“I just want to thank him,” she says.
“For what?” I say.
Her face freezes. “Oh.” She waves her hand in the air. “You know, for putting up with me.”
I clench and unclench my hands.
“Macey, I’m just so stressed about it.”
I don’t know how to help her, so I invite her over for a cup of tea.
As we step into my duplex, I apologize for the mess. “I didn’t plan to have a guest over. Not that that’s an excuse for a messy home. But I’ve never been the tidiest person and I’ve had so much on my mind lately…”
But Gigi’s not even looking at my place. She’s staring at the quilt on my couch. “Oh, how lovely. It matches Logan’s tattoo. What a perfect engagement gift.”
My stomach drops, and I shake my head no, but she’s too entranced by the quilt to see me.
The blanket did come out beautifully. The colors are as vibrant as I’d envisioned, and the red raindrop in the center stands out perfectly against the dark blue and purple hues of the rest of the covering. I always planned to give it to Logan, but I couldn’t decide on a good time. Once he got engaged, nothing seemed appropriate.
“It’s so gorgeous!” Gigi says. “Handspun and everything. And I just love the giant red raindrop in the center balanced by all those smaller raindrops and the sun peeking out from the topmost corner.” She walks over to the quilt and holds it up. “And it’s so soft! Wherever did you find this, Macey? It must have cost a fortune.”
I manage a nod. “It didn’t come without a price, that’s for sure.”
“Well, how much?” She reaches into her purse. “Darn, I only have credit cards on me today. I’ll get you cash first thing tomorrow and bring it by The Cowherd. It’s just the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on!”
I start to say it’s not for sale, but Gigi starts to cry again. “I don’t want Logan to think I don’t appreciate him. I don’t really get why he chose a raindrop for a tattoo, but I can tell it means very much to him.”
I bite my tongue rather than answer her.
“And Logan said the tattoo has some link to his scar. You know, from when he was nearly gored by that mean bull.”
I raise my eyebrows. Well, that’s an interesting parable Logan used to keep her off the truth without completely lying.
Though I can’t blame him for keeping the truth private.
Logan’s daddy was the bull of the family, that’s for sure. And that day, when Logan was sixteen and stood up to his father in the barn while I hid up in the loft and listened in terror, I was certain he’d be gored.
Mr. Wild had found Logan’s paintings. He’d seen them lying around before in the barn, but he’d never seen them while he was drunk.
And he was drunk that day. So drunk he swayed in front of Logan as he demanded that he tear his paintings in half right now or he’d whip him silly.
Logan said no. Mr. Wild said he would do it for him then, and he grabbed the first one in his hands. The paint hadn’t quite dried on the image of Logan and me sitting by the lake with the red sun lighting up the huge sky and Logan’s arm around me. We sat by the lake whenever we needed to get away from our families, whenever we needed space, and whenever we needed each other.
The canvas wouldn’t tear at first try.
But I screamed anyway. I ran down from the loft and shouted at his father to stop.
I needn’t have worried. Logan had already taken the first strike. He pushed his father backward just hard enough to get him to release the canvas in his hands. I picked up the painting and scurried off to safety behind the hay bails. But before Logan could step away, his father rose up, pulled his heavy crucifix off his neck and slapped Logan across the face with it.
I could hear the sound of metal on bone in my head for days.
Logan went to the ground, and blood was everywhere. Everywhere. His father knelt to the barn floor and wept, begging for his son to forgive him.
I stayed where I was and called 911.
And when Logan came home from the hospital with twenty stitches on his face, I brought him a present.
“The bull ring you got out of the gumball machine at the County Fair.” He winced as he grinned at me.
