“What about them?”
“It’s like Maxwell said, you didn’t question good things happening to you,” I rush out. “You expected them to happen. Because of that, you still went after what you wanted. Doing so got you closer to your goals.”
“I don’t know about all that.”
“If you always expected to lose, you probably wouldn’t have taken action the way you did. Every time you try, you’re giving yourself one more chance to succeed.”
It’s nothing Logan hasn’t heard before. But now that I’m learning more about him, Maxwell’s rationale seems more plausible for why Logan considers himself lucky.
“You think what he was saying could be real?” Logan asks.
“No, I don’t,” I say. “Ireallythink what he was saying could be real.”
He laughs at this. “I think we might’ve picked up a little too much from Maxwell.”
“I know you were always told you were lucky,” I say. “But being told you’re something doesn’t make it true. You made everything that’s happened in your life come true.”
This logic is great for Logan, but not so much for my situation. Because if it is, then logically, wouldn’t it be the opposite for me? If all I heard growing up was how unlucky we were, did that make me fearful to try new things? To say yes? To expect that anything exceptionally good could happen for me? Have I only been paying attention to the bad?
I take a sip of my drink, washing these thoughts down for another time. A time when we aren’t dealing with a crisis.
Logan leans back against his chair and lets out the kind of sigh that accompanies newfound realization. “Huh.”
I’m glad to have gotten through to him. I gesture toward the waves. “And that’s why we add water.”
A light breeze sweeps over us. Logan breathes it in.
Ahead of us, the fishing boats sway from side to side on the surface of the water like they’re stuck in place. The sound of the waves lapping over each other becomes louder when I turn my attention to them.
After a few quiet moments, Logan says, “You’re right. There aren’t that many seagulls here.”
“More food for us, I guess.” I finish the last of my roll.
“I can’t believe the damn plane was a warning about the clerk. You think we can fly back to New York?”
“It’s not worth the risk,” I say. “And who knows? Maybe we’ll find a face-reader fortune teller on the way back.”
“At a rest stop, probably,” he quips, taking a long chug of his blueberry soda.
I laugh. “My nai nai once told me I had very lucky cheeks.”
He chuckles. “They are very cute cheeks.”
“Who knew you were the wealthy New York girl going to the fancy Catskills resort, and I was the dance instructor?” I ask. “All this time I could’ve been calling you Baby.”
He smirks at myDirty Dancingreference. “I’m Rose, and you’re Jack.”
“I’m Noah, and you’re Allie.”
Then, despite the heaviness of our situation and the fallout that inevitably awaits, a ripple-smile flashes across Logan’s cheeks.
And that smile on his face does more for me than all the water in the world combined.
Chapter 21
LOGAN
We avoid reality for as long as we can and get back to Mom’s house shortly after 10:00 p.m., narrowly avoiding the storm that’s just started.
