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When my little grandmother—my dad’s mom—died, I cried myself to sleep for six weeks straight and haven’t been able to cry ever since.
The thought of making Logan’s eyes well up with tears makes me feel terrible.
I need to make it up to him. His impression of me now must be that I snoop around people’s garbage and stomp all over other people’s feelings.
But I can’t fix what I don’t know. I need more information.
“What happened? When did it happen?” I press. My grandparents share a look again.
“He didn’t tell you… About any of it?” I pick up on the incredulity in my grandma’s voice. As though the notion that my ex hasn’t told me about all the traumas he’s been through in the past decade is unbelievable.
“No. Before today, we haven’t spoken since…” My voice falters as I cast my mind back to painful memories. “That day.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath that sounds like a hiss. I don’t know who it came from, but Grandpa is shaking his head and muttering to himself and Grandma’s red cheeks have paled.
Then a thought hits me like a frying pan to the nose with a thwack. “Did it just happen? Oh my—” My hand finds my mouth of its own accord as I gasp. “That’s why he was at his folks’ home today. He must have been clearing it out.”
“What do you mean, dear?” my grandma asks, her head tilting. I bristle under her sympathetic stare. She’s looking at me like I just said the moon is a planet.
“When I bumped into him, he was at his parents’ house, over on Clover Road.”
This time, when my grandparents share a look, it riles me up. Why won’t they just tell me what’s going on?
“Josie,” my grandma leans forward and taps my hand resting on the arm of the couch. “The accident happened just after you left for college.”
I frown. “But that was ten years ago. What was Logan doing back…”
“Back?” Grandpa asks. Now it’s his turn to look at me like I’m crazy. I want to tear my hair out with the stress. I have never felt this confused and out of the loop.
After our breakup, I cut off all ties with Logan and the people back home. I only stayed in touch with my grandparents.
Now I can’t believe I didn’t hear whispers or see anything in the news.
“Logan stays in town every weekend, without fail,” my grandpa corrects me.
I screw up my face in disbelief. My grandparents are confused, not me. I try to put sense back into the world with what I know for sure. “But he’s an NFL player. I thought he moved to the city.”
“Well, yes. He’s away a lot. But he owns the house on Clover Road, and he lives here off-season.”
I sit back, stunned. Logan Black never really left Snowdrop Valley.
How? Why?
An old memory sweeps across my mind.
We had stayed up late, a couple of teenagers laying on dewy grass and looking up at the stars, sharing our hopes and dreams.
“I can’t wait to leave this place,” seventeen-year-old Logan said.
“And when I leave, I’m never looking back.”
I stare at the swirls on the carpet as if there might be some answers there.
“I don’t understand. If his parents died, then why did he––?”
My grandma makes a tsk. “No dear. Are you seriously telling me you don’t know?”
My head snaps up. “Know what?”
