“It’s okay,” he says, leaning back on his hands. “She’s making sure I know her, and that’s all that matters. She’s right, you know. Even if I had met her in the few months before she died, she’d still be dead now. It would have been a fleeting relationship and it would have hurt like hell. Instead, she’s left us this enormous keepsake to cherish forever.”
“I’m glad you’re not mad,” I say, reaching for another blade of grass.
“Nah. I don’t get mad easily. Especially not at someone I care about.”
Our eyes meet, and for the first time since that day in the cemetery, I see Elijah staring back at me, not Sasha. I see the lost boy he used to be, the wholeness he found in Sasha. I see hope and resolve. I see a future.
“She was right about what she said.” I hold up the letter. “You missed out on a lot in your life, but that doesn’t mean the rest of it has to be that way.”
“You sound just like her,” he says.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Toward the end of our talks, before I got the letter asking me to go to the cemetery, she’d almost convinced me that my life could turn around.” His elbows rest on his knees and he stares down at his shoes. “I told her something embarrassing and she took the idea and ran with it.” He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “She almost had me fooled into thinking it’d work.”
“Embarrassing?” I nudge him with my elbow. “I want to know.”
He looks over at me, a sly grin dancing on his lips. “Not telling.”
“Elijah! Please tell me.” I glare at him. “For all we know, one of her next letters will tell the secret anyhow. So … you might as well warn me.”
“It’s not embarrassing, really. Just … foolish. Lame.”
I bite on my bottom lip. “You don’t have to tell me, but I do want to know.”
He shakes his head. I know I’ve won him over. He gives me a look. “Okay. No laughing.”
I hold up my hands, portraying innocence.
“Remember what I said during movie day about not wanting to just survive anymore?” He turns back to the lake, a bashful grin on his face. “I guess I’ve always had these pipe dreams of growing up and finding a way into the system. Like … running my own group home, or at least working at one. Every home I went to was such a shit hole. They treat the kids like criminals when they’re just orphans. I mean, don’t get me wrong — some of them are criminals, but could that have been prevented? If they’d just had someone who actually gave a shit about them, would they have stayed away from crime? Would they care more about school and being a good person? It’s hard to care about anything when no one cares for you.”
He looks at me for a long moment, and I wonder if he wants an answer from me, but then I realize he’s thinking. “I always got good grades in school and I barely screwed up along the way. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve seen my friends end up in jail, or drugged out, or working minimum wage to support three kids before they’re even old enough to drink. The system could be better. I wanted to make it better.”
“And Sasha wanted to help you,” I say.
He nods and blinks. “She was convinced I could get a college degree and make that happen. She said I could name my group home The Delgado Group. Where everyone is family.”
I smile. Elijah shrugs. “We were still working on the motto.”
I grab his arm. “You should still do that, Elijah! I know all about the college admissions process and I’ve gotten my own scholarships from writing essays and stuff, so I could help you. I even have a computer. We can do it together.”
His smile seems a little forced now. He rises to his feet. “I wish it were that easy. I’m already working my ass off to keep my bills paid. There’s no time for college.”
“It’s not easy, but it’s doable.” I stand, too, folding the letter and putting it back in the plastic bag. The air around him is filled with negativity, so I probably shouldn’t push this idea on him right now, but I save it in my mind for later. “You should keep this.”
“Thanks,” he says, taking it. “I gotta go. Work stuff.”
I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. “Same. I have a five-page paper to write this weekend so I guess I should go, too.”
“Fun,” he says, popping me on top of the head with the letter. He smiles, and it almost hides the sorrow behind his eyes. “Sometimes I forget you’re still in school.”
“Shut up,” I say, sticking out my tongue.
He pops me again. “How could I possibly forget you’re only seventeen when you display such maturity?”
I gnaw on the inside of my lip to stop myself from grinning like a fool.
Chapter Fourteen