Chapter Six
Logan
I wanted to call Dawn, or at least message her, but I chickened out that night, and the next morning, too. When I’d been treading water, watching her walk away from the beach, I’d told myself that her participation in my weird aquatic ritual meant we were back on even footing and could keep doing…whatever we’d been doing.
But as I drove back to camp, as I lay in bed waiting to go to sleep, as I stumbled through my morning routine, it started to seem more likely that she’d just been doing the easiest thing to get rid of me. It wasn’t like she’d stuck around to visit after she’d moved my clothes. Wasn’t like she’d stripped down and joined me in the water, either.
As much as I’d hated it when girls only wanted me because I played hockey, I was starting to get kind of frustrated with this new world where I was just a regular guy with nothing special to attract or intrigue.
Just out of curiosity, I Googled Toby Cooper, Dawn’s ex. Right winger, good stats, drafted fifth round to Toronto, expected to spend another year in Corrigan Falls, maybe with trips up to the show for a game or two.
I wanted to tell Dawn I’d gone first round a year earlier, but there was no way to mention that without explaining that I couldn’t play anymore. The one thing that had made me special was gone.
My mom called right after I’d finished breakfast—I was surprised she’d managed to wait three whole days between the last time she saw me in person and the first call. She used to worry a lot less, but—whatever. Things used to be a lot different.
“You think you’re going to like it there?” she asked. “I know it’s not glamorous or anything, but it’s a nice change, isn’t it? You’re not sitting around that apartment staring at the walls anymore.”
“Yeah, it’s good,” I told her, leaving the dining hall and finding a quiet corner of the dining hall porch. I wasn’t lying, exactly, but I knew she could sense my lack of enthusiasm. I tried to dredge up some of the excitement I’d felt the night before, some trace of the sensation that I was at the start of something new instead of the end of something old. “Everyone’s nice.”
“Of course they’re nice—you’re a nice person, so they’ll be nice back. And there’s lots of nature? It looked beautiful online.”
I didn’t think I’d get into the fake vs. real nature debate. “Yeah, the camp’s right on the lake.”
“And your knee? You’re not overdoing it?”
“My knee’s fine.” That was the most frustrating part, really. It did feel fine. There were some pretty gnarly scars on it—and for the first time I wondered if Dawn had seen those the night before—but there was no pain, hardly even any stiffness.
“And you’re—”
Yeah, now the part she really wanted to ask about. I could practically feel her searching for the best words, trying to find a way to be supportive but also clear.
“—you’re keeping your spirits up?”
“Happy as a clam,” I told her. And then felt like an asshole, because she was asking because she loved me and because she worried about me and I wasn’t even trying to reassure her with anything approaching honesty. “Or some other shellfish, maybe. An oyster? I’m not quite at full-clam yet, but, you know—I’m okay.”
“I want you to be more than okay!” She sounded frustrated, an emotion I could definitely sympathize with, but I wasn’t sure what to tell her.
“I want that, too. It’s just—it’s an adjustment, isn’t it? That’s what the therapist said.”
“Oh, him.” She managed to put quite a bit of disdain into that one innocent pronoun. “He’s used to counselling old men! Your father was in his forties when he retired. It made sense for him to—to diversify, and distract himself and just stay busy. But you’re eighteen, Logan! You don’t need to distract yourself, you need to be passionate about something. I don’t care what it is. If it can’t be hockey, then we need to help you find something else. You’re too young to be finished with your adventure, baby.”
I guess I agreed, in theory, but I wasn’t quite sure what I could do about it. “They have crafts at the camp. I was supposed to be helping with golf, but maybe I’ll get really into pottery or something instead.”
“If you decide to love pottery, then I’ll be happy as a whole colony of clams. You can make me some new serving dishes—I’m getting tired of the blue ones.”
Well, I didn’t want to overcommit to the pottery idea. “I’ll think of something,” I told her.
“You need to be brave—new adventures don’t just come floating in on the waves—you have to swim out to them.”
“That’s a very aquatic metaphor. Ties in nicely with the clams.”
“I’m looking at pictures of your camp on the internet. The water looks lovely. Have you been swimming?”
“Uh—yeah. Not right at camp, but nearby.” And just like that, it kind of clicked for me. Maybe I already had swum out to meet my adventure, and I was just being too chickenshit to follow up and see if I had a good grip on it. “I gotta go, Mom. I’m good, everything’s fine—and there’s something I want to do.”
“Something fun?”
It was kind of heartbreaking how hopeful she sounded. I’d let myself get so caught up in my own shit I’d forgotten what I was doing to the people around me. “Yeah, hopefully. Either fun or terrible, but that’s what makes it an adventure.”
“Let’s have a fun one, this first time out. You can do terrible later, if you insist.”
“Yeah, okay. That sounds like a good plan.”
“Your dad and I love you, baby. We want you to be happy.”
“I know. Thanks.”
I ended the call with her and looked down at my phone. I knew the safe way to play it—send a casual message, see what kind of answer I got.
But being smart wasn’t an adventure, and my mom was right. Or at least, I hoped she was. I dialed Dawn’s number and waited to find out if things were going to be fun or terrible.
…
Dawn
“Nice butt,” I said when I saw Logan’s number on the call display. I was in my room, lying on my bed, and I’d actually had my phone in my hand trying to build up the nerve to message him.
He didn’t answer right away, and I thought maybe I’d offended him. Or was I supposed to be more demure or something?
Then he huffed out a little breath and said, “Thanks. You, too.”
“Sorry if I freaked out a bit. I just—I hate to admit that Oliver was right about anything, but maybe I am having kind of a weird weekend. It’s like—you know that vibe you get right before a thunderstorm, when you can practically feel the electricity in the air and you know there’s going to be lightning soon? I kind of feel like that. Jittery or something.” Another slow response, and I said, “Damn, that was way too much information, wasn’t it?”
“No,” he said quickly, and then, “No. It’s just strange. I’m kind of feeling the same way myself. Like when you’re on a rollercoaster riding to the top and you kind of hang there for a minute before you take the big fall.”
And now it was my turn to not answer right away. “That’s exactly it,” I finally said. “I just—I don’t know what I’m going to be falling into, you know? The energy’s there, but I don’t know what it’s building up to.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I get that. And don’t worry about freaking out. I think that would have been legit even if it hadn’t been a weird weekend. I’m not sure what I should have done differently, but—”
“Are you working today?” Maybe a bit of an abrupt topic change, but it made sense to me, at least.
“Uh, the campers come in this afternoon and I’m supposed to help them get settled in. I’m not sure how long that takes—I’m not up on the whole camp experience.”
“Your golf prowess earned you the job?”
“My dad’s connections earned me the job.” As usual, Logan’s voice tightened at the mention of his family. “I’m not sure if there even was a job opening or if my dad called in a favor and they made a job for me. But I don’t want to take advantage of that, you know? I want to do a good job even if it isn’t a real job.”
Yeah, that was the kind of guy I’d thought he was. “When do the arrivals start? I’m working noon to six—do you want to do something before then? Do you have time?”
“Sure, yeah. You have something in mind?”
“Nope. But we can think of something.” Now that I wasn’t feeling shy anymore, I was back to my normal take-charge self. “Beach, maybe? Clothes on, I think, at this time of day. Or a hike? Or…something more inside-y, but there honestly isn’t that much going on inside at this time of year on a Sunday morning, not unless you want to hit a church.”
“Is that what the cool kids will be doing?”
“Maybe some of them.”
“Beach sounds good, even with clothes.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you there?” And I was being such a little girl, wanting something and not asking for it, but there it was. I was sitting there on my bed, phone squashed to my ear, hoping he’d say it, hoping, hoping—
“I can pick you up, if you want.”
Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner! Stupid, I know—stupid for wanting something so meaningless and stupid for not just suggesting it, but whatever. I wanted him to pick me up so it felt like a real date or something, not just a chance meeting, and I wanted it to be his idea. And I got exactly what I wanted! But I needed to be at least a little cool about it. “Oh, yeah, okay. That’d be great. Let me give you my address.” There. Smooth.
Of course, as soon as we hung up my calmness disappeared. I ran around frantically looking for a bathing suit, a cute-sexy little dress to go on top, a towel, sunscreen, lip-gloss—and then, resentfully, I stuffed my clothes for the golf course into my beach bag. I was only taking a short break from my real life, not going on permanent vacation.
If I’d been really together I would have whipped up a gourmet snack or something, but as it was, I grabbed a can of regular Coke and a can of Diet from the fridge and decided I’d done my part.
“Where are you running off to?” My mom asked as I darted through the living room on the way to the front door.
“Beach for a couple hours, then work.”
She squinted at me suspiciously. My mom and I are far from close, but we’ve lived in the same house for seventeen years—I guess she can read me at least a little. “The beach? With who?”
“It’s the beach, on the weekend. Half the town will be there. But a friend’s picking me up—his name’s Logan.”
“Logan.” She didn’t sound impressed. “Who’s he?”
“Just a guy.” I should have let it go, but I didn’t. “He plays golf, not hockey—sorry.”
“Oh, golf. That’s a good game.” It should have sounded like approval, but her tone made it clear there was going to be more. “Did this ‘Logan’ just sign a PGA contract? I was reading about the deal Toby’s going to get for the NHL, and—”
“Oh, he’s here! Gotta go!”
And Logan was turning into the driveway, but even if he hadn’t been I would have started walking to meet him or something. I just couldn’t handle my mom right then.
My mood wasn’t quite as sunny as it had been moments earlier, and Logan seemed to pick up on that—maybe the disgusted grunt I made when I heaved my beach bag into the backseat was a clue. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” And again, I should have left it there, but again, I didn’t. “I’m just mad at my mom. She’s so—I mean, it’s insulting, is what it is. To think that the only way I could have a worthwhile life is to attach myself to a stupid hockey player? Oh, or you’ll be happy to know, a golfer would be okay, as long as he’s heading to the PGA. But if he’s just working at a summer camp? Sorry. It’s going to take someone a bit more powerful than that to heave a weight like me out of the swamps of mediocrity.”
He hadn’t even put the Jeep in reverse yet. He was just sitting there staring at me. Understandably.
“Sorry,” I said. I meant it. That had been completely out of line. “You were thinking beach not bitch, right?”
“No, it’s fine—I just don’t know what to say. I mean, that does suck. I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t let it bother me, though.”
He apparently thought I was sane enough to be trusted in a moving vehicle, so he backed the Jeep out of the driveway and I pointed the way to the beach.
“I think it would bug me, too,” he said. “If my parents did that. I mean, they’ve always been really supportive of me, for who I am. I don’t think I appreciated them enough for that.” He shrugged. “I think maybe there’s a lot of stuff I didn’t appreciate about them.”
“My parents aren’t abusive or anything,” I said quickly. It wasn’t so much about defending them; I just didn’t want him to feel sorry for me. “They’ve done the basics—food, shelter, whatever. My mom and I go shopping together sometimes. You know—it’s not a tragedy.”
“But they’re not paying for your school next year?”
Scott and his big mouth. Although I guess it had kind of been my big mouth, since I’d been the one going on and on about how I had to work. “They don’t have a lot of money. And they don’t really see the point of an education. My dad didn’t even finish high school. You’d think maybe they’d put that together, the whole ‘no education equals no money’ thing, but I guess not.”
“But you’re going anyway,” he said. We were at a stop sign and he looked over and nodded. “That’s impressive. Way to go.”
It shouldn’t have meant as much as it did. It was just—honestly, in my entire life, I don’t think anyone had ever given me even that little bit of encouragement about going to school. My teachers were too busy trying to drag the weak students up to a passing level, my guidance counsellor saw me once a year and let me do my own thing, and my parents? Well, we’ve already covered my parents. But Logan? He saw what I was doing, he saw how hard I was working, and he appreciated it. That simple. That special.
“And I don’t think I’m heading to the PGA,” he said. “So—you’d better be working on something pretty impressive, all right? Then you can pull me up out of the swamp.”
“Nope.” I said. My good mood wasn’t just restored, it was enhanced. “I don’t need that kind of pressure. How about we both pull ourselves up? We can cheer for each other as we do it.”
He paused for longer than I’d thought he would—I was just being playful, but did he think I was asking for some kind of commitment or something? But finally he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll pull ourselves up. And I’ll take all the cheering I can get.”