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“I wonder if they’ve found any of the stuff he took? I’m going to ask,” I say, feverishly tapping a message back to Paul.
Three tiny dots blink as Paul’s types. Logan again fidgets with the coffee cup, releasing nervous energy as we wait.
Paul: Yes. But not everything.
Logan grabs his phone and hits the call button hard enough the contact between his finger and the screen is audible.
“Did you find Hannah’s ring?” His elevated heart rate comes through in his shuddering speech. I study Logan’s face while he listens. He clasps his hand over his mouth as he exclaims, “Oh, God.”
“Did they find it?” I whisper across the table to him. Still taking in whatever Paul’s saying, he nods an affirmation at me. Tears—this time happy ones—well in my eyes.
Not only did Alexandria PD locate Hannah’s ring, which my brother had pawned in his own name at a local shop, they also retrieved a few of my missing jewelry pieces. None of them had the sentimental value of what was stolen from Logan.
Looking down at the time, Logan rushes to stand, needing to go back to his office. “Can I call you when I’m finished? I’d like to help you with cleaning up your place before you pick up Rainey. Claire’s fine to keep her today as long as you want.” His offer is unexpected in the best way, and I won’t pretend I don’t need or want his help.
Chapter 33
Logan
Noahdidn’taskmewhat me moving out meant for our relationship. We’ve never called it anything official, and the girls have never seen a physical romantic touch between us, but for me it’s a relationship. She said little at the cafe, spending most of the time looking like she might vomit.
I chose my words carefully to concisely relay my feelings and my impossible decision. What I must do for Maggie’s sake isn’t because of any shortcoming of Noah’s. I don’t blame her for the shit her brother did. I can’t remember if I told her that, but I hope I did.
Knowing I won’t wake up next to Noah tomorrow is torture. It’s not what Iwant, I don’t know if she understands that, but I hope she will someday. The despair on her face at the cafe tempted me to throw her into my arms and apologize while I held her against me. Doing so may have softened the impact of my moving out, but it would only be a bandaid. Hurting Noah’s the last thing I want, but coddling her won’t help her grasp the enormity of the damage Dunbar’s causing. Damage to me and my daughter, yes, but also damage to her innocent niece, and to herself.
She agrees I can come over when I reach out after work. It’s clear she’s worked on cleaning most of the day, but we still spend hours making her home close to liveable again. She thanks me as we walk out the door and climb into separate cars—me to go to the farm, since I won’t be returning to her place, and her to pick up Rainey at the farm. I boxed up my things that I could fit in my car, but I’ll have to come back later to pick up everything else belonging to Maggie and me.
After Noah loads Rainey into her backseat, I give her a tight squeeze and press a kiss to her cheek. The future between us being so uncertain breaks my heart, barely held together as it is.
She pauses for a second when I let her go, appearing hopeful as I open my mouth to tell her goodbye. When she realizes that’s all I’m going to say, she murmurs a sad goodnight and drives away.
The weeks following Hannah’s funeral shattered me. I believed there wasn’t a path for me to ever be happy again. Allowing myself to accept the happiness I’ve experienced with Noah has been a daily practice. It never felt natural, but was worthwhile and easier each time I leaned into the joy she brought.
Losing Noah and Rainey hurt. It hurt me and it hurt my daughter. “When are we moving back to Noah’s?” Maggie asked a few days after we relocated to the spare bedroom at Claire and Rufus’.
“I don’t know, Mags.” There’s no parenting manual to coach me on the right words to explain to my daughter why we moved away from her best friend—the one she’s still convinced is her sister. I’m just grateful they’ll continue seeing each other at school.
“I miss Noah,” she sighs, leaning her head into my arm. “Will we ever move back?”
“I really can’t say for sure. Noah and Rainey have some big, important things they’re working on, and they need the space to do it. You and I are working on some big stuff, too—like finishing first grade and figuring out what you want to do this summer,” I say, poking her gently in the rib and making her squirm. Under my breath I add, “Maybe someday there will be room for us again.”
I lift a corner of my mouth into a crooked smile and rub the top of Maggie’s head. “How do you feel about your dad beating you in a game ofSorry!?”
“No way,” she says, jumping up and pulling the beat-up box off a bookshelf in Claire’s living room. “You never beat me.”
A few weeks after I moved out, Noah and I sat down to evaluate wherewestood. Neither of us were able to utter words that pointed to a finality between us, but I also knew damn well we both needed time apart. Unable to make any promises about moving forward together without taking the time to evaluate what Maggie and I need for our own future, I unintentionally locked Noah and I into a limbo state. Now, I’m not sure how to get past it—or if Noah still wants me.
Once a week since the night she pulled out of the farm’s gravel driveway, I text Noah. I keep it brief, because being pulled into a full conversation with her—one not punctuated by accidental innuendos—would hurt more than I can bear. It would be too tempting to forget the critical reasons I stepped back in the first place. So, I text her like clockwork every Friday at noon to ask how Rainey’s doing and if the two of them are healthy and safe. That’s the extent of our communication for two months except for the ‘Happy Birthday’ gif I sent Noah on her birthday. She didn’t respond.
The days have felt like tormenting years since Maggie and I moved out. The pain is incomparable to the loss of my wife—the agony and darkness controlling my life a year and a half ago was paralyzing. But this vacancy is all-consuming in its own way.
When I’m not working, I sulk around from time to time, ‘all mopey-assed’ as Paul eloquently puts it. If I can’t work anything out with Noah and we never pickusback up, I’ll be okay—eventually. Even so, I miss her desperately, and I want everything to work out between us. There’s a difference betweenneedingsomeone andchoosingsomeone. I’m choosing Noah. I’ve wanted her every second of every day since we separated.
On a Tuesday in late May, I pull up late in front of the elementary school to pick up my daughter. I’m not the only one running behind, and sweat beads on the back of my neck as I wait for the two cars ahead of me to load up their kids and pull away. Maggie hops inside and slams the door as soon as it’s my turn. I watch as she fastens her own seatbelt, growing up and less reliant on me with each passing day.
“Dad? Noah hasn’t picked Rainey up yet.” There’s an edge of concern in her little voice.
With no other cars behind me, I put my SUV in park and scan the front of the building. Sure enough, sitting on a step next to her standing teacher, Rainey’s still waiting. It’s scorching hot today. California didn’t prepare me for the feel of Kentucky heat, which combines with ungodly humidity, creating an outdoor sauna every time I leave the apartment Maggie and I moved into last week.
