“I couldn’t say no to Matthew,” Emma replied. “He’s been curious about you for a long time.”
“And I’ve been curious about him.”
They began walking down the dark street, past other houses that cast light from their windows onto the sidewalk.
“When did you start smoking?” she asked.
“First week in prison. Not much else to look forward to, except for your letters, of course. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated them, and the pictures you sent of Matthew. It’s obvious that he had a good upbringing on Sable, and I’m sure he’ll look back on it someday with amazement. I feel that way too, when I think about the year I spent there. With you.”
Emma wanted to be positive and agreeable, but she couldn’t keep her cynicism at bay. “You weren’t so happy at the end of it,” she reminded him. “You didn’t enjoy the winter.”
“Only because I knew I had to leave, and I was afraid you were going to find out what I’d done. Which you did.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “That was the worst hell for me, you know—fearing the truth coming out and seeing your disappointment.”
“Worse than going to prison?” she asked with skepticism.
“Ten times worse.”
Though he spoke decisively, she found it hard to believe him.
“What about the research paper we wrote?” he asked, changing the subject. “You never mentioned that you did anything with it.”
“It’s in a box at my father’s house,” she replied. “After what happened, I couldn’t look at it. It felt like a sham.”
Logan grew quiet. “I’m sorry. I spoiled a lot of things, didn’t I?” He tapped his cigarette ashes onto the sidewalk. “But I wonder what you’d think of our paper if you looked at it now. We certainly worked hard on it.”
Emma chuckled. “Who knows? I might think it the worst piece of drivel ever written. What did I know about the world back then? I was a girl with her head in the clouds.”
“That’s not true,” he said, gazing up at the sky. “I’d bet you’d be pleasantly surprised by what you wrote. Now that you’re going to school in the fall, you might meet the kind of people who could help you do something with it.”
Emma considered it. “Sometimes I do wonder ... maybe I just need a bit of a nudge to force me to dig it out of the box.”
Logan nudged her with his elbow, and Emma chuckled.
“Point taken. I’ll write to Papa and ask him to send it on the next boat. Then I’ll read it with a critical eye.”
“But not too critical,” Logan said with a sidelong grin.
They rounded a corner and emerged onto Young Avenue, where grand stone mansions were lit up in the night. Point Pleasant Park, with miles of winding walking paths, lay ahead in the darkness.
“Matthew mentioned he wanted his grandfather to come and live with you,” Logan said. “Is that a possibility?”
“I’m not sure,” Emma replied. “Papa’s been superintendent for so long. It’s in his blood now. Even the loss of his leg couldn’t keep him from doing his job.”
“But it’ll be different for him now, living there without you. And Ruth told me he hasn’t met Rose yet.”
“That’s right. He hasn’t.”
They walked awhile, saying nothing while crickets chirped on the tidy, clipped lawns. An occasional car drove past, headlights beaming.
“Ruth also told me about what happened to Rose’s father, the captain,” Logan said. “You haven’t said much about him.”
“No, I haven’t.”
When she offered nothing more, Logan pressed on. “It must have been devastating.”
“It was.”
They walked to the next intersection, crossed the street, and continued toward the park. Logan finished his cigarette and flicked it onto the street.
