“Long enough to hear you mumble my name.”
“We were on a lobster boat,” he says, running his hand down his face. “But it was an actual giant lobster that was carrying us over the water, like a boat, and then you fell overboard. Well, more like overclaw because that’s the part we were on.”
“Did you come in after me?”
Logan shakes his head decisively. “Nope, you didn’t want me to. You swam alongside us.” He gives me a soft smile.
I want to curl up in those curved lines that form on his cheeks. I settle for kissing them instead. “Normally I don’t love listening to people’s dreams,” I admit. “Yours I like, though.” I roll onto my side to face him. “I was thinking… I want to get ahead of the news with my family.”
“You’re reading the tree leaves,” Logan says.
“Yeah. I don’t want to wait around living in fear. And I haven’t been to the lake house in a while. It would be nice to see it.”
And Dad’s not responding to any of my calls or messages. We only have a couple of weeks left. We need a plan.
Logan rubs his eyes. “I can understand that.”
“Would you mind dropping me off at the rental car place? I’ll be heading out a little early.”
He sits up. “Your dad’s in upstate New York, right? We’ll go together.”
“We were hardly here. I don’t want to take you away from your family.”
“We’ll have breakfast with everyone and then leave after that.”
“It’s really not a—”
“I’m coming with you,” Logan says, kissing my knuckles. “We weather storms together.”
“Well, isn’t this my lucky day?” Dad says when he swings the door open and finds us on the other side.
Great. He’s cheerful. A good mood should help.
“Surprise,” I say with a little wave of my hands. “Hope it’s okay we’re dropping by unannounced.”
Without any unexpected stops this time, the drive didn’t take as long as it did yesterday. Getting back to the city tonight should be another three hours.
“It’s your home, too,” Dad says.
Home. Something about this place doesn’t look like the home it once felt like. The exterior paint is peeling. Shingles from the roof are missing. The second step up to the front door has sunken in on itself. Houses require a lot of maintenance. Especially lake houses. There’s erosion, water damage, dock maintenance, repairs, various insurance, and higher property taxes. I wonder if Dad ever looks at the spreadsheet that I created for him with the annual checklist of tasks to take care of. I make a mental note to resend—
“Rick Yen.” Dad’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Logan Wells,” Logan says, shaking Dad’s hand.
“Come on in,” Dad says, ushering us through the door. “Game’s on, and I’m making a burger. Let me throw some extra patties in the pan.”
When this house was my grandparents’, they didn’t own a TV. Grandpa’s favorite yellow chair faced out toward the lake, which he called “nature’s television.” That chair has now been replaced by a dark-gray reclining sofa.
“Where’d grandpa’s chair go?” I ask.
Dad sets his grill glove on the kitchen counter that we’re all gathered around. “Eh, it was practically falling apart.”
What I hear:I needed the money.
“It was well loved,” I say.
“I won that sofa,” Dad says with a proud grin. “There’s nothing like loafing around on something you got for free!”
