I looked back at him. “Because one day you’ll be the undisputed bull of your family, Logan, and you’ll never treat anyone the way your father treated all of y’all. You’ll be the best bull ever because of what you went through and how you learned to protect what you love.”
Logan pulled me close to him in a hug. “And you’re getting the painting of us by the lake,” he said into my ear. “For standing by me when my father tried to take it.”
“No,” I said firmly. “That painting should stay with you, Logan. I won’t accept it. Because it belongs to you.”
“Okay,” he said. “But someday, I’ll make it up to you.”
Two days after being stuck in a jail cell until he sobered up, Mr. Wild went off to rehab and was there for three months.
He never touched his lips to alcohol again.
And he never struck any of his sons again.
However, until this past spring when Logan drove out West, Mr. Wild kept fighting him to quit on his painting dream.
Remembering all this makes me realize: Logan never will quit on himself. So, maybe it’s time I stop thinking I need to protect him.
Maybe it’s time I let him go so he and Gigi can be happy together.
I refocus my eyes on the duplex and on Gigi in front of me. She’s holding my present. Butshe’sLogan’s future. I’m his past.
“Gigi,” I say quietly. “Why don’t you just take the quilt? Free of charge.”
I’d have thought I’d be upset, but I want to get away from her so badly I don’t much care at the moment. The pain will come later.
“Oh, thank you, Macey—you’re the bestest!” She leans in and kisses my cheek. Twice—both cheeks, even though I’d told her no before.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gigi leaves my place with a huge smile on her face.
I wait until she’s gone before I slump down against my front door and call George.
He’s known me for years, and he kindly offers to stay at The Cowherd for the next couple of hours so I can take some time for myself. So I do.
My hands are shaking as I sink onto my couch and open up my diary. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but Ginny told me I needed to purge my past. And this is the only constructive thing I can come up with.
I skim through the numerous break-ups and make-ups of my parents until I reach my thirteenth birthday.
After Mama and Daddy renewed their marriage vows in January, the rumor spread that my parents were the soul mates to unlock Jane Austen’s cell door. I have a strong suspicion my mother herself whispered it into the ear of Lindsay Luney. Everyone knows you don’t tell Lindsay anything you don’t want the whole world to know within a half hour, but Mama’s been fantasizing about her and Daddy having the power together to move mountains and “open locked doors.”
Then Daddy started drinking too much again; what else is new. And Mama was a mess. The mess became worse when Daddy got into a fight with one of the bar patrons, so the mayor took away our liquor license. Without any liquor, our number of customers dwindled down to just a handful, and last month, the bank put a lien on our house because we couldn’t pay the mortgage. So we’re all living in The Cowherd now.
Daddy sleeps on one pew in the chapel and Mama on another. My siblings and I stay in the liquor room—Mama set up some old Army cots she got from her brother. The mayor told Daddy he won’t say anything about us using the bar for a residence as long as Daddy can prove by the fall that he is fit to run The Cowherd again the way it’s meant to be run—serving alcohol. So Daddy’s doing part-time rehab, whatever that means, and staying with us at night. At least he can’t be tempted while he’s at the bar because we’re dry.
My breath catches in my throat when I read what I wrote next—
The night after we moved into the bar, once I made sure my three siblings were asleep and my parents sufficiently de-stressed for the evening, I snuck out of The Cowherd at one a.m. to see Logan. He got me a box of tissues as soon as he saw my face, and then he took me to the barn. He said he wanted to sleep out there anyway, to stay safe from his father, who was in a particularly angry mood. We sat in the loft all night, and Logan held me in his arms and ran his fingers through my hair while I cried. He said I was stronger than my parents, and that even though they haven’t been able to make it doesn’t mean I won’t.
I left at dawn to run back to the bar before Mama woke up.
Right as I was leaving, Logan gave me the kiss of my life. With tongue and everything. He leaned down while I was tying my shoes and lifted my head up. Then, he covered my mouth with his. And this time I finally kissed him back.
And let me tell you, that kiss was worth the wait. It was even worth all the tears I’d cried. I’ve remembered that kiss every night since, whenever I get down.
I slam the diary shut.
The thing about good memories is—you don’t necessarily want to forget them.
