I spend the next half-hour telling them every detail, from the drugs to the burglaries to our fight about a pact we made years earlier. It’s not a pretty story and shines a light on the ugly life he was living. But it needed to be told. My soul would finally be freed from his for the first time since the day he died in my arms.

The shock and sadness were there, in their faces and their questions, but the tears that I’m here, that I’m back, that I was honest with them overshadows the rest. Once I reach the end, we stand and do a group hug, just like we did when I was little. And it’s then that I realize I never lost them. My family loves me as much as I’ve always loved them. I just struggled to see it, to feel it to this extent, with my thoughts obscuring what was here all along.

Lying in bed after everyone has retired for the evening, I stare up at the ceiling with a smile on my face. As good as it feels to finally not be shouldering the pain of my secrets, I won’t be whole until I fix my mistakes.

There’s only one other person I need to make amends. And I have a feeling I’m two years too late, but that won’t stop me from trying.

41

Lark

I stop and look back over my shoulder.

As much as I like New Haven, I still feel the ghost of Harbor following me sometimes. We walked this way after we had signed the lease just to see how far the library was from the apartment. He insisted we live close since we’d be spending a lot of late nights there.

He knew.

He made that walk with me, planning the whole thing.

He was making sure I’d be safe.

I start walking again, but I can’t shake the feeling. Why tonight? Why, after all these years, would he feel closer than he’s ever been?

When I reach the doors, I turn around under the light and search the dark, the faces, the other students as they bustle around me. The beginning of the new year is always the busiest here. I prefer summer when so much of the Yale population has gone home. There are no waiting lists to check out books, and I can always find a table to sprawl my stuff out on.

By how many people are here tonight, I’ll be lucky if I find a seat at all. Lucky . . . Luck was never one of my strengths. Medicine is, thank goodness. I score a seat near an outlet in the historical library, thinking maybe I am lucky. At least for the night.

It’s a silent space, which I like best not only in the library but in life. I’m here to study, to learn, and to graduate, hopefully at or near the top of my class. Kids from Beacon proper, like me, rarely get the opportunity to leave. It’s a great place to visit, but I have no intention of ever living there again.