This book is a work of fiction. Names,characters, places, andincidents are theproduct of the author’s imagination or

areused fictitiously. Any resemblance toactual events,locales, or persons, living or

dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 1999 by Nicholas SparksEnterprises, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Hachette Book Group, 237 Park Avenue,New York, NY 10017Visit our Web site at

www.HachetteBookGroup.com

A Time Warner Company

The “Warner Books” name and logo aretrademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

First eBook Edition: October 1999

ISBN: 978-0-7595-2026-4

Book design by Giorgetta Bell McRee

Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Also by Nicholas SparksThe Notebook

Message in a Bottle

For my parents, with love and memories.

Patrick Michael Sparks (1942–1996)Jill Emma Marie Sparks (1942–1989)

And for my siblings, with all my heart andsoul

Micah SparksDanielle Lewis

Acknowledgments

As always, I have to thank my wife, Cathy.I was joyous when she accepted myproposal, I’m even more joyous that afterten years, I still feel the same about her.Thank you for the best years of my life.

I’m thankful for Miles and Ryan, mysons, who occupy a special place in myheart. I love you both. To them, I’m just“Dad.”

Thanks also to Theresa Park, my agentat Sanford Greenburger Associates, myfriend and confidante. Words are neverenough to express how much you’ve done

for me.Jamie Raab, my editor at Warner

Books, also deserves my heartfeltgratitude for the past four years. You’rethe best.

Then there are others who’ve supportedme every step of the way: LarryKirshbaum, Maureen Egen, John Aherne,Dan Mandel, Howie Sanders, RichardGreen, Scott Schwimer, Lynn Harris,Mark Johnson, and Denise Di Novi—I’mtruly blessed to have been able to workwith you all.

Prologue

When I was seventeen, my life changedforever.

I know that there are people whowonder about me when I say this. Theylook at me strangely as if trying to fathomwhat could have happened back then,though I seldom bother to explain.Because I’ve lived here for most of mylife, I don’t feel that I have to unless it’son my terms, and that would take moretime than most people are willing to giveme. My story can’t be summed up in twoor three sentences; it can’t be packaged

into something neat and simple that peoplewould immediately understand. Despitethe passage of forty years, the people stillliving here who knew me that year acceptmy lack of explanation without question.My story in some ways is their storybecause it was something that all of uslived through.

It was I, however, who was closest toit.

I’m fifty-seven years old, but even nowI can remember everything from that year,down to the smallest details. I relive thatyear often in my mind, bringing it back tolife, and I realize that when I do, I alwaysfeel a strange combination of sadness andjoy. There are moments when I wish Icould roll back the clock and take all thesadness away, but I have the feeling that if

I did, the joy would be gone as well. So Itake the memories as they come, acceptingthem all, letting them guide me whenever Ican. This happens more often than I let on.

It is April 12, in the last year before themillennium, and as I leave my house, Iglance around. The sky is overcast andgray, but as I move down the street, Inotice that the dog-woods and azaleas areblooming. I zip my jacket just a little. Thetemperature is cool, though I know it’sonly a matter of weeks before it will settlein to something comfortable and the grayskies give way to the kind of days thatmake North Carolina one of the mostbeautiful places in the world.

With a sigh, I feel it all coming back tome. I close my eyes and the years begin tomove in reverse, slowly ticking

backward, like the hands of a clockrotating in the wrong direction. As ifthrough someone else’s eyes, I watchmyself grow younger; I see my hairchanging from gray to brown, I feel thewrinkles around my eyes begin to smooth,my arms and legs grow sinewy. LessonsI’ve learned with age grow dimmer, andmy innocence returns as that eventful yearapproaches.

Then, like me, the world begins tochange: roads narrow and some becomegravel, suburban sprawl has beenreplaced with farmland, downtown streetsteem with people, looking in windows asthey pass Sweeney’s bakery and Palka’smeat shop. Men wear hats, women weardresses. At the courthouse up the street,the bell tower rings. . . .

I open my eyes and pause. I am standingoutside the Baptist church, and when Istare at the gable, I know exactly who Iam.

My name is Landon Carter, and I’mseventeen years old.

This is my story; I promise to leavenothing out.

First you will smile, and then you willcry— don’t say you haven’t been warned.

Chapter 1

In 1958, Beaufort, North Carolina, whichis located on the coast near MoreheadCity, was a place like many other smallsouthern towns. It was the kind of placewhere the humidity rose so high in thesummer that walking out to get the mailmade a person feel as if he needed ashower, and kids walked around barefootfrom April through October beneath oaktrees draped in Spanish moss. Peoplewaved from their cars whenever they sawsomeone on the street whether they knew

him or not, and the air smelled of pine,salt, and sea, a scent unique to theCarolinas. For many of the people there,fishing in the Pamlico Sound or crabbingin the Neuse River was a way of life, andboats were moored wherever you saw theIntracoastal Waterway. Only threechannels came in on the television, thoughtelevision was never important to those ofus who grew up there. Instead our liveswere centered around the churches, ofwhich there were eighteen within the townlimits alone. They went by names like theFellowship Hall Christian Church, theChurch of the Forgiven People, the Churchof Sunday Atonement, and then, of course,there were the Baptist churches. When Iwas growing up, it was far and away themost popular denomination around, and

there were Baptist churches on practicallyevery corner of town, though eachconsidered itself superior to the others.There were Baptist churches of every type— Freewill Baptists, Southern Baptists,Congregational Baptists, MissionaryBaptists, Independent Baptists . . . well,you get the picture.

Back then, the big event of the year wassponsored by the Baptist churchdowntown— Southern, if you really wantto know—in conjunction with the localhigh school. Every year they put on theirChristmas pageant at the BeaufortPlayhouse, which was actually a play thathad been written by Hegbert Sullivan, aminister who’d been with the church sinceMoses parted the Red Sea. Okay, maybehe wasn’t that old, but he was old enough

that you could almost see through the guy’sskin. It was sort of clammy all the time,and translucent—kids would swear theyactually saw the blood flowing through hisveins—and his hair was as white as thosebunnies you see in pet stores aroundEaster.

Anyway, he wrote this play called TheChristmas Angel, because he didn’t wantto keep on performing that old CharlesDickens classic A Christmas Carol. In hismind Scrooge was a heathen, who came tohis redemption only because he sawghosts, not angels—and who was to saywhether they’d been sent by God,anyway? And who was to say he wouldn’trevert to his sinful ways if they hadn’tbeen sent directly from heaven? The playdidn’t exactly tell you in the end—it sort

of plays into faith and all— but Hegbertdidn’t trust ghosts if they weren’t actuallysent by God, which wasn’t explained inplain language, and this was his bigproblem with it. A few years back he’dchanged the end of the play—sort offollowed it up with his own version,complete with old man Scrooge becominga preacher and all, heading off toJerusalem to find the place where Jesusonce taught the scribes. It didn’t fly toowell—not even to the congregation, whosat in the audience staring wideeyed at thespectacle—and the newspaper said thingslike “Though it was certainly interesting,it wasn’t exactly the play we’ve all cometo know and love. . . .”

So Hegbert decided to try his hand atwriting his own play. He’d written his

own sermons his whole life, and some ofthem, we had to admit, were actuallyinteresting, especially when he talkedabout the “wrath of God coming down onthe fornicators” and all that good stuff.That really got his blood boiling, I’ll tellyou, when he talked about the fornicators.That was his real hot spot. When we wereyounger, my friends and I would hidebehind the trees and shout, “Hegbert is afornicator!” when we saw him walkingdown the street, and we’d giggle likeidiots, like we were the wittiest creaturesever to inhabit the planet.

Old Hegbert, he’d stop dead in histracks and his ears would perk up—Iswear to God, they actually moved—andhe’d turn this bright shade of red, like he’djust drunk gasoline, and the big green

veins in his neck would start sticking outall over, like those maps of the AmazonRiver that you see in NationalGeographic. He’d peer from side to side,his eyes narrowing into slits as hesearched for us, and then, just as suddenly,he’d start to go pale again, back to thatfishy skin, right before our eyes. Boy, itwas something to watch, that’s for sure.

So we’d be hiding behind a tree andHegbert (what kind of parents name theirkid Hegbert, anyway?) would stand therewaiting for us to give ourselves up, as ifhe thought we’d be that stupid. We’d putour hands over our mouths to keep fromlaughing out loud, but somehow he’dalways zero in on us. He’d be turning fromside to side, and then he’d stop, thosebeady eyes coming right at us, right

through the tree. “I know who you are,Landon Carter,” he’d say, “and the Lordknows, too.” He’d let that sink in for aminute or so, and then he’d finally headoff again, and during the sermon thatweekend he’d stare right at us and saysomething like “God is merciful tochildren, but the children must be worthyas well.” And we’d sort of lowerourselves in the seats, not fromembarrassment, but to hide a new round ofgiggles. Hegbert didn’t understand us atall, which was really sort of strange,being that he had a kid and all. But thenagain, she was a girl. More on that,though, later.

Anyway, like I said, Hegbert wrote TheChristmas Angel one year and decided toput on that play instead. The play itself

wasn’t bad, actually, which surprisedeveryone the first year it was performed.It’s basically the story of a man who hadlost his wife a few years back. This guy,Tom Thornton, used to be real religious,but he had a crisis of faith after his wifedied during childbirth. He’s raising thislittle girl all on his own, but he hasn’tbeen the greatest father, and what the littlegirl really wants for Christmas is aspecial music box with an angel engravedon top, a picture of which she’d cut outfrom an old catalog. The guy searcheslong and hard to find the gift, but he can’tfind it anywhere. So it’s Christmas Eveand he’s still searching, and while he’sout looking through the stores, he comesacross a strange woman he’s never seenbefore, and she promises to help him find

the gift for his daughter. First, though, theyhelp this homeless person (back then theywere called bums, by the way), then theystop at an orphanage to see some kids,then visit a lonely old woman who justwanted some company on Christmas Eve.At this point the mysterious woman asksTom Thornton what he wants forChristmas, and he says that he wants hiswife back. She brings him to the cityfountain and tells him to look in the waterand he’ll find what he’s looking for. Whenhe looks in the water, he sees the face ofhis little girl, and he breaks down andcries right there. While he’s sobbing, themysterious lady runs off, and TomThornton searches but can’t find heranywhere. Eventually he heads home, thelessons from the evening playing in his

mind. He walks into his little girl’s room,and her sleeping figure makes him realizethat she’s all he has left of his wife, and hestarts to cry again because he knows hehasn’t been a good enough father to her.The next morning, magically, the musicbox is underneath the tree, and the angelthat’s engraved on it looks exactly like thewoman he’d seen the night before.

So it wasn’t that bad, really. If truth betold, people cried buckets whenever theysaw it. The play sold out every year it wasperformed, and due to its popularity,Hegbert eventually had to move it from thechurch to the Beaufort Playhouse, whichhad a lot more seating. By the time I was asenior in high school, the performancesran twice to packed houses, which,considering who actually performed it,

was a story in and of itself.You see, Hegbert wanted young people

to perform the play—seniors in highschool, not the theater group. I reckon hethought it would be a good learningexperience before the seniors headed offto college and came face-to-face with allthe fornicators. He was that kind of guy,you know, always wanting to save us fromtemptation. He wanted us to know thatGod is out there watching you, even whenyou’re away from home, and that if youput your trust in God, you’ll be all right inthe end. It was a lesson that I wouldeventually learn in time, though it wasn’tHegbert who taught me.

As I said before, Beaufort was fairly

typical as far as southern towns went,though it did have an interesting history.Blackbeard the pirate once owned a housethere, and his ship, Queen Anne’sR e v e n g e , is supposedly buriedsomewhere in the sand just offshore.Recently some archaeologists oroceanographers or whoever looks for stufflike that said they found it, but no one’scertain just yet, being that it sank over 250years ago and you can’t exactly reach intothe glove compartment and check theregistration. Beaufort’s come a long waysince the 1950s, but it’s still not exactly amajor metropolis or anything. Beaufortwas, and always will be, on the smallishside, but when I was growing up, it barelywarranted a place on the map. To put itinto perspective, the congressional district

that included Beaufort covered the entireeastern part of the state—some twentythousand square miles—and there wasn’ta single town with more than twenty-fivethousand people. Even compared withthose towns, Beaufort was regarded asbeing on the small side. Everything east ofRaleigh and north of Wilmington, all theway to the Virginia border, was thedistrict my father represented.

I suppose you’ve heard of him. He’ssort of a legend, even now. His name isWorth Carter, and he was a congressmanfor almost thirty years. His slogan everyother year during the election season was“Worth Carter represents ———,” andthe person was supposed to fill in the cityname where he or she lived. I canremember, driving on trips when me and

Mom had to make our appearances toshow the people he was a true family man,that we’d see those bumper stickers,stenciled in with names like Otway andChocawinity and Seven Springs.Nowadays stuff like that wouldn’t fly, butback then that was fairly sophisticatedpublicity. I imagine if he tried to do thatnow, people opposing him would insertall sorts of foul language in the blankspace, but we never saw it once. Okay,maybe once. A farmer from Duplin Countyonce wrote the word sh i t in the blankspace, and when my mom saw it, shecovered my eyes and said a prayer askingfor forgiveness for the poor ignorantbastard. She didn’t say exactly thosewords, but I got the gist of it.

So my father, Mr. Congressman, was a

big-wig, and everyone but everyone knewit, including old man Hegbert. Now, thetwo of them didn’t get along, not at all,despite the fact that my father went toHegbert’s church whenever he was intown, which to be frank wasn’t all thatoften. Hegbert, in addition to his beliefthat fornicators were destined to clean theurinals in hell, also believed thatcommunism was “a sickness that doomedmankind to heathenhood.” Even thoughheathenhood wasn’t a word—I can’t findit in any dictionary—the congregationknew what he meant. They also knew thathe was directing his words specifically tomy father, who would sit with his eyesclosed and pretend not to listen. My fatherwas on one of the House committees thatoversaw the “Red influence” supposedly

infiltrating every aspect of the country,including national defense, highereducation, and even tobacco farming. Youhave to remember that this was during thecold war; tensions were running high, andwe North Carolinians needed something tobring it down to a more personal level.My father had consistently looked forfacts, which were irrelevant to people likeHegbert.

Afterward, when my father would comehome after the service, he’d say somethinglike “Reverend Sullivan was in rare formtoday. I hope you heard that part about theScripture where Jesus was talking aboutthe poor. . . .”

Yeah, sure, Dad....My father tried to defuse situations

whenever possible. I think that’s why he

stayed in Congress for so long. The guycould kiss the ugliest babies known tomankind and still come up with somethingnice to say. “He’s such a gentle child,”he’d say when a baby had a giant head, or,“I’ll bet she’s the sweetest girl in theworld,” if she had a birthmark over herentire face. One time a lady showed upwith a kid in a wheelchair. My father tookone look at him and said, “I’ll bet you tento one that you’re smartest kid in yourclass.” And he was! Yeah, my father wasgreat at stuff like that. He could fling itwith the best of ’em, that’s for sure. Andhe wasn’t such a bad guy, not really,especially if you consider the fact that hedidn’t beat me or anything.

But he wasn’t there for me growing up.I hate to say that because nowadays

people claim that sort of stuff even if theirparent wa s around and use it to excusetheir behavior. My dad . . . he didn’t loveme . . . that’s why I became a stripperand performed on The Jerry SpringerShow. . . . I’m not using it to excuse theperson I’ve become, I’m simply saying itas a fact. My father was gone nine monthsof the year, living out of town in aWashington, D.C., apartment threehundred miles away. My mother didn’t gowith him because both of them wanted meto grow up “the same way they had.”

Of course, my father’s father took himhunting and fishing, taught him to playball, showed up for birthday parties, allthat small stuff that adds up to quite a bitbefore adulthood. My father, on the otherhand, was a stranger, someone I barely

knew at all. For the first five years of mylife I thought all fathers lived somewhereelse. It wasn’t until my best friend, EricHunter, asked me in kindergarten who thatguy was who showed up at my house thenight before that I realized somethingwasn’t quite right about the situation.

“He’s my father,” I said proudly.“Oh,” Eric said as he rifled through my

lunchbox, looking for my Milky Way, “Ididn’t know you had a father.”

Talk about something whacking youstraight in the face.

So, I grew up under the care of mymother. Now she was a nice lady, sweetand gentle, the kind of mother most peopledream about. But she wasn’t, nor couldshe ever be, a manly influence in my life,and that fact, coupled with my growing

disillusionment with my father, made mebecome something of a rebel, even at ayoung age. Not a bad one, mind you. Meand my friends might sneak out late andsoap up car windows now and then or eatboiled peanuts in the graveyard behind thechurch, but in the fifties that was the kindof thing that made other parents shake theirheads and whisper to their children, “Youdon’t want to be like that Carter boy. He’son the fast track to prison.”

Me. A bad boy. For eating boiledpeanuts in the graveyard. Go figure.

Anyway, my father and Hegbert didn’tget along, but it wasn’t only because ofpolitics. No, it seems that my father andHegbert knew each other from way backwhen. Hegbert was about twenty yearsolder than my father, and back before he

was a minister, he used to work for myfather’s father. My grandfather— eventhough he spent lots of time with my father—was a true bastard if there ever wasone. He was the one, by the way, whomade the family fortune, but I don’t wantyou to imagine him as the sort of man whoslaved over his business, workingdiligently and watching it grow,prospering slowly over time. Mygrandfather was much shrewder than that.The way he made his money was simple—he started as a bootlegger, accumulatingwealth throughout Prohibition by runningrum up from Cuba. Then he began buyingland and hiring sharecroppers to work it.He took ninety percent of the money thesharecroppers made on their tobaccocrop, then loaned them money whenever

they needed it at ridiculous interest rates.Of course, he never intended to collect themoney—instead he would foreclose onany land or equipment they happened toown. Then, in what he called “his momentof inspiration,” he started a bank calledCarter Banking and Loan. The only otherbank in a two-county radius hadmysteriously burned down, and with theonset of the Depression, it neverreopened. Though everyone knew whathad really happened, not a word was everspoken for fear of retribution, and theirfear was well placed. The bank wasn’t theonly building that had mysteriously burneddown.

His interest rates were outrageous, andlittle by little he began amassing moreland and property as people defaulted on

their loans. When the Depression hithardest, he fore-closed on dozens ofbusinesses throughout the county whileretaining the original owners to continueto work on salary, paying them just enoughto keep them where they were, becausethey had nowhere else to go. He told themthat when the economy improved, he’dsell their business back to them, andpeople always believed him.

Never once, however, did he keep hispromise. In the end he controlled a vastportion of the county’s economy, and heabused his clout in every way imaginable.

I’d like to tell you he eventually went toa terrible death, but he didn’t. He died at aripe-old age while sleeping with hismistress on his yacht off the CaymanIslands. He’d outlived both his wives and

his only son. Some end for a guy like that,huh? Life, I’ve learned, is never fair. Ifpeople teach anything in school, thatshould be it.

But back to the story. . . . Hegbert, oncehe realized what a bastard my grandfatherreally was, quit working for him and wentinto the ministry, then came back toBeaufort and started ministering in thesame church we attended. He spent hisfirst few years perfecting his fire-and-brimstone act with monthly sermons on theevils of the greedy, and this left him scanttime for anything else. He was forty-threebefore he ever got married; he was fifty-five when his daughter, Jamie Sullivan,was born. His wife, a wispy little thingtwenty years younger than he, wentthrough six miscarriages before Jamie was

born, and in the end she died in childbirth,making Hegbert a widower who had toraise a daughter on his own.

Hence, of course, the story behind theplay.

People knew the story even before theplay was first performed. It was one ofthose stories that made its roundswhenever Hegbert had to baptize a babyor attend a funeral. Everyone knew aboutit, and that’s why, I think, so many peoplegot emotional whenever they saw theChristmas play. They knew it was basedon something that happened in real life,which gave it special meaning.

Jamie Sullivan was a senior in highschool, just like me, and she’d alreadybeen chosen to play the angel, not thatanyone else even had a chance. This, of

course, made the play extra special thatyear. It was going to be a big deal, maybethe biggest ever—at least in MissGarber’s mind. She was the dramateacher, and she was already glowingabout the possibilities the first time I mether in class.

Now, I hadn’t really planned on takingdrama that year. I really hadn’t, but it waseither that or chemistry II. The thing was, Ithought it would be a blow-off class,especially when compared with my otheroption. No papers, no tests, no tableswhere I’d have to memorize protons andneutrons and combine elements in theirproper formulas . . . what could possiblybe better for a high school senior? Itseemed like a sure thing, and when Isigned up for it, I thought I’d just be able

to sleep through most every class, which,considering my late night peanut eating,was fairly important at the time.

On the first day of class I was one ofthe last to arrive, coming in just a fewseconds before the bell rang, and I took aseat in the back of the room. Miss Garberhad her back turned to the class, and shewas busy writing her name in big cursiveletters, as if we didn’t know who she was.Everyone knew her—it was impossiblenot to. She was big, at least six feet two,with flaming red hair and pale skin thatshowed her freckles well into her forties.She was also overweight—I’d sayhonestly she pushed two fifty—and shehad a fondness for wearing flower-patterned muumuus. She had thick, dark,hornrimmed glasses, and she greeted

every one with, “Helloooooo,” sort ofsinging the last syllable. Miss Garber wasone of a kind, that’s for sure, and she wassingle, which made it even worse. A guy,no matter how old, couldn’t help but feelsorry for a gal like her.

Beneath her name she wrote the goalsshe wanted to accomplish that year. “Self-confidence” was number one, followed by“Self-awareness” and, third, “Self-fulfillment.” Miss Garber was big into the“self” stuff, which put her really ahead ofthe curve as far as psychotherapy isconcerned, though she probably didn’trealize it at the time. Miss Garber was apioneer in that field. Maybe it hadsomething to do with the way she looked;maybe she was just trying to feel betterabout herself.

But I digress.It wasn’t until the class started that I

noticed something unusual. ThoughBeaufort High School wasn’t large, Iknew for a fact that it was pretty muchsplit fifty-fifty between males andfemales, which was why I was surprisedwhen I saw that this class was at leastninety percent female. There was only oneother male in the class, which to mythinking was a good thing, and for amoment I felt flush with a “look out world,here I come” kind of feeling. Girls, girls,girls . . . I couldn’t help but think. Girlsand girls and no tests in sight.

Okay, so I wasn’t the most forward-thinking guy on the block.

So Miss Garber brings up the Christmasplay and tells everyone that Jamie

Sullivan is going to be the angel that year.Miss Garber started clapping right away—she was a member of the church, too—and there were a lot of people whothought she was gunning for Hegbert in aromantic sort of way. The first time Iheard it, I remember thinking that it was agood thing they were too old to havechildren, if they ever did get together.Imagine—translucent with freckles? Thevery thought gave everyone shudders, butof course, no one ever said anything aboutit, at least within hearing distance of MissGarber and Hegbert. Gossip is one thing,hurtful gossip is completely another, andeven in high school we weren’t that mean.

Miss Garber kept on clapping, all alonefor a while, until all of us finally joinedin, because it was obvious that was what

she wanted. “Stand up, Jamie,” she said.So Jamie stood up and turned around, andMiss Garber started clapping even faster,as if she were standing in the presence ofa bona fide movie star.

Now Jamie Sullivan was a nice girl.She really was. Beaufort was smallenough that it had only one elementaryschool, so we’d been in the same classesour entire lives, and I’d be lying if I said Inever talked to her. Once, in secondgrade, she’d sat in the seat right next to mefor the whole year, and we’d even had afew conversations, but it didn’t mean that Ispent a lot of time hanging out with her inmy spare time, even back then. Who I sawin school was one thing; who I saw afterschool was something completelydifferent, and Jamie had never been on my

social calendar.It’s not that Jamie was unattractive—

don’t get me wrong. She wasn’t hideousor anything like that. Fortunately she’dtaken after her mother, who, based on thepictures I’d seen, wasn’t half-bad,especially considering who she ended upmarrying. But Jamie wasn’t exactly what Iconsidered attractive, either. Despite thefact that she was thin, with honey blondhair and soft blue eyes, most of the timeshe looked sort of . . . plain, and that waswhen you noticed her at all. Jamie didn’tcare much about outward appearances,because she was always looking for thingslike “inner beauty,” and I suppose that’spart of the reason she looked the way shedid. For as long as I’d known her—andthis was going way back, remember—

she’d always worn her hair in a tight bun,almost like a spinster, without a stitch ofmakeup on her face. Coupled with herusual brown cardigan and plaid skirt, shealways looked as though she were on herway to interview for a job at the library.We used to think it was just a phase andthat she’d eventually grow out of it, butshe never had. Even through our first threeyears of high school, she hadn’t changed atall. The only thing that had changed wasthe size of her clothes.

But it wasn’t just the way Jamie lookedthat made her different; it was also theway she acted. Jamie didn’t spend anytime hanging out at Cecil’s Diner or goingto slumber parties with other girls, and Iknew for a fact that she’d never had aboyfriend her entire life. Old Hegbert

would probably have had a heart attack ifshe had. But even if by some odd turn ofevents Hegbert had allowed it, it stillwouldn’t have mattered. Jamie carried herBible wherever she went, and if her looksand Hegbert didn’t keep the boys away,the Bible sure as heck did. Now, I likedthe Bible as much as the next teenage boy,but Jamie seemed to enjoy it in a way thatwas completely foreign to me. Not onlydid she go to vacation Bible school everyAugust, but she would read the Bibleduring lunch break at school. In my mindthat just wasn’t normal, even if she wasthe minister’s daughter. No matter howyou sliced it, reading Paul’s letters to theEphesians wasn’t nearly as much fun asflirting, if you know what I mean.

But Jamie didn’t stop there. Because of

all her Bible reading, or maybe because ofHegbert’s influence, Jamie believed itwas important to help others, and helpingothers is exactly what she did. I knew shevolunteered at the orphanage in MoreheadCity, but for her that simply wasn’tenough. She was always in charge of onefund-raiser or another, helping everyonefrom the Boy Scouts to the IndianPrincesses, and I know that when she wasfourteen, she spent part of her summerpainting the outside of an elderlyneighbor’s house. Jamie was the kind ofgirl who would pull weeds in someone’sgarden without being asked or stop trafficto help little kids cross the road. She’dsave her allowance to buy a newbasketball for the orphans, or she’d turnaround and drop the money into the church

basket on Sunday. She was, in otherwords, the kind of girl who made the restof us look bad, and whenever she glancedmy way, I couldn’t help but feel guilty,even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Nor did Jamie limit her good deeds topeople. If she ever came across awounded animal, for instance, she’d try tohelp it, too. Opossums, squirrels, dogs,cats, frogs . . . it didn’t matter to her. Dr.Rawlings, the vet, knew her by sight, andhe’d shake his head whenever he saw herwalking up to the door carrying acardboard box with yet another critterinside. He’d take off his eyeglasses andwipe them with his handkerchief whileJamie explained how she’d found the poorcreature and what had happened to it. “Hewas hit by a car, Dr. Rawlings. I think it

was in the Lord’s plan to have me findhim and try to save him. You’ll help me,won’t you?”

With Jamie, everything was in theLord’s plan. That was another thing. Shealways mentioned the Lord’s planwhenever you talked to her, no matterwhat the subject. The baseball game’srained out? Must be the Lord’s plan toprevent something worse from happening.A surprise trigonometry quiz that everyonein class fails? Must be in the Lord’s planto give us challenges. Anyway, you get thepicture.

Then, of course, there was the wholeHegbert situation, and this didn’t help herat all. Being the minister’s daughtercouldn’t have been easy, but she made itseem as if it were the most natural thing in

the world and that she was lucky to havebeen blessed in that way. That’s how sheused to say it, too. “I’ve been so blessedto have a father like mine.” Whenever shesaid it, all we could do was shake ourheads and wonder what planet sheactually came from.

Despite all these other strikes, though,the one thing that really drove me crazyabout her was the fact that she was alwaysso damn cheerful, no matter what washappening around her. I swear, that girlnever said a bad thing about anything oranyone, even to those of us who weren’tthat nice to her. She would hum to herselfas she walked down the street, she wouldwave to strangers driving by in their cars.Sometimes ladies would come running outof their house if they saw her walking by,

offering her pumpkin bread if they’d beenbaking all day or lemonade if the sun washigh in the sky. It seemed as if every adultin town adored her. “She’s such a niceyoung lady,” they’d say whenever Jamie’sname came up. “The world would be abetter place if there were more peoplelike her.”

But my friends and I didn’t quite see itthat way. In our minds, one Jamie Sullivanwas plenty.

I was thinking about all this whileJamie stood in front of us on the first dayof drama class, and I admit that I wasn’tmuch interested in seeing her. Butstrangely, when Jamie turned to face us, Ikind of got a shock, like I was sitting on aloose wire or something. She wore a plaidskirt with a white blouse under the same

brown cardigan sweater I’d seen a milliontimes, but there were two new bumps onher chest that the sweater couldn’t hidethat I swore hadn’t been there just threemonths earlier. She’d never worn makeupand she still didn’t, but she had a tan,probably from Bible school, and for thefirst time she looked—well, almost pretty.Of course, I dismissed that thought rightaway, but as she looked around the room,she stopped and smiled right at me,obviously glad to see that I was in theclass. It wasn’t until later that I wouldlearn the reason why.

Chapter 2

After high school I planned to go to theUniversity of North Carolina at ChapelHill. My father wanted me to go toHarvard or Princeton like some of thesons of other congressmen did, but withmy grades it wasn’t possible. Not that Iwas a bad student. I just didn’t focus onmy studies, and my grades weren’t exactlyup to snuff for the Ivy Leagues. By mysenior year it was pretty much touch andgo whether I’d even get accepted at UNC,and this was my father’s alma mater, a

place where he could pull some strings.During one of his few weekends home, myfather came up with the plan to put meover the top. I’d just finished my firstweek of school and we were sitting downfor dinner. He was home for three days onaccount of Labor Day weekend.

“I think you should run for student bodypresident,” he said. “You’ll be graduatingin June, and I think it would look good onyour record. Your mother thinks so, too,by the way.”

My mother nodded as she chewed amouthful of peas. She didn’t speak muchwhen my father had the floor, though shewinked at me. Sometimes I think mymother liked to see me squirm, eventhough she was sweet.

“I don’t think I’d have a chance at

winning,” I said. Though I was probablythe richest kid in school, I was by nomeans the most popular. That honorbelonged to Eric Hunter, my best friend.He could throw a baseball at almostninety miles an hour, and he’d led thefootball team to back-to-back state titlesas the star quarterback. He was a stud.Even his name sounded cool.

“Of course you can win,” my father saidquickly. “We Carters always win.”

That’s another one of the reasons Ididn’t like spending time with my father.During those few times he was home, Ithink he wanted to mold me into aminiature version of himself. Since I’dgrown up pretty much without him, I’dcome to resent having him around. Thiswas the first conversation we’d had in

weeks. He rarely talked to me on thephone.

“But what if I don’t want to?”My father put down his fork, a bite of

his pork chop still on the tines. He lookedat me crossly, giving me the once-over.He was wearing a suit even though it wasover eighty degrees in the house, and itmade him even more intimidating. Myfather always wore a suit, by the way.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that it wouldbe a good idea.”

I knew that when he talked that way theissue was settled. That’s the way it was inmy family. My father’s word was law. Butthe fact was, even after I agreed, I didn’twant to do it. I didn’t want to waste myafternoons meeting with teachers afterschool—after school!— every week for

the rest of the year, dreaming up themesfor school dances or trying to decide whatcolors the streamers should be. That’sreally all the class presidents did, at leastback when I was in high school. It wasn’tlike students had the power to actuallydecide anything meaningful.

But then again, I knew my father had apoint. If I wanted to go to UNC, I had todo something. I didn’t play football orbasketball, I didn’t play an instrument, Iwasn’t in the chess club or the bowlingclub or anything else. I didn’t excel in theclassroom—hell, I didn’t excel at much ofanything. Growing despondent, I startedlisting the things I actually could do, but tobe honest, there really wasn’t that much. Icould tie eight different types of sailingknots, I could walk barefoot across hot

asphalt farther than anyone I knew, I couldbalance a pencil vertically on my fingerfor thirty seconds . . . but I didn’t think thatany of those things would really stand outon a college application. So there I was,lying in bed all night long, slowly comingto the sinking realization that I was aloser. Thanks, Dad.

The next morning I went to theprincipal’s office and added my name tothe list of candidates. There were twoother people running—John Foreman andMaggie Brown. Now, John didn’t stand achance, I knew that right off. He was thekind of guy who’d pick lint off yourclothes while he talked to you. But he wasa good student. He sat in the front row andraised his hand every time the teacherasked a question. If he was called to give

the answer, he would almost always givethe right one, and he’d turn his head fromside to side with a smug look on his face,as if proving how superior his intellectwas when compared with those of theother peons in the room. Eric and I used toshoot spitballs at him when the teacher’sback was turned.

Maggie Brown was another matter. Shewas a good student as well. She’d servedon the student council for the first threeyears and had been the junior classpresident the year before. The only realstrike against her was the fact that shewasn’t very attractive, and she’d put ontwenty pounds that summer. I knew thatnot a single guy would vote for her.

After seeing the competition, I figuredthat I might have a chance after all. My

entire future was on the line here, so Iformulated my strategy. Eric was the firstto agree.

“Sure, I’ll get all the guys on the team tovote for you, no problem. If that’s whatyou really want.”

“How about their girlfriends, too?” Iasked.

That was pretty much my entirecampaign. Of course, I went to the debateslike I was supposed to, and I passed outthose dorky “What I’ll do if I’m electedpresident” fliers, but in the end it was EricHunter who probably got me where Ineeded to be. Beaufort High School hadonly about four hundred students, sogetting the athletic vote was critical, andmost of the jocks didn’t give a hoot whothey voted for anyway. In the end it

worked out just the way I planned.I was voted student body president with

a fairly large majority of the vote. I had noidea what trouble it would eventually leadme to.

When I was a junior I went steady witha girl named Angela Clark. She was myfirst real girl-friend, though it lasted foronly a few months. Just before school letout for the summer, she dumped me for aguy named Lew who was twenty years oldand worked as a mechanic in his father’sgarage. His primary attribute, as far as Icould tell, was that he had a really nicecar. He always wore a white T-shirt witha pack of Camels folded into the sleeve,and he’d lean against the hood of his

Thunderbird, looking back and forth,saying things like “Hey, baby” whenever agirl walked by. He was a real winner, ifyou know what I mean.

Well, anyway, the homecoming dancewas coming up, and because of the wholeAngela situation, I still didn’t have a date.Everyone on the student council had toattend—it was mandatory. I had to helpdecorate the gym and clean up the next day—and besides, it was usually a prettygood time. I called a couple of girls Iknew, but they already had dates, so Icalled a few more. They had dates, too.By the final week the pickings weregetting pretty slim. The pool was down tothe kinds of girls who had thick glassesand talked with lisps. Beaufort was neverexactly a hotbed for beauties anyway, but

then again I had to find somebody. I didn’twant to go to the dance without a date—what would that look like? I’d be the onlystudent body president ever to attend thehomecoming dance alone. I’d end up beingthe guy scooping punch all night long ormopping up the barf in the bathroom.That’s what people without dates usuallydid.

Growing sort of panicky, I pulled outthe yearbook from the year before andstarted flipping through the pages one byone, looking for anyone who might nothave a date. First I looked through thepages with the seniors. Though a lot ofthem were off at college, a few of themwere still around town. Even though Ididn’t think I had much of a chance withthem, I called anyway, and sure enough, I

was proven right. I couldn’t find anyone,at least not anyone who would go with me.I was getting pretty good at handlingrejection, I’ll tell you, though that’s not thesort of thing you brag about to yourgrandkids. My mom knew what I wasgoing through, and she finally came intomy room and sat on the bed beside me.

“If you can’t get a date, I’ll be happy togo with you,” she said.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said dejectedly.When she left the room, I felt even

worse than I had before. Even my momdidn’t think I could find somebody. And ifI showed up with her? If I lived a hundredyears, I’d never live that down.

There was another guy in my boat, bythe way. Carey Dennison had been electedtreasurer, and he still didn’t have a date,

either. Carey was the kind of guy no onewanted to spend time with at all, and theonly reason he’d been elected wasbecause he’d run un-opposed. Even then Ithink the vote was fairly close. He playedthe tuba in the marching band, and hisbody looked all out of proportion, as ifhe’d stopped growing halfway throughpuberty. He had a great big stomach andgangly arms and legs, like the Hoos inHooville, if you know what I mean. Healso had a high-pitched way of talking—it’s what made him such a good tubaplayer, I reckon— and he never stoppedasking questions. “Where did you go lastweekend? Was it fun? Did you see anygirls?” He wouldn’t even wait for ananswer, and he’d move around constantlyas he asked so you had to keep turning

your head to keep him in sight. I swear hewas probably the most annoying personI’d ever met. If I didn’t get a date, he’dstand off on one side with me all nightlong, firing questions like some derangedprosecutor.

So there I was, flipping through thepages in the junior class section, when Isaw Jamie Sullivan’s picture. I paused forjust a second, then turned the page, cursingmyself for even thinking about it. I spentthe next hour searching for anyone halfwaydecent looking, but I slowly came to therealization that there wasn’t anyone left. Intime I finally turned back to her pictureand looked again. She wasn’t bad looking,I told myself, and she’s really sweet.She’d probably say yes, I thought. . . .

I closed the yearbook. Jamie Sullivan?

Hegbert’s daughter? No way. Absolutelynot. My friends would roast me alive.

But compared with dating your motheror cleaning up puke or even, God forbid . .. Carey Dennison?

I spent the rest of the evening debatingthe pros and cons of my dilemma. Believeme, I went back and forth for a while, butin the end the choice was obvious, even tome. I had to ask Jamie to the dance, and Ipaced around the room thinking of the bestway to ask her.

It was then that I realized somethingterrible, something absolutely frightening.Carey Dennison, I suddenly realized, wasprobably doing the exact same thing I wasdoing right now. He was probably lookingthrough the yearbook, too! He was weird,but he wasn’t the kind of guy who liked

cleaning up puke, either, and if you’d seenhis mother, you’d know that his choicewas even worse than mine. What if heasked Jamie first? Jamie wouldn’t say noto him, and realistically she was the onlyoption he had. No one besides her wouldbe caught dead with him. Jamie helpedevery-one—she was one of those equalopportunity saints. She’d probably listento Carey’s squeaky voice, see thegoodness radiating from his heart, andaccept right off the bat.

So there I was, sitting in my room,frantic with the possibility that Jamiemight not go to the dance with me. I barelyslept that night, I tell you, which was justabout the strangest thing I’d everexperienced. I don’t think anyone everfretted about asking Jamie out before. I

planned to ask her first thing in themorning, while I still had my courage, butJamie wasn’t in school. I assumed shewas working with the orphans over inMorehead City, the way she did everymonth. A few of us had tried to get out ofschool using that excuse, too, but Jamiewas the only one who ever got away withit. The principal knew she was reading tothem or doing crafts or just sitting aroundplaying games with them. She wasn’tsneaking out to the beach or hanging out atCecil’s Diner or anything. That conceptwas absolutely ludicrous.

“Got a date yet?” Eric asked me inbetween classes. He knew very well that Ididn’t, but even though he was my bestfriend, he liked to stick it to me once in awhile.

“Not yet,” I said, “but I’m working onit.”

Down the hall, Carey Denison wasreaching into his locker. I swear he shotme a beady glare when he thought I wasn’tlooking.

That’s the kind of day it was.The minutes ticked by slowly during my

final class. The way I figured it—if Careyand I got out at the same time, I’d be ableto get to her house first, what with thosegawky legs and all. I started to psychmyself up, and when the bell rang, I tookoff from school running at a full clip. Iwas flying for about a hundred yards orso, and then I started to get kind of tired,and then a cramp set in. Pretty soon all Icould do was walk, but that cramp reallystarted to get to me, and I had to bend over

and hold my side while I kept moving. AsI made my way down the streets ofBeaufort, I looked like a wheezing versionof the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Behind me I thought I heard Carey’shigh-pitched laughter. I turned around,digging my fingers into my gut to stifle thepain, but I couldn’t see him. Maybe hewas cutting through someone’s backyard!He was a sneaky bastard, that guy. Youcouldn’t trust him even for a minute.

I started to stumble along even faster,and pretty soon I reached Jamie’s street.By then I was sweating all over—my shirtwas soaked right through—and I was stillwheezing something fierce. Well, Ireached her front door, took a second tocatch my breath, and finally knocked.Despite my fevered rush to her house, my

pessimistic side assumed that Careywould be the one who opened the door forme. I imagined him smiling at me with avictorious look in his eye, one thatessentially meant “Sorry, partner, you’retoo late.”

But it wasn’t Carey who answered, itwas Jamie, and for the first time in my lifeI saw what she’d look like if she were anordinary person. She was wearing jeansand a red blouse, and though her hair wasstill pulled up into a bun, she looked morecasual than she usually did. I realized shecould actually be cute if she gave herselfthe opportunity.

“Landon,” she said as she held open thedoor, “this is a surprise!” Jamie wasalways glad to see everyone, includingme, though I think my appearance startled

her. “You look like you’ve beenexercising,” she said.

“Not really,” I lied, wiping my brow.Luckily the cramp was fading fast.

“You’ve sweat clean through yourshirt.”

“Oh, that?” I looked at my shirt. “That’snothing. I just sweat a lot sometimes.”“Maybe you should have it checked by adoctor.”

“I’ll be okay, I’m sure.”“I’ll say a prayer for you anyway,” she

offered as she smiled. Jamie was alwayspraying for someone. I might as well jointhe club.

“Thanks,” I said.She looked down and sort of shuffled

her feet for a moment. “Well, I’d inviteyou in, but my father isn’t home, and he

doesn’t allow boys in the house whilehe’s not around.”

“Oh,” I said dejectedly, “that’s okay.We can talk out here, I guess.” If I’d hadmy way, I would have done this inside.

“Would you like some lemonade whilewe sit?” she asked. “I just made some.”

“I’d love some,” I said.“I’ll be right back.” She walked back

into the house, but she left the door openand I took a quick glance around. Thehouse, I noticed, was small but tidy, witha piano against one wall and a sofaagainst the other. A small fan satoscillating in the corner. On the coffeetable there were books with names likeListening to Jesus a n d Faith Is theAnswer. Her Bible was there, too, and itwas opened to the chapter on Luke.

A moment later Jamie returned with thelemonade, and we took a seat in twochairs near the corner of the porch. I knewshe and her father sat there in the eveningsbecause I passed by their house now andthen. As soon as we were seated, I sawMrs. Hastings, her neighbor across thestreet, wave to us. Jamie waved backwhile I sort of scooted my chair so thatMrs. Hastings couldn’t see my face. Eventhough I was going to ask Jamie to thedance, I didn’t want anyone—even Mrs.Hastings—to see me there on the offchance that she’d already acceptedCarey’s offer. It was one thing to actuallygo with Jamie, it was another thing to berejected by her in favor of a guy likeCarey.

“What are you doing?” Jamie asked me.

“You’re moving your chair into the sun.”“I like the sun,” I said. She was right,

though. Almost immediately I could feelthe rays burning through my shirt andmaking me sweat again.

“If that’s what you want,” she said,smiling. “So, what did you want to talk tome about?”

Jamie reached up and started to adjusther hair. By my reckoning, it hadn’t movedat all. I took a deep breath, trying to gathermyself, but I couldn’t force myself tocome out with it just yet.

“So,” I said instead, “you were at theorphanage today?”

Jamie looked at me curiously. “No. Myfather and I were at the doctor’s office.”

“Is he okay?”She smiled. “Healthy as can be.”

I nodded and glanced across the street.Mrs. Hastings had gone back inside, and Icouldn’t see anyone else in the vicinity.The coast was finally clear, but I stillwasn’t ready.

“Sure is a beautiful day,” I said,stalling.

“Yes, it is.”“Warm, too.”“That’s because you’re in the sun.”I looked around, feeling the pressure

building. “Why, I’ll bet there’s not asingle cloud in the whole sky.”

This time Jamie didn’t respond, and wesat in silence for a few moments.

“Landon,” she finally said, “you didn’tcome here to talk about the weather, didyou?”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you here?”The moment of truth had arrived, and I

cleared my throat.“Well . . . I wanted to know if you were

going to the homecoming dance.”“Oh,” she said. Her tone made it seem

as if she were unaware that such a thingexisted. I fidgeted in my seat and waitedfor her answer.

“I really hadn’t planned on going,” shefinally said.

“But if someone asked you to go, youmight?”

It took a moment for her to answer.“I’m not sure,” she said, thinking

carefully. “I suppose I might go, if I gotthe chance. I’ve never been to ahomecoming dance before.”

“They’re fun,” I said quickly. “Not too

much fun, but fun.” Especially whencompared to my other options, I didn’tadd.

She smiled at my turn of phrase. “I’dhave to talk to my father, of course, but ifhe said it was okay, then I guess I could.”

In the tree beside the porch, a birdstarted to chirp noisily, as if he knew Iwasn’t supposed to be here. I concentratedon the sound, trying to calm my nerves.Just two days ago I couldn’t haveimagined myself even thinking about it, butsuddenly there I was, listening to myselfas I spoke the magic words.

“Well, would you like to go to thedance with me?”

I could tell she was surprised. I thinkshe believed that the little lead-up to thequestion probably had to do with someone

else asking her. Sometimes teenagers senttheir friends out to “scout the terrain,” soto speak, so as not to face possiblerejection. Even though Jamie wasn’t muchlike other teenagers, I’m sure she wasfamiliar with the concept, at least intheory.

Instead of answering right away,though, Jamie glanced away for a longmoment. I got a sinking feeling in mystomach because I assumed she was goingto say no. Visions of my mother, puke, andCarey flooded through my mind, and all ofa sudden I regretted the way I’d behavedtoward her all these years. I keptremembering all the times I’d teased heror called her father a fornicator or simplymade fun of her behind her back. Justwhen I was feeling awful about the whole

thing and imagining how I would ever beable to avoid Carey for five hours, sheturned and faced me again. She had aslight smile on her face.

“I’d love to,” she finally said, “on onecondition.”

I steadied myself, hoping it wasn’tsomething too awful.

“Yes?”“You have to promise that you won’t

fall in love with me.”I knew she was kidding by the way she

laughed, and I couldn’t help but breathe asigh of relief. Sometimes, I had to admit,Jamie had a pretty good sense of humor.

I smiled and gave her my word.

Chapter 3

As a general rule, Southern Baptistsdon’t dance. In Beaufort, however, itwasn’t a rule that was ever strictlyenforced. The minister before Hegbert—don’t ask me what his name was—tooksort of a lax view about school dances aslong as they were chaperoned, andbecause of that, they’d become a traditionof sorts. By the time Hegbert came along,it was too late to change things. Jamie waspretty much the only one who’d neverbeen to a school dance and frankly, I

didn’t know whether she even knew howto dance at all. I admit that I also hadsome concerns about what she wouldwear, though it wasn’t something I wouldtell her. When Jamie went to the churchsocials—which were encouraged byHegbert—she usually wore an oldsweater and one of the plaid skirts wesaw in school every day, but thehomecoming dance was supposed to bespecial. Most of the girls bought newdresses and the boys wore suits, and thisyear we were bringing in a photographerto take our pictures. I knew Jamie wasn’tgoing to buy a new dress because shewasn’t exactly well-off. Ministeringwasn’t a profession where people made alot of money, but of course ministersweren’t in it for monetary gain, they were

in it for the long haul, if you know what Imean. But I didn’t want her to wear thesame thing she wore to school every day,either. Not so much for me—I’m not thatcold-hearted—but because of what othersmight say. I didn’t want people to makefun of her or anything.

The good news, if there was any, wasthat Eric didn’t rib me too bad about thewhole Jamie situation because he was toobusy thinking about his own date. He wastaking Margaret Hays, who was the headcheerleader at our school. She wasn’t thebrightest bulb on the Christmas tree, butshe was nice in her own way. By nice, ofcourse, I’m talking about her legs. Ericoffered to double-date with me, but Iturned him down because I didn’t want totake any chances with Eric teasing Jamie

or anything like that. He was a good guy,but he could be kind of heartlesssometimes, especially when he had a fewshots of bourbon in him.

The day of the dance was actually quitebusy for me. I spent most of the afternoonhelping to decorate the gym, and I had toget to Jamie’s about a half hour earlybecause her father wanted to talk to me,though I didn’t know why. Jamie hadsprung that one on me just the day before,and I can’t say I was exactly thrilled bythe prospect of it. I figured he was goingto talk about temptation and the evil path itcan lead us to. If he brought upfornication, though, I knew I would dieright there on the spot. I said small prayersall day long in the hope of avoiding thisconversation, but I wasn’t sure if God

would put my prayers on the front burner,if you know what I mean, because of theway I’d behaved in the past. I was prettynervous just thinking about it.

After I showered I put on my best suit,swung by the florist to pick up Jamie’scorsage, then drove to her house. My momhad let me borrow the car, and I parked iton the street directly in front of Jamie’shouse. We hadn’t turned the clocks backyet, so it was still light out when I gotthere, and I strolled up the crackedwalkway to her door. I knocked andwaited for a moment, then knocked again.From behind the door I heard Hegbert say,“I’ll be right there,” but he wasn’t exactlyracing to the door. I must have stood therefor two minutes or so, looking at the door,the moldings, the little cracks in the

windowsills. Off to the side were thechairs that Jamie and I had sat in just afew days back. The one I sat in was stillturned in the opposite direction. I guessthey hadn’t sat there in the last couple ofdays.

Finally the door creaked open. The lightcoming from the lamp inside shadowedHegbert’s face slightly and sort ofreflected through his hair. He was old,like I said, seventy-two years by myreckoning. It was the first time I’d everseen him up close, and I could see all thewrinkles on his face. His skin really wastranslucent, even more so than I’dimagined.

“Hello, Reverend,” I said, swallowingmy trepidation. “I’m here to take Jamie tothe homecoming dance.”

“Of course you are,” he said. “But first,I wanted to talk with you.” “Yes, sir,that’s why I came early.”

“C’mon in.”In church Hegbert was a fairly snappy

dresser, but right now he looked like afarmer, dressed in overalls and a T-shirt.He motioned for me to sit on the woodenchair he’d brought in from the kitchen.“I’m sorry it took a little while to open thedoor. I was working on tomorrow’ssermon,” he said.

I sat down.“That’s okay, sir.” I don’t know why,

but you just had to call him “sir.” He sortof projected that image.

“All right, then, so tell me aboutyourself.”

I thought it was a fairly ridiculous

question, with him having such a longhistory with my family and all. He wasalso the one who had baptized me, by theway, and he’d seen me in church everySunday since I’d been a baby.

“Well, sir,” I began, not really knowingwhat to say, “I’m the student bodypresident. I don’t know whether Jamiementioned that to you.”

He nodded. “She did. Go on.”“And . . . well, I hope to go to the

University of North Carolina next fall.I’ve already received the application.”

He nodded again. “Anything else?”I had to admit, I was running out of

things after that. Part of me wanted to pickup the pencil off the end table and startbalancing it, giving him the whole thirtyseconds’ worth, but he wasn’t the kind of

guy who would appreciate it.“I guess not, sir.”“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”“No, sir.”He sort of stared at me for a long time,

as if thinking about it.“Why did you ask my daughter to the

dance?” he finally said.I was surprised, and I know that my

expression showed it.“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”“You’re not planning to do anything to .

. . embarrass her, are you?”“No, sir,” I said quickly, shocked by the

accusation. “Not at all. I needed someoneto go with, and I asked her. It’s as simpleas that.”

“You don’t have any pranks planned?”“No, sir. I wouldn’t do that to her. . . .”

This went on for a few more minutes—his grilling me about my true intentions, Imean—but luckily Jamie stepped out ofthe back room, and her father and I bothturned our heads at the same moment.Hegbert finally stopped talking, and Ibreathed a sigh of relief. She’d put on anice blue skirt and a white blouse I’dnever seen before. Fortunately she’d lefther sweater in the closet. It wasn’t toobad, I had to admit, though I knew she’dstill be underdressed compared withothers at the dance. As always, her hairwas pulled up in a bun. Personally I thinkit would have looked better if she’d kept itdown, but that was the last thing I wantedto say. Jamie looked like . . . well, Jamielooked exactly like she usually did, but atleast she wasn’t planning on bringing her

Bible. That would have just been toomuch to live down.

“You’re not giving Landon a hard time,are you?” she said cheerfully to her father.

“We were just visiting,” I said quicklybefore he had a chance to respond. Forsome reason I didn’t think he’d told Jamieabout the kind of person he thought I was,and I didn’t think that now would be agood time.

“Well, we should probably go,” shesaid after a moment. I think she sensed thetension in the room. She walked over toher father and kissed him on the cheek.“Don’t stay up too late working on thesermon, okay?”

“I won’t,” he said softly. Even with mein the room, I could tell he really lovedher and wasn’t afraid to show it. It was

how he felt about me that was theproblem.

We said good-bye, and on our way tothe car I handed Jamie her corsage andtold her I’d show her how to put it on oncewe got in the car. I opened her door forher and walked around the other side, thengot in as well. In that short period of time,Jamie had already pinned on the flower.

“I’m not exactly a dimwit, you know. Ido know how to pin on a corsage.”

I started the car and headed toward thehigh school, with the conversation I’d justhad with Hegbert running through mymind.

“My father doesn’t like you very much,”she said, as if knowing what I wasthinking.

I nodded without saying anything.

“He thinks you’re irresponsible.”I nodded again.“He doesn’t like your father much,

either.”I nodded once more.“Or your family.”I get the picture.“But do you know what I think?” she

asked suddenly.“Not really.” By then I was pretty

depressed.“I think that all this was in the Lord’s

plan somehow. What do you think themessage is?” Here we go, I thought tomyself.

I doubt if the evening could have beenmuch worse, if you want to know the truth.Most of my friends kept their distance, andJamie didn’t have many friends to begin

with, so we spent most of our time alone.Even worse, it turned out that my presencewasn’t even required anymore. They’dchanged the rule owing to the fact thatCarey couldn’t get a date, and that left mefeeling pretty miserable about the wholething as soon as I found out about it. Butbecause of what her father had said to me,I couldn’t exactly take her home early,now, could I? And more than that, she wasreally having a good time; even I couldsee that. She loved the decorations I’dhelped put up, she loved the music, sheloved everything about the dance. She kepttelling me how wonderful everything was,and she asked me whether I might help herdecorate the church someday, for one oftheir socials. I sort of mumbled that sheshould call me, and even though I said it

without a trace of energy, Jamie thankedme for being so considerate. To be honest,I was depressed for at least the first hour,though she didn’t seem to notice.

Jamie had to be home by eleveno’clock, an hour before the dance ended,which made it somewhat easier for me tohandle. Once the music started we hit thefloor, and it turned out that she was apretty good dancer, considering it was herfirst time and all. She followed my leadpretty well through about a dozen songs,and after that we headed to the tables andhad what resembled an ordinaryconversation. Sure, she threw in wordslike “faith” and “joy” and even“salvation,” and she talked about helpingthe orphans and scooping critters off thehighway, but she was just so damn happy,

it was hard to stay down for long.So things weren’t too terrible at first

and really no worse than I had expected. Itwasn’t until Lew and Angela showed upthat everything really went sour.

They showed up a few minutes after wearrived. He was wearing that stupid T-shirt, Camels in his sleeve, and a glop ofhair gel on his head. Angela hung all overhim right from the beginning of the dance,and it didn’t take a genius to realize she’dhad a few drinks before she got there. Herdress was really flashy—her motherworked in a salon and was up on all thelatest fashions—and I noticed she’dpicked up that ladylike habit calledchewing gum. She really worked that gum,chewing it almost like a cow working hercud.

Well, good old Lew spiked the punchbowl, and a few more people startedgetting tipsy. By the time the teachersfound out, most of the punch was alreadygone and people were getting that glassylook in their eyes. When I saw Angelagobble up her second glass of punch, Iknew I should keep my eye on her. Eventhough she’d dumped me, I didn’t wantanything bad to happen to her. She was thefirst girl I’d ever French-kissed, and eventhough our teeth clanked together so hardthe first time we tried it that I saw starsand had to take aspirin when I got home, Istill had feelings for her.

So there I was, sitting with Jamie,barely listening as she described thewonders of Bible school, watchingAngela out of the corner of my eye, when

Lew spotted me looking at her. In onefrenzied motion he grabbed Angela aroundthe waist and dragged her over to thetable, giving me one of those looks, theone that “means business.” You know theone I’m talking about.

“Are you staring at my girl?” he asked,already tensing up.

“No.”“Yeah, he was,” Angela said, kind of

slurring out the words. “He was staringright at me. This is my old boyfriend, theone I told you about.”

His eyes turned into little slits, just likeHegbert’s were prone to do. I guess I havethis effect on lots of people.

“So you’re the one,” he said, sneering.Now, I’m not much of a fighter. The

only real fight I was ever in was in third

grade, and I pretty much lost that one whenI started to cry even before the guypunched me. Usually I didn’t have muchtrouble staying away from things like thisbecause of my passive nature, andbesides, no one ever messed with mewhen Eric was around. But Eric was offwith Margaret somewhere, probablybehind the bleachers.

“I wasn’t staring,” I said finally, “and Idon’t know what she told you, but I doubtif it was true.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you callingAngela a liar?” he sneered.

Oops.I think he would have hit me right there,

but Jamie suddenly worked her way intothe situation.

“Don’t I know you?” she said

cheerfully, looking right at him.Sometimes Jamie seemed oblivious ofsituations that were happening right infront of her. “Wait—yes, I do. You workin the garage downtown. Your father’sname is Joe, and your grandma lives outon Foster Road, by the railroad crossing.”

A look of confusion crossed Lew’sface, as though he were trying to puttogether a puzzle with too many pieces.

“How do you know all that? What he’ddo, tell you about me, too?”

“No,” Jamie said, “don’t be silly.” Shelaughed to herself. Only Jamie could findhumor at a time like this. “I saw yourpicture in your grandma’s house. I waswalking by, and she needed some helpbringing in the groceries. Your picturewas on the mantel.”

Lew was looking at Jamie as though shehad cornstalks growing out of her ears.

Meanwhile Jamie was fanning herselfwith her hand. “Well, we were just sittingdown to take a breather from all thatdancing. It sure gets hot out there. Wouldyou like to join us? We’ve got a couple ofchairs. I’d love to hear how your grandmais doing.”

She sounded so happy about it that Lewdidn’t know what to do. Unlike those of uswho were used to this sort of thing, he’dnever come across someone like Jamiebefore. He stood there for a moment ortwo, trying to decide if he should hit theguy with the girl who’d helped hisgrandma. If it sounds confusing to you,imagine what it was doing to Lew’spetroleum-damaged brain.

He finally skulked off withoutresponding, taking Angela with him.Angela had probably forgotten how thewhole thing started anyway, owing to theamount she’d had to drink. Jamie and Iwatched him go, and when he was a safedistance away, I exhaled. I hadn’t evenrealized I’d been holding my breath.

“Thanks,” I said mumbled sheepishly,realizing that Jamie—Jamie!—was theone who’d saved me from grave bodilyharm.

Jamie looked at me strangely. “Forwhat?” she asked, and when I didn’texactly spell it out for her, she went rightback into her story about Bible school, asif nothing had happened at all. But thistime I found myself actually listening toher, at least with one of my ears. It was

the least I could do.It turns out that it wasn’t the last we

saw of either Lew or Angela that evening.The two glasses of punch had really doneAngela in, and she threw up all over theladies’ rest room. Lew, being the classyguy he was, left when he heard herretching, sort of slinking out the way hecame in, and that was the last I saw ofhim. Jamie, as fate would have it, was theone who found Angela in the bathroom,and it was obvious that Angela wasn’tdoing too well. The only option was toclean her up and take her home before theteachers found out about it. Getting drunkwas a big deal back then, and she’d belooking at suspension, maybe evenexpulsion, if she got caught.

Jamie, bless her heart, didn’t want that

to happen any more than I did, though Iwould have thought otherwise if you’dasked me beforehand, owing to the factthat Angela was a minor and in violationof the law. She’d also broken another oneof Hegbert’s rules for proper behavior.Hegbert frowned on law-breaking anddrinking, and though it didn’t get himgoing like fornication, we all knew he wasdeadly serious, and we assumed Jamie feltthe same way. And maybe she did, but herhelper instinct must have taken over. Sheprobably took one look at Angela andthought “wounded critter” or somethinglike that and took immediate charge of thesituation. I went off and located Ericbehind the bleachers, and he agreed tostand guard at the bathroom door whileJamie and I went in to tidy it up. Angela

had done a marvelous job, I tell you. Thepuke was everywhere except the toilet.The walls, the floor, the sinks—even onthe ceiling, though don’t ask me how shedid that. So there I was, perched on allfours, cleaning up puke at the home-coming dance in my best blue suit, whichwas exactly what I had wanted to avoid inthe first place. And Jamie, my date, wason all fours, too, doing exactly the samething.

I could practically hear Carey laughinga squeaky, maniacal laugh somewhere inthe distance.

We ended up sneaking out the backdoor of the gym, keeping Angela stable bywalking on either side of her. She keptasking where Lew was, but Jamie told hernot to worry. She had a real soothing way

of talking to Angela, though Angela wasso far gone, I doubt if she even knew whowas speaking. We loaded Angela into thebackseat of my car, where she passed outalmost immediately, although not beforeshe’d vomited once more on the floor ofthe car. The smell was so awful that wehad to roll down the windows to keepfrom gagging, and the drive to Angela’shouse seemed extra long. Her motheranswered the door, took one look at herdaughter, and brought her inside withoutso much as a word of thanks. I think shewas embarrassed, and we really didn’thave much to say to her anyway. Thesituation pretty much spoke for itself.

By the time we dropped her off it wasten forty-five, and we drove straight backto Jamie’s. I was really worried when we

got there because of the way she lookedand smelled, and I said a silent prayerhoping that Hegbert wasn’t awake. I didn’twant to have to explain this to him. Oh,he’d probably listen to Jamie if she wasthe one who told him about it, but I had thesinking feeling that he’d find a way toblame me anyway.

So I walked her to the door, and westood outside under the porchlight. Jamiecrossed her arms and smiled a little,looking just as if she’d come in from anevening stroll where she’d contemplatedthe beauty of the world.

“Please don’t tell your father aboutthis,” I said.

“I won’t,” she said. She kept on smilingwhen she finally turned my way. “I had agood time tonight. Thank you for taking me

to the dance.”Here she was, covered in puke, actually

thanking me for the evening. JamieSullivan could really drive a guy crazysometimes.

Chapter 4

In the two weeks following thehomecoming dance, my life pretty muchreturned to normal. My father was back inWashington, D.C., which made things a lotmore fun around my house, primarilybecause I could sneak out the windowagain and head to the graveyard for mylate night forays. I don’t know what it wasabout the graveyard that attracted us so.Maybe it had something to do with thetombstones themselves, because as far astombstones went, they were actually fairly

comfortable to sit on.We usually sat in a small plot where the

Preston family had been buried about ahundred years ago. There were eighttombstones there, all arranged in a circle,making it easy to pass the boiled peanutsback and forth between us. One time myfriends and I decided to learn what wecould about the Preston family, and wewent to the library to find out if anythinghad been written about them. I mean, ifyou’re going to sit on someone’stombstone, you might as well knowsomething about them, right?

It turns out that there wasn’t much aboutthe family in the historical records, thoughwe did find out one interesting tidbit ofinformation. Henry Preston, the father,was a one-armed lumberjack, believe it or

not. Supposedly he could cut down a treeas fast as any two-armed man. Now thevision of a one-armed lumberjack is prettyvivid right off the bat, so we talked abouthim a lot. We used to wonder what else hecould do with only one arm, and we’dspend long hours discussing how fast hecould pitch a baseball or whether or nothe’d be able to swim across theIntracoastal Waterway. Our conversationsweren’t exactly highbrow, I admit, but Ienjoyed them nonetheless.

Well, Eric and me were out there oneSaturday night with a couple of otherfriends, eating boiled peanuts and talkingabout Henry Preston, when Eric asked mehow my “date” went with Jamie Sullivan.He and I hadn’t seen much of each othersince the homecoming dance because the

football season was already in theplayoffs and Eric had been out of town thepast few weekends with the team.

“It was okay,” I said, shrugging, doingmy best to play it cool.

Eric playfully elbowed me in the ribs,and I grunted. He outweighed me by atleast thirty pounds.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?”“No.”He took a long drink from his can of

Bud-weiser as I answered. I don’t knowhow he did it, but Eric never had troublebuying beer, which was strange, being thateveryone in town knew how old he was.

He wiped his lips with the back of hishand, tossing me a sidelong glance.

“I would have thought that after shehelped you clean the bathroom, you would

have at least kissed her good night.”“Well, I didn’t.”“Did you even try?”“No.”“Why not?”“She’s not that kind of girl,” I said, and

even though we all knew it was true, itstill sounded like I was defending her.

Eric latched on to that like a leech.“I think you like her,” he said.“You’re full of crap,” I answered, and

he slapped my back, hard enough to forcethe breath right out of me. Hanging outwith Eric usually meant that I’d have afew bruises the following day.

“Yeah, I might be full of crap,” he said,winking at me, “but you’re the one who’ssmitten with Jamie Sullivan.”

I knew we were treading on dangerous

ground.“I was just using her to impress

Margaret,” I said. “And with all the lovenotes she’s been sending me lately, Ireckon it must have worked.”

Eric laughed aloud, slapping me on theback again.

“You and Margaret—now that’s funny.. . .”

I knew I’d just dodged a major bullet,and I breathed a sigh of relief as theconversation spun off in a new direction. Ijoined in now and then, but I wasn’t reallylistening to what they were saying. InsteadI kept hearing this little voice inside methat made me wonder about what Eric hadsaid.

The thing was, Jamie was probably thebest date I could have had that night,

especially considering how the eveningturned out. Not many dates—heck, notmany people, period—would have donewhat she did. At the same time, her beinga good date didn’t mean I liked her. Ihadn’t talked to her at all since the dance,except when I saw her in drama class, andeven then it was only a few words hereand there. If I liked her at all, I toldmyself, I would have wanted to talk to her.If I liked her, I would have offered towalk her home. If I liked her, I wouldhave wanted to bring her to Cecil’s Dinerfor a basket of hushpuppies and some RCcola. But I didn’t want to do any of thosethings. I really didn’t. In my mind, I’dalready served my penance.

The next day, Sunday, I was in myroom, working on my application to UNC.In addition to the transcripts from my highschool and other personal information,they required five essays of the usual type.If you could meet one person in history,who would that person be and why? Namethe most significant influence in your lifeand why you feel that way. What do youlook for in a role model and why? Theessay questions were fairly predictable—our English teacher had told us what toexpect—and I’d already worked on acouple of variations in class ashomework.

English was probably my best subject.I’d never received anything lower than anA since I first started school, and I wasglad the emphasis for the application

process was on writing. If it had been onmath, I might have been in trouble,especially if it included those algebraquestions that talked about the two trainsleaving an hour apart, traveling inopposite directions at forty miles an hour,etc. It wasn’t that I was bad in math—Iusually pulled at least a C—but it didn’tcome naturally to me, if you know what Imean.

Anyway, I was writing one of myessays when the phone rang. The onlyphone we had was located in the kitchen,and I had to run down-stairs to grab thereceiver. I was breathing so loudly that Icouldn’t make out the voice too well,though it sounded like Angela. Iimmediately smiled to myself. Eventhough she’d been sick all over the place

and I’d had to clean it up, she was actuallypretty fun to be around most of the time.And her dress really had been something,at least for the first hour. I figured she wasprobably calling to thank me or even to gettogether for a barbecue sandwich andhushpuppies or something.

“Landon?”“Oh, hey,” I said, playing it cool,

“what’s going on?”There was a short pause on the other

end.“How are you?”It was then that I suddenly realized I

wasn’t speaking to Angela. Instead it wasJamie, and I almost dropped the phone. Ican’t say that I was happy about hearingfrom her, and for a second I wonderedwho had given her my phone number

before I realized it was probably in thechurch records.

“Landon?”“I’m fine,” I finally blurted out, still in

shock.“Are you busy?” she asked.“Sort of.”“Oh . . . I see . . . ,” she said, trailing

off. She paused again.“Why are you calling me?” I asked.It took her a few seconds to get the

words out.“Well . . . I just wanted to know if you

wouldn’t mind coming by a little later thisafternoon.”

“Coming by?”“Yes. To my house.”“Your house?” I didn’t even try to

disguise the growing surprise in my voice.

Jamie ignored it and went on.“There’s something I want to talk to you

about. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’timportant.”

“Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”“I’d rather not.”“Well, I’m working on my college

application essays all afternoon,” I said,trying to get out of it.

“Oh . . . well . . . like I said, it’simportant, but I suppose I can talk to youMonday at school. . . .”

With that, I suddenly realized that shewasn’t going to let me off the hook andthat we’d end up talking one way or theother. My brain suddenly clicked throughthe scenarios as I tried to figure out whichone I should do—talk to her where myfriends would see us or talk at her house.

Though neither option was particularlygood, there was something in the back ofmy mind, reminding me that she’d helpedme out when I’d really needed it, and theleast I could do was to listen to what shehad to say. I may be irresponsible, but I’ma nice irresponsible, if I do say so myself.

Of course, that didn’t mean everyoneelse had to know about it.

“No,” I said, “today is fine. . . .”We arranged to meet at five o’clock,

and the rest of the afternoon ticked byslowly, like the drips from Chinese watertorture. I left my house twenty minutesearly, so I’d have plenty of time to getthere. My house was located near thewaterfront in the historic part of town, justa few doors down from where Black-beard used to live, overlooking the

Intracoastal Waterway. Jamie lived on theother side of town, across the railroadtracks, so it would take me about that longto get there.

It was November, and the temperaturewas finally cooling down. One thing Ireally liked about Beaufort was the factthat the springs and falls lasted practicallyforever. It might get hot in the summer orsnow once every six years, and theremight be a cold spell that lasted a week orso in January, but for the most part all youneeded was a light jacket to make itthrough the winter. Today was one ofthose perfect days—mid-seventies withouta cloud in the sky.

I made it to Jamie’s house right on timeand knocked on her door. Jamie answeredit, and a quick peek inside revealed that

Hegbert wasn’t around. It wasn’t quitewarm enough for sweet tea or lemonade,and we sat in the chairs on the porchagain, without anything to drink. The sunwas beginning to lower itself in the sky,and there wasn’t anyone on the street. Thistime I didn’t have to move my chair. Ithadn’t been moved since the last time I’dbeen there.

“Thank you for coming, Landon,” shesaid. “I know you’re busy, but I appreciateyour taking the time to do this.”

“So, what’s so important?” I said,wanting to get this over with as quickly aspossible.

Jamie, for the first time since I’d knownher, actually looked nervous as she satwith me. She kept bringing her handstogether and pulling them apart.

“I wanted to ask you a favor,” she saidseriously.

“A favor?”She nodded.At first I thought she was going to ask

me to help her decorate the church, likeshe’d mentioned at homecoming, or maybeshe needed me to use my mother’s car tobring some stuff to the orphans. Jamiedidn’t have her license, and Hegbertneeded their car anyway, being that therewas always a funeral or something he hadto go to. But it still took a few seconds forher to get the words out.

She sighed, her hands coming togetheragain.

“I’d like to ask you if you wouldn’tmind playing Tom Thornton in the schoolplay,” she said.

Tom Thornton, like I said before, wasthe man in search of the music box for hisdaughter, the one who meets the angel.Except for the angel, it was far and awaythe most important role.

“Well . . . I don’t know,” I said,confused. “I thought Eddie Jones wasgoing to be Tom. That’s what Miss Garbertold us.”

Eddie Jones was a lot like CareyDennison, by the way. He was reallyskinny, with pimples all over his face, andhe usually talked to you with his eyes allsquinched up. He had a nervous tic, and hecouldn’t help but squinch his eyeswhenever he got nervous, which waspractically all the time. He’d probablyend up spouting his lines like a psychoticblind man if you put him in front of a

crowd. To make things worse, he had astutter, too, and it took him a long time tosay anything at all. Miss Garber had givenhim the role because he’d been the onlyone who offered to do it, but even then itwas obvious she didn’t want him either.Teachers were human, too, but she didn’thave much of an option, since no one elsehad come forward.

“Miss Garber didn’t say that exactly.What she said was that Eddie could havethe role if no one else tried out for it.”

“Can’t someone else do it instead?”But there really wasn’t anyone else, and

I knew it. Because of Hegbert’srequirement that only seniors perform, theplay was in a bind that year. There wereabout fifty senior boys at the high school,twenty-two of whom were on the football

team, and with the team still in the runningfor the state title, none of them would havethe time to go to the rehearsals. Of thethirty or so who were left, more than halfwere in the band and they had after-schoolpractice as well. A quick calculationshowed that there were maybe a dozenother people who could possibly do it.

Now, I didn’t want to do the play at all,and not only because I’d come to realizethat drama was just about the most boringclass ever invented. The thing was, I’dalready taken Jamie to homecoming, andwith her as the angel, I just couldn’t bearthe thought that I’d have to spend everyafternoon with her for the next month orso. Being seen with her once was badenough . . . but being seen with her everyday? What would my friends say?

But I could tell this was reallyimportant to her. The simple fact thatshe’d asked made that clear. Jamie neverasked anyone for a favor. I think deepdown she suspected that no one wouldever do her a favor because of who shewas. The very realization made me sad.

“What about Jeff Bangert? He might doit,” I offered.

Jamie shook her head. “He can’t. Hisfather’s sick, and he has to work in thestore after school until his father gets backon his feet.”

“What about Darren Woods?”“He broke his arm last week when he

slipped on the boat. His arm is in a sling.”“Really? I didn’t know that,” I said,

stalling, but Jamie knew what I was doing.“I’ve been praying about it, Landon,”

she said simply, and sighed for the secondtime. “I’d really like this play to bespecial this year, not for me, but becauseof my father. I want it to be the bestproduction ever. I know how much it willmean to him to see me be the angel,because this play reminds him of mymother. . . .” She paused, collecting herthoughts. “It would be terrible if the playwas a failure this year, especially sinceI’m involved.”

She stopped again before going on, hervoice becoming more emotional as shewent on.

“I know Eddie would do the best hecould, I really do. And I’m notembarrassed to do the play with him, I’mreally not. Actually, he’s a very niceperson, but he told me that he’s having

second thoughts about doing it. Sometimespeople at school can be so...so... cruel,and I don’t want Eddie to be hurt. But . . .”She took a deep breath, “but the realreason I’m asking is because of my father.He’s such a good man, Landon. If peoplemake fun of his memory of my motherwhile I’m playing the part . . . well, thatwould break my heart. And with Eddieand me . . . you know what people wouldsay.”

I nodded, my lips pressed together,knowing that I would have been one ofthose people she was talking about. Infact, I already was. Jamie and Eddie, thedynamic duo, we called them after MissGarber had announced that they’d be theones doing the roles. The very fact that itwas I who had started it up made me feel

terrible, almost sick to my stomach.She straightened up a little in her seat

and looked at me sadly, as if she alreadyknew I was going to say no. I guess shedidn’t know how I was feeling. She wenton.

“I know that challenges are always partof the Lord’s plan, but I don’t want tobelieve that the Lord is cruel, especiallyto someone like my father. He devotes hislife to God, he gives to the community.And he’s already lost his wife and has hadto raise me on his own. And I love him somuch for it. . . .”

Jamie turned away, but I could see thetears in her eyes. It was the first time I’dever seen her cry. I think part of mewanted to cry, too.

“I’m not asking you to do it for me,” she

said softly, “I’m really not, and if you sayno, I’ll still pray for you. I promise. But ifyou’d like to do something kind for awonderful man who means so much to me. . . Will you just think about it?”

Her eyes looked like those of a cockerspaniel that had just messed on the rug. Ilooked down at my feet.

“I don’t have to think about it,” I finallysaid. “I’ll do it.”

I really didn’t have a choice, did I?

Chapter 5

The next day I talked to Miss Garber,went through the audition, and got the part.Eddie, by the way, wasn’t upset at all. Infact, I could tell he was actually relievedabout the whole thing. When Miss Garberasked him if he’d be willing to let me playthe role of Tom Thornton, his face sort ofrelaxed right there and one of his eyespopped back open. “Y-y-yes, a-a-absolutely,” he said, stuttering. “I—I—Iun-un-understand.” It took him practicallyten seconds to get the words out.

For his generosity, however, MissGarber gave him the role of the bum, andwe knew he’d do fairly well in that role.The bum, you see, was completely mute,but the angel always knew what he wasthinking. At one point in the play she hasto tell the mute bum that God will alwayswatch out for him because God especiallycares for the poor and downtrodden. Thatwas one of the tip-offs to the audience thatshe’d been sent from heaven. Like I saidearlier, Hegbert wanted it to be real clearwho offered redemption and salvation,and it certainly wasn’t going to be a fewrickety ghosts who just popped up out ofnowhere.

Rehearsals started the next week, andwe rehearsed in the classroom, becausethe Play-house wouldn’t open their doors

for us until we’d got all the “little bugs”out of our performance. By little bugs, Imean our tendency to accidentally knockover the props. The props had been madeabout fifteen years ago, when the play wasin its first year, by Toby Bush, a sort ofroving handyman who had done a fewprojects for the Playhouse in the past. Hewas a roving handyman because he drankbeer all day long while he worked, and byabout two o’clock or so he’d really beflying. I guess he couldn’t see straight,because he’d accidentally whack hisfingers with the hammer at least once aday. Whenever that happened, he’d throwdown the hammer and jump up and down,holding his fingers, cursing every-onefrom his mother to the devil. When hefinally calmed down, he’d have another

beer to soothe the pain before going backto work. His knuckles were the size ofwalnuts, permanently swollen from yearsof whacking, and no one was willing tohire him on a permanent basis. The onlyreason Hegbert had hired him at all wasbecause he was far and away the lowestbidder in town.

But Hegbert wouldn’t allow drinking orcursing, and Toby really didn’t know howto work within such a strict environment.As a result, the work was kind of sloppy,though it wasn’t obvious right off the bat.After a few years the props began to fallapart, and Hegbert took it upon himself tokeep the things together. But whileHegbert was good at thumping the Bible,he wasn’t too good at thumping nails, andthe props had bent, rusty nails sticking out

all over, poking through the plywood in somany places that we had to be careful towalk exactly where we were supposed to.If we bumped them the wrong way, we’deither cut ourselves or the props wouldtopple over, making little nail holes allover the stage floor. After a couple ofyears the Play-house stage had to beresurfaced, and though they couldn’texactly close their doors to Hegbert, theymade a deal with him to be more carefulin the future. That meant we had topractice in the classroom until we’dworked out the “little bugs.”

Fortunately Hegbert wasn’t involvedwith the actual production of the play,because of all his ministering duties. Thatrole fell to Miss Garber, and the first thingshe told us to do was to memorize our

lines as quickly as possible. We didn’thave as much time as was usually allottedfor rehearsals because Thanksgiving cameon the last possible day in November, andHegbert didn’t want the play to beperformed too close to Christmas, so asnot to interfere with “its true meaning.”That left us only three weeks to get theplay just right, which was about a weekshorter than usual.

The rehearsals began at three o’clock,and Jamie knew all her lines the first daythere, which wasn’t really surprising.What was surprising was that she knew allmy lines, too, as well as everyone else’s.We’d be going over a scene, she’d bedoing it without the script, and I’d belooking down at a stack of pages, trying tofigure out what my next line should be,

and whenever I looked up she had thisreal shiny look about her, as if waiting fora burning bush or something. The onlylines I knew were the mute bum’s, at leaston that first day, and all of a sudden I wasactually envious of Eddie, at least in thatregard. This was going to be a lot ofwork, not exactly what I’d expected whenI’d signed up for the class.

My noble feelings about doing the playhad worn off by the second day ofrehearsals. Even though I knew I wasdoing the “right thing,” my friends didn’tunderstand it at all, and they’d been ridingme since they’d found out. “You’re doingwhat?” Eric asked when he learned aboutit. “You’re doing the play with JamieSullivan? Are you insane or just plainstupid?” I sort of mumbled that I had a

good reason, but he wouldn’t let it drop,and he told everyone around us that I had acrush on her. I denied it, of course, whichjust made them assume it was true, andthey’d laugh all the louder and tell the nextperson they saw. The stories kept gettingwilder, too—by lunchtime I’d heard fromSally that I was thinking of gettingengaged. I actually think Sally was jealousabout it. She’d had a crush on me foryears, and the feeling might have beenmutual except for the fact that she had aglass eye, and that was something I justcouldn’t ignore. Her bad eye reminded meof something you’d see stuffed into thehead of a mounted owl in a tacky antiqueshop, and to be honest, it sort of gave methe willies.

I guess that was when I started to resent

Jamie again. I know it wasn’t her fault, butI was the one who was taking the arrowsfor Hegbert, who hadn’t exactly gone outof his way the night of homecoming tomake me feel welcome. I began to stumblethrough my lines in class for the next fewdays, not really even attempting to learnthem, and occasionally I’d crack a joke ortwo, which everyone laughed at, exceptfor Jamie and Miss Garber. Afterrehearsal was over I’d head home to putthe play out of my mind, and I wouldn’teven bother to pick up the script. InsteadI’d joke with my friends about the weirdthings Jamie did and tell fibs about how itwas Miss Garber who had forced me intothe whole thing.

Jamie, though, wasn’t going to let meoff that easy. No, she got me right where it

hurts, right smack in the old ego.I was out with Eric on Saturday night

following Beaufort’s third consecutivestate championship in football, about aweek after rehearsals had started. Wewere hanging out at the waterfront outsideof Cecil’s Diner, eating hushpuppies andwatching people cruising in their cars,when I saw Jamie walking down thestreet. She was still a hundred yardsaway, turning her head from side to side,wearing that old brown sweater again andcarrying her Bible in one hand. It musthave been nine o’clock or so, which waslate for her to be out, and it was evenstranger to see her in this part of town. Iturned my back to her and pulled thecollar up on my jacket, but even Margaret—who had banana pudding where her

brain should have been—was smartenough to figure out who she was lookingfor.

“Landon, your girlfriend is here.”“She’s not my girlfriend,” I said. “I

don’t have a girlfriend.”“Your fiancée, then.”I guess she’d talked to Sally, too.“I’m not engaged,” I said. “Now knock

it off.”I glanced over my shoulder to see if

she’d spotted me, and I guess she had. Shewas walking toward us. I pretended not tonotice.

“Here she comes,” Margaret said, andgiggled.

“I know,” I said.Twenty seconds later she said it again.“She’s still coming.” I told you she was

quick.“I know,” I said through gritted teeth. If

it wasn’t for her legs, she could almostdrive you as crazy as Jamie.

I glanced around again, and this timeJamie knew I’d seen her and she smiledand waved at me. I turned away, and amoment later she was standing rightbeside me.

“Hello, Landon,” she said to me,oblivious of my scorn. “Hello, Eric,Margaret . . .” She went around the group.Everyone sort of mumbled “hello” andtried not to stare at the Bible.

Eric was holding a beer, and he movedit behind his back so she wouldn’t see it.Jamie could even make Eric feel guilty ifshe was close enough to him. They’d beenneighbors at one time, and Eric had been

on the receiving end of her talks before.Behind her back he called her “theSalvation Lady,” in obvious reference tothe Salvation Army. “She would havebeen a brigadier general,” he liked to say.But when she was standing right in front ofhim, it was another story. In his mind shehad an in with God, and he didn’t want tobe in her bad graces.

“How are you doing, Eric? I haven’tseen you around much recently.” She saidthis as if she still talked to him all thetime.

He shifted from one foot to the otherand looked at his shoes, playing that guiltylook for all it was worth.

“Well, I haven’t been to church lately,”he said.

Jamie smiled that glittery smile. “Well,

that’s okay, I suppose, as long as itdoesn’t become a habit or anything.”

“It won’t.”Now I’ve heard of confession—that

thing when Catholics sit behind a screenand tell the priest about all their sins—andthat’s the way Eric was when he was nextto Jamie. For a second I thought he wasgoing to call her “ma’am.”

“You want a beer?” Margaret asked. Ithink she was trying to be funny, but noone laughed.

Jamie put her hand to her hair, tugginggently at her bun. “Oh . . . no, not really . .. thank you, though.”

She looked directly at me with a reallysweet glow, and right away I knew I wasin trouble. I thought she was going to askme off to the side or something, which to

be honest I thought would turn out better,but I guess that wasn’t in her plans.

“Well, you did really well this week atrehearsals,” she said to me. “I knowyou’ve got a lot of lines to learn, but I’msure you’re going to get them all real soon.And I just wanted to thank you forvolunteering like you did. You’re a realgentleman.”

“Thanks,” I said, a little knot forming inmy stomach. I tried to be cool, but all myfriends were looking right at me, suddenlywondering if I’d been telling them the truthabout Miss Garber forcing it on me andeverything. I hoped they missed it.

“Your friends should be proud of you,”Jamie added, putting that thought to rest.

“Oh, we are,” Eric said, pouncing.“Very proud. He’s a good guy, that

Landon, what with his volunteering andall.”

Oh no.Jamie smiled at him, then turned back to

me again, her old cheerful self. “I alsowanted to tell you that if you need anyhelp, you can come by anytime. We can siton the porch like we did before and goover your lines if you need to.”

I saw Eric mouth the words “like wedid before” to Margaret. This reallywasn’t going well at all. By now the pit inmy stomach was as big as Paul Bunyan’sbowling ball.

“That’s okay,” I mumbled, wonderinghow I could squirm my way out of this. “Ican learn them at home.”

“Well, sometimes it helps if someone’sthere to read with you, Landon,” Eric

offered.I told you he’d stick it to me, even

though he was my friend.“No, really,” I said to him, “I’ll learn

the lines on my own.”“Maybe,” Eric said, smiling, “you two

should practice in front of the orphans,once you’ve got it down a little better.Sort of a dress rehearsal, you know? I’msure they’d love to see it.”

You could practically see Jamie’s mindstart clicking at the mention of the wordorphans. Everyone knew what her hotbutton was. “Do you think so?” she asked.

Eric nodded seriously. “I’m sure of it.Landon was the one who thought of it first,but I know that if I was an orphan, I’d lovesomething like that, even if it wasn’texactly the real thing.”

“Me too,” Margaret chimed in.As they spoke, the only thing I could

think about was that scene from JuliusCaesar where Brutus stabs him in theback. Et tu, Eric?

“It was Landon’s idea?” she asked,furrowing her brow. She looked at me,and I could tell she was still mulling itover.

But Eric wasn’t about to let me off thehook that easy. Now that he had meflopping on the deck, the only thing left todo was gut me. “You’d like to do that,wouldn’t you, Landon?” he said. “Helpingthe orphans, I mean.”

It wasn’t exactly something you couldanswer no to, was it?

“I reckon so,” I said under my breath,staring at my best friend. Eric, despite the

remedial classes he was in, would havebeen one hell of a chess player.

“Good, then, it’s all settled. That’s ifit’s okay with you, Jamie.” His smile wasso sweet, it could have flavored half theRC cola in the county.

“Well . . . yes, I suppose I’ll have totalk to Miss Garber and the director of theorphanage, but if they say it’s okay, I thinkit would be a fine idea.”

And the thing was, you could tell shewas really happy about it.

Checkmate.

The next day I spent fourteen hoursmemorizing my lines, cursing my friends,and wondering how my life had spun soout of control. My senior year certainly

wasn’t turning out the way I thought itwould when it began, but if I had toperform for a bunch of orphans, I certainlydidn’t want to look like an idiot.

Chapter 6

The first thing we did was talk to MissGarber about our plans for the orphans,and she thought it was a marvelous idea.That was her favorite word, by the way—marvelous—after she’d greeted youwith “Hellooooo.” On Monday, when sherealized that I knew all my lines, she said,“Marvelous!” and for the next two hourswhenever I’d finish up a scene, she’d sayit again. By the end of the rehearsal, I’dheard it about four zillion times.

But Miss Garber actually went our idea

one better. She told the class what wewere doing, and she asked if othermembers of the cast would be willing todo their parts as well, so that the orphanscould really enjoy the whole thing. Theway she asked meant that they reallydidn’t have a choice, and she lookedaround the class, waiting for someone tonod so she could make it official. No onemoved a muscle, except for Eddie.Somehow he’d inhaled a bug up his noseat that exact moment, and he sneezedviolently. The bug flew out his nose, shotacross his desk, and landed on the floorright by Norma Jean’s leg. She jumped outof her chair and screamed out loud, andthe people on either side of her shouted,“Eww . . . gross!” The rest of the classstarted looking around and craning their

necks, trying to see what happened, andfor the next ten seconds there was totalpandemonium in the classroom. For MissGarber, that was as good of an answer asshe needed.

“Marvelous,” she said, closing thediscussion.

Jamie, meanwhile, was getting reallyexcited about performing for the orphans.During a break in rehearsals she pulledme aside and thanked me for thinking ofthem. “There’s no way you would know,”she said almost conspiratorially, “but I’vebeen wondering what to do for theorphanage this year. I’ve been prayingabout it for months now because I wantthis Christmas to be the most special oneof all.”

“Why is this Christmas so important?” I

asked her, and she smiled patiently, as ifI’d asked a question that didn’t reallymatter.

“It just is,” she said simply.The next step was to talk it over with

Mr. Jenkins, the director of the orphanage.Now I’d never met Mr. Jenkins before,being that the orphanage was in MoreheadCity, which was across the bridge fromBeaufort, and I’d never had any reason togo there. When Jamie surprised me withthe news the following day that we’d bemeeting him later that evening, I was sortof worried that I wasn’t dressed niceenough. I know it was an orphanage, but aguy wants to make a good impression.Even though I wasn’t as excited about it asJamie was (no one was as excited asJamie), I didn’t want to be regarded as the

Grinch who ruined Christmas for theorphans, either.

Before we went to the orphanage forour meeting, we had to walk to my houseto pick up my mom’s car, and while there,I planned on changing into something alittle nicer. The walk took about tenminutes or so, and Jamie didn’t say muchalong the way, at least until we got to myneighborhood. The homes around minewere all large and well kept, and sheasked who lived where and how old thehouses were. I answered her questionswithout much thought, but when I openedthe front door to my house, I suddenlyrealized how different this world wascompared with her own. She had ashocked expression on her face as shelooked around the living room, taking in

her surroundings.No doubt it was the fanciest home she’d

ever been in. A moment later I saw hereyes travel to the paintings that lined thewalls. My ancestors, so to speak. As withmany southern families, my entire lineagecould be traced in the dozen faces thatlined the walls. She stared at them,looking for a resemblance, I think, thenturned her attention to the furnishings,which still looked practically new, evenafter twenty years. The furniture had beenhandmade, assembled or carved frommahogany and cherry, and designedspecifically for each room. It was nice, Ihad to admit, but it wasn’t something Ireally thought about. To me, it was just ahouse. My favorite part of it was thewindow in my room that led to the porch

on the upper level. That was my escapehatch.

I showed her around, though, giving hera quick tour of the sitting room, thelibrary, the den, and the family room,Jamie’s eyes growing wider with eachnew room. My mom was out on the sunporch, sipping a mint julep and reading,and heard us poking around. She cameback inside to say hello.

I think I told you that every adult intown adored Jamie, and that included mymom. Even though Hegbert was alwaysgiving the kinds of sermons that had ourfamily’s name written all over them, mymom never held it against Jamie, becauseof how sweet she was. So they talkedwhile I was upstairs rifling through mycloset for a clean shirt and a tie. Back then

boys wore ties a lot, especially when theywere meeting someone in a position ofauthority. When I came back down thestairs fully dressed, Jamie had alreadytold my mom about the plan.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Jamie said,beaming at me. “Landon’s really got aspecial heart.”

My mom—after making sure she’dheard Jamie correctly—faced me with hereyebrows raised. She stared at me like Iwas an alien.

“So this was your idea?” my momasked. Like everyone else in town, sheknew Jamie didn’t lie.

I cleared my throat, thinking of Eric andwhat I still wanted to do to him. Itinvolved molasses and fire ants, by theway.

“Kind of,” I said.“Amazing.” It was the only word she

could get out. She didn’t know the details,but she knew I must have been boxed intoa corner to do something like this.Mothers always know stuff like that, and Icould see her peering closely at me andtrying to figure it out. To escape herinquisitive gaze, I checked my watch,feigned surprise, and casually mentionedto Jamie that we’d better be going. Mymom got the car keys from her pocketbookand handed them to me, still giving me theonce-over as we headed out the door. Ibreathed a sigh of relief, imagining that I’dsomehow gotten away with something, butas I walked Jamie to the car, I heard mymother’s voice again.

“Come on over anytime, Jamie!” my

mom shouted. “You’re always welcomehere.”

Even mothers could stick it to yousometimes.

I was still shaking my head as I got inthe car.

“Your mother’s a wonderful lady,”Jamie said.

I started the engine. “Yeah,” I said, “Iguess so.”

“And your house is beautiful.”“Uh-huh.”“You should count your blessings.”“Oh,” I said, “I do. I’m practically the

luckiest guy alive.”Somehow she didn’t catch the sarcastic

tone of my voice.

We got to the orphanage just about thetime it was getting dark. We were acouple of minutes early, and the directorwas on the phone. It was an important calland he couldn’t meet with us right away,so we made ourselves comfortable. Wewere waiting on a bench in the hallwayoutside his door, when Jamie turned tome. Her Bible was in her lap. I guess shewanted it for support, but then again,maybe it was just her habit.

“You did really well today,” she said.“With your lines, I mean.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling proud anddejected at exactly the same time. “I stillhaven’t learned my beats, though,” Ioffered. There was no way we couldpractice those on the porch, and I hopedshe wasn’t going to suggest it.

“You will. They’re easy once you knowyou all the words.”

“I hope so.”Jamie smiled, and after a moment she

changed the subject, sort of throwing meoff track. “Do you ever think about thefuture, Landon?” she asked.

I was startled by her question because itsounded . . . so ordinary.

“Yeah, sure. I guess so,” I answeredcautiously.

“Well, what do you want to do withyour life?”

I shrugged, a little wary of where shewas going with this. “I don’t know yet. Ihaven’t figured that part out. I’m going toUNC next fall, at least I hope so. I have toget accepted first.”

“You will,” she said.

“How do you know?”“Because I’ve prayed for that, too.”When she said it, I thought we were

heading into a discussion about the powerof prayer and faith, but Jamie tossed yetanother curve-ball at me.

“How about after college? What do youwant to do then?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging.“Maybe I’ll be a one-armed lumberjack.”

She didn’t think it was funny.“I think you should become a minister,”

she said seriously. “I think you’re goodwith people, and they’d respect what youhave to say.”

Though the concept was absolutelyridiculous, with her I just knew it camefrom the heart and she intended it as acompliment.

“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t know if I’lldo that, but I’m sure I’ll find something.”It took a moment for me to realize that theconversation had stalled and that it wasmy turn to ask a question.

“How about you? What do you want todo in the future?”

Jamie turned away and got a far-offgaze in her eyes, making me wonder whatshe was thinking, but it vanished almost asquickly as it came.

“I want to get married,” she saidquietly. “And when I do, I want my fatherto walk me down the aisle and I wanteveryone I know to be there. I want thechurch bursting with people.”

“That’s all?” Though I wasn’t averse tothe idea of marriage, it seemed kind ofsilly to hope for that as your life’s goal.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s all I want.”The way she answered made me

suspect that she thought she’d end up likeMiss Garber. I tried to make her feelbetter, even though it still seemed silly tome.

“Well, you’ll get married someday.You’ll meet some guy and the two of youwill hit it off, and he’ll ask you to marryhim. And I’m sure that your father will behappy to walk you down the aisle.”

I didn’t mention the part about having abig crowd in the church. I guess it was theone thing that even I couldn’t imagine.

Jamie thought carefully about myanswer, really pondering the way I said it,though I didn’t know why.

“I hope so,” she said finally.I could tell she didn’t want to talk about

it anymore, don’t ask me how, so I movedon to something new.

“So how long have you been coming tothe orphanage?” I asked conversationally.

“Seven years now. I was ten years oldthe first time I came. I was younger than alot of the kids here.”

“Do you enjoy it, or does it make yousad?”

“Both. Some of the children here camefrom really horrible situations. It’s enoughto break your heart when you hear about it.But when they see you come in with somebooks from the library or a new game toplay, their smiles just take all the sadnessaway. It’s the greatest feeling in theworld.”

She practically glowed when shespoke. Though she wasn’t saying it to

make me feel guilty, that was exactly theway I felt. It was one of the reasons it wasso hard to put up with her, but by then Iwas getting fairly used to it. She couldtwist you every way but normal, I’d cometo learn.

At that moment, Mr. Jenkins opened thedoor and invited us in. The office lookedalmost like a hospital room, with black-and-white tiled floors, white walls andceilings, a metal cabinet against the wall.Where the bed would normally have been,there was a metal desk that looked like ithad been stamped off the assembly line. Itwas almost neurotically clean of anythingpersonal. There wasn’t a single picture oranything.

Jamie introduced me, and I shook Mr.Jenkins’s hand. After we sat down, Jamie

did most of the talking. They were oldfriends, you could see that right off, andMr. Jenkins had given her a big hug assoon as she’d entered. After smoothing outher skirt, Jamie explained our plan. Now,Mr. Jenkins had seen the play a few yearsback, and he knew exactly what she wastalking about almost as soon as shestarted. But even though Mr. Jenkins likedJamie a lot and knew she meant well, hedidn’t think it was a good idea.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said.That’s how I knew what he was

thinking.“Why not?” Jamie asked, her brow

furrowed. She seemed genuinelyperplexed by his lack of enthusiasm.

Mr. Jenkins picked up a pencil andstarted tapping it on his desk, obviously

thinking about how to explain himself. Intime, he put down the pencil and sighed.

“Even though it’s a wonderful offer andI know you’d like to do something special,the play is about a father who eventuallycomes to realize how much he loves hisdaughter.” He let that sink in for a momentand picked up the pencil again.“Christmas is hard enough around herewithout reminding the kids of what they’remissing. I think that if the children seesomething like that . . .”

He didn’t even have to finish. Jamie puther hands to her mouth. “Oh my,” she saidright away, “you’re right. I hadn’t thoughtabout that.”

Neither had I, to tell you the truth. But itwas obvious right off the bat that Mr.Jenkins made sense.

He thanked us anyway and chatted for awhile about what he planned to doinstead. “We’ll have a small tree and afew gifts—something that all of them canshare. “You’re welcome to visitChristmas Eve. . . .”

After we said our good-byes, Jamie andI walked in silence without sayinganything. I could tell she was sad. Themore I hung around Jamie, the more Irealized she had lots of different emotions—she wasn’t always cheerful and happy.Believe it or not, that was the first time Irecognized that in some ways she was justlike the rest of us.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” I saidsoftly.

“I am, too.”She had that faraway look in her eyes

again, and it was a moment before shewent on.

“I just wanted to do something differentfor them this year. Something special thatthey would remember forever. I thoughtfor sure this was it. . . .” She sighed. “TheLord seems to have a plan that I just don’tknow about yet.”

She was quiet for a long time, and Ilooked at her. Seeing Jamie feeling badwas almost worse than feeling badbecause of her. Unlike Jamie, I deservedto feel bad about myself—I knew whatkind of person I was. But with her . . .

“While we’re here, do you want to stopin to see the kids?” I asked into thesilence. It was the only thing I could thinkto do that might make her feel better. “Icould wait out here while you talk to them,

or go to the car if you want.”“Would you visit them with me?” she

asked suddenly.To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could

handle it, but I knew she really wanted methere. And she was feeling so down thatthe words came out automatically.

“Sure, I’ll go.”“They’ll be in the rec room now. That’s

where they usually are at this time,” shesaid.

We walked down the corridors to theend of the hall, where two doors openedinto a good-size room. Perched in the farcorner was a small television with aboutthirty metal folding chairs placed allaround it. The kids were sitting in thechairs, crowded around it, and you couldtell that only the ones in the front row had

a good view of the thing.I glanced around. In the corner was an

old Ping-Pong table. The surface wascracked and dusty, the net nowhere to beseen. A couple of empty Styrofoam cupssat on top of it, and I knew it hadn’t beenused in months, maybe years. Along thewall next to the Ping-Pong table were aset of shelves, with a few toys here andthere—blocks and puzzles, a couple ofgames. There weren’t too many, and thefew that were there looked as if they’dbeen in this room for a long time. Alongthe near walls were small individualdesks piled with newspapers, scribbledon with crayons.

We stood in the doorway for just asecond. We hadn’t been noticed yet, and Iasked what the newspapers were for.

“They don’t have coloring books,” shewhispered, “so they use newspapers.” Shedidn’t look at me as she spoke—insteadher attention was directed at the kids.She’d begun to smile again.

“Are these all the toys they have?” Iasked.

She nodded. “Yes, except for thestuffed animals. They’re allowed to keepthose in their rooms. This is where the restof the things are kept.”

I guess she was used to it. To me,though, the sparseness of the room madethe whole thing depressing. I couldn’timagine growing up in a place like this.

Jamie and I finally walked into theroom, and one of the kids turned around atthe sound of our steps. He was about eightor so, with red hair and freckles, his two

front teeth missing.“Jamie!” he shouted happily when he

saw her, and all of a sudden all the otherheads turned. The kids ranged in age fromabout five to twelve, more boys than girls.After twelve they had to be sent to livewith foster parents, I later learned.

“Hey, Roger,” Jamie said in response,“how are you?”

With that, Roger and some of the othersbegan to crowd around us. A few of theother kids ignored us and moved closer tothe television now that there were freeseats in the front row. Jamie introducedme to one of the older kids who’d comeup and asked if I was her boyfriend. Byhis tone, I think that he had the sameopinion of Jamie that most of the kids inour high school had.

“He’s just a friend,” she said. “But he’svery nice.”

Over the next hour, we visited with thechildren. I got a lot of questions aboutwhere I lived and whether my house wasbig or what kind of car I owned, and whenwe finally had to leave, Jamie promisedthat she’d be back soon. I noticed that shedidn’t promise I would be with her.

While we were walking back to the car,I said, “They’re a nice bunch of kids.” Ishrugged awkwardly. “I’m glad that youwant to help them.”

Jamie turned to me and smiled. Sheknew there wasn’t much to add after that,but I could tell she was still wonderingwhat she was going to do for them thatChristmas.

Chapter 7

By early December, just over two weeksinto rehearsals, the sky was winter darkbefore Miss Garber would let us leave,and Jamie asked me if I wouldn’t mindwalking her home. I don’t know why shewanted me to. Beaufort wasn’t exactly ahotbed of criminal activity back then. Theonly murder I’d ever heard about hadoccurred six years earlier when a guy wasstabbed outside of Maurice’s Tavern,which was a hangout for people like Lew,by the way. For an hour or so it caused

quite a stir, and phone lines buzzed allover town while nervous womenwondered about the possibility of a crazedlunatic wandering the streets, preying oninnocent victims. Doors were locked, gunswere loaded, men sat by the frontwindows, looking for anyone out of theordinary who might be creeping down thestreet. But the whole thing was overbefore the night was through when the guywalked into the police station to givehimself up, explaining that it was a barfight that got out of hand. Evidently thevictim had welshed on a bet. The guy wascharged with second-degree murder andgot six years in the state penitentiary. Thepolicemen in our town had the most boringjobs in the world, but they still liked tostrut around with a swagger or sit in

coffee shops while they talked about the“big crime,” as if they’d cracked the caseof the Lindbergh baby.

But Jamie’s house was on the way tomine, and I couldn’t say no without hurtingher feelings. It wasn’t that I liked her oranything, don’t get the wrong idea, butwhen you’ve had to spend a few hours aday with someone, and you’re going tocontinue doing that for at least anotherweek, you don’t want to do anything thatmight make the next day miserable foreither of you.

The play was going to be performedthat Friday and Saturday, and lots ofpeople were already talking about it. MissGarber had been so impressed by Jamieand me that she kept telling everyone itwas going to be the best play the school

had ever done. She had a real flair forpromotion, too, we found out. We had oneradio station in town, and theyinterviewed her over the air, not once, buttwice. “It’s going to be marvelous,” shepronounced, “absolutely marvelous.”She’d also called the newspaper, andthey’d agreed to write an article about it,primarily because of the Jamie– Hegbertconnection, even though everyone in townalready knew about it. But Miss Garberwas relentless, and just that day she’d toldus the Playhouse was going to bring inextra seats to accommodate the extralargecrowd expected. The class sort of oohedand aahed, like it was a big deal orsomething, but then I guess it was to someof them. Remember, we had guys likeEddie in class. He probably thought that

this would be the only time in his lifewhen some-one might be interested in him.The sad thing was, he was probably right.

You might think I’d be getting excitedabout it, too, but I really wasn’t. Myfriends were still teasing me at school,and I hadn’t had an afternoon off in whatseemed like forever. The only thing thatkept me going was the fact that I wasdoing the “right thing.” I know it’s notmuch, but frankly, it was all I had.Occasionally I even felt sort of good aboutit, too, though I never admitted it toanyone. I could practically imagine theangels in heaven, standing around andstaring wistfully down at me with littletears filling the corners of their eyes,talking about how wonderful I was for allmy sacrifices.

So I was walking her home that firstnight, thinking about this stuff, when Jamieasked me a question.

“Is it true you and your friendssometimes go to the graveyard at night?”

Part of me was surprised that she waseven interested. Though it wasn’t exactly asecret, it didn’t seem like the sort of thingshe’d care about at all.

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging.“Sometimes.”

“What do you do there, besides eatpeanuts?”

I guess she knew about that, too.“I don’t know,” I said. “Talk . . . joke

around. It’s just a place we like to go.”“Does it ever scare you?”“No,” I answered. “Why? Would it

scare you?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It might.”“Why?”“Because I’d worry that I might do

something wrong.”“We don’t do anything bad there. I

mean, we don’t knock over the tombstonesor leave our trash around,” I said. I didn’twant to tell her about our conversationsabout Henry Preston because I knew thatwasn’t the sort of thing Jamie would wantto hear about. Last week Eric hadwondered aloud how fast a guy like thatcould lie in bed and . . . well . . . youknow.

“Do you ever just sit around and listento the sounds?” she asked. “Like thecrickets chirping, or the rustling of leaveswhen the wind blows? Or do you ever justlie on your backs and stare at the stars?”

Even though she was a teenager and hadbeen for four years, Jamie didn’t know thefirst thing about teenagers, and trying tounderstand teenage boys for her was liketrying to decipher the theory of relativity.

“Not really,” I said.She nodded a little. “I think that’s what

I’d do if I were there, if I ever go, I mean.I’d just look around to really see theplace, or sit quietly and listen.”

This whole conversation struck me asstrange, but I didn’t press it, and wewalked in silence for a few moments. Andsince she’d asked a little about me, I sortof felt obliged to ask her about herself. Imean, she hadn’t brought up the Lord’splan or anything, so it was the least Icould do.

“So, what do you do?” I asked.

“Besides working with the orphans orhelping critters or reading the Bible, Imean?” It sounded ridiculous, even to me,I admit, but that’s what she did.

She smiled at me. I think she wassurprised by my question, and even moresurprised at my interest in her.

“I do a lot of things. I study for myclasses, I spend time with my dad. Weplay gin rummy now and then. Things likethat.”

“Do you ever just go off with friendsand goof around?”

“No,” she said, and I could tell by theway she answered that even to her, it wasobvious that no one wanted her aroundmuch.

“I’ll bet you’re excited about going offto college next year,” I said, changing the

subject.It took her a moment to answer.“I don’t think I’m going to go,” she said

matter-of-factly. Her answer caught me offguard. Jamie had some of the highestgrades in our senior class, and dependingon how the last semester went, she mighteven end up valedictorian. We had arunning pool going as to how many timesshe would mention the Lord’s plan in herspeech, by the way. My bet was fourteen,being that she only had five minutes.

“What about Mount Sermon? I thoughtthat’s where you were planning to go.You’d love a place like that,” I offered.

She looked at me with a twinkle in hereye. “You mean I’d fit right in there, don’tyou?”

Those curveballs she sometimes threw

could smack you right between theeyeballs.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I saidquickly. “I just meant that I’d heard abouthow excited you were to be going therenext year.”

She shrugged without really answeringme, and to be honest, I didn’t know whatto make of it. By then we’d reached thefront of her house, and we stopped on thesidewalk out front. From where I wasstanding, I could make out Hegbert’sshadow in the living room through thecurtains. The lamp was on, and he wassitting on the sofa by the window. Hishead was bowed, like he was readingsomething. I assumed it was the Bible.

“Thank you for walking me home,Landon,” she said, and she glanced up at

me for a moment before finally starting upthe walk.

As I watched her go, I couldn’t help butthink that of all the times I’d ever talked toher, this was the strangest conversationwe’d ever had. Despite the oddness ofsome of her answers, she seemedpractically normal.

The next night, as I was walking herhome, she asked me about my father.

“He’s all right, I reckon,” I said. “Buthe’s not around much.”

“Do you miss that? Not growing upwith him around?”

“Sometimes.”“I miss my mom, too,” she said, “even

though I never even knew her.”

It was the first time I’d ever consideredthat Jamie and I might have something incommon. I let that sink in for a while.

“It must be hard for you,” I saidsincerely. “Even though my father’s astranger to me, at least he’s still around.”

She looked up at me as we walked, thenfaced forward again. She tugged gently ather hair again. I was beginning to noticethat she did this whenever she wasnervous or wasn’t sure what to say.

“It is, sometimes. Don’t get me wrong—I love my father with all my heart—butthere are times when I wonder what itwould have been like to have a motheraround. I think she and I would have beenable to talk about things in a way that myfather and I can’t.”

I assumed she was talking about boys. It

wasn’t until later that I learned how wrongI was.

“What’s it like, living with your father?Is he like how he is in church?”

“No. He’s actually got a pretty goodsense of humor.”

“Hegbert?” I blurted out. I couldn’teven imagine it.

I think she was shocked to hear me callhim by his first name, but she let me offthe hook and didn’t respond to mycomment. Instead she said, “Don’t look sosurprised. You’ll like him, once you get toknow him.”

“I doubt if I’ll ever get to know him.”“You never know, Landon,” she said,

smiling, “what the Lord’s plan is.”I hated when she said things like that.

With her, you just knew she talked to the

Lord every day, and you never knew whatthe “Big Guy up-stairs” had told her. Shemight even have a direct ticket intoheaven, if you know what I mean, being ashow good a person she was.

“How would I get to know him?” Iasked.

She didn’t answer, but she smiled toherself, as if she knew some secret thatshe was keeping from me. Like I said, Ihated it when she did that.

The next night we talked about herBible.

“Why do you always carry it withyou?” I asked.

Now, I assumed she carried the Biblearound simply because she was the

minister’s daughter. It wasn’t that big ofan assumption, given how Hegbert feltabout Scripture and all. But the Bible shecarried was old and the cover was kind ofratty looking, and I figured that she’d bethe kind of person who would buy a newone every year or so just to help out theBible publishing industry or to show herrenewed dedication to the Lord orsomething.

She walked a few steps beforeanswering.

“It was my mother’s,” she said simply.“Oh. . . .” I said it like I’d stepped on

someone’s pet turtle, squashing it undermy shoe.

She looked at me. “It’s okay, Landon.How could you have known?”

“I’m sorry I asked. . . .”

“Don’t be. You didn’t mean anything byit.” She paused. “My mother and fatherwere given this Bible for their wedding,but my mom was the one who claimed itfirst. She read it all the time, especiallywhenever she was going through a hardtime in her life.”

I thought about the miscarriages. Jamiewent on.

“She loved to read it at night, beforeshe went to sleep, and she had it with herin the hospital when I was born. When myfather found out that she had died, hecarried the Bible and me out of thehospital at the same time.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. Wheneversomeone tells you something sad, it’s theonly thing you can think to say, even ifyou’ve already said it before.

“It just gives me a way to...to be a partof her. Can you understand that?” Shewasn’t saying it sadly, just more to let meknow the answer to my question.Somehow that made it worse.

After she told me the story, I thought ofher growing up with Hegbert again, and Ididn’t really know what to say. As I wasthinking about my answer, though, I hearda car blare its horn from behind us, andboth Jamie and I stopped and turnedaround at the same time as we heard itpulling over to the side.

Eric and Margaret were in the car, Ericon the driver’s side, Margaret on the sideclosest to us.

“Well, lookee who we have here,” Ericsaid as he leaned over the steering wheelso that I could see his face. I hadn’t told

him I’d been walking Jamie home, and inthe curious way that teenage minds work,this new development took priority overanything that I was feeling about Jamie’sstory.

“Hello, Eric. Hello, Margaret,” Jamiesaid cheerfully.

“Walking her home, Landon?” I couldsee the little devil behind Eric’s smile.

“Hey, Eric,” I said, wishing he’d neverseen me.

“It’s a beautiful night for strolling, isn’tit?” Eric said. I think that becauseMargaret was between him and Jamie, hefelt a little bolder than he usually was inJamie’s presence. And there was no wayhe could let this opportunity pass withoutsticking it to me.

Jamie looked around and smiled. “Yes,

it is.”Eric looked around, too, with this

wistful look in his eyes before taking adeep breath. I could tell he was faking it.“Boy, it really is nice out there.” Hesighed and glanced toward us as heshrugged. “I’d offer you a ride, but itwouldn’t be half as nice as actuallywalking under the stars, and I wouldn’twant you two to miss it.” He said this likehe was doing us both a favor.

“Oh, we’re almost to my houseanyway,” Jamie said. “I was going to offerLandon a cup of cider. Would you like tomeet us there? We have plenty.”

A cup of cider? At her house? Shehadn’t mentioned that. . . .

I put my hands in my pocket, wonderingif this could get any worse.

“Oh, no . . . that’s all right. We werejust heading off to Cecil’s Diner.”

“On a school night?” she askedinnocently.

“Oh, we won’t be out too late,” hepromised, “but we should probably begoing. Enjoy your cider, you two.”

“Thanks for stopping to say hello,”Jamie said, waving.

Eric got the car rolling again, butslowly. Jamie probably thought he was asafe driver. He really wasn’t, though hewas good at getting out of trouble whenhe’d crashed into something. I rememberone time when he’d told his mother that acow had jumped out in front of the car andthat’s why the grille and fender weredamaged. “It happened so fast, Mom, thecow came out of nowhere. It just darted

out in front of me, and I couldn’t stop intime.” Now, everyone knows cows don’texactly d a r t anywhere, but his motherbelieved him. She used to be a headcheerleader, too, by the way.

Once they’d pulled out of sight, Jamieturned to me and smiled.

“You have nice friends, Landon.”“Sure I do.” Notice the careful way I

phrased my answer.After dropping Jamie off—no, I didn’t

stay for any cider—I started back to myhouse, grumbling the whole time. By thenJamie’s story had left me completely, andI could practically hear my friendslaughing about me, all the way fromCecil’s Diner.

See what happens when you’re a niceguy?

By the next morning everyone at schoolknew I was walking Jamie home, and thisstarted up a new round of speculationabout the two of us. This time it was evenworse than before. It was so bad that I hadto spend my lunch break in the library justto get away from it all.

That night, the rehearsal was at thePlayhouse. It was the last one before theshow opened, and we had a lot to do.Right after school, the boys in drama classhad to load all the props in the classroominto the rented truck to take them to thePlayhouse. The only problem was thatEddie and I were the only two boys, andhe’s not exactly the most coordinatedindividual in history. We’d be walkingthrough a doorway, carrying one of theheavier items, and his Hooville body

would work against him. At every criticalmoment when I really needed his help tobalance the load, he’d stumble over somedust or an insect on the floor, and theweight of the prop would come crashingdown on my fingers, pinching them againstthe doorjamb in the most painful waypossible.

“S-s-sorry,” he’d say. “D-d-did . . . th-th-that hurt?”

I’d stifle the curses rising in my throatand bite out, “Just don’t do it again.”

But he couldn’t stop himself fromstumbling around any more than he couldstop the rain from falling. By the timewe’d finished loading and unloadingeverything, my fingers looked like Toby’s,the roving handyman. And the worst thingwas, I didn’t even get a chance to eat

before rehearsal started. Moving the propshad taken three hours, and we didn’t finishsetting them up until a few minutes beforeeveryone else arrived to begin. Witheverything else that had happened that day,suffice it to say I was in a pretty badmood.

I ran through my lines without eventhinking about them, and Miss Garberdidn’t say the word marvelous all nightlong. She had this concerned look in hereyes afterward, but Jamie simply smiledand told her not to worry, that everythingwas going to be all right. I knew Jamiewas just trying to make things better forme, but when she asked me to walk herhome, I told her no. The Playhouse was inthe middle of town, and to walk her home,I’d have to walk a good distance out of my

way. Besides, I didn’t want to be seenagain doing it. But Miss Garber hadoverheard Jamie’s request and she said,very firmly, that I’d be glad to do it. “Youtwo can talk about the play,” she said.“Maybe you can work out the kinks.” Bykinks, of course, she meant mespecifically.

So once more I ended up walking Jamiehome, but she could tell I wasn’t really inthe mood to talk because I walked a littlebit in front of her, my hands in my pockets,without even really turning back to seewhether she was following. It went thisway for the first few minutes, and I hadn’tsaid a word to her.

“You’re not in a very good mood, areyou?” she finally asked. “You didn’t eventry tonight.”

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” I saidsarcastically without looking at her.

“Maybe I can help,” she offered. Shesaid it kind of happily, which made meeven a little angrier.

“I doubt it,” I snapped.“Maybe if you told me what was wrong

—”I didn’t let her finish.“Look,” I said, stopping, turning to face

her. “I’ve just spent all day hauling crap, Ihaven’t eaten since lunch, and now I haveto trek a mile out of my way to make sureyou get home, when we both know youdon’t even need me to do it.”

It was the first time I’d ever raised myvoice to her. To tell you the truth, it feltkind of good. It had been building up for along time. Jamie was too surprised to

respond, and I went on.“And the only reason I’m doing this is

because of your father, who doesn’t evenlike me. This whole thing is dumb, and Iwish I had never agreed to do it.”

“You’re just saying this because you’renervous about the play—”

I cut her off with a shake of my head.Once I got on a roll, it was sometimeshard for me to stop. I could take heroptimism and cheerfulness only so long,and today wasn’t the day to push me toofar.

“Don’t you get it?” I said, exasperated.“I’m not nervous about the play, I justdon’t want to be here. I don’t want to walkyou home, I don’t want my friends to keeptalking about me, and I don’t want tospend time with you. You keep acting like

we’re friends, but we’re not. We’re notanything. I just want the whole thing to beover so I can go back to my normal life.”

She looked hurt by my outburst, and tobe honest, I couldn’t blame her.

“I see,” was all she said. I waited forher to raise her voice at me, to defendherself, to make her case again, but shedidn’t. All she did was look toward theground. I think part of her wanted to cry,but she didn’t, and I finally stalked away,leaving her standing by her-self. Amoment later, though, I heard her startmoving, too. She was about five yardsbehind me the rest of the way to her house,and she didn’t try to talk to me again untilshe started up the walkway. I was alreadymoving down the sidewalk when I heardher voice.

“Thank you for walking me home,Landon,” she called out.

I winced as soon as she said it. Evenwhen I was mean to her face and said themost spiteful things, she could find somereason to thank me. She was just that kindof girl, and I think I actually hated her forit.

Or rather, I think, I hated myself.

Chapter 8

The night of the play was cool and crisp,the sky absolutely clear without a hint ofclouds. We had to arrive an hour early,and I’d been feeling pretty bad all dayabout the way I’d talked to Jamie the nightbefore. She’d never been anything but niceto me, and I knew that I’d been a jerk. Isaw her in the hallways between classes,and I wanted to go up to apologize to herfor what I’d said, but she’d sort of slipback into the crowd before I got thechance.

She was already at the Playhouse by thetime I finally arrived, and I saw hertalking to Miss Garber and Hegbert, off toone side, over by

the curtains. Everyone was in motion,working off nervous energy, but sheseemed strangely lethargic. She hadn’t puton her costume yet—she was supposed towear a white, flowing dress to give thatangelic appearance— and she was stillwearing the same sweater she’d worn atschool. Despite my trepidation at how shemight react, I walked up to the three ofthem.

“Hey, Jamie,” I said. “Hello, Reverend. . . Miss Garber.”

Jamie turned to me.“Hello, Landon,” she said quietly. I

could tell she’d been thinking about the

night before, too, because she didn’t smileat me like she always did when she sawme. I asked if I could talk to her alone, andthe two of us excused ourselves. I couldsee Hegbert and Miss Garber watching usas we took a few steps off to the side, outof hearing distance.

I glanced around the stage nervously.“I’m sorry about those things I said last

night,” I began. “I know they probably hurtyour feelings, and I was wrong to havesaid them.”

She looked at me, as if wonderingwhether to believe me.

“Did you mean those things you said?”she finally asked.

“I was just in a bad mood, that’s all. Iget sort of wound up sometimes.” I knew Ihadn’t really answered her question.

“I see,” she said. She said it as she hadthe night before, then turned toward theempty seats in the audience. Again she hadthat sad look in her eyes.

“Look,” I said, reaching for her hand, “Ipromise to make it up to you.” Don’t askme why I said it—it just seemed like theright thing to do at that moment.

For the first time that night, she began tosmile.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to faceme.

“Jamie?”Jamie turned. “Yes, Miss Garber?”“I think we’re about ready for you.”

Miss Garber was motioning with herhand.

“I’ve got to go,” she said to me.“I know.”

“Break a leg?” I said. Wishing someoneluck before a play is supposed to be badluck. That’s why everyone tells you to“break a leg.”

I let go of her hand. “We both will. Ipromise.”

After that, we had to get ready, and wewent our separate ways. I headed towardthe men’s dressing room. The Playhousewas fairly sophisticated, considering thatit was located in Beaufort, with separatedressing rooms that made us feel as if wewere actual actors, as opposed tostudents.

My costume, which was kept at thePlay-house, was already in the dressingroom. Earlier in the rehearsals we’d hadour measurements taken so that they couldbe altered, and I was getting dressed when

Eric walked in the door unannounced.Eddie was still in the dressing room,putting on his mute bum’s costume, andwhen he saw Eric he got a look of terrorin his eyes. At least once a week Ericgave him a wedgie, and Eddie kind ofhigh-tailed it out of there as fast as hecould, pulling one leg up on his costumeon the way out the door. Eric ignored himand sat on the dressing table in front of themirror.

“So,” Eric said with a mischievous grinon his face, “what are you going to do?”

I looked at him curiously. “What do youmean?” I asked.

“About the play, stupid. You gonna flubup your lines or something?”

I shook my head. “No.”“You gonna knock the props over?”

Everyone knew about the props.“I hadn’t planned on it,” I answered

stoically.“You mean you’re going to do this thing

straight up?”I nodded. Thinking otherwise hadn’t

even occurred to me.He looked at me for a long time, as if he

were seeing someone he’d never seenbefore.

“I guess you’re finally growing up,Landon,” he said at last. Coming fromEric, I wasn’t sure whether it wasintended as a compliment.

Either way, though, I knew he was right.

In the play, Tom Thornton is amazedwhen he first sees the angel, which is why

he goes around helping her as she sharesChristmas with those less fortunate. Thefirst words out of Tom’s mouth are,“You’re beautiful,” and I was supposed tosay them as if I meant them from thebottom of my heart. This was the pivotalmoment in the entire play, and it sets thetone for everything else that happensafterward. The problem, however, wasthat I still hadn’t nailed this line yet. Sure,I said the words, but they didn’t come offtoo convincingly, seeing as I probablysaid the words like anyone would whenlooking at Jamie, with the exception ofHegbert. It was the only scene where MissGarber had never said the wordmarvelous, so I was nervous about it. Ikept trying to imagine someone else as theangel so that I could get it just right, but

with all the other things I was trying toconcentrate on, it kept getting lost in theshuffle.

Jamie was still in her dressing roomwhen the curtains finally opened. I didn’tsee her beforehand, but that was okay. Thefirst few scenes didn’t include her anyway—they were mainly about Tom Thorntonand his relationship with his daughter.

Now, I didn’t think I’d be too nervouswhen I stepped out on stage, being that I’drehearsed so much, but it hits you rightbetween the eyes when it actuallyhappens. The Play-house was absolutelypacked, and as Miss Garber hadpredicted, they’d had to set up two extrarows of seats all the way across the back.Normally the place sat four hundred, butwith those seats there were at least

another fifty people sitting down. Inaddition, people were standing against thewalls, packed like sardines.

As soon as I stepped on stage, everyonewas absolutely quiet. The crowd, Inoticed, was mainly old ladies of theblue-haired type, the kind that play bingoand drink Bloody Marys at Sunday brunch,though I could see Eric sitting with all myfriends near the back row. It wasdownright eerie, if you know what I mean,to be standing in front of them whileeveryone waited for me to say something.

So I did the best I could to put it out ofmy mind as I did the first few scenes in theplay. Sally, the one-eyed wonder, wasplaying my daughter, by the way, becauseshe was sort of small, and we wentthrough our scenes just as we’d rehearsed

them. Neither of us blew our lines, thoughwe weren’t spectacular or anything. Whenwe closed the curtains for act two, we hadto quickly reset the props. This timeeveryone pitched in, and my fingersescaped unscathed because I avoidedEddie at all costs.

I still hadn’t seen Jamie—I guess shewas exempt from moving props becauseher costume was made of light materialand would rip if she caught it on one ofthose nails—but I didn’t have much timeto think about her because of all we had todo. The next thing I knew, the curtain wasopening again and I was back in HegbertSullivan’s world, walking past storefrontsand looking in windows for the music boxmy daughter wants for Christmas. My backwas turned from where Jamie entered, but

I heard the crowd collectively draw abreath as soon as she appeared on stage. Ithought it was silent before, but now itwent absolutely hush still. Just then, fromthe corner of my eye and off to the side ofthe stage, I saw Hegbert’s jaw quivering. Ireadied myself to turn around, and when Idid, I finally saw what it was all about.

For the first time since I’d known her,her honey-colored hair wasn’t pulled intoa tight bun. Instead it was hanging loosely,longer than I imagined, reaching belowher shoulder blades. There was a trace ofglitter in her hair, and it caught the stagelights, sparkling like a crystal halo. Setagainst her flowing white dress tailoredexactly for her, it was absolutely amazingto behold. She didn’t look like the girl I’dgrown up with or the girl I’d come

recently to know. She wore a touch ofmakeup, too—not a lot, just enough tobring out the softness of her features. Shewas smiling slightly, as if she wereholding a secret close to her heart, justlike the part called for her to do.

She looked exactly like an angel.I know my jaw dropped a little, and I

just stood there looking at her for whatseemed like a long time, shocked intosilence, until I suddenly remembered that Ihad a line I had to deliver. I took a deepbreath, then slowly let it out.

“You’re beautiful,” I finally said to her,and I think everyone in the wholeauditorium, from the blue-haired ladies infront to my friends in the back row, knewthat I actually meant it.

I’d nailed that line for the very first

time.

Chapter 9

To say that the play was a smashingsuccess was to put it mildly. The audiencelaughed and the audience cried, which ispretty much what they were supposed todo. But because of Jamie’s presence, itreally became something special—and Ithink everyone in the cast was as shockedas I was at how well the whole thing hadcome off. They all had that same look Idid when I first saw her, and it made theplay that much more powerful when theywere performing their parts. We finished

the first performance without a hitch, andthe next evening even more peopleshowed up, if you can believe it. EvenEric came up to me afterward andcongratulated me, which after what he’dsaid to me before was somewhat of asurprise.

“The two of you did good,” he saidsimply. “I’m proud of you, buddy.”

While he said it, Miss Garber wascrying out, “Marvelous!” to anyone whowould listen to her or who just happenedto be walking past, repeating it over andover so much that I kept on hearing it longafter I went to bed that night. I looked forJamie after we’d pulled the curtainsclosed for the final time, and spotted heroff to the side, with her father. He hadtears in his eyes—it was the first time I’d

ever seen him cry—and Jamie went intohis arms, and they held each other for along time. He was stroking her hair andwhispering, “My angel,” to her while hereyes were closed, and even I felt myselfchoking up.

The “right thing,” I realized, wasn’t sobad after all.

After they finally let go of each other,Hegbert proudly motioned for her to visitwith the rest of the cast, and she got aboatload of congratulations from everyonebackstage. She knew she’d done well,though she kept on telling people shedidn’t know what all the fuss was about.She was her normal cheerful self, but withher looking so pretty, it came across in atotally different way. I stood in thebackground, letting her have her moment,

and I’ll admit there was a part of me thatfelt like old Hegbert. I couldn’t help butbe happy for her, and a little proud aswell. When she finally saw me standingoff to one side, she excused herself fromthe others and walked over, finallystopping when she was close.

Looking up at me, she smiled. “Thankyou, Landon, for what you did. You mademy father very happy.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, meaning it.The strange thing was, when she said it,

I realized that Hegbert would be drivingher home, and for once I wished that Iwould have had the opportunity to walkher there.

The following Monday was our last

week of school before Christmas break,and finals were scheduled in every class.In addition, I had to finish my applicationfor UNC, which I’d sort of been puttingoff because of all the rehearsals. I plannedon hitting the books pretty hard that week,then doing the application at night before Iwent to bed. Even so, I couldn’t help butthink about Jamie.

Jamie’s transformation during the playhad been startling, to say the least, and Iassumed it had signaled a change in her. Idon’t know why I thought that way, but Idid, and so I was amazed when sheshowed up our first morning back dressedlike her usual self: brown sweater, hair ina bun, plaid skirt, and all.

One look was all it took, and I couldn’thelp but feel sorry for her. She’d been

regarded as normal—even special—overthe weekend, or so it had seemed, butshe’d somehow let it slip away. Oh,people were a little nicer to her, and theones who hadn’t talked to her yet told herwhat a good job she’d done, too, but Icould tell right off that it wasn’t going tolast. Attitudes forged since childhood arehard to break, and part of me wondered ifit might even get worse for her after this.Now that people actually knew she couldlook normal, they might even becomemore heartless.

I wanted to talk to her about myimpressions, I really did, but I wasplanning to do so after the week was over.Not only did I have a lot to do, but Iwanted a little time to think of the bestway to tell her. To be honest, I was still

feeling a little guilty about the things I’dsaid to her on our last walk home, and itwasn’t just because the play had turnedout great. It had more to do with the factthat in all our time together, Jamie hadnever once been anything but kind, and Iknew that I’d been wrong.

I didn’t think she wanted to talk to me,either, to tell you the truth. I knew shecould see me hanging out with my friendsat lunch while she sat off in the corner,reading her Bible, but she never made amove toward us. But as I was leavingschool that day, I heard her voice behindme, asking me if I wouldn’t mind walkingher home. Even though I wasn’t ready totell her yet about my thoughts, I agreed.For old times’ sake, you see.

A minute later Jamie got down to

business.“Do you remember those things you

said on our last walk home?” she asked. Inodded, wishing she hadn’t brought it up.“You promised to make it up to me,” shesaid.

For a moment I was confused. I thoughtI’d done that already with my performancein the play. Jamie went on.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about whatyou could do,” she continued withoutletting me get a word in edgewise, “andthis is what I’ve come up with.”

She asked if I wouldn’t mind gatheringthe pickle jars and coffee cans she’d setout in businesses all over town early inthe year. They sat on the counters, usuallynear the cash registers, so that peoplecould drop their loose change in. The

money was to go to the orphans. Jamienever wanted to ask people straight out forthe money, she wanted them to givevoluntarily. That, in her mind, was theChristian thing to do.

I remembered seeing the containers inplaces like Cecil’s Diner and the CrownTheater. My friends and I used to tosspaper clips and slugs in there when thecashiers weren’t looking, since theysounded sort of like a coin being droppedinside, then we’d chuckle to ourselvesabout how we were putting somethingover on Jamie. We used to joke about howshe’d open one of her cans, expectingsomething good because of the weight, andshe’d dump it out and find nothing butslugs and paper clips. Sometimes, whenyou remember the things you used to do, it

makes you wince, and that’s exactly what Idid.

Jamie saw the look on my face.“You don’t have to do it,” she said,

obviously disappointed. “I was justthinking that since Christmas is coming upso quickly and I don’t have a car, it’llsimply take me too long to collect themall. . . .”

“No,” I said cutting her off, “I’ll do it. Idon’t have much to do anyway.”

So that’s what I did startingWednesday, even though I had tests tostudy for, even with that applicationneeding to be finished. Jamie had givenme a list of every place she’d placed acan, and I borrowed my mom’s car and

started at the far end of town the followingday. She’d put out about sixty cans in all,and I figured that it would take only a dayto collect them all. Compared to puttingthem out, it would be a piece of cake. Ithad taken Jamie almost six weeks to dobecause she’d first had to find sixty emptyjars and cans and then she could put outonly two or three a day since she didn’thave a car and could carry only so many ata time. When I started out, I felt sort offunny about being the one who picked upthe cans and jars, being that it was Jamie’sproject, but I kept telling myself that Jamiehad asked me to help.

I went from business to business,collecting the cans and jars, and by end ofthe first day I realized it was going to takea little longer than I’d thought. I’d picked

up only about twenty containers or so,because I’d forgotten one simple fact oflife in Beaufort. In a small town like this,it was impossible to simply run inside andgrab the can without chatting with theproprietor or saying hello to someone elseyou might recognize. It just wasn’t done.So I’d sit there while some guy would betalking about the marlin he’d hooked lastfall, or they’d ask me how school wasgoing and mention that they needed a handunloading a few boxes in the back, ormaybe they wanted my opinion on whetherthey should move the magazine rack overto the other side of the store. Jamie, Iknew, would have been good at this, and Itried to act like I thought she would wantme to. It was her project after all.

To keep things moving, I didn’t stop to

check the take in between the businesses. Ijust dumped one jar or can into the next,combining them as I went along. By theend of the first day all the change waspacked in two large jars, and I carriedthem up to my room. I saw a few billsthrough the glass—not too many— but Iwasn’t actually nervous until I emptied thecontents onto my floor and saw that thechange consisted primarily of pennies.Though there weren’t nearly as many slugsor paper clips as I’d thought there mightbe, I was still disheartened when Icounted up the money. There was $20.32.Even in 1958 that wasn’t a lot of money,especially when divided among thirtykids.

I didn’t get discouraged, though.Thinking that it was a mistake, I went out

the next day, hauled a few dozen boxes,and chatted with another twentyproprietors while I collected cans andjars. The take: $23.89.

The third day was even worse. Aftercounting up the money, even I couldn’tbelieve it. There was only $11.52. Thosewere from the businesses down by thewaterfront, where the tourists andteenagers like me hung out. We werereally something, I couldn’t help but think.

Seeing how little had been collected inall— $55.73—made me feel awful,especially considering that the jars hadbeen out for almost a whole year and that Imyself had seen them countless times.That night I was supposed to call Jamie totell her the amount I’d collected, but I justcouldn’t do it. She’d told me how she’d

wanted something extra special this year,and this wasn’t going to do it—even Iknew that. Instead I lied to her and toldher that I wasn’t going to count the totaluntil the two of us could do it together,because it was her project, not mine. Itwas just too depressing. I promised tobring over the money the followingafternoon, after school let out. The nextday was December 21, the shortest day ofthe year. Christmas was only four daysaway.

“Landon,” she said to me after countingit up, “this is a miracle!”

“How much is there?” I asked. I knewexactly how much it was.

“There’s almost two hundred and forty-

seven dollars here!” She was absolutelyjoyous as she looked up at me. SinceHegbert was home, I was allowed to sit inthe living room, and that’s where Jamiehad counted the money. It was stacked inneat little piles all over the floor, almostall quarters and dimes. Hegbert was in thekitchen at the table, writing his sermon,and even he turned his head when he heardthe sound of her voice.

“Do you think that’s enough?” I askedinnocently.

Little tears were coming down hercheeks as she looked around the room,still not believing what she was seeingright in front of her. Even after the play,she hadn’t been nearly this happy. Shelooked right at me.

“It’s . . . wonderful,” she said, smiling.

There was more emotion than I’d everheard in her voice before. “Last year, Ionly collected seventy dollars.”

“I’m glad it worked out better thisyear,” I said through the lump that hadformed in my throat. “If you hadn’t placedthose jars out so early in the year, youmight not have collected nearly as much.”

I know I was lying, but I didn’t care.For once, it was the right thing to do.

I didn’t help Jamie pick out the toys—Ifigured she’d know better what the kidswould want anyway—but she’d insistedthat I go with her to the orphanage onChristmas Eve so that I could be therewhen the children opened their gifts.“Please, Landon,” she’d said, and with

her being so excited and all, I just didn’thave the heart to turn her down.

So three days later, while my father andmother were at a party at the mayor’shouse, I dressed in a houndstooth jacketand my best tie and walked to my mom’scar with Jamie’s present beneath my arm.I’d spent my last few dollars on a nicesweater because that was all I could thinkto get her. She wasn’t exactly the easiestperson to shop for.

I was supposed to be at the orphanageat seven, but the bridge was up near theMore head City port, and I had to waituntil an outbound freighter slowly madeits way down the channel. As a result, Iarrived a few minutes late. The front doorwas already locked by that time, and I hadto pound on it until Mr. Jenkins finally

heard me. He fiddled through his set ofkeys until he found the right one, and amoment later he opened the door. Istepped inside, patting my arms to wardoff the chill.

“Ah . . . you’re here,” he said happily.“We’ve been waiting for you. C’mon, I’lltake you to where everyone is.”

He led me down the hall to the recroom, the same place I’d been before. Ipaused for just a moment to exhale deeplybefore finally heading in.

It was even better than I’d imagined.In the center of the room I saw a giant

tree, decorated with tinsel and coloredlights and a hundred different handmadeornaments. Beneath the tree, spread in alldirections, were wrapped gifts of everysize and shape. They were piled high, and

the children were on the floor, sittingclose together in a large semicircle. Theywere dressed in their best clothes, Iassumed—the boys wore navy blue slacksand white collared shirts, while the girlshad on navy skirts and longsleevedblouses. They all looked as if they’dcleaned up before the big event, and mostof the boys had had their hair cut.

On the table beside the door, there wasa bowl of punch and platters of cookies,shaped like Christmas trees and sprinkledwith green sugar. I could see some adultssitting with the children; a few of thesmaller kids were sitting on the adults’laps, their faces rapt with attention as theylistened to “ ’Twas the Night BeforeChristmas.”

I didn’t see Jamie, though, at least not

right off the bat. It was her voice that Irecognized first. She was the one readingthe story, and I finally located her. Shewas sitting on the floor in front of the treewith her legs bent beneath her.

To my surprise, I saw that tonight herhair hung loosely, just as it had the night ofthe play. Instead of the old browncardigan I’d seen so many times, she waswearing a red V-neck sweater thatsomehow accentuated the color of herlight blue eyes. Even without sparkles inher hair or a long white flowing dress, thesight of her was arresting. Without evennoticing it, I’d been holding my breath,and I could see Mr. Jenkins smiling at meout of the corner of my eye. I exhaled andsmiled, trying to regain control.

Jamie paused only once to look up from

the story. She noticed me standing in thedoor-way, then went back to reading to thechildren. It took her another minute or soto finish, and when she did, she stood upand smoothed her skirt, then walkedaround the children to make her waytoward me. Not knowing where shewanted me to go, I stayed where I was.

By then Mr. Jenkins had slipped away.“I’m sorry we started without you,” she

said when she finally reached me, “but thekids were just so excited.”

“It’s okay,” I said, smiling, thinkinghow nice she looked.

“I’m so glad you could come.”“So am I.”Jamie smiled and reached for my hand

to lead the way. “C’mon with me,” shesaid. “Help me hand out the gifts.”

We spent the next hour doing just that,and we watched as the children openedthem one by one. Jamie had shopped allover town, picking up a few things foreach child in the room, individual giftsthat they’d never received before. Thegifts that Jamie bought weren’t the onlyones the children received, however—both the orphanage and the people whoworked there had bought some things aswell. As paper was tossed around theroom in excited frenzy, there were squealsof delight everywhere. To me, at least, itseemed that all of the children hadreceived far more than they’d expected,and they kept thanking Jamie over andover.

By the time the dust had finally settledand all the children’s gifts were opened,

the atmosphere began to calm down. Theroom was tidied up by Mr. Jenkins and awoman I’d never met, and some of thesmaller children were beginning to fallasleep beneath the tree. Some of the olderones had already gone back to their roomswith their gifts, and they’d dimmed theoverhead lights on the way out the door.The tree lights cast an ethereal glow as“Silent Night” played softly on aphonograph that had been set up in thecorner. I was still sitting on the floor nextto Jamie, who was holding a young girlwho’d fallen asleep in her lap. Because ofall the commotion, we hadn’t really had achance to talk, not that either of us hadminded. We were both gazing up at thelights on the tree, and I wondered whatJamie was thinking. If truth be told, I

didn’t know, but she had a tender lookabout her. I thought—no, I knew—she waspleased with how the evening had gone,and deep down, so was I. To this point itwas the best Christmas Eve I’d ever spent.

I glanced at her. With the lights glowingon her face, she looked as pretty as anyoneI’d ever seen.

“I bought you something,” I finally saidto her. “A gift, I mean.” I spoke softly so Iwouldn’t wake the little girl, and I hopedit would hide the nervousness in my voice.

She turned from the tree to face me,smiling softly. “You didn’t have to dothat.” She kept her voice low, too, and itsounded almost musical.

“I know,” I said. “But I wanted to.” I’dkept the gift off to one side, and I reachedfor it, handing the gift-wrapped package to

her.“Could you open it for me? My hands

are kind of full right now.” She lookeddown at the little girl, then back to me.

“You don’t have to open it now, ifyou’d rather not,” I said, shrugging, “it’sreally not that big of a deal.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I wouldonly open it in front of you.”

To clear my mind, I looked at the giftand started opening it, picking at the tapeso that it wouldn’t make much noise, thenunwrapping the paper until I reached thebox. After setting the paper off to the side,I lifted the cover and pulled out thesweater, holding it up to show her. It wasbrown, like the ones she usually wore. ButI figured she could use a new one.

Compared with the joy I’d seen earlier,

I didn’t expect much of a reaction.“See, that’s all. I told you it wasn’t

much,” I said. I hoped she wasn’tdisappointed in it.

“It’s beautiful, Landon,” she saidearnestly. “I’ll wear it the next time I seeyou. Thank you.”

We sat quietly for a moment, and onceagain I began to look at the lights.

“I brought you something, too,” Jamiefinally whispered. She looked toward thetree, and my eyes followed her gaze. Hergift was still beneath the tree, partiallyhidden by the stand, and I reached for it. Itwas rectangular, flexible, and a littleheavy. I brought it to my lap and held itthere without even trying to open it.

“Open it,” she said, looking right at me.“You can’t give this to me,” I said

breathlessly. I already knew what wasinside, and I couldn’t believe what shehad done. My hands began to tremble.

“Please,” she said to me with thekindest voice I’d ever heard, “open it. Iwant you to have it.”

Reluctantly I slowly unwrapped thepackage. When it was finally free of thepaper, I held it gently, afraid to damage it.I stared at it, mesmerized, and slowly ranmy hand over the top, brushing my fingersover the well-worn leather as tears filledmy eyes. Jamie reached out and rested herhand on mine. It was warm and soft.

I glanced at her, not knowing what tosay.

Jamie had given me her Bible.“Thank you for doing what you did,”

she whispered to me. “It was the best

Christmas I’ve ever had.”I turned away without responding and

reached off to the side where I’d set myglass of punch. The chorus of “SilentNight” was still playing, and the musicfilled the room. I took a sip of the punch,trying to soothe the sudden dryness in mythroat. As I drank, all the times I’d spentwith Jamie came flooding into my mind. Ithought about the homecoming dance andwhat she’d done for me that night. Ithought about the play and how angelicshe’d looked. I thought about the times I’dwalked her home and how I’d helpedcollect jars and cans filled with penniesfor the orphans.

As these images were going through myhead, my breathing suddenly went still. Ilooked at Jamie, then up to the ceiling and

around the room, doing my best to keepmy composure, then back to Jamie again.She smiled at me and I smiled at her andall I could do was wonder how I’d everfallen in love with a girl like JamieSullivan.

Chapter 10

I drove Jamie home from the orphanagelater that night. At first I wasn’t surewhether I should pull the old yawn moveand put my arm around her shoulder, but tobe honest, I didn’t know exactly how shewas feeling about me. Granted, she’dgiven me the most wonderful gift I’d everreceived, and even though I’d probablynever open it and read it like she did, Iknew it was like giving a piece of herselfaway. But Jamie was the type of personwho would donate a kidney to a stranger

she met walking down the street, if hereally needed one. So I wasn’t exactlysure what to make of it.

Jamie had told me once that she wasn’ta dimwit, and I guess I finally came to theconclusion that she wasn’t. She may havebeen . . . well, different . . . but she’dfigured out what I’d done for the orphans,and looking back, I think she knew even aswe were sitting on the floor of her livingroom. When she’d called it a miracle, Iguess she was talking specifically aboutme.

Hegbert, I remembered, came into theroom as Jamie and I were talking about it,but he really didn’t have much to say. OldHegbert hadn’t been himself lately, atleast as far as I could tell. Oh, his sermonswere still on the money, and he still talked

about the fornicators, but lately hissermons were shorter than usual, andoccasionally he’d pause right in themiddle of one and this strange look wouldcome over him, kind of like he wasthinking of something else, something sad.

I didn’t know what to make of it, beingthat I really didn’t know him that well.And Jamie, when she talked about him,seemed to describe someone else entirely.I could no more imagine Hegbert with asense of humor than I could imagine twomoons in the sky.

So anyway, he came into the roomwhile we counted the money, and Jamiestood up with those tears in her eyes, andHegbert didn’t even seem to realize I wasthere. He told her that he was proud of herand that he loved her, but then he shuffled

back to the kitchen to continue working onhis sermon. He didn’t even say hello.Now, I knew I hadn’t exactly been themost spiritual kid in the congregation, butI still found his behavior sort of odd.

As I was thinking about Hegbert, Iglanced at Jamie sitting beside me. Shewas looking out the window with apeaceful look on her face, kind of smiling,but far away at the same time. I smiled.Maybe she was thinking about me. Myhand started scooting across the seatcloser to hers, but before I reached it,Jamie broke the silence.

“Landon,” she finally asked as sheturned toward me, “do you ever thinkabout God?”

I pulled my hand back.Now, when I thought about God, I

usually pictured him like those oldpaintings I’d seen in churches—a gianthovering over the landscape, wearing awhite robe, with long flowing hair,pointing his finger or something like that—but I knew she wasn’t talking about that.She was talking about the Lord’s plan. Ittook a moment for me to answer.

“Sure,” I said. “Sometimes, I reckon.”“Do you ever wonder why things have

to turn out the way they do?”I nodded uncertainly.“I’ve been thinking about it a lot

lately.”Even more than usual? I wanted to ask,

but I didn’t. I could tell she had more tosay, and I stayed quiet.

“I know the Lord has a plan for us all,but sometimes, I just don’t understand

what the message can be. Does that everhappen to you?”

She said this as though it weresomething I thought about all the time.

“Well,” I said, trying to bluff, “I don’tthink that we’re meant to understand it allthe time. I think that sometimes we justhave to have faith.”

It was a pretty good answer, I admit. Iguess that my feelings for Jamie weremaking my brain work a little faster thanusual. I could tell she was thinking aboutmy answer.

“Yes,” she finally said, “you’re right.”I smiled to myself and changed the

subject, since talking about God wasn’tthe sort of thing that made a person feelromantic.

“You know,” I said casually, “it sure

was nice tonight when we were sitting bythe tree earlier.”

“Yes, it was,” she said. Her mind wasstill elsewhere.

“And you sure looked nice, too.”“Thank you.”This wasn’t working too well.“Can I ask you a question?” I finally

said, in the hopes of bringing her back tome.

“Sure,” she said.I took a deep breath.“After church tomorrow, and, well . . .

after you’ve spent some time with yourfather . . . I mean . . .” I paused and lookedat her. “Would you mind coming over tomy house for Christmas dinner?”

Even though her face was still turnedtoward the window, I could see the faint

outlines of a smile as soon as I’d said it.“Yes, Landon, I would like that very

much.”I sighed with relief, not believing I’d

actually asked her and still wonderinghow all this had happened. I drove downstreets where windows were decoratedwith Christmas lights, and through theBeaufort City Square. A couple of minuteslater when I reached across the seat, Ifinally took hold of her hand, and tocomplete the perfect evening, she didn’tpull it away.

When we pulled up in front of herhouse, the lights in the living room werestill on and I could see Hegbert behind thecurtains. I supposed he was waiting upbecause he wanted to hear how theevening went at the orphanage. Either that,

or he wanted to make sure I didn’t kiss hisdaughter on the doorstep. I knew he’dfrown on that sort of thing.

I was thinking about that—what to dowhen we finally said goodbye, I mean—when we got out of the car and startedtoward the door. Jamie was quiet andcontent at the same time, and I think shewas happy that I’d asked her to come overthe next day. Since she’d been smartenough to figure out what I’d done for theorphans, I figured that maybe she’d beensmart enough to figure out the homecomingsituation as well. In her mind, I think evenshe realized that this was the first time I’dactually asked her to join me of my ownvolition.

Just as we got to her steps, I sawHegbert peek out from behind the curtains

and pull his face back. With some parents,like Angela’s, for instance, that meant theyknew you were home and you had aboutanother minute or so before they’d openthe door. Usually that gave you both timeto sort of bat your eyes at each other whileeach of you worked up the nerve toactually kiss. It usually took about thatlong.

Now I didn’t know if Jamie would kissme; in fact, I actually doubted that shewould. But with her looking so pretty,with her hair down and all, and everythingthat had happened tonight, I didn’t want tomiss the opportunity if it came up. I couldfeel the little butterflies already starting toform in my stomach when Hegbert openedthe door.

“I heard you pull up,” he said quietly.

His skin was that sallow color, as usual,but he looked tired.

“Hello, Reverend Sullivan,” I saiddejectedly.

“Hi, Daddy,” Jamie said happily asecond later. “I wish you could have cometonight. It was wonderful.”

“I’m so glad for you.” He seemed togather himself then and cleared his throat.“I’ll give you a bit to say good night. I’llleave the door open for you.”

He turned around and went back intothe living room. From where he sat down,I knew he could still see us. He pretendedto be reading, though I couldn’t see whatwas in his hands.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,Landon,” Jamie said.

“So did I,” I answered, feeling

Hegbert’s eyes on me. I wondered if heknew I’d been holding her hand during thecar ride home.

“What time should I come overtomorrow?” she asked.

Hegbert’s eyebrow raised just a little.“I’ll come over to get you. Is five

o’clock okay?”She looked over her shoulder. “Daddy,

would you mind if I visited with Landonand his parents tomorrow?”

Hegbert brought his hand to his eyesand started rubbing them. He sighed.

“If it’s important to you, you can,” hesaid.

Not the most stirring vote of confidenceI’d ever heard, but it was good enough forme.

“What should I bring?” she asked. In the

South it was tradition to always ask thatquestion.

“You don’t need to bring anything,” Ianswered. “I’ll pick you up at a quarter tofive.”

We stood there for a moment withoutsaying anything else, and I could tellHegbert was growing a little impatient.He hadn’t turned a page of the book sincewe’d been standing there.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she saidfinally.

“Okay,” I said.She glanced down at her feet for a

moment, then back up at me. “Thank youfor driving me home,” she said.

With that, she turned around and walkedinside. I could barely see the slight smileplaying gently across her lips as she

peeked around the door, just as it wasabout to close.

The next day I picked her up right onschedule and was pleased to see that herhair was down once more. She waswearing the sweater I’d given her, justlike she’d promised.

Both my mom and dad were a littlesurprised when I’d asked if it would beall right if Jamie came by for dinner. Itwasn’t a big deal—whenever my dad wasaround, my mom would have Helen, ourcook, make enough food for a small army.

I guess I didn’t mention that earlier,about the cook, I mean. In our house wehad a maid and a cook, not only becausemy family could afford them, but also

because my mom wasn’t the greatesthomemaker in the world. She was all rightat making sandwiches for my lunch nowand then, but there’d been times when themustard would stain her nails, and itwould take her at least three or four daysto get over it. Without Helen I would havegrown up eating burned mashed potatoesand crunchy steak. My father, luckily, hadrealized this as soon as they married, andboth the cook and the maid had been withus since before I was born.

Though our house was larger than most,it wasn’t a palace or anything, and neitherthe cook nor the maid lived with usbecause we didn’t have separate livingquarters or anything like that. My fatherhad bought the home because of itshistorical value. Though it wasn’t the

house where Blackbeard had once lived,which would have been more interestingto someone like me, it had been owned byRichard Dobbs Spaight, who’d signed theConstitution. Spaight had also owned afarm outside of New Bern, which wasabout forty miles up the road, and that waswhere he was buried. Our house might nothave been as famous as the one whereDobbs Spaight was buried, but it stillafforded my father some bragging rights inthe halls of Congress, and whenever hewalked around the garden, I could see himdreaming about the legacy he wanted toleave. In a way it made me sad, becauseno matter what he did, he’d never top oldRichard Dobbs Spaight. Historical eventslike signing the Constitution come alongonly once every few hundred years, and

no matter how you sliced it, debating farmsubsidies for tobacco farmers or talkingabout the “Red influence” was nevergoing to cut it. Even someone like meknew that.

The house was in the National HistoricRegister—still is, I suppose—and thoughJamie had been there once before, she wasstill kind of awed when she walkedinside. My mother and father were bothdressed very nicely, as was I, and mymother kissed Jamie hello on the cheek.My mother, I couldn’t help but think as Iwatched her do it, had scored before I did.

We had a nice dinner, fairly formalwith four courses, though it wasn’t stuffyor anything like that. My parents andJamie carried on the most marvelousconversation—think Miss Garber here—

and though I tried to inject my own brandof humor, it didn’t really go over too well,at least as far as my parents wereconcerned. Jamie, however, would laugh,and I took that as a good sign.

After dinner I invited Jamie to walkaround the garden, even though it waswinter and nothing was in bloom. Afterputting on our coats, we stepped outsideinto the chilled winter air. I could see ourbreaths coming out in little puffs.

“Your parents are wonderful people,”she said to me. I guess she hadn’t takenHegbert’s sermons to heart.

“They’re nice,” I responded, “in theirown way. My mom’s especially sweet.” Isaid this not only because it was true, butalso because it was the same thing thatkids said about Jamie. I hoped she would

get the hint.She stopped to look at the rosebushes.

They looked like gnarled sticks, and Ididn’t see what her interest was in them.

“Is it true about your grandfather?” sheasked me. “The stories that people tell?”

I guess she didn’t get my hint.“Yes,” I said, trying not to show my

disappointment.“That’s sad,” she said simply. “There’s

more to life than money.”“I know.”She looked at me. “Do you?”I didn’t meet her eyes as I answered.

Don’t ask me why.“I know that what my grandfather did

was wrong.”“But you don’t want to give it back, do

you?”

“I’ve never really thought about it, totell you the truth.”

“Would you, though?”I didn’t answer right away, and Jamie

turned from me. She was staring at therosebushes with their gnarled sticks again,and I suddenly realized that she’d wantedme to say yes. It’s what she would havedone without thinking twice about it.

“Why do you do things like that?” Iblurted out before I could stop myself,blood rushing into my cheeks. “Making mefeel guilty, I mean. I wasn’t the one whodid it. I just happened to be born into thisfamily.”

She reached out and touched a branch.“That doesn’t mean you can’t undo it,” shesaid gently, “when you get theopportunity.”

Her point was clear, even to me, anddeep down I knew she was right. But thatdecision, if it ever came, was a long wayoff. To my way of thinking, I had moreimportant things on my mind. I changed thesubject back to something I could relate tobetter.

“Does your father like me?” I asked. Iwanted to know if Hegbert would allowme to see her again.

It took a moment for her to answer.“My father,” she said slowly, “worries

about me.”“Don’t all parents?” I asked.She looked at her feet, then off to the

side again before turning back to me.“I think that with him, it’s different from

most. But my father does like you, and heknows that it makes me happy to see you.

That’s why he let me come over to yourhouse for dinner tonight.”

“I’m glad he did,” I said, meaning it.“So am I.”We looked at each other under the light

of a waxing crescent moon, and I almostkissed her right then, but she turned awaya moment too soon and said something thatsort of threw me.

“My father worries about you, too,Landon.”

The way she said it—it was soft andsad at the same time—let me know that itwasn’t simply because he thought I wasirresponsible, or that I used to hide behindthe trees and call him names, or even that Iwas a member of the Carter family.

“Why?” I asked.“For the same reason that I do,” she

said. She didn’t elaborate any further, andI knew right then that she was holdingsomething back, something that shecouldn’t tell me, something that made hersad as well. But it wasn’t until later that Ilearned her secret.

Being in love with a girl like JamieSullivan was without a doubt the strangestthing I’d ever been through. Not only wasshe a girl that I’d never thought aboutbefore this year— even though we’dgrown up together—but there wassomething different in the whole way myfeelings for her had unfolded. This wasn’tlike being with Angela, whom I’d kissedthe first time I was ever alone with her. Istill hadn’t kissed Jamie. I hadn’t even

hugged her or taken her to Cecil’s Dineror even to a movie. I hadn’t done any ofthe things that I normally did with girls,yet somehow I’d fallen in love.

The problem was, I still didn’t knowhow she felt about me.

Oh sure, there were some indications,and I hadn’t missed them. The Bible was,of course, the biggie, but there was alsothe way she’d looked at me when she’dclosed the door on Christmas Eve, andshe’d let me hold her hand on the ridehome from the orphanage. To my way ofthinking there was definitely somethingthere—I just wasn’t exactly sure of how totake the next step.

When I’d finally taken her home afterChristmas dinner, I’d asked if it would beokay if I came by from time to time, and

she’d said it would be fine. That’s exactlyhow she’d said it, too—“That would befine.” I didn’t take the lack of enthusiasmpersonally—Jamie had a tendency to talklike an adult, and I think that’s why she gotalong with older people so well.

The following day I walked to herhouse, and the first thing I noticed was thatHegbert’s car wasn’t in the driveway.When she answered the door, I knewenough not to ask her if I could come in.

“Hello, Landon,” she said as shealways did, as if it were a surprise to seeme. Again her hair was down, and I tookthis as a positive sign.

“Hey, Jamie,” I said casually.She motioned to the chairs. “My

father’s not home, but we can sit on theporch if you’d like. . . .”

Don’t even ask me how it happened,because I still can’t explain it. One secondI was standing there in front of her,expecting to walk to the side of the porch,and in the next second I wasn’t. Instead ofmoving toward the chairs, I took a stepcloser to her and found myself reachingfor her hand. I took it in mine and lookedright at her, moving just a little closer. Shedidn’t exactly step back, but her eyeswidened just a little, and for a tiny,flickering moment I thought I’d done thewrong thing and debated going any further.I paused and smiled, sort of tilting myhead to the side, and the next thing I sawwas that she’d closed her eyes and wastilting her head, too, and that our faceswere moving closer together.

It wasn’t that long, and it certainly

wasn’t the kind of kiss you see in moviesthese days, but it was wonderful in itsown way, and all I can remember aboutthe moment is that when our lips firsttouched, I knew the memory would lastforever.

Chapter 11

“You’re the first boy I’ve everkissed,” she said to me.

It was a few days before the new year,and Jamie and I were standing at the IronSteamer Pier in Pine Knoll Shores. To getthere, we’d had to cross the bridge thatspans the Intracoastal Waterway and drivea little way down the island. Nowadaysthe place has some of the most expensivebeachfront property in the entire state, butback then it was mainly sand dunesnestled against the Maritime NationalForest.

“I figured I might have been,” I said.“Why?” she asked innocently. “Did I do

it wrong?” She didn’t look like she’d betoo upset if I’d said yes, but it wouldn’thave been the truth.

“You’re a great kisser,” I said, givingher hand a squeeze.

She nodded and turned toward theocean, her eyes getting that far-off lookagain. She’d been doing that a lot lately. Ilet it go on for a while before the silencesort of got to me.

“Are you okay, Jamie?” I finally asked.Instead of answering, she changed the

subject.“Have you ever been in love?” she

asked me.I ran my hand through my hair and gave

her one of those looks. “You mean beforenow?”

I said it like James Dean would have,

the way Eric had told me to say it if a girlever asked me that question. Eric waspretty slick with girls.

“I’m serious, Landon,” she said, tossingme a sidelong glance.

I guess Jamie had seen those movies,too. With Jamie, I’d come to realize, Ialways seemed to be going from high tolow and back to high again in less timethan it takes to swat a mosquito. I wasn’tquite sure if I liked that part of ourrelationship yet, though to be honest, itkept me on my toes. I was still feeling offbalance as I thought about her question.

“Actually, I have,” I said finally.Her eyes were still fixed on the ocean. I

think she thought I was talking aboutAngela, but looking back, I’d realized thatwhat I’d felt for Angela was totally

different from what I was feeling rightnow.

“How did you know it was love?” sheasked me.

I watched the breeze gently moving herhair, and I knew that it was no time topretend I was something that I actuallywasn’t.

“Well,” I said seriously, “you know it’slove when all you want to do is spendtime with the other person, and you sort ofknow that the other person feels the sameway.”

Jamie thought about my answer beforesmiling faintly.

“I see,” she said softly. I waited for herto add something else, but she didn’t, and Icame to another sudden realization.

Jamie may not have been all that

experienced with boys, but to tell you thetruth, she was playing me like a harp.

During the next two days, for instance,she wore her hair in a bun again.

On New Year’s Eve I took Jamie out todinner. It was the very first real date she’dever been on, and we went to a smallwaterfront restaurant in Morehead City, aplace called Flauvin’s. Flauvin’s was thekind of restaurant with tablecloths andcandles and five different pieces ofsilverware per setting. The waiters woreblack and white, like butlers, and whenyou looked out the giant windows thatcompletely lined the wall, you couldwatch moon-light reflecting off the slowlymoving water.

There was a pianist and a singer, too,not every night or even every weekend,

but on holidays when they thought theplace would be full. I had to makereservations, and the first time I calledthey said they were filled, but I had mymom call them, and the next thing youknew, something had opened up. I guessthe owner needed a favor from my fatheror something, or maybe he just didn’t wantto make him angry, knowing that mygrandfather was still alive and all.

It was actually my mom’s idea to takeJamie out someplace special. A couple ofdays before, on one of those days Jamiewas wearing her hair in a bun, I talked tomy mom about the things I was goingthrough.

“She’s all I think about, Mom,” Iconfessed. “I mean, I know she likes me,but I don’t know if she feels the same way

that I do.”“Does she mean that much to you?” she

asked.“Yes,” I said quietly.“Well, what have you tried so far?”“What do you mean?”My mom smiled. “I mean that young

girls, even Jamie, like to be made to feelspecial.”

I thought about that for a moment, alittle confused. Wasn’t that what I wastrying to do?

“Well, I’ve been going to her houseevery day to visit,” I said.

My mom put her hand on my knee. Eventhough she wasn’t a great homemaker andsometimes stuck it to me, like I saidearlier, she really was a sweet lady.

“Going to her house is a nice thing to

do, but it’s not the most romantic thingthere is. You should do something thatwill really let her know how you feelabout her.”

My mom suggested buying someperfume, and though I knew that Jamiewould probably be happy to receive it, itdidn’t sound right to me. For one thing,since Hegbert didn’t allow her to wearmakeup—with the single exception beingthe Christmas play—I was sure shecouldn’t wear perfume. I told my mom asmuch, and that was when she’d suggestedtaking her out to dinner.

“I don’t have any money left,” I said toher dejectedly. Though my family waswealthy and gave me an allowance, theynever gave me more if I ran through it tooquickly. “It builds responsibility,” my

father said, explaining it once.“What happened to your money in the

bank?”I sighed, and my mom sat in silence

while I explained what I had done. When Ifinished, a look of quiet satisfactioncrossed her face, as if she, too, knew Iwas finally growing up.

“Let me worry about that,” she saidsoftly. “You just find out if she’d like togo and if Reverend Sullivan will allow it.If she can, we’ll find a way to make ithappen. I promise.”

The following day I went to the church.I knew that Hegbert would be in hisoffice. I hadn’t asked Jamie yet because Ifigured she would need his permission,

and for some reason I wanted to be theone who asked. I guess it had to do withthe fact that Hegbert hadn’t exactly beenwelcoming me with open arms when Ivisited. Whenever he’d see me coming upthe walkway—like Jamie, he had a sixthsense about it—he’d peek out the curtains,then quickly pull his head back behindthem, thinking that I hadn’t seen him. WhenI knocked, it would take a long time forhim to answer the door, as if he had tocome from the kitchen. He’d look at mefor a long moment, then sigh deeply andshake his head before finally saying hello.

His door was partially open, and I sawhim sitting behind his desk, spectaclespropped on his nose. He was looking oversome papers— they looked almostfinancial—and I figured he was trying to

figure out the church budget for thefollowing year. Even ministers had billsto pay.

I knocked at the door, and he looked upwith interest, as if he expected anothermember of the congregation, thenfurrowed his brow when he saw that itwas me.

“Hello, Reverend Sullivan,” I saidpolitely. “Do you have a moment?” Helooked even more tired than usual, and Iassumed he wasn’t feeling well.

“Hello, Landon,” he said wearily.I’d dressed sharply for the occasion, by

the way, with a jacket and tie. “May Icome in?” He nodded slightly, and Ientered the office. He motioned for me tosit in the chair across from his desk.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

I adjusted myself nervously in the chair.“Well, sir, I wanted to ask yousomething.”

He stared at me, studying me before hefinally spoke. “Does it have to do withJamie?” he asked.

I took a deep breath.“Yes, sir. I wanted to ask if it would be

all right with you if I took her to dinner onNew Year’s Eve.”

He sighed. “Is that all?” he said.“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ll bring her home

any time you’d need me to.”He took off his spectacles and wiped

them with his handkerchief before puttingthem back on. I could tell he was taking amoment to think about it.

“Will your parents be joining you?” heasked.

“No, sir.”“Then I don’t think that will be

possible. But thank you for asking mypermission first.” He looked down at thepapers, making it clear it was time for meto leave. I stood from my chair and startedtoward the door. As I was about to go, Ifaced him again.

“Reverend Sullivan?”He looked up, surprised I was still

there.“I’m sorry for those things I used to do

when I was younger, and I’m sorry that Ididn’t always treat Jamie the way sheshould have been treated. But from nowon, things will change. I promise youthat.”

He seemed to look right through me. Itwasn’t enough.

“I love her,” I said finally, and when Isaid it, his attention focused on me again.

“I know you do,” he answered sadly,“but I don’t want to see her hurt.” Eventhough I must have been imagining it, Ithought I saw his eyes begin to water.

“I wouldn’t do that to her,” I said.He turned from me and looked out the

window, watching as the winter sun triedto force its way through the clouds. It wasa gray day, cold and bitter.

“Have her home by ten,” he finally said,as though he knew he’d made the wrongdecision.

I smiled and wanted to thank him,though I didn’t. I could tell that he wantedto be alone. When I glanced over myshoulder on my way out the door, I waspuzzled to see his face in his hands.

I asked Jamie an hour later. The firstthing she said was that she didn’t think shecould go, but I told her that I’d alreadyspoken to her father. She seemedsurprised, and I think it had an effect onhow she viewed me after that. The onething I didn’t tell her was that it lookedalmost as though Hegbert had been cryingas I’d made my way out the door. Not onlydidn’t I understand it completely, I didn’twant her to worry. That night, though, aftertalking to my mom again, she provided mewith a possible explanation, and to behonest, it made perfect sense to me.Hegbert must have come to the realizationthat his daughter was growing up and thathe was slowly losing her to me. In a way,I hoped that was true.

I picked her up right on schedule.

Though I hadn’t asked her to wear her hairdown, she’d done it for me. Silently wedrove over the bridge, down thewaterfront to the restaurant. When we gotto the hostess stand, the owner himselfappeared and walked us to our table. Itwas one of the better ones in the place.

It was crowded by the time we arrived,and all around us people were enjoyingthem-selves. On New Year’s peopledressed fashionably, and we were the onlytwo teenagers in the place. I didn’t thinkwe looked too out of place, though.

Jamie had never been to Flauvin’sbefore, and it took her just a few minutesto take it all in. She seemed nervouslyhappy, and I knew right away that my momhad made the right suggestion.

“This is wonderful,” she said to me.

“Thank you for asking me.”“My pleasure,” I said sincerely.“Have you been here before?”“A few times. My mother and father

like to come here sometimes when myfather comes home from Washington.”

She looked out the window and staredat a boat that was passing by therestaurant, its lights blazing. For a momentshe seemed lost in wonder. “It’s beautifulhere,” she said.

“So are you,” I answered.Jamie blushed. “You don’t mean that.”“Yes,” I said quietly, “I do.”We held hands while we waited for

dinner, and Jamie and I talked about someof the things that had happened in the pastfew months. She laughed when we talkedabout the homecoming dance, and I finally

admitted the reason I’d asked her in thefirst place. She was a good sport about it—she sort of laughed it off cheerfully—and I knew that she’d already figured itout on her own.

“Would you want to take me again?”she teased.

“Absolutely.”Dinner was delicious—we both

ordered the sea bass and salads, and whenthe waiter finally removed our plates, themusic started up. We had an hour leftbefore I had to take her home, and Ioffered her my hand.

At first we were the only ones on thefloor, everyone watching us as we glidedaround the floor. I think they all knew howwe were feeling about each other, and itreminded them of when they were young,

too. I could see them smiling wistfully atus. The lights were dim, and when thesinger began a slow melody, I held herclose to me with my eyes closed,wondering if anything in my life had everbeen this perfect and knowing at the sametime that it hadn’t.

I was in love, and the feeling was evenmore wonderful than I ever imagined itcould be.

After New Year’s we spent the nextweek and a half together, doing the thingsthat young couples did back then, thoughfrom time to time she seemed tired andlistless. We spent time down by the NeuseRiver, tossing stones in the water,watching the ripples while we talked, or

we went to the beach near Fort Macon.Even though it was winter, the ocean thecolor of iron, it was something that both ofus enjoyed doing. After an hour or soJamie would ask me to take her home, andwe’d hold hands in the car. Sometimes, itseemed, she would almost nod off beforewe even got home, while other times shewould keep up a stream of chatter all theway back so that I could barely get a wordin edgewise.

Of course, spending time with Jamiealso meant doing the things she enjoyed aswell. Though I wouldn’t go to her Biblestudy class—I didn’t want to look like anidiot in front of her—we did visit theorphanage twice more, and each time wewent there, I felt more at home. Once,though, we’d had to leave early, because

she was running a slight fever. Even to myuntrained eyes, it was clear that her facewas flushed.

We kissed again, too, though not everytime we were together, and I didn’t eventhink of trying to make it to second base.There wasn’t any need to. There wassomething nice when I kissed her,something gentle and right, and that wasenough for me. The more I did it, the moreI realized that Jamie had beenmisunderstood her entire life, not only byme, but by everyone.

Jamie wasn’t simply the minister’sdaughter, someone who read the Bible anddid her best to help others. Jamie was alsoa seventeen-year-old girl with the samehopes and doubts that I had. At least,that’s what I assumed, until she finally

told me.

I’ll never forget that day because ofhow quiet she had been, and I had thefunny feeling all day long that somethingimportant was on her mind.

I was walking her home from Cecil’sDiner on the Saturday before schoolstarted up again, a day blustery with afierce, biting wind. A nor’easter had beenblowing in since the previous morning,and while we walked, we’d had to standclose to each other to stay warm. Jamiehad her arm looped through mine, and wewere walking slowly, even more slowlythan usual, and I could tell she wasn’tfeeling well again. She hadn’t reallywanted to go with me because of the

weather, but I’d asked her because of myfriends. It was time, I remember thinking,that they finally knew about us. The onlyproblem, as fate would have it, was thatno one else was at Cecil’s Diner. As withmany coastal communities, things werequiet on the waterfront in the middle ofwinter.

She was quiet as we walked, and Iknew that she was thinking of a way to tellme something. I didn’t expect her to startthe conversation as she did.

“People think I’m strange, don’t they,”she finally said, breaking the silence.

“Who do you mean?” I asked, eventhough I knew the answer.

“People at school.”“No, they don’t,” I lied.I kissed her cheek as I squeezed her arm

a little tighter to me. She winced, and Icould tell that I’d hurt her somehow.

“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned.“I’m fine,” she said, regaining her

composure and keeping the subject ontrack. “Will you do me a favor, though?”

“Anything,” I said.“Will you promise to tell me the truth

from now on? I mean always?”“Sure,” I said.She stopped me suddenly and looked

right at me. “Are you lying to me rightnow?”

“No,” I said defensively, wonderingwhere this was going. “I promise that fromnow on, I’ll always tell you the truth.”

Somehow, when I said it, I knew thatI’d come to regret it.

We started walking again. As we

moved down the street, I glanced at herhand, which was looped through mine, andI saw a large bruise just below her ringfinger. I had no idea where it had comefrom, since it hadn’t been there the daybefore. For a second I thought it mighthave been caused by me, but then Irealized that I hadn’t even touched herthere.

“People think I’m strange, don’t they?”she asked again.

My breath was coming out in littlepuffs.

“Yes,” I finally answered. It hurt me tosay it.

“Why?” She looked almost despondent.I thought about it. “People have

different reasons,” I said vaguely, doingmy best not to go any further. “But why,

exactly? Is it because of my father? Or isit because I try to be nice to people?”

I didn’t want anything to do with this.“I suppose,” was all I could say. I felt a

little queasy.Jamie seemed disheartened, and we

walked a little farther in silence.“Do you think I’m strange, too?” she

asked me.The way she said it made me ache more

than I thought it would. We were almost ather house before I stopped her and heldher close to me. I kissed her, and when wepulled apart, she looked down at theground.

I put my finger beneath her chin, liftingher head up and making her look at meagain. “You’re a wonderful person, Jamie.You’re beautiful, you’re kind, you’re

gentle . . . you’re everything that I’d like tobe. If people don’t like you, or they thinkyou’re strange, then that’s their problem.”

In the grayish glow of a cold winterday, I could see her lower lip begin totremble. Mine was doing the same thing,and I suddenly realized that my heart wasspeeding up as well. I looked in her eyes,smiling with all the feeling I could muster,knowing that I couldn’t keep the wordsinside any longer.

“I love you, Jamie,” I said to her.“You’re the best thing that ever happenedto me.”

It was the first time I’d ever said thewords to another person besides amember of my immediate family. WhenI’d imagined saying it to someone else, I’dsomehow thought it would be hard, but it

wasn’t. I’d never been more sure ofanything.

As soon as I said the words, though,Jamie bowed her head and started to cry,leaning her body into mine. I wrapped myarms around her, wondering what waswrong. She was thin, and I realized for thefirst time that my arms went all the wayaround her. She’d lost weight, even in thelast week and a half, and I rememberedthat she’d barely touched her food earlier.She kept crying into my chest for whatseemed like a long time. I wasn’t surewhat to think, or even if she felt the sameway I did. Even so, I didn’t regret thewords. The truth is always the truth, andI’d just promised her that I would neverlie again.

“Please don’t say that,” she said to me.

“Please . . .”“But I do,” I said, thinking she didn’t

believe me.She began to cry even harder. “I’m

sorry,” she whispered to me through herragged sobs. “I’m so, so sorry. . . .”

My throat suddenly went dry.“Why’re you sorry?” I asked, suddenly

desperate to understand what wasbothering her. “Is it because of my friendsand what they’ll say? I don’t care anymore—I really don’t.” I was reaching foranything, confused and, yes—scared.

It took another long moment for her tostop crying, and in time she looked up atme. She kissed me gently, almost like thebreath of a passerby on a city street, thenran her finger over my cheek.

“You can’t be in love with me,

Landon,” she said through red and swolleneyes. “We can be friends, we can see eachother . . . but you can’t love me.”

“Why not?” I shouted hoarsely, notunderstanding any of this.

“Because,” she finally said softly, “I’mvery sick, Landon.”

The concept was so absolutely foreignthat I couldn’t comprehend what she wastrying to say.

“So what? You’ll take a few days . . .”A sad smile crossed her face, and I

knew right then what she was trying to tellme. Her eyes never left mine as she finallysaid the words that numbed my soul.

“I’m dying, Landon.”

Chapter 12

She had leukemia; she’d known it sincelast summer.

The moment she told me, the blooddrained from my face and a sheaf ofdizzying images fluttered through my mind.It was as though in that brief moment, timehad suddenly stopped and I understoodeverything that had happened between us.I understood why she’d wanted me to dothe play: I understood why, after we’dperformed that first night, Hegbert hadwhispered to her with tears in his eyes,

calling her his angel; I understood why helooked so tired all the time and why hefretted that I kept coming by the house.Everything became absolutely clear.

Why she wanted Christmas at theorphanage to be so special...

Why she didn’t think she’d go tocollege . . .

Why she’d given me her Bible . . .It all made perfect sense, and at the

same time, nothing seemed to make anysense at all.

Jamie Sullivan had leukemia . . .Jamie, sweet Jamie, was dying . . .My Jamie ...“No, no,” I whispered to her, “there has

to be some mistake. . . .”But there wasn’t, and when she told me

again, my world went blank. My head

started to spin, and I clung to her tightly tokeep from losing my balance. On the streetI saw a man and a woman, walkingtoward us, heads bent and their hands ontheir hats to keep them from blowingaway. A dog trotted across the road andstopped to smell some bushes. A neighboracross the way was standing on astepladder, taking down his Christmaslights. Normal scenes from everyday life,things I would never have noticed before,suddenly making me feel angry. I closedmy eyes, wanting the whole thing to goaway.

“I’m so sorry, Landon,” she kept sayingover and over. It was I who should havebeen saying it, however. I know that now,but my confusion kept me from sayinganything.

Deep down, I knew it wouldn’t goaway. I held her again, not knowing whatelse to do, tears filling my eyes, trying andfailing to be the rock I think she needed.

We cried together on the street for along time, just a little way down the roadfrom her house. We cried some morewhen Hegbert opened the door and sawour faces, knowing immediately that theirsecret was out. We cried when we told mymother later that afternoon, and my motherheld us both to her bosom and sobbed soloudly that both the maid and the cookwanted to call the doctor because theythought something had happened to myfather. On Sunday Hegbert made theannouncement to his congregation, his facea mask of anguish and fear, and he had tobe helped back to his seat before he’d

even finished.Everyone in the congregation stared in

silent disbelief at the words they’d justheard, as if they were waiting for a punchline to some horrible joke that none ofthem could believe had been told. Then allat once, the wailing began.

We sat with Hegbert the day she toldme, and Jamie patiently answered myquestions. She didn’t know how long shehad left, she told me. No, there wasn’tanything the doctors could do. It was arare form of the disease, they’d said, onethat didn’t respond to available treatment.Yes, when the school year had started,she’d felt fine. It wasn’t until the last fewweeks that she’d started to feel its effects.

“That’s how it progresses,” she said.“You feel fine, and then, when your body

can’t keep fighting, you don’t.”Stifling my tears, I couldn’t help but

think about the play.“But all those rehearsals . . . those long

days . . . maybe you shouldn’t have—”“Maybe,” she said, reaching for my

hand and cutting me off. “Doing the playwas the thing that kept me healthy for solong.”

Later, she told me that seven monthshad passed since she’d been diagnosed.The doctors had given her a year, maybeless.

These days it might have been different.These days they could have treated her.These days Jamie would probably live.But this was happening forty years ago,

and I knew what that meant.Only a miracle could save her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”This was the one question I hadn’t

asked her, the one that I’d been thinkingabout. I hadn’t slept that night, and myeyes were still swollen. I’d gone fromshock to denial to sadness to anger andback again, all night long, wishing itweren’t so and praying that the wholething had been some terrible night-mare.

We were in her living room thefollowing day, the day that Hegbert hadmade the announcement to thecongregation. It was January 10, 1959.

Jamie didn’t look as depressed as Ithought she would. But then again, she’d

been living with this for seven monthsalready. She and Hegbert had been theonly ones to know, and neither of them hadtrusted even me. I was hurt by that andfrightened at the same time.

“I’d made a decision,” she explained tome, “that it would be better if I told noone, and I asked my father to do the same.You saw how people were after theservices today. No one would even lookme in the eye. If you had only a fewmonths left to live, is that what you wouldwant?”

I knew she was right, but it didn’t makeit any easier. I was, for the first time in mylife, completely and utterly at a loss.

I’d never had anyone close to me die

before, at least not anyone that I couldremember. My grandmother had diedwhen I was three, and I don’t remember asingle thing about her or the services thathad followed or even the next few yearsafter her passing. I’d heard stories, ofcourse, from both my father and mygrandfather, but to me that’s exactly whatthey were. It was the same as hearingstories I might otherwise read in anewspaper about some woman I neverreally knew. Though my father would takeme with him when he put flowers on hergrave, I never had any feelings associatedwith her. I felt only for the people she’dleft behind.

No one in my family or my circle offriends had ever had to confront somethinglike this. Jamie was seventeen, a child on

the verge of womanhood, dying and stillvery much alive at the same time. I wasafraid, more afraid than I’d ever been, notonly for her, but for me as well. I lived infear of doing something wrong, of doingsomething that would offend her. Was itokay to ever get angry in her presence?Was it okay to talk about the futureanymore? My fear made talking to herdifficult, though she was patient with me.

My fear, however, made me realizesomething else, something that made it allworse. I realized I’d never even knownher when she’d been healthy. I had startedto spend time with her only a few monthsearlier, and I’d been in love with her foronly eighteen days. Those eighteen daysseemed like my entire life, but now, whenI looked at her, all I could do was wonder

how many more days there would be.On Monday she didn’t show up for

school, and I somehow knew that she’dnever walk the hallways again. I’d neversee her reading the Bible off by herself atlunch, I’d never see her brown cardiganmoving through the crowd as she made herway to her next class. She was finishedwith school forever; she would neverreceive her diploma.

I couldn’t concentrate on anything whileI sat in class that first day back, listeningas teacher after teacher told us what mostof us had already heard. The responseswere similar to those in church on Sunday.Girls cried, boys hung their heads, peopletold stories about her as if she werealready gone. What can we do? theywondered aloud, and people looked to me

for answers.“I don’t know,” was all I could say.I left school early and went to Jamie’s,

blowing off my classes after lunch. When Iknocked at the door, Jamie answered it theway she always did, cheerfully andwithout, it seemed, a care in the world.

“Hello, Landon,” she said, “this is asurprise.”

When she leaned in to kiss me, I kissedher back, though the whole thing made mewant to cry.

“My father isn’t home right now, but ifyou’d like to sit on the porch, we can.”

“How can you do this?” I askedsuddenly. “How can you pretend thatnothing is wrong?”

“I’m not pretending that nothing iswrong, Landon. Let me get my coat and

we’ll sit outside and talk, okay?”She smiled at me, waiting for an

answer, and I finally nodded, my lipspressed together. She reached out andpatted my arm.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.I walked to the chair and sat down,

Jamie emerging a moment later. She worea heavy coat, gloves, and a hat to keep herwarm. The nor’easter had passed, and theday wasn’t nearly as cold as it had beenover the weekend. Still, though, it was toomuch for her.

“You weren’t in school today,” I said.She looked down and nodded. “I

know.”“Are you ever going to come back?”

Even though I already knew the answer, Ineeded to hear it from her.

“No,” she said softly, “I’m not.”“Why? Are you that sick already?” I

started to tear up, and she reached out andtook my hand.

“No. Today I feel pretty good, actually.It’s just that I want to be home in themornings, before my father has to go to theoffice. I want to spend as much time withhim as I can.”

Before I die, she meant to say butdidn’t. I felt nauseated and couldn’trespond.

“When the doctors first told us,” shewent on, “they said that I should try tolead as normal a life as possible for aslong as I could. They said it would helpme keep my strength up.”

“There’s nothing normal about this,” Isaid bitterly.

“I know.”“Aren’t you frightened?”Somehow I expected her to say no, to

say something wise like a grownup would,or to explain to me that we can’t presumeto understand the Lord’s plan.

She looked away. “Yes,” she finallysaid, “I’m frightened all the time.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?”“I do. I just do it in private.”“Because you don’t trust me?”“No,” she said, “because I know you’re

frightened, too.”

I began to pray for a miracle.They supposedly happen all the time,

and I’d read about them in newspapers.People regaining use of their limbs after

being told they’d never walk again, orsomehow surviving a terrible accidentwhen all hope was lost. Every now andthen a traveling preacher’s tent would beset up outside of Beaufort, and peoplewould go there to watch as people werehealed. I’d been to a couple, and though Iassumed that most of the healing was nomore than a slick magic show, since Inever recognized the people who werehealed, there were occasionally things thateven I couldn’t explain. Old manSweeney, the baker here in town, had beenin the Great War fighting with an artilleryunit behind the trenches, and months ofshelling the enemy had left him deaf in oneear. It wasn’t an act—he really couldn’thear a single thing, and there’d been timeswhen we were kids that we’d been able to

sneak off with a cinnamon roll because ofit. But the preacher started prayingfeverishly and finally laid his hand uponthe side of Sweeney’s head. Sweeneyscreamed out loud, making peoplepractically jump out of their seats. He hada terrified look on his face, as if the guyhad touched him with a white-hot poker,but then he shook his head and lookedaround, uttering the words “I can hearagain.” Even he couldn’t believe it. “TheLord,” the preacher had said as Sweeneymade his way back to his seat, “can doanything. The Lord listens to our prayers.”

So that night I opened the Bible thatJamie had given me for Christmas andbegan to read. Now, I’d heard all aboutBible in Sunday school or at church, but tobe frank, I just remembered the highlights

—the Lord sending the seven plagues sothe Israelites could leave Egypt, Jonahbeing swallowed by a whale, Jesuswalking across the water or raisingLazarus from the dead. There were otherbiggies, too. I knew that practically everychapter of the Bible has the Lord doingsomething spectacular, but I hadn’tlearned them all. As Christians we leanedheavily on teachings of the NewTestament, and I didn’t know the firstthings about books like Joshua or Ruth orJoel. The first night I read throughGenesis, the second night I read throughExodus. Leviticus was next, followed byNumbers and then Deuteronomy. Thegoing got a little slow during certain parts,especially as all the laws were beingexplained, yet I couldn’t put it down. It

was a compulsion that I didn’t fullyunderstand.

It was late one night, and I was tired bythe time I eventually reached Psalms, butsome-how I knew this was what I waslooking for. Everyone has heard theTwenty-third Psalm, which starts, “TheLord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,”but I wanted to read the others, since noneof them were supposed to be moreimportant than the others. After an hour Icame across an underlined section that Iassumed Jamie had noted because it meantsomething to her. This is what it said:

I cry to you, my Lord, my rock!Do not be deaf to me, for if youare silent, I shall go down to

the pit like the rest. Hear myvoice raised in petition as I cryto you for help, as I raise myhands, my Lord, toward yourholy of holies.

I closed the Bible with tears in my eyes,unable to finish the psalm.

Somehow I knew she’d underlined itfor me.

“I don’t know what to do,” I saidnumbly, staring into the dim light of mybedroom lamp. My mom and I were sittingon my bed. It was coming up on the end ofJanuary, the most difficult month of mylife, and I knew that in February things

would only get worse.“I know this is hard for you,” she

murmured, “but there’s nothing you cando.”

“I don’t mean about Jamie being sick—I know there’s nothing I can do about that.I mean about Jamie and me.”

My mother looked at mesympathetically. She was worried aboutJamie, but she was also worried about me.I went on.

“It’s hard for me to talk to her. All I cando when I look at her is think about theday when I won’t be able to. So I spendall my time at school thinking about her,wishing I could see her right then, butwhen I get to her house, I don’t know whatto say.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything you

can say to make her feel better.”“Then what should I do?”She looked at me sadly and put her arm

around my shoulder. “You really love her,don’t you,” she said.

“With all my heart.”She looked as sad as I’d ever seen her.

“What’s your heart telling you to do?”“I don’t know.”“Maybe,” she said gently, “you’re

trying too hard to hear it.”

The next day I was better with Jamie,though not much. Before I’d arrived, I’dtold myself that I wouldn’t say anythingthat might get her down—that I’d try totalk to her like I had before—and that’sexactly how it went. I sat myself on her

couch and told her about some of myfriends and what they were doing; I caughther up on the success of the basket-ballteam. I told her that I still hadn’t heardfrom UNC, but that I was hopeful I’dknow within the next few weeks. I told herI was looking forward to graduation. Ispoke as though she’d be back to schoolthe following week, and I knew I soundednervous the entire time. Jamie smiled andnodded at the appropriate times, askingquestions every now and then. But I thinkwe both knew by the time I finishedtalking that it was the last time I would doit. It didn’t feel right to either of us.

My heart was telling me exactly thesame thing.

I turned to the Bible again, in the hopethat it would guide me.

“How are you feeling?” I asked acouple of days later.

By now Jamie had lost more weight.Her skin was beginning to take on aslightly grayish tint, and the bones in herhands were starting to show through herskin. Again I saw bruises. We were insideher house in the living room; the cold wastoo much for her to bear.

Despite all this, she still lookedbeautiful.

“I’m doing okay,” she said, smilingvaliantly. “The doctors have given mesome medicine for the pain, and it seemsto help a little.”

I’d been coming by every day. Timeseemed to be slowing down and speedingup at exactly the same time.

“Can I get anything for you?”

“No, thank you, I’m doing fine.”I looked around the room, then back at

her. “I’ve been reading the Bible,” Ifinally said.

“You have?” Her face lit up, remindingme of the angel I’d seen in the play. Icouldn’t believe that only six weeks hadgone by.

“I wanted you to know.”“I’m glad you told me.”“I read the book of Job last night,” I

said, “where God stuck it to Job to test hisfaith.”

She smiled and reached out to pat myarm, her hand soft on my skin. It felt nice.“You should read something else. That’snot about God in one of his bettermoments.”

“Why would he have done that to him?”

“I don’t know,” she said.“Do you ever feel like Job?”She smiled, a little twinkle in her eyes.

“Sometimes.”“But you haven’t lost your faith?”“No.” I knew she hadn’t, but I think I

was losing mine.“Is it because you think you might get

better?”“No,” she said, “it’s because it’s the

only thing I have left.”After that, we started reading the Bible

together. It somehow seemed like the rightthing to do, but my heart was nonethelesstelling me that there still might besomething more.

At night I lay awake, wondering aboutit.

Reading the Bible gave us something tofocus on, and all of a sudden everythingstarted to get better between us, maybebecause I wasn’t as worried about doingsomething to offend her. What could bemore right than reading the Bible? ThoughI didn’t know nearly as much as she didabout it, I think she appreciated thegesture, and occasionally when we read,she’d put her hand on my knee and simplylisten as my voice filled the room.

Other times I’d be sitting beside her onthe couch, looking at the Bible andwatching Jamie out of the corner of myeye at the same time, and we’d comeacross a passage or a psalm, maybe evena proverb, and I’d ask her what shethought about it. She always had ananswer, and I’d nod, thinking about it.

Sometimes she asked me what I thought,and I did my best, too, though there weremoments when I was bluffing and I wassure that she could tell. “Is that what itreally means to you?” she’d ask, and I’drub my chin and think about it beforetrying again. Sometimes, though, it washer fault when I couldn’t concentrate, whatwith that hand on my knee and all.

One Friday night I brought her over fordinner at my house. My mom joined us forthe main course, then left the table and satin the den so that we could be alone.

It was nice there, sitting with Jamie,and I knew she felt the same way. Shehadn’t been leaving her house much, andthis was a good change for her.

Since she’d told me about her illness,Jamie had stopped wearing her hair in a

bun, and it was still as stunning as it hadbeen the first time I’d seen her wear itdown. She was looking at the chinacabinet—my mom had one of thosecabinets with the lights inside—when Ireached across the table and took herhand.

“Thank you for coming over tonight,” Isaid.

She turned her attention back to me.“Thanks for inviting me.”

I paused. “How’s your father holdingup?”

Jamie sighed. “Not too well. I worryabout him a lot.”

“He loves you dearly, you know.”“I know.”“So do I,” I said, and when I did, she

looked away. Hearing me say this seemed

to frighten her again.“Will you keep coming over to my

house?” she asked. “Even later, you know,when . . . ?”

I squeezed her hand, not hard, butenough to let her know that I meant what Isaid.

“As long as you want me to come, I’llbe there.”

“We don’t have to read the Bibleanymore, if you don’t want to.”

“Yes,” I said softly, “I think we do.”She smiled. “You’re a good friend,

Landon. I don’t know what I’d do withoutyou.”

She squeezed my hand, returning thefavor. Sitting across from me, she lookedradiant.

“I love you, Jamie,” I said again, but

this time she wasn’t frightened. Insteadour eyes met across the table, and Iwatched as hers began to shine. Shesighed and looked away, running her handthrough her hair, then turned to me again. Ikissed her hand, smiling in return.

“I love you, too,” she finallywhispered.

They were the words I’d been prayingto hear.

I don’t know if Jamie told Hegbertabout her feelings for me, but I somehowdoubted it because his routine hadn’tchanged at all. It was his habit to leave thehouse whenever I came over after school,and this continued. I would knock at thedoor and listen as Hegbert explained to

Jamie that he would be leaving and wouldbe back in a couple of hours. “Okay,Daddy,” I always heard her say, then Iwould wait for Hegbert to open the door.Once he let me in, he would open thehallway closet and silently pull out hiscoat and hat, buttoning the coat up all theway before he left the house. His coat wasoldfashioned, black and long, like a trenchcoat without zippers, the kind that wasfashionable earlier this century. Heseldom spoke directly to me, even after helearned that Jamie and I’d begun to readthe Bible together.

Though he still didn’t like me in thehouse if he wasn’t there, he nonethelessallowed me to come in. I knew that part ofthe reason had to do with the fact that hedidn’t want Jamie to get chilled by sitting

on the porch, and the only other alternativewas to wait at the house while I was there.But I think Hegbert needed some timealone, too, and that was the real reason forthe change. He didn’t talk to me about therules of the house—I could see them in hiseyes the first time he’d said I could stay. Iwas allowed to stay in the living room,that was all.

Jamie was still moving around fairlywell, though the winter was miserable. Acold streak blew in during the last part ofJanuary that lasted nine days, followed bythree straight days of drenching rain.Jamie had no interest in leaving the housein such weather, though after Hegbert hadgone she and I might stand on the porch forjust a couple of minutes to breathe thefresh sea air. Whenever we did this, I

found myself worrying about her.While we read the Bible, people would

knock at the door at least three times everyday. People were always dropping by,some with food, others just to say hello.Even Eric and Margaret came over, andthough Jamie wasn’t allowed to let themin, she did so anyway, and we sat in theliving room and talked a little, both ofthem unable to meet her gaze.

They were both nervous, and it tookthem a couple of minutes to finally get tothe point. Eric had come to apologize, hesaid, and he said that he couldn’t imaginewhy all this had happened to her of allpeople. He also had something for her,and he set an envelope on the table, hishand shaking. His voice was choked up ashe spoke, the words ringing with the most

heartfelt emotion I’d ever heard himexpress.

“You’ve got the biggest heart of anyoneI’ve ever met,” he said to Jamie, his voicecracking, “and even though I took it forgranted and wasn’t always nice to you, Iwanted to let you know how I feel. I’venever been more sorry about anything inmy life.” He paused and swiped at thecorner of his eye. “You’re the best personI’ll probably ever know.”

As he was fighting back his tears andsniffling, Margaret had already given in tohers and sat weeping on the couch, unableto speak. When Eric had finished, Jamiewiped tears from her cheeks, stoodslowly, and smiled, opening her arms inwhat could only be called a gesture offorgiveness. Eric went to her willingly,

finally beginning to cry openly as shegently caressed his hair, murmuring tohim. The two of them held each other for along time as Eric sobbed until he was tooexhausted to cry anymore.

Then it was Margaret’s turn, and sheand Jamie did exactly the same thing.

When Eric and Margaret were ready toleave, they pulled on their jackets andlooked at Jamie one more time, as if toremember her forever. I had no doubt thatthey wanted to think of her as she lookedright then. In my mind she was beautiful,and I know they felt the same way.

“Hang in there,” Eric said on his wayout the door. “I’ll be praying for you, andso will everybody else.” Then he lookedtoward me, reached out, and patted me onthe shoulder. “You too,” he said, his eyes

red. As I watched them leave, I knew I’dnever been prouder of either of them.

Later, when we opened the envelope,we learned what Eric had done. Withouttelling us, he’d collected over $400dollars for the orphanage.

I waited for the miracle.It hadn’t come.In early February the pills Jamie was

taking were increased to help offset theheightened pain she was feeling. Thehigher dosages made her dizzy, and twiceshe fell when walking to the bathroom,one time hitting her head against thewashbasin. Afterward she insisted that thedoctors cut back her medicine, and withreluctance they did. Though she was able

to walk normally, the pain she was feelingintensified, and sometimes even raisingher arm made her grimace. Leukemia is adisease of the blood, one that runs itscourse throughout a person’s body. Therewas literally no escape from it as long asher heart kept beating.

But the disease weakened the rest of herbody as well, preying on her muscles,making even simple things more difficult.In the first week of February she lost sixpounds, and soon walking becamedifficult for her, unless it was only for ashort distance. That was, of course, if shecould put up with the pain, which in timeshe couldn’t. She went back to the pillsagain, accepting the dizziness in place ofpain.

Still we read the Bible.

Whenever I visited Jamie, I would findher on the couch with the Bible alreadyopened, and I knew that eventually herfather would have to carry her there if wewanted to continue. Though she never saidanything to me about it, we both knewexactly what it meant.

I was running out of time, and my heartwas still telling me that there wassomething more I could do.

On February 14, Valentine’s Day,Jamie picked out a passage fromCorinthians that meant a lot to her. Shetold me that if she’d ever had the chance,it was the passage she’d wanted read ather wedding. This is what it said:

Love is always patient andkind. It is never jealous. Loveis never boastful or conceited.It is never rude or selfish. Itdoes not take offense and is notresentful. Love takes nopleasure in other people’s sins,but delights in the truth. It isalways ready to excuse, totrust, to hope, and to endurewhatever comes.

Jamie was the truest essence of thatvery description.

Three days later, when the temperatureslightly warmed, I showed her somethingwonderful, something I doubted she’dever seen before, something I knew she

would want to see.Eastern North Carolina is a beautiful

and special part of the country, blessedwith temperate weather and, for the mostpart, wonderful geography. Nowhere isthis more evident than Bogue Banks, anisland right off the coast, near the placewe grew up. Twenty-four miles long andnearly a mile wide, this island is a flukeof nature, running from east to west,hugging the coastline a half mile off-shore.Those who live there can witnessspectacular sunrises and sunsets every dayof the year, both taking place over theexpanse of the mighty Atlantic Ocean.

Jamie was bundled up heavily, standingbeside me on the edge of the Iron SteamerPier as this perfect southern eveningdescended. I pointed off into the distance

and told her to wait. I could see ourbreaths, two of hers to every one of mine.I had to support Jamie as we stood there—she seemed lighter than the leaves of atree that had fallen in autumn—but I knewthat it would be worth it.

In time the glowing, cratered moonbegan its seeming rise from the sea,casting a prism of light across the slowlydarkening water, splitting itself into athousand different parts, each morebeautiful than the last. At exactly the samemoment, the sun was meeting the horizonin the opposite direction, turning the skyred and orange and yellow, as if heavenabove had suddenly opened its gates andlet all its beauty escape its holy confines.The ocean turned golden silver as theshifting colors reflected off it, waters

rippling and sparkling with the changinglight, the vision glorious, almost like thebeginning of time. The sun continued tolower itself, casting its glow as far as theeye could see, before finally, slowly,vanishing beneath the waves. The mooncontinued its slow drift upward,shimmering as it turned a thousanddifferent shades of yellow, each paler thanthe last, before finally becoming the colorof the stars.

Jamie watched all this in silence, myarm tight around her, her breathingshallow and weak. As the sky was finallyturning to black and the first twinklinglights began to appear in the distantsouthern sky, I took her in my arms. Igently kissed both her cheeks and then,finally, her lips.

“That,” I said, “is exactly how I feelabout you.”

A week later Jamie’s trips to thehospital became more regular, althoughshe insisted that she didn’t want to staythere overnight. “I want to die at home,”was all she said. Since the doctorscouldn’t do anything for her, they had nochoice but to accept her wishes.

At least for the time being.

“I’ve been thinking about the past fewmonths,” I said to her.

We were sitting in the living room,holding hands as we read the Bible. Herface was growing thinner, her hair

beginning to lose its luster. Yet her eyes,those soft blue eyes, were as lovely asever.

I don’t think I’d ever seen someone asbeautiful.

“I’ve been thinking about them, too,”she said.

“You knew, from the first day in MissGarber’s class that I was going to do theplay, didn’t you. When you looked at meand smiled?”

She nodded. “Yes.”“And when I asked you to the

homecoming dance, you made me promisethat I wouldn’t fall in love, but you knewthat I was going to, didn’t you?”

She had a mischievous gleam in hereye. “Yes.”

“How did you know?”

She shrugged without answering, andwe sat together for a few moments,watching the rain as it blew against thewindows.

“When I told you that I prayed for you,”she finally said to me, “what did you thinkI was talking about?”

The progression of her diseasecontinued, speeding up as Marchapproached. She was taking moremedicine for pain, and she felt too sick toher stomach to keep down much food. Shewas growing weak, and it looked likeshe’d have to go to the hospital to stay,despite her wishes.

It was my mother and father whochanged all that.

My father had driven home fromWashington, hurriedly leaving althoughCongress was still in session. Apparentlymy mother had called him and told himthat if he didn’t come home immediately,he might as well stay in Washingtonforever.

When my mother told him what washappening, my father said that Hegbertwould never accept his help, that thewounds were too deep, that it was too lateto do anything.

“This isn’t about your family, or evenabout Reverend Sullivan, or anything thathappened in the past,” she said to him,refusing to accept his answer. “This isabout our son, who happens to be in lovewith a little girl who needs our help. Andyou’re going to find a way to help her.”

I don’t know what my father said toHegbert or what promises he had to makeor how much the whole thing eventuallycost. All I know is that Jamie was soonsurrounded by expensive equipment, wassupplied with all the medicine she needed,and was watched by two full-time nurseswhile a doctor peeked in on her severaltimes a day.

Jamie would be able to stay at home.That night I cried on my father’s

shoulder for the first time in my life.

“Do you have any regrets?” I asked her.She was in her bed under the covers, atube in her arm feeding her the medicationshe needed. Her face was pale, her bodyfeather light. She could barely walk, and

when she did, she now had to besupported by someone else.

“We all have regrets, Landon,” shesaid, “but I’ve led a wonderful life.”

“How can you say that?” I cried out,unable to hide my anguish. “With all that’shappening to you?”

She squeezed my hand, her grip weak,smiling tenderly at me.

“This,” she admitted as she lookedaround her room, “could be better.”

Despite my tears I laughed, thenimmediately felt guilty for doing so. I wassupposed to be supporting her, not theother way around. Jamie went on.

“But other than that, I’ve been happy,Landon. I really have. I’ve had a specialfather who taught me about God. I canlook back and know that I couldn’t have

tried to help other people any more than Idid.” She paused and met my eyes. “I’veeven fallen in love and had someone loveme back.”

I kissed her hand when she said it, thenheld it against my cheek.

“It’s not fair,” I said.She didn’t answer.“Are you still afraid?” I asked.“Yes.”“I’m afraid, too,” I said.“I know. And I’m sorry.”“What can I do?” I asked desperately.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to doany-more.”

“Will you read to me?”I nodded, though I didn’t know whether

I’d be able to make it through the nextpage without breaking down.

Please, Lord, tell me what to do!

“Mom?” I said later that night.“Yes?”We were sitting on the sofa in the den,

the fire blazing before us. Earlier in theday Jamie had fallen asleep while I readto her, and knowing she needed her rest, Islipped out of her room. But before I did, Ikissed her gently on the cheek. It washarmless, but Hegbert had walked in asI’d done so, and I had seen the conflictingemotions in his eyes. He looked at me,knowing that I loved his daughter but alsoknowing that I’d broken one of the rules ofhis house, even an unspoken one. Had shebeen well, I know he would never haveallowed me back inside. As it was, I

showed myself to the door.I couldn’t blame him, not really. I found

that spending time with Jamie sapped meof the energy to feel hurt by his demeanor.If Jamie had taught me anything over theselast few months, she’d shown me thatactions—not thoughts or intentions—werethe way to judge others, and I knew thatHegbert would allow me in the followingday. I was thinking about all this as I satnext to my mother on the sofa.

“Do you think we have a purpose inlife?” I asked.

It was the first time I’d asked her such aquestion, but these were unusual times.

“I’m not sure I understand what you’reasking,” she said, frowning.

“I mean—how do you know whatyou’re supposed to do?”

“Are you asking me about spendingtime with Jamie?”

I nodded, though I was still confused.“Sort of. I know I’m doing the right thing,but . . . something’s missing. I spend timewith her and we talk and read the Bible,but . . .”

I paused, and my mother finished mythought for me.

“You think you should be doing more?”I nodded.“I don’t know that there’s anything more

you can do, sweetheart,” she said gently.“Then why do I feel the way I do?”She moved a little closer on the sofa,

and we watched the flames together.“I think it’s because you’re frightened

and you feel helpless, and even thoughyou’re trying, things continue to get harder

and harder— for the both of you. And themore you try, the more hopeless thingsseem.”

“Is there any way to stop feeling thisway?”

She put her arm around me and pulledme closer. “No,” she said softly, “thereisn’t.”

The next day Jamie couldn’t get out ofbed. Because she was too weak now towalk even with support, we read the Biblein her room.

She fell asleep within minutes.Another week went by and Jamie grew

steadily worse, her body weakening.Bedridden, she looked smaller, almostlike a little girl again.

“Jamie,” I pleaded, “what can I do foryou?”

Jamie, my sweet Jamie, was sleepingfor hours at a time now, even as I talked toher. She didn’t move at the sound of myvoice; her breaths were rapid and weak.

I sat beside the bed and watched her fora long time, thinking how much I lovedher. I held her hand close to my heart,feeling the boniness of her fingers. Part ofme wanted to cry right then, but instead Ilaid her hand back down and turned toface the window.

Why, I wondered, had my worldsuddenly unraveled as it had? Why had allthis happened to someone like her? Iwondered if there was a greater lesson inwhat was happening. Was it all, as Jamiewould say, simply part of the Lord’s plan?

Did the Lord want me to fall in love withher? Or was that something of my ownvolition? The longer Jamie slept, the moreI felt her presence beside me, yet theanswers to these questions were noclearer than they had been before.

Outside, the last of the morning rain hadpassed. It had been a gloomy day, but nowthe late afternoon sunlight was breakingthrough the clouds. In the cool spring air Isaw the first signs of nature coming backto life. The trees outside were budding,the leaves waiting for just the rightmoment to uncoil and open themselves toyet another summer season.

On the nightstand by her bed I saw thecollection of items that Jamie held closeto her heart. There were photographs ofher father, holding Jamie as a young child

and standing outside of school on her firstday of kindergarten; there was a collectionof cards that children of the orphanage hadsent. Sighing, I reached for them andopened the card on top of the stack.

Written in crayon, it said simply:

Please get better soon. I miss you.

It was signed by Lydia, the girl who’dfallen asleep in Jamie’s lap on ChristmasEve. The second card expressed the samesentiments, but what really caught my eyewas the picture that the child, Roger, haddrawn. He’d drawn a bird, soaring abovea rainbow.

Choking up, I closed the card. I couldn’t

bear to look any further, and as I put thestack back where it had been before, Inoticed a newspaper clipping, next to herwater glass. I reached for the article andsaw that it was about the play, publishedin the Sunday paper the day after we’dfinished. In the photograph above the text,I saw the only picture that had ever beentaken of the two of us.

It seemed so long ago. I brought thearticle nearer to my face. As I stared, Iremembered the way I felt when I hadseen her that night. Peering closely at herimage, I searched for any sign that shesuspected what would come to pass. Iknew she did, but her expression that nightbetrayed none of it. Instead, I saw only aradiant happiness. In time I sighed and setaside the clipping.

The Bible still lay open where I’d leftoff, and although Jamie was sleeping, Ifelt the need to read some more.Eventually I came across another passage.This is what it said:

I am not commanding you, butI want to test the sincerity ofyour love by comparing it tothe earnestness of others.

The words made me choke up again,and just as I was about to cry, the meaningof it suddenly became clear.

God had finally answered me, and Isuddenly knew what I had to do.

I couldn’t have made it to the churchany faster, even if I’d had a car. I tookevery shortcut I could, racing throughpeople’s backyards, jumping fences, andin one case cutting through someone’sgarage and out the side door. EverythingI’d learned about the town growing upcame into play, and although I was never aparticularly good athlete, on this day I wasunstoppable, propelled by what I had todo.

I didn’t care how I looked when Iarrived because I suspected Hegbertwouldn’t care, either. When I finallyentered the church, I slowed to a walk,trying to catch my breath as I made myway to the back, toward his office.

Hegbert looked up when he saw me,and I knew why he was here. He didn’t

invite me in, he simply looked away, backtoward the window again. At home he’dbeen dealing with her illness by cleaningthe house almost obsessively. Here,though, papers were scattered across thedesk, and books were strewn about theroom as if no one had straightened up forweeks. I knew that this was the place hethought about Jamie; this was the placewhere Hegbert came to cry.

“Reverend?” I said softly.He didn’t answer, but I went in anyway.“I’d like to be alone,” he croaked.He looked old and beaten, as weary as

the Israelites described in David’sPsalms. His face was drawn, and his hairhad grown thinner since December. Evenmore than I, perhaps, he had to keep up hisspirits around Jamie, and the stress of

doing so was wearing him down.I marched right up to his desk, and he

glanced at me before turning back to thewindow.

“Please,” he said to me. His tone wasdefeated, as though he didn’t have thestrength to confront even me.

“I’d like to talk to you,” I said firmly. “Iwouldn’t ask unless it was veryimportant.”

Hegbert sighed, and I sat in the chair Ihad sat in before, when I’d asked him if hewould let me take Jamie out for NewYear’s Eve.

He listened as I told him what was onmy mind.

When I was finished, Hegbert turned tome. I don’t know what he was thinking,but thankfully, he didn’t say no. Instead he

wiped his eyes with his fingers and turnedtoward the window.

Even he, I think, was too shocked tospeak.

Again I ran, again I didn’t tire, mypurpose giving me the strength I needed togo on. When I reached Jamie’s house, Irushed in the door without knocking, andthe nurse who’d been in her bedroomcame out to see what had caused theracket. Before she could speak, I did.

“Is she awake?” I asked, euphoric andterrified at the same time. “Yes,” the nursesaid cautiously. “When she woke up, shewondered where you were.”

I apologized for my disheveledappearance and thanked her, then asked if

she wouldn’t mind leaving us alone. Iwalked into Jamie’s room, partiallyclosing the door behind me. She was pale,so very pale, but her smile let me knowshe was still fighting.

“Hello, Landon,” she said, her voicefaint, “thank you for coming back.”

I pulled up a chair and sat next to her,taking her hand in mine. Seeing her lyingthere made something tighten deep in mystomach, making me almost want to cry.

“I was here earlier, but you wereasleep,” I said.

“I know . . . I’m sorry. I just can’t seemto help it anymore.”

“It’s okay, really.”She lifted her hand slightly off the bed,

and I kissed it, then leaned forward andkissed her cheek as well.

“Do you love me?” I asked her.She smiled. “Yes.”“Do you want me to be happy?” As I

asked her this, I felt my heart beginning torace.

“Of course I do.”“Will you do something for me, then?”

She looked away, sadness crossing herfeatures. “I don’t know if I can anymore,”she said.

“But if you could, would you?”I cannot adequately describe the

intensity of what I was feeling at thatmoment. Love, anger, sadness, hope, andfear, whirling together, sharpened by thenervousness I was feeling. Jamie lookedat me curiously, and my breaths becameshallower. Suddenly I knew that I’d neverfelt as strongly for another person as I did

at that moment. As I returned hergaze, thissimple realization made me wish for themillionth time that I could make all this goaway. Had it been possible, I would havetraded my life for hers. I wanted to tell hermy thoughts, but the sound of her voicesuddenly silenced the emotions inside me.

“Yes,” she finally said, her voice weakyet somehow still full of promise. “Iwould.”

Finally getting control of myself, Ikissed her again, then brought my hand toher face, gently running my fingers overher cheek. I marveled at the softness of herskin, the gentleness I saw in her eyes.Even now she was perfect.

My throat began to tighten again, but asI said, I knew what I had to do. Since Ihad to accept that it was not within my

power to cure her, what I wanted to dowas give her something that she’d alwayswanted.

It was what my heart had been tellingme to do all along.

Jamie, I understood then, had alreadygiven me the answer I’d been searchingfor, the one my heart had needed to find.She’d told me the answer as we’d satoutside Mr. Jenkins’s office, the nightwe’d asked him about doing the play.

I smiled softly, and she returned myaffection with a slight squeeze of my hand,as if trusting me in what I was about to do.Encouraged, I leaned closer and took adeep breath. When I exhaled, these werethe words that flowed with my breath.

“Will you marry me?”

Chapter 13

When I was seventeen, my life changedforever.

As I walk the streets of Beaufort fortyyears later, thinking back on that year ofmy life, I remember everything as clearlyas if it were all still unfolding before myvery eyes.

I remember Jamie saying yes to mybreathless question and how we bothbegan to cry together. I remember talkingto both Hegbert and my parents,explaining to them what I needed to do.

They thought I was doing it only for Jamie,and all three of them tried to talk me out ofit, especially when they realized thatJamie had said yes. What they didn’tunderstand, and I had to make clear tothem, was that I needed to do it for me.

I was in love with her, so deeply inlove that I didn’t care if she was sick. Ididn’t care that we wouldn’t have longtogether. None of those things mattered tome. All I cared about was doingsomething that my heart had told me wasthe right thing to do. In my mind it was thefirst time God had ever spoken directly tome, and I knew with certainty that I wasn’tgoing to disobey.

I know that some of you may wonder ifI was doing it out of pity. Some of themore cynical may even wonder if I did it

because she’d be gone soon anyway and Iwasn’t committing much. The answer toboth questions is no. I would have marriedJamie Sullivan no matter what happenedin the future. I would have married JamieSullivan if the miracle I was praying forhad suddenly come true. I knew it at themoment I asked her, and I still know ittoday.

Jamie was more than just the woman Iloved. In that year Jamie helped mebecome the man I am today. With hersteady hand she showed me how importantit was to help others; with her patienceand kindness she showed me what life isreally all about. Her cheerfulness andoptimism, even in times of sickness, wasthe most amazing thing I have everwitnessed.

We were married by Hegbert in theBaptist church, my father standing besideme as the best man. That was another thingshe did. In the South it’s a tradition tohave your father beside you, but for meit’s a tradition that wouldn’t have hadmuch meaning before Jamie came into mylife. Jamie had brought my father and metogether again; somehow she’d alsomanaged to heal some of the woundsbetween our two families. After what he’ddone for me and for Jamie, I knew in theend that my father was someone I couldalways count on, and as the years passedour relationship grew steadily strongeruntil his death.

Jamie also taught me the value offorgiveness and the transforming powerthat it offers. I realized this the day that

Eric and Margaret had come to her house.Jamie held no grudges. Jamie led her lifethe way the Bible taught.

Jamie was not only the angel who savedTom Thornton, she was the angel whosaved us all.

Just as she’d wanted, the church wasbursting with people. Over two hundredguests were inside, and more than thatwaited outside the doors as we weremarried on March 12, 1959. Because wewere married on such short notice, therewasn’t time to make many arrangements,and people came out of the woodwork tomake the day as special as they could,simply by showing up to support us. I saweveryone I knew—Miss Garber, Eric,

Margaret, Eddie, Sally, Carey, Angela,and even Lew and his grandmother—andthere wasn’t a dry eye in the house whenthe entrance music began. Although Jamiewas weak and hadn’t moved from her bedin two weeks, she insisted on walkingdown the aisle so that her father couldgive her away. “It’s very important to me,Landon,” she’d said. “It’s part of mydream, remember?” Though I assumed itwould be impossible, I simply nodded. Icouldn’t help but wonder at her faith.

I knew she planned on wearing thedress she’d worn in the Playhouse thenight of the play. It was the only whitedress that was available on such shortnotice, though I knew it would hang moreloosely than it had before. While I waswondering how Jamie would look in the

dress, my father laid his hand on myshoulder as we stood before thecongregation.

“I’m proud of you, son.”I nodded. “I’m proud of you, too, Dad.”It was the first time I’d ever said those

words to him.My mom was in the front row, dabbing

her eyes with her handkerchief when the“Wedding March” began. The doorsopened and I saw Jamie, seated in herwheelchair, a nurse by her side. With allthe strength she had left, Jamie stoodshakily as her father supported her. ThenJamie and Hegbert slowly made their waydown the aisle, while everyone in thechurch sat silently in wonder. Halfwaydown the aisle, Jamie suddenly seemed totire, and they stopped while she caught her

breath. Her eyes closed, and for a momentI didn’t think she could go on. I know thatno more than ten or twelve secondselapsed, but it seemed much longer, andfinally she nodded slightly. With that,Jamie and Hegbert started moving again,and I felt my heart surge with pride.

It was, I remembered thinking, the mostdifficult walk anyone ever had to make.

In every way, a walk to remember.The nurse had rolled the wheelchair up

front as Jamie and her father made theirway toward me. When she finally reachedmy side, there were gasps of joy andeveryone spontaneously began to clap.The nurse rolled the wheelchair intoposition, and Jamie sat down again, spent.With a smile I lowered myself to my kneesso that I would be level with her. My

father then did the same.Hegbert, after kissing Jamie on the

cheek, retrieved his Bible in order tobegin the ceremony. All business now, heseemed to have abandoned his role asJamie’s father to something more distant,where he could keep his emotions incheck. Yet I could see him struggling as hestood before us. He perched his glasses onhis nose and opened the Bible, thenlooked at Jamie and me. Hegbert toweredover us, and I could tell that he hadn’tanticipated our being so much lower. Fora moment he stood before us, almostconfused, then surprisingly decided tokneel as well. Jamie smiled and reachedfor his free hand, then reached for mine,linking us together.

Hegbert began the ceremony in the

traditional way, then read the passage inthe Bible that Jamie had once pointed outto me. Knowing how weak she was, Ithought he would have us recite the vowsright away, but once more Hegbertsurprised me. He looked at Jamie and me,then out to the congregation, then back tous again, as if searching for the rightwords.

He cleared his throat, and his voicerose so that everyone could hear it. This iswhat he said:

“As a father, I’m supposed to giveaway my daughter, but I’m not sure thatI’m able to do this.”

The congregation went silent, andHegbert nodded at me, willing me to bepatient. Jamie squeezed my hand insupport.

“I can no more give Jamie away than Ican give away my heart. But what I can dois to let another share in the joy that shehas always given me. May God’sblessings be with you both.”

It was then that he set aside the Bible.He reached out, offering his hand to mine,and I took it, completing the circle.

With that he led us through our vows.My father handed me the ring my motherhad helped me pick out, and Jamie gaveme one as well. We slipped them on ourfingers. Hegbert watched us as we did so,and when we were finally ready, hepronounced us husband and wife. I kissedJamie softly as my mother began to cry,then held Jamie’s hand in mine. In front ofGod and everyone else, I’d promised mylove and devotion, in sickness and in

health, and I’d never felt so good aboutanything.

It was, I remember, the most wonderfulmoment of my life.

It is now forty years later, and I can stillremember everything from that day. I maybe older and wiser, I may have livedanother life since then, but I know thatwhen my time eventually comes, thememories of that day will be the finalimages that float through my mind. I stilllove her, you see, and I’ve never removedmy ring. In all these years I’ve never feltthe desire to do so.

I breathe deeply, taking in the freshspring air. Though Beaufort has changedand I have changed, the air itself has not.

It’s still the air of my childhood, the air ofmy seventeenth year, and when I finallyexhale, I’m fifty-seven once more. But thisis okay. I smile slightly, looking towardthe sky, knowing there’s one thing I stillhaven’t told you: I now believe, by theway, that miracles can happen.