After a twenty-minute jaunt through the neighborhood, Nick took his turn at the wheel, handling the wayward car efficiently on the hilly streets, which left Logan free to listen and observe. His mind cleared and his muscles relaxed as he focused most of his attention on what this engine had to tell him. He had always loved this part of the job—diagnosing the idiosyncrasies of a demanding “patient.”
After a few minutes of intense concentration, Logan emerged from his contemplative fugue and looked over to see what his companion was up to. Nick’s body language showed a man just as engaged, just as relaxed as Logan, even though the car was fighting him on the challenging terrain. Logan was shaken by a jolt of insight, intuitively recognizing that Zales was finding this drive equally therapeutic.
The hiding spot in Logan’s head was too full to accommodate another item, so on the way back to the garage, he was forced to actively contemplate exactly why Nick’s apparent pleasure was such a source of satisfaction to him. In order to dodge some uncomfortable conclusions, he finally decided that it was simply a lot easier to work with a guy who wasn’t being pissy the whole while—and that was all.
The sense of harmony continued as they got down to prying off the body trim. Logan was pleased and mildly surprised that Nick showed no reluctance to do the dirty and exacting job. “Make sure you mark everything,” he cautioned as he wrestled with a stubborn piece of chrome. “Saves a lotta time when you go to put ’em back on.” Finally triumphing over the side molding, Logan looked up to find Nick taking a picture of a wheel well. “What’re you doin’?”
“That article I got off the Internet? It said you should take a picture of stuff before you remove it.”
“Good idea,” Logan admitted. “Why didn’t you stop me before I went after this?”
Nick laughed. “Way you went after it with that crowbar? Didn’t seem like a good idea to get in your way.”
A sudden knot formed in Logan’s stomach as he immediately wondered if that was a sly allusion to his anger control issues. Nick gave every appearance of innocence, humming rather tunelessly as he pried away the trim. Logan decided to let it go but wondered why he spent so much time worrying about what this Zales fellow was thinking. What the fuck do I care if he jus’ took a shot at me? It’s probably what I should expect.
They worked in silence for a while until Logan remembered a chore he had forgotten to perform. Deciding to get it over with, he cleared his throat to get Nick’s attention. Once he had it, Logan said, “I forgot to say, I wanted to thank you for… for settin’ all that up yesterday.”
Nick didn’t look up from the rusty piece of trim he was labeling but did say, “That’s all right. I’m glad you and your girls had a good time.”
“They sure did.”
“But not you?” Nick asked, sending a knowing grin his way.
“I was glad to spend the time with Krista an’ Meghan, but the whole gang of ’em… well….”
“Wore ya out?”
“Sure did. Can’t believe you do that every year.”
“I’m not gonna say it’s not a pain, ’cause it is, a major pain. But those kids….” He shrugged, obviously looking for the right words. “They don’t get enough chance to just be kids.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“They grow up too fast because they see so much misery so young.” Nick walked over and grabbed the camera, but instead of going back to work, he went back to his subject, emphasizing his words with short chops of his hand. “Even when we get ’em out, they can’t relax ’cause they’re too busy worryin’ that their old man might find them and their mom. Some think…. Some even think it’s somehow their fault. That Daddy beat the shit out of Mommy because they woke him up too early or somethin’.”
Logan desperately wanted Nick to stop, to shut the hell up, and he silently cursed himself for posing the question. Why the fuck did I ask what he meant? He drowned out as much of it as he could by chanting silently, It doesn’t matter…. It doesn’t matter, ’cause none of this is true for my girls.
Finally Nick crouched down to snap a picture of his next target, and Logan breathed a sigh of relief. It proved premature when Nick continued, “Worst of all, most of them don’t ever get to have a positive male influence in their lives. I know how rough that can be, ’specially for the boys.”
A well of sorrow sprang from that last phrase, catching Logan off guard. He noted Nick’s unusually stiff posture, and the penny dropped for him. Despite knowing he could be entering forbidden territory, he felt compelled to ask, “Your dad…. He wasn’t one of…. I mean did he…?”
Nick sat back on his heels and shot Logan a long, appraising stare before tersely saying, “Yeah, he was. And he sure as hell did.”
“Sorry,” Logan murmured, almost shocked at how heartfelt his reply was. “Is that why you… why you took up this kind of work?”
“I don’t know…. Yeah, I guess so.” Nick laid the camera on the workbench and picked up a crowbar before continuing, “I always hated to think that bastard had any kind of influence on me at all, but I guess he did. No getting around it.”
“Where’s he now?”
“Rotting in—” Nick bit off his short answer and attacked the door molding without finishing his sentence.
Though the answer had been abruptly cut off, Logan heard the “in hell” loud and clear. Filled with a sudden need to offer comfort, he said, “But look at you now—you’re a real good influence on them boys, where he was a bad one.”
“What makes you say that?” Nick asked, his voice soft with curiosity.
“Come on. The way they were all clamorin’ to go to the baseball game with you. You think that was just so they could see the Pirates get their asses kicked?”
A yelp of laughter escaped from Nick before he said, “I don’t know that it’s all about me. Adam does get us seats over the dugout.”
“This Adam—does he work with you?” Logan asked, surprising himself again; if he kept this up, he was going to end up as chatty as Meghan.
“No,” he answered evenly, “we’re really good friends.” Logan detected an air of challenge as Nick added, “And before you can ask, that means exactly what you’re thinking it means.”
“I wasn’t gonna ask,” Logan retorted, trying to appear sincere and wondering why he suddenly despised a guy he hadn’t met and likely never would. He vented his rising and inexplicable anger by snapping, “I don’t know where you get off sayin’ that. I don’t wanta know—”
Apparently refusing to match his ire, Nick lobbed back a jaunty, “I get it—don’t ask, don’t tell.”
Logan simmered silently, thinking how he’d love to wipe that cocky smirk off Zales’s face by slamming him up against the wall. He lingered over that oddly appealing image until it shifted slightly and he promptly blanked his mind in alarm. In an effort to distract himself with a familiar ally, Logan attacked the rest of the trim with doubled vigor.
The two men talked of little else besides the car for the next hour, efficiently finishing the exterior and then moving on to disassembling the interior trim, the silent labor serving to restore Logan’s equilibrium. However, before they broke for the day, the final task was a review of the parts list, and Logan found their forearms brushing familiarly as they huddled over the paper. Desperate to escape the dreadfully alluring contact, Logan snatched the list away, curtly promising to start calling around to dealers.
As they ambled to the door, Nick took a long second to stare at the stripped-down car. “Guess it has to get worse before it can get better, huh?”
“That’s the way it works.” Feeling an odd mixture of relief and disappointment, Logan put his hand on the doorknob and turned to Nick. “Same time next week?”
Still seeming lost in the vehicle splayed out before him, Nick answered distractedly, “Sounds good.” He then shook his head and followed Logan to the exit. After Nick locked the shop door, he faced Logan square-on with one hand on his hip. “Can I ask you something? I
mean, I get a turn, don’t I?”
Logan suddenly regretted all the prying queries he’d posed earlier, since he felt no choice now but to say, “Sure, go ahead.”
“Why did you do it?”
There was no question in Logan’s mind as to what Nick was asking—it was the question he’d been dodging from everyone for four months. He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and kicked at some loose stones. “I just kinda…. I… I don’t know…. It’s all a blur. I can’t remember anything about it real clear.” He squinted up at Nick warily, wanting to gauge his acceptance of that assertion.
There was no give in Nick’s response. “You’re deliberately blocking it out. You know that, right?”
Having heard that enough from Trudy, Logan had no need for clarification. He jammed his sunglasses onto his face before snapping, “Even if I was, so what? Why the fuck should I…. Who the hell wants to dredge all that shit up?”
Nick pulled his Jeep keys out of his pocket and then cocked his head at Logan. “If you refuse to remember—how’re you gonna answer when those little girls of yours finally start asking questions?”
“They ain’t asked nothin’,” Logan growled.
“They wanta know, Logan. Believe me, they want to know.” Nick nodded goodbye and headed down the steps, leaving Logan alone, those last words ringing in his ears.
Chapter 6:
Needs Only to Be Seen
For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
—John Dryden
LATE TUESDAY morning, Nick had just finished making a pot of coffee when Trudy, loaded down with file folders, a coffee cup dangling from two fingers, cruised into the break room. While aiming a cheery smile at Nick, she thumped the cup down on the counter and started shuffling through the folders. “Good morning.” With her chin, she pointed to Nick’s freshly filled mug. “How many cups is that?”
“Who keeps count?” shrugged Nick as he held the pot over Trudy’s mug. “Want some?”
“Of course. Listen, I’m glad I ran into you. I have two new cases for you.” It took monumental effort for Nick to contain an audible groan; apparently the sound effect was unnecessary, since Trudy could read either his mind or face. “I know how swamped you are, but—”
“But, that’s the way it is around here, you don’t need to tell me.” He accepted the folders and started flipping through the first one. “Marta going to be a resident?” he absentmindedly confirmed.
“Yes.”
“The extra work wouldn’t be so bad, but I just decided to add another finance module; I think the group’s getting too big to be effective.” He scanned the contents of the second folder and noted the home address of the new client. Hmm, looks like we have a high-rent abuser here…. “Mt. Lebanon, huh?”
“Yep. Not the first client we’ve had from there.”
“Yeah, I know. And I’ll bet anything Mr. Palmer has a high-priced lawyer and tons of connections.”
“You’re probably right. But let’s worry about Sheila Palmer right now, and we’ll worry about what we can do about Dean Palmer later. Okay?”
“Okay. Where’s Sheila living now?”
“She moved in with a cousin. I spoke with her yesterday, and while her physical condition is relatively good, emotionally she’s very fragile. I couldn’t even get out of her what triggered the final break. I think she’s going to need extensive counseling, a few sessions a week to start. You up for this?”
Nick was already mentally adjusting his schedule. “Absolutely.”
“Now, admit it. Aren’t you glad you’re only seeing Norah Seebold once a month?”
“Yes… and no. Sometimes I think….” Nick took a sip of his coffee to help him find words for his nebulous thoughts, but nothing came. “I don’t know.”
Trudy patted his arm sympathetically. “It’s hard to let go of some of them, I understand. But according to your last report, she’s ready, and there are others now who need you more.”
Biting his lip as though it were the qualms he held, Nick nodded. “Okay, you’re right. I’ll get in touch with Marta and Sheila this afternoon, get initial interviews set up for both.” He gulped more coffee, then quirked an eyebrow at Trudy. “You can’t say I don’t earn my money.”
Her red nails clicked rhythmically against her mug while she teased back, “Really? I had just started wondering if we were paying you too much.”
“Where the hell did you get that idea?”
“Rumor has it that you just bought a sports car from Dave Acken….”
“Geez, you hear everything.”
“Not me, my husband. Since Dave’s heart problems are still keeping him away from his shop, The Liberty Grill has become his home base. So you did buy a classic car?”
Nick laughed as he countered, “Classic wreck is more like it. It barely runs.”
“And you’re going to do what with it?”
“Restore it. I hope.”
“All by yourself?”
“No. I got….” Nick found himself tripping over Logan’s name, and he swiftly substituted, “…a guy to help me. Someone who’s done it before.”
“That’s good. But I never knew you were such a motorhead.”
“You mean you can’t tell by the ultra-sleek vehicle I’m in now?” While Trudy snorted in amusement, Nick continued, “I’m not… or I wasn’t.” How could he possibly explain something he didn’t even understand himself? “Maybe I’m having my midlife crisis early?”
“Ahh, ever the overachiever,” Trudy joked. “Well, good luck.” She turned to leave the small room but tossed over her shoulder, “By the way, I’m expecting a ride when it’s done.”
Nick called after her, “Oh, you bet. It’ll be your retirement gift.”
THAT WEDNESDAY night, it was Logan’s turn with Trudy. His ten-minute stint in the waiting room seemed longer than usual, as he couldn’t even fake any interest in the scanty choice of magazines. He spent the time fighting off the desire to snooze even though the springs of the ancient couch were aggravating his sore muscles; several restless nights had left Logan feeling like a faded washrag. Can’t seem to sleep a full night through. Goddamn hot weather, never used to bother me….
To his relief, the session started on a much sweeter note than usual. After he dropped into the guest chair, Trudy welcomed him by noting brightly, “Sister Ciera stopped by Monday morning to tell me all about the day at Kennywood. It seems your daughters had a wonderful time—and so did you.”
“Yeah, it was good.” Logan paused and looked out the office window without really seeing the passing traffic. “Good seein’ them without… seein’ them like that.”
“Ciera also said you were a big help with the young kids.” Trudy added with a genuine grin, “Knowing that crowd, I’d say that was almost going above and beyond.”
Logan ducked his head and shifted his line of sight to the floor. “Don’t know why she said that. She did most of the work.”
Trudy retorted, “I don’t hand out many compliments, Logan. You should learn to take them when I do.”
Rather than telling the truth, that all he wanted from Trudy was her signature on a piece of paper, Logan offered a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.”
A sly note snuck into Trudy’s voice as she said, “It also seems like someone else was impressed with your effort.”
At that declaration, Logan’s head and stomach shot in opposite directions—gaze snapping to Trudy’s face while the other sank to the floor. “Who?”
“Your wife.”
The anxiety Logan had felt while waiting for Nick Zales’s name to pass Trudy’s lips only ratcheted up at that unexpected response. “Who—how’d you hear that?”
“I spoke to her directly yesterday morning. And I have good news—”
“You’re gonna sign that affidavit?”
“Um, no. Not yet. I meant that Linda has agreed to joint counseling sessions.” Logan was silent while he chewed over the thought
that apparently Trudy Gerard had no idea what constituted good news for him. Before he could develop a response, she continued, “It doesn’t look like you consider that good news. Why not?”
“I just want…. This ain’t gonna be about hashing over all that stuff from March, is it? ’Cause I don’t see the point in that.”
“You don’t?”
Fuck, lady, ain’t I been punished enough? “No.”
Leaning forward, Trudy slid her forearms across her desk and trained earnest mahogany eyes on Logan. “How do you expect to get back together with Linda if the two of you can’t discuss the abusive incident? If you remember, I told you when we began our sessions that taking responsibility was a prerequisite for entering into couples counseling.”
“I did take responsibility. What do you call standin’ up in court and pleadin’ guilty?”
“I call that accepting the blame. There’s a difference.”
“Oh yeah?” Logan folded his arms and snapped, “Well, why don’t ya explain the difference to me? ’Cause from where I’m sittin’, they’re the same damn thing.”
“Accepting responsibility means you stop calling it an accident; stop making it sound like you backed into Linda’s car or broke a dish. You start calling it a mistake. A mistake you made and will never make again because….” Trudy stretched her hand out towards her glowering patient.
Wary of a trap, he merely responded, “Yeah?”
“You have to fill in that blank, Logan; no one can do it for you. How about you stand up to your own wife and daughters like you did to that judge? Explain to them what happened and why it will never happen again—and mean every word you say. That’s what they want—and that’s what Linda needs.”
“Huh. What she needs….” Logan’s annoyed whisper elicited a frown from Trudy that deepened as his speech continued. “Too bad. I did my best, and if it ain’t good enough… then it ain’t. Who the hell gets what they need in life, anyway?”
Dreamspinner Press Year Four Greatest Hits Page 107