Free Fearless: No. 2 - Sam (Fearless) by Francine Pascal

it for a few moments. "It sounds like she's gotten under your skin."
    "She has. That's exactly what it is," Sam said, rear-ranging his long legs as the weary dorm-room bed groaned under his weight. "But first of all, there's Heather to think of. And also, this girl is all about trouble. I can't even begin to explain to you the kind of trouble she causes. Heather is safe, and she's great. And she's . . . ready."
    Danny laughed. "Yeah. God, I wish I had your problems."
    Sam walked over to the window and looked out at the courtyard. In New York City they called it a courtyard even if it was ten square feet of poured concrete, overfilled with plastic garbage cans and piles of recycling. "It's not as fun as it sounds," Sam said.
    "Well, there's one obvious thing to do," Danny pointed out.
    "Yeah, what's that?"
    "Take out a piece of paper. At the top put Heather's name on one side and the other girl's name on the other, and make a list."
Heather Gaia
    My girlfriend
Not my girlfriend
    My parents love her
Would frighten my parents
    Not good at chess
Great at chess
    Belongs in a magazine
Doesn't
    Safe
Trouble
    Loves me
Probably doesn't give a shit
    Ready
?
    Sam studied his list for a moment, crumpled it in a tight ball, and tossed it in the garbage. What was he, some kind of idiot?

GHOSTS
    His heart, his life, his sense of life's possibilities was shaken.

REMEMBERING KATIA
    TOM MOORE KNEW HE WAS CRAZY TO BE doing this. He walked down Waverly Place in the West Village with his head throbbing and his heart full. Just two blocks from here, in a tiny bookshop, he'd first laid eyes on Katia. It was probably the most important moment of his entire life, and yet he hadn't been back here in twenty years.
    It was, without question, love at first sight. It was a freezing cold day in February, and the city was bleak and dismal. The previous night's snow was no more than a brown, muddy obstacle between sidewalk and street. He'd been looking for a rare translation of Thucydides for his graduate thesis. He was stewing about something -- that his adviser hadn't credited him in a recent publication. He'd seen her as soon as he'd opened the door. The shop was a tiny square, for one thing. But Katia seemed to draw every atom in the place to her. In that moment Tom's entire life evaporated and a new one started.
    She was sitting cross-legged in the corner, bent forward with a book on her lap. He remembered she wore gray woolen tights, under battered rubber boots and a red knit dress. Her hair was long, dark, and straight, falling in a shiny column on either side of her face. She was devouring a stack of books the way a starving person would devour a plate of food. He would never forget that image of her.
    Up until that point, he'd had many relationships with women. Fellow college and grad students, pretty ones he'd met through friends. He'd traveled with girlfriends, even lived with one for a few months. And yet his heart had never been stirred until the time he saw Katia, a naive nineteen-year-old with cheap, old-fashioned Eastern Bloc clothing and a thick Russian accent. And then it was shaken.
    His heart, his life, his sense of life's possibilities was shaken. In her eyes he became somebody he could believe in.
    He paused after crossing Seventh Avenue. He shouldn't be here at all. He'd learned in the hardest possible way that a man who'd made enemies like his could not afford to have a family. His disguise was minimal. His presence was needed in Beirut. He could walk straight into Gaia if he wasn't careful. He was drowning his usually sane mind in a riptide of memories.
    Still he continued on. And then stopped dead in his tracks. Of course. Of course. Virtually every single thing in New York City had changed in the last twenty years, and that bookstore remained. Katia was gone. The person he'd been with Katia was gone. Their beautiful daughter, the greatest pleasure in their lives, was alone. And the damn bookstore winked at him smugly. The riptide