I walk to the liquor room and spend a few minutes patting Mr. Bingley and getting him his food. Then, I leave on my desk light—I know I really must be off if I’m letting Mama talk me into giving Jane Austen’s ghost a nightlight—and head for the picnic table behind the bar.
58
I take my diary out of my purse but change my mind about reading it. Instead, I lie down on my back on the picnic table and look up at the stars. Another perfectly dark night here in Hill Country, and the Big Dipper and Orion shine clearly.
Just me and the night. It feels good. It feels simple. It feels so unlike my life right now. I miss the days when Logan and I would camp out together. I miss Logan.
The door creaks open and Logan appears beside me. Lying down next to me and incorrectly pointing out the Little Dipper. You always were the worst star-gazer, I tell him. He tells me to shut up, but he smiles.
“I thought you were in the liquor room. Your desk light is on.”
“Long story involving my mother,” I say. “Don’t ask.”
I reach over to move my purse out from under his legs and onto the bench. Logan watches the movement of my hand carefully.
“What’d you do with your ring?” he says.
“Another long story.”
“Want to talk about it? What happened with him?”
“What do you think?” I ask him.
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I know it wasn’t something shocking.”
“How do you know?” I say. “It could be shocking. I could have gotten knocked up just like my mama did.”
“You could have,” he says. “Except you didn’t. Did you?”
“What if I had? What if I were about to have some other man’s baby right now? How would that go?”
Logan props himself up on his elbow and stares down at me. “You’re on the pill. You’ve always been on the pill.” He pauses. “Well, except for the first time. But we were always so careful, and I know you always are in general.”
“I’m not on the pill anymore.”
Now Logan’s really staring at me.
“But you’re correct,” I add. “I’m not pregnant. We didn’t even have sex. Not once.”
He lets his breath out like he hasn’t breathed this whole time. “Mace…”
I wave my hand in the air. “Your fiancée is obviously a lot more secure in her relationship with you than my—whatever Jamie was—was with me. You two seem to have worked everything out even after Blake said all that crap.”
“Yeah.” His voice sounds strained. “Blake’s an ass.”
“He means well.”
“I know.”
We lapse into silence as we keep looking up at the stars. Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand not knowing, and even though I’m scared of the answer, I have to know.
“So, is it the sex?”
Logan doesn’t answer me. The night makes for a good cover.
“The conversations?” I press.
Still nothing.
