, we’ll know. If Lily’s grandfather makes a single move out of line, he’s going from house arrest to federal prison, and I know he doesn’t want that. I’m safe from the Good Samaritan.
God, that’s an ironic sentence.
I’m safe, but I still wonder.
Jameson: are you coming? Habby misses you
Ah, yes. A nickname only Jameson Hill could come up with. Harry combined with babby. Not baby. Babby.
Remy: what about you?
Jameson: I could take or leave
Jameson: JUST KIDDING! I LOVE U
I throw my head back and laugh, and that’s when I see it?—
A flash of blond hair in the corner of my eye. I swear, it’s the exact shade of the Good Samaritan’s. But it can’t be him, because he’s not here. I look anyway, fast as I can, in every direction.
There are plenty of people around, but none of them is him.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up slowly, like a man on tiptoe, edging closer and closer.
Mason’s driver, Scott, pulls the SUV up to the curb and hops out. “How’d it go?” he calls.
Remy: Be back before you miss me! Tell Habby I’m on my way 3
“It went so well,” I tell Scott. “Drive fast, okay? Jameson’s waiting for me.”