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accept not everything was his
fault.
    He resorted back to breathing exercises
and repeated to himself; not everything is your
fault. Everything can't be your fault. 
    But what
he was feeling for Amy? Separate from everything
else, what he was starting to feel for her as a
person, as a singular person, completely unattached to
circumstance? Yes, entirely his fault.
    And sooner or later, whether they
liked it or not, they were going
to have to face reality.

Dear Emily,

They had the best i ntentions.

Chapter 5
    Amy's replacement
phone was due to arrive in the next day, thanks to a
sizeable dent in her checking account. “That's life,” she told
herself. She didn't think about the mountain of debt
she was accumulating with tuition expenses or the lost
scholarship. She chose not to accept that failing a few
classes wasn't going to get her into pre-med
anytime soon.
    After all, it was her
fault. She'd been the one unable to
adjust. She'd been the one to miss her classes and sleep
the days away.
    Her school
difficulties were easy to forget. It was a
skill she worked at and honed. She put those worries in a neat,
little box in the back of her mind. What
mattered was she was there and
she was making it happen no matter what. The
school had graciously given her a second chance and
she was not going to fail this time around.
    Other, more vicious thoughts weighed on
her, instead.
    But she wouldn't mope around the
apartment. Oh no, she may have wanted to.
How nice would it be to stay in her pajamas all
day and eat ice cream straight out of the carton?
    Instead, she did her hair, put on
makeup, painted her nails, and did a fair amount of school reading
for the next week.
    The knock on the door at five
o'clock was a welcome diversion from a long day of
studying. A long day spent pushing unpleasant thoughts to the back
of her mind. She peeled herself off the couch, straightened her
clothes, and smoothed her hair down until
she felt presentable enough to open the door to
unexpected visitors.
    Professor John Abbott was a
tall man of well over six feet. He was lean and wore
thick, horn-rimmed glasses. His wife, Sarah Abbott, was a
slim woman of average height. She wore a long, flowing skirt in a
kaleidoscope of earth tones and a billowy cream blouse hanging off
her shoulders.
    Amy had met the Abbots on the
farm. They were good friends of the Jensens, and
Professor Abbott was Jack's Individual Study
supervisor.
    Sarah Abbott was a beautiful
woman, a writer, and an adjunct professor at the college. She
didn't wear the usual rock of an engagement ring paired with a
feminine wedding band. Oh, no, Sarah Abbot wore only a thick, gold
wedding band rivaling the size of John Abbott's band. Whenever
Amy married, she'd want a
ring just like that.
    “John, Sarah, come in,” Amy said,
ushering them into the apartment.
    “We're not staying,” said
John.
    Puzzled, Amy let the door swing wide
open. “Jack isn't here. I'm happy to see you,
though.”
    “Terri said we should stop by to pick
you up on the way to the farm,” John offered.
    “On the way to the farm for what?”
asked Amy.
    “They're throwing Jack a surprise
birthday dinner. They didn't want you to be left out so here we are
to get you,” said Sarah. “I guess
Terri knew your phone wasn't working and she
didn't know any, other way to reach you other
than to send your own private chauffeurs.” She said this while
snapping to attention like a dutiful soldier completing a
mission.
    “Oh, you're fine how you are,”
continued Sarah, misreading Amy's unease. “You don't need to change
or anything.”
    Amy was sure she nodded
and had hopefully said something polite. In a light
daze, she retrieved her purse and the key to the apartment. She
took one last look at the doormat, knowing
this was a terrible idea. She locked up and followed the
couple down the stairs and to their