Chapter 2 #2
I clear my throat. I’m nervous, but I push it down. “We should look at adding a second event while the season’s still strong.”
“That would be a pretty quick turnaround, wouldn’t it?” says Ethan. “It took a few months to get the Candlelight Tour up and running. It’s already March. You’re talking like, what, two months? Maybe three if we push into June?”
“I think we could do it.” I open up the folder in front of me and flick copies of my proposal across the table to each of them.
Cole snatches the document and frowns. “Open mic poetry reading and a music performance in Blackstone Cave?”
Emily gapes at the page. “This is less than seven weeks away, Logan.”
“I’ve already got a confirmation from Futon Drift to perform.
They’ve got a huge following, and they’ve never performed acoustically before.
They’re very excited about performing underground.
And it’ll bring in a huge crowd to watch some of our local artists and poets perform.
We’ll frame it as a continuation of Blackstone’s legacy. ”
“Don’t get me wrong, it does sound really cool,” says Emily. “But if we wait until fall, we could have more lead time and bring on more people to help. It’d be less stressful. We’re already spreading ourselves pretty thin.”
“What were you saying about more responsibility just now? You could help me. This would fulfill that, right?”
“I meant managing,” says Emily. “We need to hire more people.”
“We do?”
Cole and Seth crack up at that.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. “I know it’s been busy lately, but we’ve been having fun, haven’t we?”
“It has been fun, but the rest of us enjoy other things besides work,” says Cole. “I want to start coaching basketball again. The company’s doing well, Logan. We don’t need to drive so hard.”
“I don’t see it that way,” I say, though the words feel weak.
“I see you up late, sending emails,” Seth adds. “Up at the crack of dawn, waking me with your loud-ass phone calls. Surely you’d rather spend your time doing something else?”
“I thought you said you had the Candlelight Tour event handled?” says Ethan with a frown. “Logan, there’s no reason to work overtime.”
I cast Seth an irritated look. That’s what I get for sharing a house with my loud-mouth twin.
“There are so many small details to coordinate,” I explain. Because the event is taking place at the cave entrance, we need to bring in everything—lighting, sound system, bathrooms, seating, etc. “That part doesn’t feel like a lot of work.”
“It sounds like a lot of work,” Emily says.
“Logan, the idea is great,” says Cole, “but it sounds like you’ve been working two jobs, giving tours and event planning. And you want to add more to your plate?”
I keep my posture relaxed even as tension coils beneath it. My face feels hot, my hands sweaty and clenched. There’s an edge under my skin, sharp enough that it triggers a deep breath. I can recognize the signs; I want a fight. I sigh. I’m better than this.
My voice shakes slightly before evening out when I respond, “It’s too good an opportunity. I’m prepared to shoulder all the logistics.”
My siblings exchange glances. Even though Ethan and Cole have a different father than Seth, Emily, and me, they all pass unspoken ideas across the table in a way only close siblings can. But none of them includes me in this discussion.
“Anything else on the agenda?” I ask.
“Logan.” Ethan’s face shutters in the carefully blank way he learned during his time as a sheriff’s deputy. “What happened to us all being on equal playing fields, instead of the ‘usual business hierarchy’? Yes, you put yourself in charge of events, but there’s no way this won’t affect operations.”
“It’ll also need some capital to get up and running,” says Cole, who acts as our accountant. “You haven’t even asked me if we have the funds for this.”
“I’ll put my own money and time into it then. If it comes to that, I’m willing to invest my own resources.”
“You’re not listening,” Ethan says. “We need to decide we’re doing this together.”
“Futon Drift already signed a contract. It’s happening.”
The room gets quiet at that.
“If there’s nothing left to discuss, I’m going to head out.”
“Logan, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and bolt!” Emily says. “I know we’re siblings, but we’re also business partners. This is not—”
“What’s going on, Logan?” Seth says. It’s his gentle question that breaks my temper. “Is it because… it’s March?”
I run my hands over the conference table laminate, analyzing the cracks. “What happened to keeping this meeting professional? If we were only coworkers, you wouldn’t ask about this.”
Emily gives me one of her high-and-mighty looks. “Yes, what a terrible crime—worrying about our brother. Bring out the tar and feathers.”
“But is it that?” Seth presses.
Finally, I nod. “Being this busy, it’s been helping.”
“Mom says if you need to talk…” Seth starts.
“Oof. That’s my cue to leave.”
“Logan, sit,” Cole says.
I slump in my chair. “You guys are really going to veto this? It’s a great idea. And I told you I’d do everything myself.”
Cole holds up a hand. “You have great ideas, Logan. We’re not denying that. We just don’t want you to burn out.”
“I won’t burn out,” I insist.
Another short, silent conversation passes between my siblings before Ethan shrugs. “All right, Logan,” he says. “If no one has any objections, you can do it.”
“Great.” I hop up.
“A moment.” Ethan steeples his hands. “We appreciate the work you put into this company. You work harder and longer hours than all of us. But, eventually, you need to address what’s been driving you ragged.”
I swallow. “I will,” I lie.
Traffic’s heavier than usual on the way home.
There’s only one two-lane highway in and out of Sagebrush, and it’s up and over Compass Mountain.
After a few terrifying tight curves, the highway rolls over a narrow, natural rock bridge straight down into the wide, rocky canyon below, where the town sprawls over the steep slopes and up jagged cliff walls.
There must be an accident up ahead on the bridge. I see steam or smoke coming out of an ancient, clunky van—probably some New-Age hippie on their way to a Sedona vortex.
A young woman stands at the side of the road, wringing her hands as she stares at the steaming hood. The car behind me honks. I must’ve slowed down rubbernecking. In my rearview mirror, the driver flips me off and honks again. Tourists.
I know a little about cars, and I’ve got a fire extinguisher in the truck.
I’m tired, but leaving someone stranded out here isn’t an option.
It’ll be a while before emergency services get out here, and the local town marshal is not known for his helpful nature—he likes to think his role is limited to going after hardened criminals, though those are few and far between out here.
I sigh. I pull over a little past the van and walk back toward it.
The woman wears a low-cut black tank top and cut-off shorts. She cuts a very alluring figure in the moonlight, her dark hair swirling in the wind from passing cars. Something about her is so familiar.
She turns her head toward the road, and I catch her profile.
Time bends. I’m transported to a different March, seven years prior, the girl I’d been searching for materializing out of the gloom like a hallucination.
But it’s not. She’s real.