Chapter 22
Logan
“Is that how it’s supposed to look?”
“I think so?”
“That’s not how the picture looks in the book–”
“God, I know, Anna!” Travis pushes himself away from both his sister and the building kit he’s working on. “The instructions are wrong.”
“Do you really think the instructions are wrong? Or do you think you missed a step?” I ask him, looking up from my food prep.
The Lego set he’s working on covers most of the kitchen table. Numbered bags and booklets are strewn everywhere, making it look like a multicolored mosaic.
I set aside the marinade I’m mixing and make my way over to the table. Anna hovers behind him, not near enough to be helpful, but close enough to annoy him.
“The mast is supposed to be on the other side,” he groans, turning the semi-assembled ship in his hands over. “I don’t know where I messed up.”
“Well, the great thing about Lego is you can always retrace your steps.” I say as I pick up the instruction booklet he’s currently on. “Work in reverse, removing the pieces you need to until you find where you went wrong.”
“But that will take forever!”
“Luckily for you, we’ve got all day.”
The forecast for this weekend is terrible. Snow mixed with rain and high winds means that we’ll be staying inside. I’m grateful that Shannon had the presence of mind to drop them each off with a Lego set they got at Christmas but haven’t gotten around to building yet.
Travis has been working on some kind of ship for the better part of an hour. It’s a massive set with more than twelve hundred pieces. Anna hasn’t started hers yet, choosing instead to alternate between acting as my shadow and irritating her brother.
I go back to working on what I’m planning to make Rilla for dinner this evening. After debating with myself for most of yesterday, I’ve settled on a menu of marinated chicken thighs with roasted vegetables. It’s easy to prepare and it won’t keep me tied up in the kitchen all night.
I’m looking forward to our date, more than I’ve looked forward to anything in a very long time. While nerve-racking, it was freeing being honest with her about my desire to date her. Rilla is a tough nut to crack and I know how hard it is for her to trust people. That’s why I intend to remain as honest with her as I can and hope she does the same.
“Is that our lunch?” Anna asks as she watches me pour the honey ginger marinade into a ziplock bag containing four raw chicken thighs.
“If it is, I’m not eating it,” Travis says with a look of disgust.
“Noted,” I tell him, then return my attention to his sister. “No, I’m having a friend over this evening for dinner.”
“Stuart?” she asks, poking the plastic bag with a morbid fascination.
“No, her name is Rilla.”
I might as well have blasted an airhorn in the small kitchen.
“Is she your girlfriend?” She gets her blue eyes, along with the majority of her features, from her mom, and right now they’re as round as saucers. Travis, who takes after our side of the family much more, does not turn his attention away from the ship repairs.
“No.” Not yet, anyway. Rilla and I are certainly something, but I don’t think I can assign a label to it. But I also can’t say that because I know it will cause Anna the Analyzer to ask questions until her voice gives out.
Her small shoulders slump. “Oh, that’s too bad. Mommy says you need one of those.”
Thanks a lot, Shannon. On more than one occasion my sister-in-law has offered to set me up with her single friends and colleagues.
“How do you know her?” she asks. I know that Anna won’t be satisfied until she knows everything she possibly can.
“She’s a writer. We work together.”
“What kind of books does she write?”
“Fantasy.”
Her brow furrows. “Like fairytales?”
“Sort of.” I wash my hands in the sink and dry my hands on a dishcloth. “She made up an entire world, with different types of people and creatures and then she wrote a story about them.”
Anna lets out a squeal and runs out of the room. I exchange a puzzled look with her brother before pouring myself a fresh cup of coffee and going to look for her. I find her in the spare room, pulling a large notebook from her suitcase. She clutches it to her chest and beckons me to follow her to the living room where I join her on the couch.
“I want to write fairytales,” she says, putting the notebook in my lap. “But I want to change the things I don’t like.”
“You have to learn how to spell first,” Travis calls from the kitchen.
“Those are called re-imaginings and they’re very popular right now,” I say, ignoring her foul-humored brother. She starts to turn the pages for me. Each page contains brightly colored illustrations of different well-known stories.
I point to a drawing of a blonde woman in a bright blue dress. There is an older woman next to her, a pumpkin that looks more like an orange beach ball, and several hat-wearing mice. “What would you change about Cinderella?”
“I would get rid of the part about the glass slipper. My friend Aislyn and I have the exact same size feet. Probably a lot of people could have fit their foot in the shoe. And besides, if he loves her enough to marry her, he should remember what her face looks like. Right?”
“One hundred percent. Keep going.”
She turns the page to reveal what I assume is Snow White, judging from the short black hair and red, blue, and yellow dress. There are several short stick men around her. I’m guessing that Anna got tired and didn’t want to illustrate all of the dwarfs.
“You know how the Evil Queen is always trying to hurt Snow White? Well, what if instead of being mean, she just like, tried to be nice to her? Aislyn’s got a stepmom and she takes her to the mall and lets her stay up late on Saturdays.”
“I love it. Next.”
The next page is filled with animals and you can tell she put a lot of effort into it. There are zebras, elephants, and monkeys. The focus of the drawing is two lions, standing side-by-side on a rock. My stomach sinks when I realize what she’s illustrated.
“I was thinking that maybe Simba’s dad didn’t have to die.” Her voice is small and her eyes are instantly wet.
I set the book down gently and open my arms to her. She lets me gather her against my chest, resting her head on my shoulder as she quietly cries.
“I think a lot of people would really like to hear that version of the story,” I tell her as she sniffles against me. “All of them, really. Why don’t we work on getting some words down on paper? When we’ve got enough, I’ll have it made into a book.”
She steps back, pushing her bangs out of her face. “Like a real one? Can you do that?”
“Of course. We can print several copies and you can give them to whoever you want.”
She dries her eyes on the back of her hand, rebounding the way only a child can. I leave her to start on plans on the couch while I go tidy up the kitchen. Travis doesn’t look up from his project when I enter. He appears to be making decent progress on the ship.
“She doesn’t even remember him, not really.” He stares at the pieces he’s fitting together like a well-engineered puzzle.
“She remembers that she misses him. And that’s enough. What about you?” It’s always been a challenge to get him to talk about his dad. Both Shannon and I have tried many times, but it always ends with him shutting us out.
“Hard to miss someone who was never around.”
My brother was a lot of things to many people. The number of people who reached out to me after he died to tell me how he’d gone above and beyond for his patients was staggering. Medicine was his true calling and he was exceptional at his job. But in giving so much to the people entrusted to his care, at the end of the day he had little left for his family. The reality was that he was a much better physician than a father or husband.
“You know, Travis–”
“I don’t want to talk about him, Uncle Logan. I just want to build my spaceship.”
“I thought it was a pirate ship.”
“It’s a pirate spaceship.”
I pick up the box and am shocked to discover that is indeed what he is building. “Why would anyone design this? Who needs a pirate spaceship?”
He gives me a look of complete pity, like I must be lacking intelligence to ask such a foolish question. “Space pirates.”