Crazy Little Thing Called Love (23 page)

“What are we going to do, Jerome?”

“There's nothing we
can
do. Logan and Vanessa are married—legally. And it appears they're going to Florida State University in the fall—paying their way themselves.” Her father took a measured breath. “And where will you live until then?”

“With my parents, sir.” Now Logan's answer sounded overly loud, as if he were relieved to finally have something to say. “They have a small, separate grandmother's apartment behind their house that we can stay in.”

“And do they know that you two are married—and that they'll be providing a honeymoon suite?”

“Jerome!”

Logan cleared his throat. “We came to talk to you first—”

“Thank you for that, I suppose.”

“Vanessa is going to pack up her things while I go talk to my parents. I'll be back in a couple of hours with my father's car to pick her up.”

“Well, then, son, I suggest you go talk to your parents and find out if you do, indeed, have someplace to take my daughter tonight.”

•  •  •

Logan carried Vanessa's suitcases into the small stand-alone brick building out behind his parents' house. She followed behind him, not saying a word, her eyes red, her face blotchy.

What could he do to make this right?

“So, this is it.” He let the suitcases drop beside the rust-colored floral couch. How long ago had that been banished from his mother's living room? “My parents said we could stay here until we go to FSU.”

Vanessa stood just inside the room, her arms wrapped around her waist.

“What did they really say, Logan?”

“I told you what they said. We can stay—”

“No—when you told them that we were married. Did they think I was pregnant, too?”

“No. No. I mean, they were surprised, sure.” Logan wasn't going to tell her about how his father had yelled—and his mother had cried. “You know my parents like you.”

“Yeah. Sure. But that doesn't mean they wanted you to marry me.”

“Vanessa—” He grabbed her hand, tugging her to him until she stopped resisting and came into his arms with a groan. “We knew our parents might be upset. So what? We made this decision—and we're going to be fine because we love each other. Right?”

She buried her face in his shoulder, tears dampening the cotton material of his Pensacola Beach T-shirt, her words muffled.

“Hey—” He nudged her chin up so she had to look at him. “I can't fix this if I don't know what you're saying.”

“Oh, Logan . . . did we make a mistake?”

“No.” His arms tightened around her. “No. They'll come around when they see how happy we are—how right this is. Is it a little rough right now? Yeah. But that doesn't mean we did anything wrong. Your parents were wrong to try to force you to go to Colorado with them.”

“How could my mother think I was pregnant . . . ?”

There was no way he was going to tell Vanessa his parents had asked him the very same question.

“We know the truth—that we got married because we love each other. Why wait until we were in college or after we graduated?”

She shrugged out of his arms, turning a slow circle in the room.

“So what do we do now?”

“Well, I guess we unpack.” He surveyed the area again. “It's not too bad, is it?”

A small living room–dining room area. A kitchenette, with outdated appliances. And straight back, a bedroom with a small bathroom that only had a shower. The carpet was threadbare, but clean.

“I didn't even know this was back here.”

“It's nothing fancy. My mom furnished it with stuff she didn't want whenever she redecorated.”

“It's great. Really.”

He chose to believe her. “I told my parents that we'd pay rent.”

“How much?”

“My mom said no, but my dad said if we're old enough to get married, we're old enough to pay rent.”

“How much rent?”

“A hundred dollars a month.”

Vanessa's eyes widened. “A hundred dollars—Logan, should I get a job?”

“I don't know. Do you want to get a job?”

“My parents always said going to school was my job.” Vanessa twisted her hands together. “But now that we're married . . . and paying rent . . . and paying for my tuition . . .”

“We're applying for loans, remember? And let's not worry about that tonight. I'll start bringing my stuff from the house, and you can start unpacking your suitcases. My mom said there are linens in the bathroom—sheets and towels. And then later we'll go buy some groceries.”

“Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Hollister!”

His little sister blew into the tiny house, wearing a red bandanna over her double braids and hauling a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Setting it down, she threw her arms around Logan and then repeated the embrace with Vanessa, turning her around in a happy dance. “I couldn't believe it when Mom told me! Are you two really married?”

“Yep.” For the first time since telling their parents, a smile crossed Logan's face. “You really think Mom would make up something like that?”

Caron bounced up and down and hugged Vanessa again. “This is so cool! Of course, I wish I'd had the chance to be a bridesmaid or something. I could have thrown you a bridal shower.”

“We're good.”

“I should say!” She kept an arm around Vanessa. “Did you know Audrey Blake keeps waiting for you and Logan to break up so she can date him?”

“Are you kidding me?” Vanessa's laughter joined Caron's, pushing back the heaviness that had shadowed them from Vanessa's parents' home.

“Oh, yeah. She's wanted to date Logan forever—and then you came along and got him. And now you're
married
. She's gonna die when you two show up at school on Monday wearing—” She lifted Vanessa's left hand. “Where's your ring?”

Vanessa tucked her hand into the pocket of her cutoffs. “We didn't have time . . .”

“What kind of husband are you, Logan?” Caron rounded on him, brandishing a feather duster. “Go get your wife a wedding ring.”

His wife.

“I thought we should unpack and get settled here first.”

“You can do that anytime.”

Vanessa defended him, slipping her hand into his. “It's okay, Caron. We can do it another time—”

“Oh, no, you don't! Get out of here and go shopping.” She shooed them toward the door. “I'll start cleaning while you're gone.”

His sister was right—what kind of husband was he? He was about to let his wife—
his wife
—walk into school on Monday wearing his class ring as some sort of jury-rigged version of a wedding band.

“Come on, Vanessa. Let's go.”

Vanessa hung back. “We don't have to do this—”

“I want to do this. Let's go.” He winked at his sister. “Thanks, Caro.”

“You're welcome, big brother. Have fun. And welcome to the family, Vanessa.”

If there is no struggle, there is no progress.

—FREDERICK DOUGLASS (CA. 1818–1895), LEADER OF THE ABOLITIONIST MOVEMENT

T
he parking lot at the sports arena was starting to empty out. Logan wove the battered rental car through the stream of people making their way from the building to their cars, pulling into a row of vacant parking spaces.

“People must be eager to get home and find out what kind of damage they're dealing with.” Vanessa unbuckled her seat belt. “Can't blame them.”

“Most, if not all, of them are probably going home to no electricity for at least the next twenty-four hours.” Logan motioned to some people cleaning up shattered glass from blown-out car windows. “And quite a few are going to deal with stuff like that before they go anywhere.”

“True. But I'm thinking a lot of people are saying,
We're alive, and that's the most important thing
.”

“Agreed.” Stepping out of the car, he ran his hand along the scarred hood. “It's going to be interesting turning this back in to the rental agency in a couple of days.”

Vanessa shaded her eyes with her hands as she scanned the parking lot. “Don't remind me. I'll be doing the same thing before I leave—and, no, I didn't purchase the extra insurance.”

“You want me to go with you while you take a look?”

“No, thanks. I want to check on the Wrights first. I appreciate your team staying with them, but I never expected to be gone overnight.” The air around them was overloaded with humidity. “And I want to report to the medical team, too.”

“Sounds like a plan. Let's go find the group, and then while you check in with the medical team, I'll take Brady to check out your car.”

“Logan, you don't have to do that.”

“You can't take the Wrights home if Cressida blew out your car windows, can you?”

“No.”

“Well, you're not the only one who drank lemonade on the Wrights' back porch, you know.” Logan ran his fingers through his hair. “Have you forgotten Mr. Wright's crazy bird that used to sit on my head?”

“No—do you remember all the times Mr. Wright laughed and said, ‘Nice hat, Logan'?”

“Yeah, and I said, ‘Thank you, sir. I got it special-order from Australia.' ”

“And he laughed every single time.”

“Indeed he did.”

Just as they entered the arena, laughter flowing between them, Vanessa's cell phone buzzed.

“Oh, sorry. It must be—” Vanessa checked the phone. “—Ted . . . wanting to know if I'm okay.”

“Surprising he got through. You probably want to take that.”

“Yes.” Vanessa stayed back at the doors.

“Go ahead—I'll find Jules and the guys.”

“And the Wrights.”

“Yes—them, too.”

“Tell them I'll be right there—”

Logan backed away. “Sure thing.”

Vanessa covered her ear with one hand as she answered the phone, hoping to shut out the noise all around her. “Hello?”

“Vanessa? Are you okay, babe?”

Ted's voice was a precious bit of normal after twenty-four hours when her life had spun out of control. Vanessa closed her eyes, blocking the sight of Logan disappearing into the crowd milling around the arena floor.

“Yes, yes, I'm fine.”

“I'm heading home from the hospital. I've been following the hurricane all night while I've been on call. I know that, despite the earlier forecast, it only came as a Category 2, but still it must have been frightening.”

“Especially when you're driving in it—” She covered her mouth with her hand. Why had she said that?

“What? You were out in the storm?”

Vanessa imagined Ted, driving his black BMW sedan he had detailed once a year. She never worried when Ted drove—he maintained the speed limit as meticulously as he maintained the interior and the engine of his car. For him, a hurricane warning would mean seeking shelter, nothing more.

“Yes—transporting a critically ill boy to the hospital so he could have surgery.”

“Vanessa—why would you do something like that?”

“It was necessary to save his life. And it's over. And I'm safe.”

“But what if something had happened?”

“Well, nothing did—and the boy is recovering.” Vanessa climbed the stairs to the first row of stadium seats, lowering her body into the one on the end. Why did she have to defend her actions to Ted? He was a doctor—he understood saving lives. Or he should. “It makes it all worthwhile.”

“So what's happening now?”

“Well, you're watching the news, so you probably know more than I do.” She leaned her elbows on her knees. All around her, people dismantled cots and rolled up sleeping bags. Industrial-sized trash cans positioned around the arena overflowed with garbage. “I'm just getting back to the shelter. I spent the night at the hospital on Eglin Air Force Base. We had to take the boy there, because Twin Cities Hospital's generators weren't functioning. They're letting people leave the shelter now, so I just need to find out how the rental car survived the storm and then get the Wrights back home.”