“This feels like the start of a murder mystery,” I say. “And not a cozy one.”
Logan laughs. “This is the start of something, but not that.”
“It’s the start of my criminal record, isn’t it?” I look around skeptically. “Is this private property?”
“Yeah. But we can be here.”
“Who did you pay off this time?”
“Myself,” Logan says. “To make extra money, I run a storage and transfer business. Mrs. Walker and some other producers store their old sets here. Some haven’t paid me in years, and they don’t care about those sets anymore, so…” He gestures again. “Have at it.”
I hold the pipe up in the air and let it drop down on the balcony. If this were a murder mystery, I would not be very good at it.
“I left a mark,” I say, analyzing my damage on the railing.
Logan runs his glove over it. “I can hardly feel it. Try again.”
I bring my arm down with a little more force this time. The pipe nearly bounces back and hits me in the face. I do manage to take a little chunk of wood out.
I adjust my face shield. “Oops. I can fix that. A little wood glue, no problem.”
“That’s not the point of this.”
“What is the point of this?”
“To break it.”
“But it’s too pretty!”
And it is. Even after years in storage. The balcony’s curved front has an ornate vine-like pattern, the design underneath even more detailed. This balcony was made for a queen, for sure.
Logan doesn’t fight this and instead moves the balcony out of the way. He’s careful with his casted arm, but the vein in his right arm bulges as he grips the railing and pushes off with his legs to gain momentum. I should offer to help, but I’m too distracted watching him. He pulls an eight-foot faded yellow crescent moon from the shadows.
“I am not hitting that,” I say. “Look at the moon’s face! Those little cheeks!”
“You’re breaking something in here, Hazel. It’s either this or the next thing I bring out.”
I wave the pipe. “Next. Mr. Moon doesn’t deserve this.”
Logan pushes Mr. Moon back into the shadows. Watching him disappear into storage, never to see the light of day, makes me a little sad.
“Whatever you’re feeling right now, use it,” Logan says. “On this.” He slides out a four-foot chimney painted to look like brick. “It’s from theMary Poppinsmusical.”
“You don’t think Mary will want it back?”
“Given that it’s been over a decade since they’ve used it, no,” Logan says. “All of these sets have been here for years. They can sit in here for longer or they can be put toward something good.”
“How is me smashing this up something good?” I ask.
“Because it’ll be a release.” Logan comes over to me and flips his face shield up. I do the same so there’s one less barrier between us. “The other day, you said you didn’t know what to do with your feelings. You’ve talked about how you numb yourself.” He taps on the chimney. “Put your feelings here. Onto this. You’re always giving so much of yourself to others, but who’s giving anything to you? You deserve good things, too. You deserve love and support and help. All the time. Not just on special occasions.”
“This sounds like a great exercise for you to try,” I say, trying to hand him the pipe. “Express what you’ve been suppressing.” He doesn’t take it.
“Next time. This isn’t about me,” he says, running his hands down my arms. “We can talk about it more after, but right now, we’re not here to talk. We’re here for you tofeel.”
He doesn’t need to spell it out any more than this. I know what he’s getting at.
“You’ve been fixing all your life,” Logan says. “Now it’s time to break something.”
