“I’m sorry about your mother,” Mrs. Logan said.
“Thank you.” That meant she probably knew about me trashing the music studio at the Conservatory, too.
“What is it that you do, Max?”
Which did I tell her about? Walking out of Sinclair Investments Inc. because I couldn’t stand to look at my father after finding out about him and Cecilia? Or about being kicked out of the Conservatory? And those bastards still hadn’t gotten back to me. So saying, “nothing” wouldn’t go over too well either. “I’m a music major, ma’am. The piano.”
She looked at me in surprise. Then smiled. “That’s wonderful. La is the creative one, but Ray—”
“Is the clever one,” Logan added.
“Yeah, that’s me, the brainiac, I’m awesome.” Ray grinned devilishly.
“So you girls are all set for tomorrow?” their father asked then.
I was grateful not to be the focus of conversation any longer as talk shifted to the fair.
Ray had already explained that the three-day event was a community effort to raise money for charitable causes, which she was passionate about. She’d tried to enlist me last year, soon after we’d met. But I’d been too busy on my downward spiral to take time off for it. My gaze shifted to Logan. Yes, meeting Ray was undoubtedly the best thing to happen to me, even though it took me a turtle’s pace to get here.
“Yep,” Ray answered, shoveling more mac and cheese into her mouth. “I’m doing the Dunk Tank again.”
“What about you, Ila?” Mr. L asked.
She frowned, taking a sip of water. “I’m sure every spot is already filled.”
“I know,” Ray piped up. “Why don’t you do the henna thing again? People like that.”
It was something Eastern brides did on their hands and feet, if memory serves me right.
“Ray, love, I offered to do that this year,” their mother said. “Since La said she may not come.”
“Mom, what were you thinking, taking on something that hectic?” Ray’s smile slipped into an expression of anxiety. “We said we’d help.”
“I know. Do you know how a…annoying it gets not being included in things?” She cut her husband a glare. “I’m not h…helpless,yaar!”
Her little burst of anger took me by surprise. Logan sent her father a distressed glance, but he merely shook his head. As if to say,It’s your mother’s choice.
No one spoke for several seconds. Only the clicking of cutlery cut through the silence. Then Logan said, “Why are you doing this, Mom?”
“Don’t you start,” Mrs. L cut Logan a hard stare. “I refuse to be a bystander any longer.”
“Mom…”
Golden brown eyes flashed. “Do you t…think I’m helpless, too? Like your father does?”
“No. I don’t…” Logan chewed her lip, then her chin angled in a tilt I knew all too well. “You’re right, it’s time I did a henna stall. It’s been too long.”
As if those were magic words, her mother’s battle expression eased, and excitement flowed into her face. “That’s wonderful, La. I only planned the one session anyway. Aunt Mary’s in town, so we’ll visit for a while before coming over.”
As Mrs. L spoke, I noticed the relief in Logan’s expression, but her chin trembled. Discreetly, I stroked her thigh, trying to comfort her. After a second, her hand squeezed mine.
It struck me then, Mrs. L must be sick. Nothing physical that I could pinpoint—except for a slightly slurred stutter in her speech and a slow gait.
“Max, you want to join me at the Dunk Tank?” Ray wiggled her eyebrows at me. “I know the girls will be lining up to take you on—or should I say down? It’ll make me loads of money for my stand,” she teased. Before I could respond, she chimed in again, “On second thought, you’d better help Ila.”
Logan lowered her gaze, her mouth tightening.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. The douche ex would be there. No way would I allow him to upset her. But I wanted her to talk to me in front of her folks, so I asked, “You okay with that, Logan?”
