CHAPTER TEN
After seeing Logan’s art, I’m inspired to try my hand at painting. A week after our trip, I’ve set myself up on the beach with an easel before me. I look out at the vast untamed charm of Harrington Bay and try to capture it on canvas, but painting is not as easy as it looks. My rendering of the beauty before me looks more like a scene from SpongeBob SquarePants. I finish it, even though it’s dreadful, and decide to give it to Logan. If nothing else, he’ll get a good laugh out of it.
I find myself thinking a great deal about Logan, specifically how he amassed such a fortune. I didn’t realize artists were so wealthy, but when you reach the level that Logan has, perhaps it’s not surprising. I saw what some of his work was going for at the gallery and the sight of all those digits had my eyes nearly rolling into the back of my head.
Another topic I find myself pondering is Frank and that huge sum of money sitting in a bank waiting for me. Why did he choose to live so frugally? Frank wasn’t the flashy type, but he didn’t seem to spend any of his money. His suits were from the eighties, his room had been sparsely decorated, and he never went anywhere. He hadn’t even booked himself in the nicest room the facility had.
As far as I knew, he never left Harrington. His emergency contact at the home had been me, so it wasn’t like there was someone more important outside of Harrington. The fact that I was left his bounty makes me all the more intrigued about how he earned it. Was it linked to the part of his life he didn’t share with me?
Checking my watch, I see I’ve an hour before the town meeting. Another festival is on the calendar, and though I am now banned from all festival events, I like to sneak into the room and listen as the wild ideas are tossed around. As I’m packing up my supplies, I hear my name being called and turn to see Elise approaching. Great.
“Saffron, hi.”
I offer her no smile or greeting, and when she says, “Sorry about before,” I know she understands my rudeness.
What’s strange is that though she is apologizing, she looks angry. I’m angry myself. “What, for entirely misrepresenting the facts? For trying to make me believe a lie, which happened to result in me falling into the water where I drowned. Oh, but wait, I was resuscitated by the man you accused of being a two-timing ass? Is that what you’re sorry about?”
She has the sense to look down, but something in her expression seems off. She whispers, “Yes.”
“You also failed to mention that you’re friends with Darla, so that makes your interest in the manner biased,” I add. “It’s over between them, Elise. Even if he wasn’t with me, he doesn’t want to be with her. She’s not getting that message, not from the lawsuit or from the advice of her lawyers. Maybe as her friend, you can penetrate her hard head. It’s over between them.”
“I’ll try. Is David going back to Manhattan?”
“No, he is staying here with me.”
She didn’t like that answer. I can see that clearly in her expression, before she walks away.
I’ve had an hour to cool off after my run-in with Elise. I’m sitting in the back of the town meeting listening as Chastity tries to pitch the idea for a seaweed festival. I realize that seaweed is used in sushi, something that I am not fond of, but I can’t help but think that this festival is going to be much like the Swordfish Festival. The thought of having to scrape stuck-on dry seaweed off the storefronts in town doesn’t make me happy. Luckily, I am not the only one to object. Tommy voices exactly my concerns. His objection is met with a moue of disappointment from Chastity. A woman approaching her sixties definitely should not be doing that.
Slipping from the meeting, I start along Main Street, but I’m feeling restless and it’s still early so I head to Tucker’s. The music from the live band pumps out into the night. Grabbing the last stool at the bar, I signal Sarah for a glass of wine. I recognize most of the patrons, but there are a few tourists crowding around the tables, more than the steady flow we’ve been having lately, and they are all female. And then it dawns on me that they are most likely here because of Logan. It’s not really Logan, it’s David. I realize he’s still a famous artist, but these women aren’t interested in his sculptures, they’re interested in the model/playboy he used to be. Even though he hasn’t been either for quite a while. Talk about a crush. It’s only after I make that connection that I realize many of them are eying me. I guess they know of my relationship with him. Is Logan really painting or is he hiding?
As the drinks flow, voices grow louder. I start hearing tidbits about Logan’s life. I’m angry that his life is so exposed, but as I listen my anger turns to hurt. I know his parents live in Scotland and that he has two brothers, but I didn’t know that he moved to New York City alone when he was younger. Why didn’t his family come with him? And then I hear a tidbit that has the green-eyed monster rearing his ugly head. His preference was for slightly older and wealthy women.
Jealousy morphs into insecurity—I’m neither wealthy nor older, so what’s his interest in me? I hate to admit it, but sitting in that bar, I’m nearly crippled with self-doubt. Blinding in its intensity, the glaring reality is that there is no real-world scenario in which a man like Logan would want a woman like me. The longer I sit, the more I convince myself that what I think is happening between Logan and me really isn’t. Yes, he cares about me, but where I see this going and where he sees it going are not in the same direction. It just can’t be. The mature course of action is to seek out Logan and talk to him. Clear the air, put my concerns on the table, and let him tell me I’m freaking out for nothing. I don’t do that, though. Going home and stewing over it is out, staying here and being forced to face my doubts in the flesh is out, and my friends are all busy. I need to get away. I always loved clearing my head by driving, so I handle the situation by running, well, driving away.
A day or two to get my head on straight sounds perfect. A while ago Gwen and Mitch bought a cabin in Vermont. It isn’t much to look at, but it’s quaint, clean, quiet, and empty. I can’t take my car since it’s a fairly long trip, so Gwen offers me hers. It’s late by the time I’m heading west on Route 2.
I leave Logan an e-mail about my impromptu trip. Not that I’m expecting him to read it, since he hermits himself away when he’s working, but I do bring my charged cell phone just in case. Reaching the cabin at just after three in the morning, I lock myself in and go facedown for eight hours. I wake to the sound of my phone playing “Late at Night” by Buffalo Tom, and see it’s eleven in the morning.
I reach for it. “Hello.”
“Good morning.”
Warmth fills me just at the sound of Logan’s voice, but fear crowds it out, along with the worry that everything I hope is happening between us isn’t. “How’s the painting going?”
He’s silent for a moment. “Why did you leave town without me?”
“You were working.” This is a lie and beneath me, but I don’t have the courage to answer him honestly.
“If you asked me to join you, I would have.”
Despite my doubts, lingering warmth spreads throughout my body. “I didn’t want to disrupt your work.” That isn’t entirely a lie.
“Why do I have the sense it’s more than that?”
“You’re right, it is, but having a heart-to-heart while you’re in the middle of a project isn’t the right time.”
He’s silent for a minute and I can sense his hesitancy before he asks, “A heart-to-heart about what?”
It isn’t the true reason for my fleeing into the night, but I am curious, if we’re being open and all, why he never shared his childhood with me. So I ask, “Is it true you came to the US as a child? Why didn’t your family come with you?”
“Where did you hear this?” he asks with a terse tone.
“At Tommy’s last night.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“So you didn’t come here as a child?”
“I did, but that’s not the point.”
“I’m sorry, what is the point?”
“You shouldn’t listen to idle gossip.”
His tone fuels my own temper. “True, but when the gossip is regarding the man I’m in a relationship with, it’s a bit hard to ignore.”
Silence. It’s so tense that I just know his jaw is clenching. My temper goes up a notch and I don’t realize until after I’ve said it that the next words are part of what’s causing my doubt. “Our weekend together was the best weekend of my life, so it’s a bit unsettling to realize that I’m falling in love with you when strangers seem to know more about you than me.”
“You know all about me that matters.”
He pricks my temper, so the next words tumble out without my wanting them to. “Is it true you had a preference for older women when you were younger?”
I’m taken aback at the venom I hear in his voice. “Son of a bitch.”
I don’t understand why he’s reacting the way he is unless I’m right and he doesn’t see me as a keeper, just an enjoyable but temporary companion. One who is now asking too many personal questions. All the doubts I’ve been holding on to for the past twelve hours nearly suffocate me, but I force myself to ask because now I need to know, “Can we talk? I do have something on my mind.”
“You’re right. Now is not the time. Have a good weekend.” And then the line goes dead. I stand there staring at my phone and as much as I would like it to be temper that’s burning through me, it’s not. Maybe after a day or two, once we both cool off, we can sit down and figure out where we go from here.
Walking from the little cabin, tucked in the woods of Stowe, Vermont, I take in the charm of the little paradise considered quintessential New England, but the beauty is lost on me because my thoughts turn to Logan. The bakery boasts that it makes the best apple cider and maple syrup donuts so I purchase one of each and a cup of coffee before I sit outside at one of the tables. My heart aches—Logan and I just had our first fight and I don’t even know why. Yes, I ran away like a child, but his reaction to my questions about his past was overblown. Why would he react that way? Either he doesn’t want to share it with me, or he’s embarrassed by it. Regardless, I need to know, we both do, if we are on the same page. Leaving the way I did, stupid girl that I am, has now thrown that question right there in the middle of everything. Instead of going on as we were, blissfully happy, though maybe not truly committed, now we’re really going to have to talk about our feelings. I may just lose the best thing in my life because I pushed for more than he’s willing to give. And even as I’m berating myself I know that I’m not falling in love with him, I already am in love with him and if he’s not on the same page, best to learn that now. I work to put Logan out of my head and finish my donuts.
The main street in town is quaint, storefronts painted in pastels running along the street on both sides. I duck into a few of the shops, enjoying the window-shopping, and that’s when I see the sign in one of the store windows advertising puppies for sale. Always a sucker for puppies, I follow the directions from the ad to a farm that sits just off the main street. A long walk down a drive surrounded by maple trees leads to a white farmhouse. And just in front of that house is a penned-off area with six puppies. As I approach, one of the German shepherds comes right up to me. He licks my hand and I’m a goner.
“He likes you.” I turn to see the old farmer walking toward me in overalls and a John Deere hat.
“He’s beautiful.”
“They’re eight weeks old, neutered, and have their first round of shots.”
“How much?”
“Forty dollars.”
“I’ll take him.”
The farmer throws in a leash and twenty minutes later my new puppy and I are walking back into town. I stop to pick up the puppy food the farmer had been feeding him before we finish the trip to the cabin. He is a little fur ball and so goddamn cute I just can’t stop looking at him. We play all day and that night, he sleeps in the bed with me. Sleep won’t come for me, though, as thoughts of Logan fill my head. I wonder if he has had time to calm down. I try calling him, but get his voice mail. I’ll see him tomorrow. That thought both delights and terrifies me.
Returning home in the early afternoon, I stop to see Tommy on my way to Logan’s. When Tommy appears, a smile spreads over his face. He’s a huge dog lover. He walks over and hunches down next to the puppy. “Who is this handsome man?”
“My new puppy, Reaper.”
“Jax would be happy.”
Yes, my puppy is named in honor of my favorite show, Sons of Anarchy.
“He’s beautiful. How was Stowe?”
“Quiet, I needed the silence to pull myself from a self-induced panic attack.”
He stands up again. “Are you okay?”
“It’s a little intimidating, Logan being who he is. I guess I’m more insecure about it than I would like to be, but we’ll work it out.”
“First fight?”
“I wouldn’t even call it a fight. I’m not really sure what it was, but we’ve both cooled down.”
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“I’ll be here.”
“What are you going to do about Reaper?”
“I’ll set up the kitchen, so if he has an accident it won’t be too hard to clean up.”
Tommy bends down and rubs my dog’s head. “Welcome to Harrington, Reaper.”