Chapter 30 #2
Drake was supposed to be out of the house, so we thought we’d have time alone before the picnic at the lake. He had told Logan that he was going to Helena to get some sort of specialized tool for house repairs.
Drake had recently been released from prison.
He had attacked one of my uncles at the grocery store, angry about some sort of legal dispute they were having about fencing and property lines.
The fight started first with a thrown watermelon, which Drake pelted at my uncle, then swiftly escalated to a fistfight.
Drake swung first, my uncle ducked, and the fight evolved into an apple mess with dozens of apples slipping onto the floor.
Tumbling oranges were the next fruit victims, and finally the two rolled into the avocadoes, and they were soon squished into the floor. The avocadoes, not the men.
Blood and sweat flew, as did one of Drake’s teeth. The tooth was later found by the minister’s wife stuck between lettuce leaves. Drake pulled a knife and tried to swipe at my uncle, at which point my uncle used his black-belt karate skills, and that was that.
The police watched the camera feed inside the store and knew who to arrest amid the mangled fruits and vegetables.
My uncle stayed and cleaned up the store, then paid the owner, Starling, for all the damage and gave her an extra two hundred dollars for “emotional stress.” She invited him to come back soon.
After Drake went to prison Logan’s plan was to live on his own.
He was fifteen. Children’s Services got involved and told Logan he had to go into foster care if no vetted and approved family member would step up to take him into their home.
They came to our high school and had a meeting with Logan and the principal.
By the end of the day, Logan and I had the signatures of twenty-four adults, including my mother, two teachers, his football coach, and three of my aunts, “willing to take him in.”
Children’s Services was not convinced because there were no blood relatives involved.
There was no appointed legal guardian, because of course Drake hadn’t taken care of that before he went to prison.
Logan’s mother was an only child, her parents both dying within two years of her death of heartbreak, and none of his father’s relatives, who were still living in Kalispell, were deemed “acceptable.”
Logan was a minor, so that was a huge problem because it was against procedures and policy for him to live alone.
He would have to go into foster care until this huge bureaucracy “figured things out” and “vetted the people who had volunteered to take him in. We don’t let just anyone take in children,” Children’s Services said.
Three days later, Children’s Services sent two employees out to visit Logan at his home.
I was with him the day they arrived. Logan had reached his full height—six feet, four inches tall.
He weighed over two hundred pounds. He looked like the football player he was.
When they told him he was going to have to go into foster care until custody could be settled, Logan laughed, although politely.
“No, thank you.”
“This isn’t a situation where you can say, ‘No, thank you,’” the woman said, disapproval dripping from her words. She adjusted her glasses so she could peer up at him better, as if he were a bug.
“You don’t get to choose, Logan,” the man said, patting his overexuberant stomach. “You will need to do what we’re telling you to do. In fact, you will need to pack now, as we have a foster family waiting for you.”
“And which of you will be dragging me into the car to go to my new foster home?”
The Children’s Services employees squirmed.
“No one will drag you, Logan, but you’ll still need to come with us,” the man said. He hitched up his pants. “It’s the rules. We must follow the rules.”
“No,” Logan said. “I’m not following the rules. I’m staying here.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said primly. “But that answer is not acceptable. You are a minor.”
“I’m a minor who can take care of himself. I will not be going to foster care.”
The woman studied him again over her glasses. Such a peculiar specimen! “You need to have foster parents. You cannot be emancipated. You’re not sixteen.”
“I am almost sixteen. I have a job at a hardware store. I go to school. My family owns this house and the land. I also work the land. I’m safer here without my father than I am with him. Maybe you should have removed my father from this house years ago.”
“Perhaps,” the man said, “but he’s in jail, and it’s state law that fifteen-year-old kids have to be in foster care in situations such as this until we know who you’re going to live with.”
“I’m staying in my home unless you would like to arrest me. Anywhere you put me, I’m coming home. Do you want to lock me up in a detention center? Jail? I haven’t committed a crime. Do you want to send me to juvie?”
The two appeared very uncomfortable. They wriggled. They shifted on their feet.
The woman eyed Logan up and down. He was huge.
She knew it would take several men to wrestle Logan into a car and then into a foster home.
She had to know he would simply walk out the door and come back here.
How many times did they want to wrestle this huge kid into a car and haul him off to foster care only to have him come back?
The man took off his glasses, cleaned them, and sighed.
The woman’s shoulders slumped. “You’re a child,” she said, tipping her head way back to see Logan’s face.
“You can’t be alone,” the man said. He came up to Logan’s shoulders. “It’s not safe.”
“It isn’t?”
The man sighed again.
“I’m safer without my dad here. How about you sit down and have dinner with Bellini and I and then go? We’re having spaghetti.”
They seemed defeated. They exchanged a glance.
Interestingly enough, they stayed for spaghetti, salad and hot bread.
The four of us did not talk about foster care.
The man and woman seemed too exhausted for that.
They did have very difficult jobs. We talked about fishing, the animals on Logan’s land, and hiking trails, and when they left, they thanked us for a “delicious dinner.”
“One more time, Logan,” the woman said, but not with any force. “We’d like you to come with us.”
“The foster family is”—the man coughed— “waiting for you.”
“Stop by Lady Whiskey’s on your way out of town,” I said. “That’s my mom’s bar. Ask for the Lady Whiskey Martini. That’s the best. I’ll call her and tell her you’re coming.”
I called my mother to warn her what was going on at Logan’s.
Later, I learned they did stop by the bar and had Lady Whiskey Martinis.
They talked to my mother. My mother told me that she “explained things to them in a way that they could understand and appreciate. Plus, I gave them our famous banana splits with extra whip cream. I think that did the trick.”
Many people wrote letters to Children’s Services to say they would keep an eye on Logan, the principal of the school got involved, and my mother called the governor, a longtime friend. Problem fixed.
Everything went well without Drake. Logan’s life was certainly more peaceful.
He worked the farm, and he worked at the hardware store to pay the bills and buy his food.
He told me he had way more money now because none of the money was going toward Drake’s alcohol, gambling, and other problems. With the extra money he took me out on dates.
I often took him lunch and cookies I baked. In addition, teachers, coaches, our friends, and the O’Donnell family all came together to make sure Logan thrived and felt cared for.
Logan was…lighter, happier, more cheerful. He loved the independence and the freedom. He loved earning his own money and not having to turn any of it over to Drake for “rent.” He loved not being verbally attacked and demeaned by Drake.
That all stopped when Drake was released from prison early that summer after our senior year. Prison had only made him worse.
With Logan out in the field on the tractor, Drake turned to me.
“I know you two thought I’d be gone today in Helena.
Too bad. When I found out you were coming over, I told him to go out and plow the field.
He wasn’t happy about it. I don’t think he trusts me alone with you.
In fact, I know he doesn’t. He was hoping to be done before you got here, but he’s not. As I planned.”
In the distance, I saw Logan turn the tractor. I knew it was because he saw me with Drake. I was scared of Drake, and he knew it. Logan was coming, determined to rescue me.
I put my shoulders back. I would rescue myself.
“I need to talk to you without Logan around,” Drake said, “so you listen up, little girl.” He glared at me. “I will do this quickly, but I’ll speak slowly so you understand.”
Already an insult. “I’m quite sure I’ll understand whatever you say, as I speak English. What do you want to talk about?” I didn’t bother to gentle my tone. I couldn’t stand Drake. He stepped too close to me, but I held my ground.
“This is Logan’s land. It’s all going to him when I die. It was his mother’s family’s land. He loves it.”
“I know he does. He has memories of his mom here, everything they used to do together. They both loved the land.”
“You see, Bellini, Logan’s going places. You know what school he’s going to, right? You remember?”
I did, and I knew that Drake was being sarcastic.
I’d sat with Logan while he’d filled out the application, and I’d helped him with the essays.
It broke my heart to think of him going to a different college than me, but I knew he should do it.
It was a prestigious school, and Logan received a huge scholarship.
Drake had been clear with Logan that he would not be giving him any money for college, not that he had any, so this was Logan’s way out.