Chapter 33 #2
Hearing those words in his deep, husky voice is like a balm, one I’ve come to rely on so heavily.
Yes, I’ve held back about Mel and the true impact of her death on my life—but Bas, so good at always reading me, surely has a sense of the woman I am.
From nearly the moment we met, there’s been a deep, steadfast connection between the two of us, forged in part because of a shared view of the world and similar sensibilities.
Maybe the sex will never be as crazily intense as it was during the early years with Logan, but it’s good and it’s passionate, and on the flip side, there’s tenderness and tranquility, things I craved since Mel’s death.
“Thank you, Bas. That means so much.”
As soon as I’ve hung up, I go online and switch my flight to Sunday night.
I’m going home for sure, though for how long, I don’t know.
Because after speaking with Bas, I realize I have to tell him the truth about Logan, that keeping it hidden would simply pile onto my betrayal.
And there’s a more than decent chance that once I admit my transgression, he’ll insist I move out.
Before closing my laptop, I scan my emails to see if Chip has sent the correct link to the archives, and sure enough, he has. I click on it. A page opens with the words “Melanie Chase, Selected Writings” on top.
There are about a dozen haikus, one short story, and a scene from a play she must have been working on. I haven’t much time, but I race through them anyway, thrilled to have them in my possession and at the same time wondering what Handler didn’t want me to see.
The play scene seems really compelling, but it’s about two college girls questioning their faith.
The short story is one Mel won a prize for in high school, and from what I can tell, she just did some major editing on it after she went to Carter.
Perhaps the haikus include a reference to Alison, but at a glance, they all seem to be nature-oriented—reflections about wind and trees and puddles left by the rain, one simply about a snail slithering up a window.
Though most are indeed new to me, there are two that Logan and I discovered on Mel’s desk in Cartersville, including the one I led myself to believe was about me.
Maybe this was the one Handler didn’t want me finding.
Funny that he was afraid I’d put two and two together simply based on the words returning to birch, and yet, that’s exactly how some of my questions began to form.
My phone rings, making me start. Maybe Maya, I think, who’s probably heard the news. But the screen says “Unknown Caller.”
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Bree.”
The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“Lisa Perry.”
“Who?”
“Lisa Perry. Logan’s partner.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, completely caught off guard. “How can I help you?”
“I thought you should know that I’m not stupid, Bree.”
Oh God, has Logan told her, or has she simply guessed?
“I never said you were, Lisa.”
“You must think it, though. But I can tell exactly what’s going on between you and Logan.”
I cringe. She’s clearly fishing, and I have to hand it to her: she’s more skilled than I was at reading her man.
“Lisa, if you have an issue with Logan, you should discuss it with him.”
“But you’re the one he’s fucking, so I need to be speaking to you, too.”
“Goodbye.”
“Before you hang up, there’s something I thought you should know.”
End the call, I command myself, but I’m frozen suddenly. I hear her clear her throat.
“Just so you have all the facts at your disposal, Logan and I actually go waay back as a couple. We had our first fling when I worked for him eleven years ago.”
Her words are a hard punch to my gut—because, deep down, I sense she must be telling the truth. With a fumbling hand, I tap the red button.
So Logan’s infidelity hadn’t simply been about grief. He’d had his fling with Lisa three years before Mel died. And that means there were probably others throughout our two-decade marriage.
I married a bad boy, convincing myself I’d tamed him, when that was never the case.
Logan and I say little on the drive to police headquarters. I expect a tongue-lashing from Halligan, but I don’t really care. As for Lisa’s revelation, I’ve tucked that away in my mind with other things that don’t matter anymore.
We learn when we arrive that Halligan is off for the day, and another detective ends up taking my statement. Though he stresses, like Halligan did, that I need to let the police do their job, he also thanks me for my help. Detective Halligan, he says, will follow up with us in the next day or two.
Once we’re back in the car, Logan checks his phone and finds a text from Jack.
“He’s back in the city,” he says, “but he’s read the story.”
“I feel a little guilty about thinking the worst of him.”
“Yeah, but maybe you don’t get to the truth without first thinking the worst about everyone. And like you said, he was probably trying to make sure we didn’t do any damage to his blossoming career.”
We’re quiet again on the way back to Cartersville, Logan perhaps wondering what I’m going to tell him now that we have the police out of the way, and me forming the words in my head. When we reach the inn, I ask if he’ll come to my room for a bit.
“Sure,” he says, an eyebrow cocked.
Once I’ve closed the door, I advance into the room and then turn to face him.
“I want to address what you said earlier,” I say.
“Good.”
“Well, maybe not good. Because though what you said really moved me, Logan, I have to say no. And I think that, in time, you’d see that a no was best for you as well.”
He shakes his head, looking taken aback. “It won’t be.”
“Logan, it wouldn’t work between us. For starters, though it might not have seemed obvious the other night, I love my partner, and I assume you love Lisa, too.
Plus, there’s no reason to think it would be good for us again.
We might feel slightly giddy at first, but that surely wouldn’t last, and we’d lose some of the strides we’ve each made dealing with our grief.
It would always be in the room with us.”
He throws up his hands in frustration. “But how will we know if we don’t try?”
“Because this doesn’t need an experiment. You said you want your old life back, and I’ve missed that life, too. But there isn’t any way to reclaim it. That life died when Mel did.”
I don’t mention what I’ve learned from Lisa. Because why give her the satisfaction of thinking she foiled something—and why bother calling Logan out at this stage of the game?
Anyway, it’s all beside the point. Though I felt briefly elated at hearing Logan say he yearned for a life with me again, it’s Bas I want. If he lets that happen.
And there’s something else I’ve come to understand now, beyond the scope of Logan’s philandering.
Though he never once made me feel bad about the easy rapport he had with Mel compared to my fraught one, being with him this week has brought so much of that back to me, turned it from a bruise that hurts only when touched to a steady, throbbing ache. I don’t want any more reminders.
He’s pacing now, massaging the back of his neck in that way of his.
“Will you at least think about it overnight?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, but what I’ll do—and what I hope you’ll do, too—is be grateful for parts of these past few days.
The scholarships you donated are incredible, and so is the Muse office, and I’m really happy I had the chance to participate a little.
Plus, we got to be here for the arrest of the person who most likely killed Mel, and support each other through it.
And though I can take some credit for the arrest, I kept digging because you honored my doubts. ”
Logan starts to speak, but I raise my hand.
“And last but hardly least,” I say, “we got to say goodbye to each other in a loving way, without any of the ugliness from seven years ago.”
A tear forms in the corner of one of his eyes. I feel an almost tidal wave of sorrow, but no regrets.