Crazy Little Thing Called Love (26 page)

“Those two will be fine.” Brady waved him away. “Jules knows how to handle Max—and Max likes it.”

“Oh. That's how it is.”

“Yep.” Logan lowered his voice. “Seems like the Stormmeisters have a bit of an ‘office romance' going on.”

Vanessa shared a smile with Brady and Logan. When would Julie realize Max was interested in her?

For the next few hours, Logan, Brady, and Alex worked on the fallen tree, cutting it down, limb by limb and branch by branch. They assessed the more dangerous parts of the job, leaving it for the professional tree company that Vanessa had called. But by lunchtime they'd removed most of the branches and debris from inside the house and the backyard.

Vanessa and Caron worked on hauling away branches, stacking them in a corner of the yard to be run through a commercial wood chipper, with Julie joining them midmorning. And Max played chess with Mr. Wright—coming out on occasion to complain that the elderly gentleman was faking his mental confusion because he'd won every single chess match.

Despite being sweaty and covered in a fine coating of sawdust, they ate lunch in the Wrights' formal dining room. The walls were decorated with more of Mrs. Wright's oil paintings and pastels and an oval wedding portrait.

“I'm sorry my husband didn't recognize you today, Max.” Mrs. Wright passed out starched cloth napkins.

“It's okay.”

“He'll be better after he wakes up. Being in the shelter unsettled him. Made him a bit of a grouch.”

“Once I mentioned I wanted to play chess, he perked up.” Max allowed Julie to help him get settled at the table. “And he wasn't so confused that he couldn't beat me at chess.”

“He was the president of the local chess club for years.”

“And you're just telling me this now?”

Caron choked back a laugh. “How old were you when you got married, Mrs. Wright?”

“It was back in 1946—after the war. He wanted me to marry him before he left, but I said no. I didn't want to be a widow. After he shipped out, I was sorry I hadn't accepted his proposal—but it was too late.” The older woman smiled, seemingly lost in reminiscing. “We got married the week he came home from overseas. I was twenty years old. We've been married sixty-nine years. All the time that he was gone, I kept thinking about how silly it was. I didn't want to be a widow, and then I realized I could have ended up never being his wife. I learned an important lesson.”

“And what was that?” Julie sat beside Max and rested her chin in her hand.

“You don't do marriage based on what-ifs. Yes, I could have imagined all sorts of things that would make me sorry I'd married Mr. Wright before we ever said, ‘I do.' Reasons not to have married him. But if I kept thinking like that, I would have quit before I ever accepted the engagement ring.” Mrs. Wright's thin laugh deepened the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

“But that's not a marriage—imagining what it could be like and making decisions based on that. And if I was going to think about what might happen, why not think about all the wonderful things that could happen? The adventures? The romance? Getting through the tough times? Yes, I had five miscarriages—but we had one beautiful daughter. And the tears of happiness I shed when I held Ruth for the first time . . . oh, my. They outweigh all the tears I cried for the babies I lost.”

Caron reached across the table and clasped the older woman's hand. “You're a very wise woman, Mrs. Wright.”

“Oh, you live as long as I do, you get smart, whether you want to or not. God and me—we talk a lot. I've learned to listen more and talk less.”

“More women need to learn that.” Max ducked when Julie tried to punch his arm.

“And for that comment, you get to help me clean up after lunch.”

“Who? Me? I'm injured.”

“Right.” Jules stood, gathering up paper plates. “Come on. Sometimes I wonder why I hang around you.”

“Because I'm cute?”

“You wish. It's probably because I feel sorry for you.”

Caron waited until they left the room and then turned to Logan. “How long have those two been dating?”

“They aren't ‘dating' yet.” Logan did air quotes as he spoke. “But something's going on. They bicker like an old married couple. Pardon me, Mrs. Wright.”

“Oh, it's quite all right, Logan. We do bicker, but we know how to make up, too. Mr. Wright will tell you that we never had a fight. He just doesn't remember them anymore.”

“Mrs. Wright, you remind me of my grandparents.” Caron leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her upturned palm. “They were married for sixty-two years.”

Logan pushed his chair back from the table. “She and Mom Mom would have been great friends, don't you think?”

“Yes, I do. And now, it's time to get back to work.”

“And I need to make sure the Wrights are packed and ready to go before their daughter gets here.” Vanessa drained her glass of tea. “Ruth called about an hour ago to say she'd be here before dinner.”

Logan couldn't resist teasing Vanessa. “You just don't want to haul shrubbery around anymore.”

Vanessa paused. “You want to pack their stuff?”

“No. I'll stick with the outdoor work.”

As the room cleared out, Logan followed Vanessa to the foot of the stairs. He was about to ask a ridiculous question—and get himself shot down in the process. But for some reason, he couldn't stop himself.

“Hey, Vanessa.” He slapped his work gloves against his jeans-clad thigh.

She paused three steps up. “You need something, Logan?”

“Just had a crazy thought. After we're done here . . . you want to meet me later at the Rocky Bayou Bridge? Just for old times' sake?”

A whole stack of memories never equal one little hope.

—CHARLES M. SCHULZ (1922–2000), CARTOONIST

L
ogan still couldn't believe Vanessa agreed to meet him at the Rocky Bayou Bridge. Of course, she could always change her mind. Leave him sitting here. Waiting. Would serve him right for even asking her such an off-the-wall question.

She'd covered any hesitation with a smile and a laugh that seemed to say,
Why not?

There'd be no jumping into the water below—the hurricane had deposited enough debris into the bayou to make doing so foolhardy. Sitting on the cement ledge was one thing. Making a trip to the ER because one of them needed stitches from a gash to their foot or leg or arm . . . yeah, that was no way to end the day.

The slam of a car door, followed by footsteps among the small stones and weeds, signaled Vanessa's approach.

“Logan?”

“Yep—I'm here.”

“Sorry I'm late.”

“No problem.” She didn't need to know he'd arrived early. Had been sitting here for a good half hour, watching the setting sun stretch long fingers out across the water. Hearing the faint echoes of invisible friends' voices from years past in the breeze that moved among the trees along the shoreline. Closing his eyes and almost being able to feel the weight of a wedding band on his ring finger . . .

She slow-stepped her way across the cement ledge and then eased down beside him, careful to leave some space between them. Her loose hair lifted off her shoulders, the scent of flowers teasing him.

Logan knew Vanessa hated it when he asked questions while they were watching a movie. But he was tired of wondering.

“What perfume are you wearing?”

“Beautiful.” She whispered the reply without taking her eyes off the small screen of the TV they'd bought and set up in their living room.

“Yeah, I know.” Logan leaned closer. “But what's it called?”

Her gaze moved from the movie to him. And then she laughed. “Logan—”

“I'm serious, Mrs. Hollister.”

And then he kissed her, and they missed the end of the movie.

“I assume kids still like to jump off here into the water?” Vanessa pulled off her sandals, setting them beside her.

Logan tossed a rock into the water below, breaking the smooth surface, dispersing his thoughts at the same time. “Yes, although no one admits it. And I wouldn't recommend it today, not with all the junk the hurricane mixed up.” He offered her a can of Coke.

“Thanks.” She nodded. “I hadn't planned on jumping.”

“Oh, I dunno. I used to be able to talk you into things in the past.”

“That you did.” She stared straight ahead. “But let's skip crazy tonight.”

“Deal.” He opened his soda can, chasing away years' worth of unspoken words with the cool liquid. “We've had plenty of that already, yes?”

“Yes.” She left the soda unopened. Clasped her hands together in her lap, focusing on her feet, which swung back and forth over the water. “So, the Wrights are on their way to Alabama.”

“That's good.”

“Yes, although Mr. Wright couldn't understand why you didn't give him that motorcycle ride.”

“That guy never gives up, does he?”

“No. No, he doesn't. Honestly, I think it's part of that generation.”

“I think you're right. My grandfather was the same way.” Logan leaned back on his hands. “So what did the Wrights' daughter decide about the house?”

“She approved the company that I called to come in and remove the rest of the tree. She appreciated what we did today. Said to say thank you. And then a friend of hers who is a contractor is going to come down from Alabama and do the house repairs.”

“Whew! Gonna be pricey. Let's hope they had a good insurance policy.”

“Well, Ruth also said they may be putting the house on the market.”

“What?”

“Ruth first mentioned it when I talked with her on the phone, and then we talked a bit more when she came down. The reality is, her parents need to live closer to her.” Vanessa chewed her bottom lip, sighed, and then seemed to shrug off whatever was weighing on her mind. “So, she'll start working on transitioning them to someplace up there while repairs are being done to the house.”

“For the best, I suppose.”

“Yes.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “So, Caron's a blond . . .”

“My father's just happy it's a normal hair color.”

“How are your parents?”

“Good. My dad's on a health kick. He drinks a green, healthy shake every morning.”

“No!”

“So my sister says—I haven't been there to witness it. He's lost about twenty pounds. My mom's the same—loves him, loves Caron and me. Wishes I lived closer.”

“But your life is in Oklahoma. She understands that.”

“Yeah. Storm chasing requires you go where the storms are—or where you think they're going to be.”

“Chasing the dream—literally.”

“I guess.”

“Are you happy, Logan?”

Vanessa's question floated out onto the air and then drifted back to him.

“Most days I go to bed . . . content with my choices. I know why I chase storms—what drives me.”

“And what's that?”

“Wanting to help people. Like other storm chasers, it's all about understanding storms. Or figuring out ways to predict them earlier. Or preventing them from being so destructive.”

“And on the days you don't go to bed content? What are you thinking about then?”

Logan shifted forward, resting his arms on his knees. Turned, so he could see the woman sitting next to him. The last time they'd sat here, an early fall sky above them, the water below serene, he'd been eighteen years old, working hard to impress Vanessa. Hoping she'd like him. Trying to figure out if what he felt for her was love . . . and what did loving her mean, anyway?

And wondering, if he jumped, would she jump, too?

And now here they sat, ten years later. Somehow, what they'd had together had gotten twisted and tangled up in expectations and misinterpretations. Torn apart by words spoken in anger . . . and too many things left unsaid. Rather than holding hands and reminiscing, he was trying to navigate all the years of silence.

“What do I think about?” The rough side of the bridge pressed into his thighs. “You.”

“Logan, don't—”

“You know the saying just as well as I do, Vanessa: don't ask the question if you don't want to hear the answer.” He crushed the half-empty aluminum can in his fist. “Sometimes I still lie awake at night and wonder what you're doing. Where you're living. If you're happy. If you're married. If you have kids.”

His words hung on the air for a few seconds.

“I work as a paramedic in Denver. Love my job. I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie. I live in a one-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. I'm happy.” She could only hope her smile backed up her words. “I just applied to physician assistant school—waiting to hear if I've been accepted. I'm getting married the first week in April. No kids. Yet.”