Chapter 17
Logan
Jon startles when he sees us. “Whoa, shit, sorry, I didn’t think you’d be up.” His eyes dart to Emery, to the same clothes she was wearing at the bar. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she stayed over, and by the way his eyebrows jump, he’s figured it out. Finally, he nods. “Emery.”
Her chest heaves with a sigh that might as well say “Fuck my life.”
“Jon.” It’s all she says before she marches through the back door that still sits ajar from when she arrived last night.
“What do you want?” I snap, tugging my T-shirt over my head.
“Honestly, I was gonna leave this on the step.” He holds up an envelope before closing the distance to hand it to me.
My name is scrawled on the outside in my sister’s printing. “What is this?”
“It’s your paycheck for the week.”
I study the sealed envelope. “Me and the other ranch hands.” On a bison ranch that, in another world, would be passed down to me.
“You need to show steady income, right? That’s part of your parole. You know that.”
“Everyone wants to tell me what I fucking know today,” I grumble.
Jon’s lips purse, but he uses his common sense and stays quiet while I tear open the envelope and see the amount. My mother alluded to the idea of paying me for my hours. I guess I didn’t think it’d start so soon or that my brother-in-law would be the one handing it to me.
“It’ll be full-time pay come December, once Robbie’s done. I gave him notice yesterday that we’re letting him go.”
“You fired the kid?” He can’t be more than twenty-five. Is that why he didn’t come out with the rest of us last night?
“He knew it was comin’. Said he understands. Family comes first, right?” Jon reaches over to pat my shoulder.
I struggle not to flinch. “I’ve gotta clean Biscuit’s stall for Isla.
She’s at her friend’s place.” And I don’t have to explain myself to Jon.
Or do I? He’s delivering my check. Does that mean he’s my boss?
Fuck that. And yet I feel compelled to add, “I’m goin’ fishing this morning, but I’ll be back later to clear more. ”
“Yeah. I saw Holt up at the house. He mentioned it.”
“What else did he mention? About last night.” I watch Jon closely. Would my father bring Jon into the family fold when it involves my brother’s dirty secrets?
Jon’s gaze drifts to the doors where Emery walked out as he chooses his answer. “Holt tells me what he thinks I should know, and he doesn’t tell me what he thinks I shouldn’t know.”
“Hmm.” A nonanswer if I’ve ever heard one.
Jon offers a lazy salute. “Enjoy fishing. That area’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m from here, remember?” The second Jay had his license, he and I were grabbing our rods and the tin can boat. He didn’t care that I was his eleven-year-old brother. He always made time for me.
Jon pauses with his hand on the door, and I sense his hesitation before he blurts out, “They almost lost this place. Did you know that? After your brother died and you went away.”
“I knew times were tough,” I say slowly.
“They weren’t just tough. They were impossible. Your dad was driving hours out of his way to find someone who didn’t know the Landry name that he could sell to. They borrowed money from Wyatt to cover bills.”
Clearly my mother left important details out of her letters, but I’m not surprised. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t know what last night at the bar was all about, and I’m not saying you did anything wrong.
That’s not what I’m sayin’—” He holds his hands in the air.
“But this is my family too now, and they’ve been through a heck of a lot, so if you’re doing anything that you shouldn’t be doing, knock it off. Right now.”
“Or what?”
“Or you and I are gonna have a real problem.” He sets his jaw and, with a deep breath, puffs out his chest. But there’s that glint of fear in his eyes.
That’s one of many things I learned to recognize on the inside—when a grown man’s acting tough but he’s ready to shit his pants.
Jon can’t hide it from me. He’s afraid because he knows he wouldn’t stand a chance if it came down to it, but he’d take the beating in the name of my family.
Fuck this guy … I hate to admit it, but I’m starting to like him.
“You and I are not gonna have a problem,” I say evenly. “I can promise you that.”
Jon’s shoulders sink. “Enjoy fishing.” With that, he’s out the door, offering a “Hey, stranger” to someone outside.
A beat later, Jameson strolls in, bleary-eyed and wearing the same clothes as last night.
“It’s like a fucking highway this morning. What are you doin’ here?”
“Jack called me to come pick you up. He’s meetin’ us at the boat launch. Something to do with the ex.” Jameson rolls his eyes and shakes his head, as if there’s always “something to do with the ex” and no point asking for details anymore. “Get your shit.”
“You’re early, and I gotta clean a horse stall first.”
“Fine. I’ll be asleep in my truck until you’re ready.” He ambles out.
And I drag my ass back up the stairs to collect my things.
The shade along the lengthy access road finally gives way to the morning sun as Jameson parks his truck. “He said he’d meet us as soon as he could get here. We might have to chill by the dock for a bit.”
“I’m good with that.” I’m good with anything that gets me on that water again. I hop out, bringing with me the rod I fixed on the hour-long ride.
“Hasn’t changed much, huh?” Jameson notes through an exaggerated stretch before tugging on a fleece jacket to cut the cold.
“Still the best-kept secret. Too far for Toronto folks, thank God. They still think Wasaga Beach is up north.” He air-quotes with a mocking snort and then grabs his fishing gear and a cooler from his truck bed. “One time, this girl I met—”
“Fuck, you talk a lot.” Especially early in the morning. I’m beginning to see why Jack was reluctant to have his brother come with us.
“Gotta balance out your broody ass,” he mumbles, but then grins.
And thankfully shuts up.
I inhale the fresh air as we trudge along the gravel road toward the landing—a few wooden docks to receive boats and a ramp that disappears into the lake, where people can back their trailers into the water.
A couple is there now, a woman carefully reversing as the man stands in the center of a pontoon loaded with building supplies, gesturing for her to keep going.
Cars line either side of the road. Most of them are property owners who park their vehicles and boat out to their cottage or camp or to Bear Island where the Temagami First Nation community resides.
“Isn’t this Jack’s truck?” I point out the royal blue Dodge Ram 2500 with a blue decal of a loon in its back window. It’s a new and expensive big truck, all the more conspicuous parked next to a little green dented Civic.
“Huh? Oh yeah, it is.” Jameson points toward the water and his brother, who’s already waiting in an aluminum utility fishing boat, and shouts, “You’re already here!” His booming voice echoes over the calm, quiet waters.
Jack shakes his head at his brother. “I regret this already.”
“So, Logan.” Jack leans back in his pedestal seat and closes his eyes as the warm midmorning sun beats down on us and we float, waiting for our rods to bow with a catch. “Is this as good as you remember it being?”
“The chairs are definitely as shitty.” I shift my body, trying to get comfortable in the hard plastic.
Their relaxed chuckles carry.
“Honestly, man,” he prods.
“Honestly?” My gaze wanders over the dense forest and the Precambrian rock cliffs that form the shorelines, up to iconic eastern white pines that tower, back down to the loon that glides over still water before disappearing beneath, only to reemerge in a different spot twenty seconds later.
The sole sounds out here are the birds and the odd hum of a small boat engine, and the gentle strokes of a paddle pushing through water as a white-haired gentleman passes nearby in his kayak.
Anywhere else, this level of quiet might be considered eerie, unsettling.
But out here in the wilderness, it’s utter peace.
“It’s a million times better than I remember it. But everything is.”
Especially last night with Emery.
I can still smell her hair and taste her skin and feel her body moving with mine.
I can still hear the regret in her voice this morning when she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
I should have predicted as much, and yet her recoil hurt even more than I expected it to. I’d take another shiv over feeling that again, thanks.
But for one incredible, unanticipated night, she was mine again.
“We definitely got a good day, weatherwise.” Jack tugs his rod, hoping to lure something in. “Sometimes the wind tunnel through here can be hell.”
“Any time these fish wanna bite would be nice.” Jameson roots through his cooler.
“Dude, it’s like ten thirty.”
“So? I haven’t eaten yet.”
Jack smirks as he watches his brother unwrap a tuna sandwich. “Mom packed that, didn’t she?”
“Yup.”
“Anything in there for me?”
“Nope.” Jameson takes a big bite.
“Fuck you, yeah, there is.” Jack sits up, rocking the boat as he aims to grab hold of the cooler handle.
Jameson pulls it out of his reach. “No! You’re being a dick.”
“Give me my fucking sandwich!”
As the two grown-ass men fight over Aunt Jill’s lunch, my attention wanders.
I’ve always been fascinated by this area.
Lake Temagami is home to over twelve hundred islands, everything from tiny crops of rocks to land masses several square kilometers in size.
It has numerous arms, bays, and peninsulas, and is only accessible by boat or floatplane, or snowmobile when the lake freezes over in the winter, or by canoeing the over two thousand kilometers of corridors.
Indigenous people have traveled those routes for thousands of years, and today, the area is enjoyed by backcountry enthusiasts, many of them clueless to its rich history.
“What is that?” I point to a large, flat, white and blue object floating in the water.
My question stalls the brothers’ bickering.
Jameson squints. “Looks like a paddleboard.”
“A what?”
“You know … a board that you paddle on?”
I glare at him.
He shrugs. “I don’t know how else to describe it! It’s like a surfboard but you stand on it and paddle over the water. They’re super popular.”
“And expensive,” Jack notes. “Probably floated away from a cottage. Here, let’s grab it. Maybe the owner’s name is on it.” We reel in our lines and Jack starts the motor. Our boat cuts through the calm water.
“Is that …” I squint as another floating form nearby begins to take shape, the purple life jacket unmistakable.
“Oh, shit.” Jameson tosses his half-eaten sandwich into the cooler as Jack cuts the engine.
I don’t think.
I dive in.