Jill Santopolo

The Light We Lost: The International Bestseller everyone is talking about!


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       Chapter xlii

       Chapter xliii

       Chapter xliv

       Chapter xlv

       Chapter xlvi

       Chapter xlvii

       Chapter xlviii

       Chapter xlix

       Chapter l

       Chapter li

       Chapter lii

       Chapter liii

       Chapter liv

       Chapter lv

       Chapter lvi

       Chapter lvii

       Chapter lviii

       Chapter lix

       Chapter lx

       Chapter lxi

       Chapter lxii

       Chapter lxiii

       Chapter lxiv

       Chapter lxv

       Chapter lxvi

       Chapter lxvii

       Chapter lxviii

       Chapter lxix

       Chapter lxx

       Chapter lxxi

       Chapter lxxii

       Chapter lxxiii

       Chapter lxxiv

       Chapter lxxv

       Chapter lxxvi

       Chapter lxxvii

       Chapter lxxviii

       Chapter lxxix

       Chapter lxxx

       Acknowledgements

       Lucy and Gabe’s Reading List

       Copyright

      WE’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR ALMOST HALF OUR lives.

      I’ve seen you smiling, confident, blissfully happy.

      I’ve seen you broken, wounded, lost.

      But I’ve never seen you like this.

      You taught me to look for beauty. In darkness, in destruction, you always found light.

      I don’t know what beauty I’ll find here, what light. But I’ll try. I’ll do it for you. Because I know you would do it for me.

      There was so much beauty in our life together.

      Maybe that’s where I should start.

      SOMETIMES OBJECTS SEEM LIKE THEY’VE WITNESSED history. I used to imagine that the wooden table we sat around during Kramer’s Shakespeare seminar our senior year was as old as Columbia—that it had been in that room since 1754, edges worn smooth by centuries of students like us, which of course couldn’t be true. But that’s how I pictured it. Students sitting there through the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, both World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, the Persian Gulf.

      It’s funny, if you asked me who else was with us that day, I don’t think I could tell you. I used to be able to see all their faces so clearly, but thirteen years later I remember only you and Professor Kramer. I can’t even recall the name of the TA who came running, late, into the classroom. Later, even, than you.

      Kramer had just finished calling roll when you pushed open the door. You smiled at me, your dimple making a brief appearance as you slipped off your Diamondbacks cap and stuck it into your back pocket. Your eyes landed quickly on the empty seat next to mine, and then you did too.

      “And you are?” Kramer asked, as you reached into your backpack for a notebook and a pen.

      “Gabe,” you said. “Gabriel Samson.”

      Kramer checked the paper in front of him. “Let’s aim for ‘on time’ for the rest of the semester, Mr. Samson,” he said. “Class starts at nine. In fact, let’s aim for ‘early.’”

      You nodded, and Kramer started talking about themes in Julius Caesar.

      “‘We at the height are ready to decline,’” he read. “‘There is a tide in the affairs of men / Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; / Omitted, all the voyage of their life / Is bound in shallows and in miseries. / On such a full sea are we now afloat, / And we must take the current when it serves, / Or lose our ventures.’ I trust you all did the reading. Who can tell me what Brutus is saying about fate and free will here?”

      I’ll always remember that passage because I’ve wondered so many times since that day whether you and I were fated to meet in Kramer’s Shakespeare seminar. Whether it’s destiny or decision that has kept us connected all these years. Or a combination of both, taking the current when it serves.

      After Kramer spoke, a few people flipped through the text in front of them. You ran your fingers through your curls, and they sprang back into