We took our time leaving the Union, and we’d only walked together a block in silence when Jane and Stick pulled up and asked if we wanted to join them again.
We both quickly nodded and got in the car. We needed a buffer, and this mismatched couple was perfect for the job.
When Logan asked how they’d originally hooked up, Jane gave a quick summation of their relationship that involved Lily and her boyfriend, Jane’s father, and odd timing.
“I’m just keeping him around until the election. It drives my father nuts that we’re dating and yet he wanted me on the campaign trail. The day after the election, when you can’t irk him anymore, you’re toast, Stick,” she said.
“Oh, I can irk him well past election day,” Stick countered. He gave Jane a heated look. “And I will.Well pastelection day.”
Jane met his gaze and gave a small nod, then looked away before she could see Stick’s smug grin. “Wipe that smile off your face,” she said while facing out her window, and Stick laughed.
We grabbed food from the drive-thru at McDonald’s. Logan treated, saying he was covered with a food allowance. Which prompted all of us to add shakes to our orders. Living large off the Bribury hockey program.
Stick drove us a few miles out of Schoolport on a nearly deserted two-lane road. Jane held our bags of food in her lap, and I could hear the rustle of paper as she surreptitiously stole some fries.
“Baby, I love you, but if all the fries are gone before we get to the lake, we are going to have a serious problem,” Stick said.
“Ugh. Fine. Megan, Logan, take these. I don’t trust myself. And obviously Stick doesn’t trust me either.”
“Only when it comes to fries,” he said.
Logan and I took the bags and held on to them. Heat and the smell of grease washed over me. The temptation to snitch was strong, but it was like we were each other’s consciences, and we left the bags sealed.
We arrived at a small boat launch area for a lake I didn’t know existed. The launch area wasn’t very large, but it had a few picnic tables nearby, where we took our food.
The late September air was cool, but not cold. Logan held out his hoodie, silently asking if I needed it, but I shook my head. My lightweight cardigan over my long-sleeve tee was warmth enough. At least for now.
We unpacked the bags of food, drinks, shakes, and napkins on one of the tables. Logan and Stick chose to sit on the top of the table with their feet resting on the bench where I sat. Jane, as if riding in the car had caged her in long enough, stood while she ate, turning this way and that, checking out the scenery.
“So, would around the bend in the lake, toward Chesney be…?” She pointed and looked at Stick.
“Yeah. You can’t see the house from here, it’s way on the other side of the lake area, which is kind of an L anyway.”
“Who lives there? Your family?” I asked Stick, who snorted loudly.
“Hardly. That’s money area. And you have to go farther out of Schoolport to get to that side of the lake.”
“I’ll say,” Jane said. “No. My… Let me see, how do I… My father’s wife and their children have a house on this lake, but she doesn’t live there any longer.”
“Why would you move if you had a house on this lake? It’s gorgeous here,” I said. We could see some beautiful homes across the lake, and if this was not the money area, I could only imagine what the housestherelooked like.
“She didn’t move. She died,” Jane said.
There was silence for a few seconds, then Logan asked, “So, your stepmom? I’m sorry for your loss.” The words were ones he and I both had heard over and over in the past year (for me) and months (for him) and were rote for us now, both in giving and receiving, but there was genuine feeling in Logan’s voice and I knew he meant it.
“Thanks. But it’s okay. And she wasn’t my stepmom. I mean…” She looked at Stick. “Was she? Not really. I only met her a few months before she died. This was last year.”
It felt really complicated, even to Jane, who was living it, so I let my myriad questions die on my tongue.
“Still. Loss is loss and can be complicated by… complicated feelings for those who have passed, or have survived,” Logan said.
All three of us turned to him, stunned by the profundity coming from this huge, manly hockey guy who finished his words of wisdom with a shrug and a giant bite of his Quarter Pounder.
“Wow. That grief class is sure working,” Jane said. She slurped on her shake and turned away from the direction of her non-stepmother’s home. She leaned a hip against the edge of the table near Stick’s butt, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. I envied the squeeze he gave her and the way she let her body rest against his chest.
We all ate in silence for a few minutes, then Jane asked, “Do they teach you that? What to say to people about death?”
She was addressing Logan, but he had a mouthful of fries (I very much wanted to lick the salty goodness off his lips—fries or not—if I was being honest), so I answered for him. “Kind of. For part of one class we talked about some of the stuff that people said to us that was helpful, and what wasn’t. You take from that when you come up with what you want to say to others.”
