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which Sean found naïve. “You’re not married. You’re not even engaged,” he said, later adding, “The man who doesn’t sow his oats when he’s young, will do so when he’s old.”
    If you pound at anything long enough, it’s bound to fracture. One evening, about six months after moving in with Sean, I broke. Candace was busy that night, so I went with Sean to a UPenn party he’d found out about. I drank too much and ended up spending the night with a coed whose name I didn’t even know. The next morning I woke filled with burning shame. When I told Sean that I was going to confess to Candace, he erupted. “Don’t be stupid. What good could possibly come of that?”
    “She would want to know the truth,” I said.
    “Is that really why? Or are you just trying to shift your pain to her?”
    “What are you talking about?” I said.
    “All you’ll do is turn
your
guilt into
her
broken heart and ruin the best thing you’ve got going. You were drunk. If you’re not willing to give yourself a break, then at least give her one.”
    I never told Candace, though I think she suspected something. That evening at dinner she looked at me with a peculiar expression, as if something were different but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “You’re not yourself tonight.”
    “It’s nothing,” I said forcefully enough to convince her otherwise. “I just have a headache.”
    “Do you need an Advil?”
    “I’m okay,” I said.
    “I called you last night. You never answered.”
    I poked at my dinner, avoiding her gaze. “I was out with Sean,” I said. “We were drinking.”
    “I called you this morning too. Where were you?”
    “I told you, we were drinking. I was just sleeping it off.”
    I must have looked guilty, because she looked at me for a minute, then she asked, “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
    Anger at her question rose within me. I snapped at her, “Enough with the interrogation, already!”
    She flinched. “I’m sorry. I just wish you’d stop drinking so much.”
    “I know,” I said.
    “Sean’s not good for you.”
    “I know,” I said again.
    We went back to our meal as if nothing had happened.

CHAPTER
Twelve
    Guilt makes strangers of us all
.
    Luke Crisp’s Diary

    As graduation neared, I was filled with a myriad of emotions, all of which seemed to contribute to the chasm that had developed between my father and me.
    Of course time and distance played their part in our rift, but the biggest reason took a much wiser and older me to understand. Perhaps it’s an archetype, like Adam hiding from God after partaking of the fruit, but on some level I believe that I was hiding from my father because of whom I had become. In spite of my outward denials, to myself as well as to others, I carried an enormous amount of guilt for my choices—and guilt always estranges us. The truth was, I was afraid of my father’s rejection, so I rejected him first.

    A month before graduation Mary, my father’s assistant, called me.
    “Luke, it’s Mary. Your father wanted me to call about your graduation. We need to make his travel arrangements.”
    I hesitated. “Don’t worry about it.”
    “Don’t worry about what?”
    “Attending the graduation ceremony. It’s not important. I’ll be home a few days after anyway.”
    Mary sounded vexed. “It’s important to your father. He’s very proud of you.”
    “Tell him that I appreciate the sentiment, but if it’s all the same, I’d rather not make a big deal over it.”
    She was quiet for a moment, then said, “All right. I’ll tell him.”
    I don’t know if I’d hurt my father’s feelings or if he was just respecting my wishes, but my father never called to talk me out of it.

    A few hours after our graduation ceremony the Wharton 6 gathered for a final session at Smokey Joe’s.
    “So what’s going down tonight?” Marshall asked, nursing a tall beer. Lucy stood behind him, her arms wrapped around him.
    “There’s a party