Chapter 8 Logan
LOGAN
Sunday morning begins with thanking a police horse named Pancakes.
Pancakes was the key to our first action item in Hazel’s plan that she’s calling Operation Lucky Charms.
As we made our way uptown on the subway, Hazel prepped me on our first order of business: securing a horseshoe for luck and protection.
That’s what led us to Central Park to ask a mounted police officer if he had any extra horseshoes on him or at the station. Apparently, that’s not how horseshoes work. I think this is about to be another Advil moment where Hazel doesn’t find what she’s looking for, lets it go, and moves on.
But she doesn’t. She’s persistent and asks if there’s another police horse nearby. This prompts the officer to contact the mobile horseshoe unit, which was currently on its way to meet an officer across the park.
Which is how we end up sprinting to the east side to watch a blacksmith change out the shoes on Pancakes. It didn’t take much convincing from Hazel to get them to agree to let us keep the horseshoe.
And now, Action Item #2 involves us crawling around on the grass looking for four-leaf clovers.
“They’re Celtic charms. Finding one is very rare.
There are like, ten thousand three-leaf clovers for every single four-leaf,” Hazel explains, referencing the printout she’s brought along.
“Look for general shapes. Four-leaf clovers will look more like squares, not triangles. I’ll be over there.
” She points to an area half a football field away.
“If you find one, give it to me, okay? That’s supposed to double your luck. ”
She heads to her own patch of grass, leaving me to mine.
Never have I ever had to seek out luck. It’s always found me. But I’m open to trying, no matter how many questions I have about Hazel’s plan.
Two hours later, once Central Park looks like one giant, blurry square without a four-leaf clover in sight, we take a break.
Hazel releases a quiet groan as she pushes her knuckles into her lower back.
She pulls her printed-out plan from her bag.
“There are only twenty-five days until opening night,” she reminds me.
“We should look for ladybugs while we’re here.
What do you think our chances of seeing a shooting star are? ”
“Rare, but not impossible.”
“Good, that’s the spirit.” She skims her list. “How do you feel about goldfish? You might need to adopt one. Getting a horse is probably out of the question.” She pauses and looks up at me for confirmation.
After a couple of seconds, I realize she’s serious and still waiting for an answer. “Mrs. Walker—my landlord—she probably wouldn’t allow it,” I say. “And we’ve already reached our one-horse limit for the building.”
“Maybe you need to move to a prewar. Heard they have a two-horse limit,” she teases. “Wait—Mrs. Walker, like Toffee’s owner, Mrs. Walker?”
I nod. “The one and only.”
“Okay, well, what about rabbits?” she asks. “I didn’t have it in me to add a rabbit’s foot to this list. But a real one with all its limbs, that might work.”
“Mrs. Walker might be okay with it, but I don’t think Toffee would be.”
Hazel sighs. “Fine. You can’t say I didn’t try.”
No. I can’t. It’s incredibly sweet how hard she’s trying.
“In some cultures, cats can ward off evil spirits and protect humans,” she says, tapping her thumb against her printout. “Maybe you need to keep Toffee with you at all times.”
“He’d love that.”
Hazel smiles. “It’d be terrible for the birds of New York City, but good for you.
” She points to her sheet. “Pennies. If we find any, don’t walk on by.
Pick that shit up! Only if you see heads, though.
And if we find a rainbow, we should probably follow it.
” She looks up at the sky, seemingly weighing in her mind the chances of seeing a rainbow on this sunny and cool October day.
“I’ll keep an eye out,” I promise. “You think these charms are actually going to work?”
“This is just Phase One. We need to get the obvious out of the way.”
There’s no way she believes in this stuff, and yet she’s going along with it. For me.
“You know the Charging Bull statue down on Wall Street?” she asks. “Rumor has it, rubbing its… you know… is supposed to be a good omen. Thoughts on that?”
Instead of going with “hard pass” like I want to, I say, “I’ll rub a bronze bull’s family jewels if I must.”
“Let’s circle back on that one. How do you feel about crystals and stones?”
“They have great energy,” I tell her.
She smirks and checks her phone. “Come on. It’s time for lunch. Keep your eyes peeled for wishing wells.”
We make our way out of the park and cross over a couple of avenues to the nearest grocery store, where Hazel makes a beeline for the precooked food.
“Hope you’re hungry,” she says, lifting a steaming container of rotisserie chicken.
“I’ll grab forks.” I also snag a few napkins and a couple of sparkling waters.
We cross back to the park to eat, but because it’s a beautiful fall day, it’s packed, and all the benches are taken.
“We could do that,” I say, pointing with my shoulder toward Central Park Lake.
“If there aren’t benches, there won’t be boats. It’s first come, first serve,” Hazel says. “And we have a lot left to do today.”
“Let’s just see,” I say. “But you should probably be the one to ask, given… you know.”
Hazel reluctantly agrees, going down to the dock to talk to the attendant. She waves me over.
“Those two are done,” she says about a couple stepping out of one of the boats. “Good timing.”
“I’d say. Have you ever been out on one of these before?” I ask.
“At thirty dollars an hour? Absolutely not. You can see all that”—she waves her hands toward the skyline—“from there.” She points to land.
“It’s a nicer view on the water,” I say. “And I guess now we can take our time out here, huh?”
I row us out to the center of the lake, where a dozen other people are floating in their boats.
The blue backdrop of sky illuminates the shimmering skyrises sprouting up from a quilt of orange-, yellow-, and red-leafed trees.
All the colors swirl together in the reflection of the surface of the algae-green lake.
Hazel turns her body to look behind her. “Wow.”
“You should see it from this angle.” I grab the left oar to spin the boat around so that she has the better view.
As I do, my phone buzzes three times in a row with yet another spam call, probably someone requesting donations or pretending to be tech support.
With my other hand, I scroll through the voicemail transcript.
“Hey! Logan!” Hazel’s voice breaks through my distraction. I only realize I’ve been spinning us in circles when I notice her clinging to the sides of the boat. “Everything okay?”
I hold the oar firmly against the water, straightening us out. “Oh, everything’s great.” I set my phone down. “You wanna hear about an amazing investment opportunity? I’ve got three for you to pick from.”
Hazel glances at my phone. “Apparently, I have five sets of grandparents in trouble who need my social security number.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve always gotten spam calls but never this much. It’s been two days. How did these people even get our numbers?”
“With our names out there, I’m sure a simple Google search did it.”
“I do think the disguises worked,” she says. “I haven’t heard from anyone that I know. I guess I don’t mind the texts and calls as long as they’re from strangers. Makes me feel like I’ve got a robust network of friends.”
I nod in response. “Did you get a chance to enjoy the view, or was it all a blur?”
“I’m only a little seasick,” she jokes, refocusing on the skyline. “Being so far downtown, I always forget there’s a literal lake in the middle of the city. I’ve forgotten how much I love Central Park.”
“If it weren’t for all those skyscrapers, I might even forget I was in the city.”
“And those hot dog carts.”
“That, too.”
“Summer’s my favorite time of year,” Hazel says. “This, though. This is giving it a run for its money.” She looks content. “Fall feels like being covered with a heated blanket on a cold morning.”
I grin at that image, especially because I know that she runs cold. When she turns her face into the sun to catch some of its warming rays, I feel a different kind of warmth as I watch her eyes flutter closed, her thick lashes curled against her smiling cheeks.
Hazel feels like fall.
We’re in a small rowboat in the middle of Central Park Lake because this woman is embracing my wild fortune flip theory and recognizing that something’s off for both of us. Instead of running away from it, she’s running toward it.
With me.
My heart catches in my chest at this. Ever since I first laid eyes on Hazel, I’ve been a goner. The kiss solidified that.
Between this and the sun and the rowing, I’m now starting to overheat. I pull my sweater off, setting it on the seat beside me.
Hazel’s already turned back to me, her eyes snapping up from my arms to my eyes. She’s visibly flustered as she clears her throat.
The air is charged again, and this time, I think she feels it, too.
Would it be too much if I reached for her hand? Pulled her closer to me and re-created what she initiated on the first day we met? I’ve never wanted anything more…
“Chicken,” Hazel says.
I lower my eyes to meet hers. I’m not one to back down from a challenge—
Then she reaches into the bag with the rotisserie chicken and pops the lid off.
Oh. That chicken.
She balances the container on her knees.
“Do you know what you’re going to do with the money?” Hazel asks.
Ever since we agreed to claim our share, I’ve given this some thought. I’ve learned before how money can have strings attached. This lottery money, though… this doesn’t.
I twist off the caps of our sparkling waters. “I’ll invest it. It’s more money than I’d need in a lifetime, so I’ll probably donate a good chunk, too,” I share. “But not to anyone who says, ‘I’ve got an opportunity that’ll make your head spin!’ ”