by S. M. Smith
“I can’t believe you’ve never actually done this before. I even have a game we can watch after this if you’re up for it.”
Some tiny bit of animosity toward this man chips away from my wall of security and crumbles onto the ground below us. He took an off-handed comment and turned it into what feels like an apology. For what though, I’m just not sure.
“Logan.” My voice hitches and I try to swallow back the emotion that has suddenly hit me.
He looks up, pulling his shades up in alert concern. His eyes skitter across the ground between and around us. When he deems the perimeter clear, his eyes find mine. “What’s wrong?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you for doing this. All of this. Well, except the scaring me with the gun. And carrying me back here. You really didn’t have to do that.”
He presses his lips together but fails to hide his smile. “I just didn’t want you to ruin those pretty shoes of yours.”
I glance down at my flats and shrug. “I got them at Target. I can always get another pair when I return to civilization.”
That playful smile of his flattens. “So what are these twenty questions you would like answers to?” He stands and sips on his water. Taking a few steps toward the bed of the truck, he stops a few feet away from me and crosses his arms again. “Just so you know, I still expect you to answer your own questions.”
Figures. “Okay, well.” A gentle breeze swirls around us and my nostrils fill with his delicious scent again, throwing me even further off guard.
“What’s your favorite color?”
His face goes blank again. “You want to know my favorite color?”
“Mmhmm.” I nod, trying to find someway to pull myself together.
“Blue.” He looks so far into my eyes I feel like he’s trying to send some subliminal message with his answer. I slowly blink and poke my brain to snap out of it.
“What’s your favorite band?”
“What’s your favorite color, Allie?”
Oh, yeah. I blush. “Um. You’re going to think it’s dumb.”
“Brown?”
Where did that come from? “What? No. Why would you say that?”
One shoulder pops up and back down before he steps back and hovers one hand over the lid of the grill. “You really love football. My second guess would be grass green.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but his assumption does the job in pulling me out of my Logan-filled daydreams. “No. It’s pink. But not bubble gum or Pepto-Bismol. More like a few shades lighter than fuchsia.”
He turns and gives me a small smile. “That’s awfully girlie of you.”
“It is. I love October for a plethora of reasons, but mostly because all the teams break out their support for breast cancer. Hmm.” I meant to keep that moan to myself. Nothing like a bunch of boys rocking pink, showing their support for women who struggle with such a heart-wrenching disease.
Shaking his head, he makes quick work of placing the brats on the grill and replacing the lid. “George Strait. When I listen to music, anyway.”
I’m still daydreaming about boys with pink shoes and gloves playing the game I love to understand what he’s talking about. “Huh? Oh, music. Why am I not surprised you’re a country music fan?”
He hops up on the tailgate next to me. “I’m from Texas, I think it might be a requirement to live here.”
“I wouldn’t make it a day.” I shake my head, unable to handle much of the twangy music.
“You’ve made it four. What’s yours? Ciara?”
I nearly spit out my sip of water. “I’m baffled that you even know who sang that song.”
“I did go to high school. And college if I remember correctly.”
He’s full of surprises tonight. “No, she’s not my favorite band. I, um…well, I actually like 90s music.”
“Like, Backstreet Boys and ‘NSYNC?” He looks at me like I’ve seen him look at Lucy. Incredulous and thoroughly entertained.
“And Sheryl Crow and Bryan Adams.”
“And Britney Spears and Brandy.”
Full. Of. Surprises. “Sounds like someone had a very cultured childhood.”
“No, Drew did. I couldn’t stand half the music then.”
“Hence your affinity for George Strait.”
He gives me a sarcastic smile before taking another drink of water. “Next question. And please no more favorites.”
I swing my legs up and turn to face him, legs crossed so that my feet sit under my knees. “What makes you, you?”
His face screws up in confusion, glancing out the side of his eye at me. “What do you mean?”
“Well, everyone wears different hats, sometimes more than one hat at a time. Brother, son, football player. But when it’s all said and done, we have one hat we wear all the time, even when no one else is around. So which hat do you wear all the time?”
He runs his tongue between his teeth and his upper lip, tightening that jaw again. I want to say something to pull him away from whatever ledge he feels like he’s standing on, but I didn’t mean to upset him in the first place so I have no clue what would or wouldn’t set him off. He exhales slowly, his knuckles tightening on his water bottle. Downing the last of its contents, his chin pulls to his chest and his fingers start to pick at the label.
“I’m a Christian.”
A few major things make sense all at once. First of all, being a Christian in an environment that is inundated with things like beer, scantily clad cheerleaders and all the temptations that fame and popularity can bring you is nothing short of calling yourself a hypocrite. One misconstrued gesture of thanks to God for a good play can make you a zealot and if you step one toe out of line then you’re a charlatan.
Secondly, admitting your priorities are God before football is like making a public statement that you’re not invested in the team. You could give ten thousand percent on the field, but because you answer to God and not the men who think they own you, any misstep could cost you things like endorsements, promotion of your name and number, even your job.
“I know what saying that means, but I firmly believe that not saying the truth is worse than telling you something else. I won’t deny God that spot in my life, not for the sake of making people like me. I’d much rather God like me than Joe Schmoe from Kentucky.”
I can’t help but smirk at his comment. Never mind that Kentucky is very much a part of the Bible Belt.
“I get that.”
“Do you?” He turns and the full force of his unique eyes tackles my insides. “Are you a Christian, Allie?”
Inhaling deeply, I consider my answer. “I used to be. I don’t think I’m not.”
“Either you are or you’re not.” His intense gaze makes me squirm.
“It’s a long story.” He shifts to fully face me, clearly expecting me to let him have it. “When I…was in high school, Maggie made me go to this youth conference with the church we went to. I went because some of my friends went, but some of the things they talked about…it scared me. I said the sinner’s prayer that weekend and got baptized a few weeks later.”
It’s my turn to find the label on my water bottle interesting.
“But?”
The memory of getting Walt’s call after my statistics final my sophomore year plays through my mind like a bad movie. “But just a few days before I got the call telling me I got the spot on the school paper, I got a call that Maggie was sick. The blessed woman who opened her home and heart to a scared teen and turned her world upside down to make mine right-side up again had stage four breast cancer and had only weeks to live.”
The crackling fire and the rustling of leaves fills the silence between us. “I didn’t know.” Logan’s three little words sound like they were the hardest he’s ever had to say.
“How could you?”
“Well, I…” He stops, and I’m super thankful that he doesn’t come up with something unnecessary to say.
“Why would God make someone so t
ender and kind go through something so harsh and cruel? And what did I do to him to make him do that to me and Walt? Their love story…it’s so beautiful and sad.”
Confusion and worry shroud his face like a veil. I can see at least ten different arguments rushing through his mind, but I continue before he can spout one off.
“I believe there is a God. I believe he is omnipotent. But I struggle with the claims that he loves us and wants what is best for us.” Quickly shifting, I hop off the tailgate and give myself some space. I need to breathe and sitting there talking to Logan about a God who has long abandoned me is stifling. I remember the gun in the back seat though and keep an eye on the ground around me, even the edge of the pond, making sure that no legless creatures cross my path.
All the very raw feelings Maggie’s death left bubble under the surface once again. Anger gnaws at my skin and I suddenly feel the urge to run. Run as fast and as far away as possible. But knowing it wouldn’t be safe for me to do so, I use the meditations that yoga has taught me to ground myself to the here and now and focus on filling my lungs with country clean air. When I calm down enough that I don’t feel the need to run a marathon anymore, I turn and cautiously make my way back toward the truck.
The smell of grilled meat overwhelms me and makes my stomach growl embarrassingly loud. Logan smiles timidly as he brings a paper plate piled with the brats and sets it on the bed of the truck. “Dinner is served.” He points to another plate and small containers of potato salad and cut fruits that he must have laid out while I was pulling myself back together.
The purpose behind this moment engulfs me and emotion swells in my chest. Turning to look up and into the eyes of the man who cared enough to give me this experience, I can’t help but catch the sadness in his eyes.
“Thank you for doing this, Logan. It really means a lot.”
He nods, his lips twitching as if they want to smile but his brain is holding back. “You’re welcome, Allie.”
***
Logan started snoring just as the refs called the two minute warning in the first half of the Super Bowl game between the Jackson Wolverines and the Portland Flames, so I kicked him out of his study and made my way to my room, still on cloud nine with the effort he put into the night. Our conversation was light and informative the rest of the night, although I could tell that he wanted to talk more on my stance with God. He didn’t bring it back up though and now I’m eager to get back to work on the article. However, the second I walk into the bedroom, the bed calls my name like a siren and I succumb to its melodious cry just moments after my head hits the pillow.
The crash of thunder and a wailing noise that would annoy most anyone wakes me moments before I hear Logan’s voice. At first I think it is some weird dream, until I feel his hand on my shoulder.
“Allie. Allie. Come on, honey. You need to get up.”
Rubbing my eyes, lightning illuminates the room and a boom that sounds like something crashed into the exterior wall to my bedroom jolts me more awake than his words.
“Come on. We need to get downstairs, right now.” Throwing off the blankets, I’m thankful for the forethought to sleep in running shorts while I’m here. I slip on my running shoes and grab my phone off the charger before following Logan toward the basement door. Rain thrashes against the doors to the patio, God displaying a magnificent light show with the mightiest of sound effects. Just as we get to the door to the basement, I hear the tiniest of whimpers.
“Logan, where’s Hank?”
He yanks open the door and flips a light on over the stairs. “Hurry, but watch your step. I’ll get Hank.” His hand finds the small of my back, gently nudging me down the stairs while signaling more adrenaline to charge my already wound body. I ignore it for now, realizing the need to get to safety before the power goes out. I hear Logan and Hank hit the stairs at the same time, so I hit the flashlight app on my phone to help him get down the stairs without tripping and dropping the scared dog.
“Thanks.” He doesn’t stop as we round the corner, but adjusts Hank so that one hand is free and can grab a flashlight. He hands one to me and doesn’t illuminate his until we’re all three in the safe room. He sets Hank down on the floor and the poor dog sulks under the cot. I lean down and try to coax him out, but he circles around and lays down, his face just peeking out from under the bed.
“You take the cot.” Logan sounds exhausted, clearly needing the cot more than me.
“No, you take it. You have to go to camp tomorrow, right?”
He rubs his hands over his face. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure this storm is the real deal.”
“You mean like a real tornado?” His weary eyes narrow in on mine and my world suddenly bottoms out. I force myself not to freak out by practicing my yoga breathing, but apparently I’m not doing a very good job because a second later Logan’s firm fingers dig into my arms. The pleasant warmth his touch invokes soothes me and before I can register what he’s doing, he guides me to the cot and sets me down on the edge of it. He kneels down in front of me and searches my eyes, his hands still holding onto my arms.
“Just breathe, Allie. Everything is going to be okay. We’re totally safe down here, but I need you to stay calm, okay?”
I need to get my act together. He doesn’t need to try to keep me together while he’s doing the same for himself. So I nod and rub my palms into my eyes, trying to put the odd tingling his touch is sending to my gut aside. “Have you heard from your family? Is everyone safe?”
An odd look crosses his face and his shoulders square. “I, um… I haven’t checked yet. I just wanted to make sure you—we got to safety first. I’ll, um…I’ll call them now.”
“Okay.” I cross my arms and turn to pick up the quilt that I know was laying on the cot when we were down here earlier this week, but is now MIA. If I had to guess, Emma washed it this morning and it hasn’t made its way back down here. Shivering, I scoot to the floor and pull Hank out from under the cot to snuggle him.
Logan starts to pace as he waits for someone to pick up their phone. I can tell the moment they answer because he stops and his shoulders sag in relief.
“Hey, are you guys all safe?…Okay, all of you?… And Emma?…Okay, good. Yeah, we’re in the safe room…You’re starting to cut up…Dad?…Dad?” He pulls the phone away from his face, the light from the screen highlighting his worried expression.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, knowing that it can’t be if he looks so concerned.
“The call dropped. Everyone is okay though.” He runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Dropped calls mean towers are down. And down towers mean…” He cuts off, turning to look me in the eyes. By the fear in his eyes, I know exactly what he means.
“Could it be just really crazy winds or something? I mean, it doesn’t have to mean a…” I can’t even say the word. Another shiver runs down my spine and I hug Hank tighter to me.
“You’re cold.” He doesn’t even wait for me to respond before he reaches down and sheds the hoodie he had the forethought to put on. A thin Walker Rangers t-shirt stretches across his broad chest and is pulled up just enough so I can see his defined abs. I barely notice the blush creep up his neck as he hands me the sweatshirt. “Here.”
“I’m okay. Really.” I run a hand down Hank’s back and he shivers too.
“Just take it Allie. It stays so cold down here it’s like a cave, and I don’t know how long we’ll be down here. Please.”
The slight pleading in his voice tells me he needs to do something to help someone, so I take the shirt with a small thanks. Slipping it over my head, his scent tackles my nerves and oddly soothes them. Inhaling deep, the sharp, woodsy scent seeps down into my lungs and I can’t help but let my eyes and head roll back.
“You’re tired. Please take the cot. I need to figure out what’s —”
“I’m fine right where I am.” Without really caring what else he has to say, I snuggle down into his shirt and try to keep thinking positive thoughts.
My phone pings and I pick it up to see that I must not have plugged my charger in correctly because I’m down to four percent battery and three missed calls from Walt.
“What’s wrong?” Looking up, I find Logan sitting on the cot near my outstretched feet, elbows propped on his knees, his eyes carefully watching me.
“Nothing. I just need to check in with Walt as soon as everything is over.”
Logan places a hand over my shaking ones. “Allie. Everything will be okay.”
I nod, not really feeling the confidence, but trying my hardest to keep some faith.
“Here.” He holds his phone out to me. “Call him now and let him know what is going on.”
“It’s okay, he can—”
“Call him. I know if it were me waiting to hear from you, sooner would be better. Call him.”
A sense of appreciation I cannot fully comprehend overcomes me as I take the phone from Logan. He rubs at his mouth and leans back on the cot and watches me dial Walt’s number.
“Who is this?” Walt’s gruff voice answers on the first ring.
“It’s me.” The tremble in my voice gives away my fear, and the fact that at any moment I might burst into tears.
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for hours. I’ve been worried—”
“I fell asleep and didn’t hear the sirens go off until Logan woke me. We’re in his safe room in the basement now.”
Walt huffs and I can’t tell if it’s a sigh of relief or not. “Well, that’s good I guess.”
“Logan tells me it’s the safest place to be in a storm like this.”
“Well, then, I guess I should thank Mr. Lassiter for keeping an eye out for my girl. Care to put him on the phone?”
I glance up to find Logan watching his thumbs rub into his palms, his eavesdropping evident.
“Nope. I’m fine. I promise.”
“Okay, well don’t think this doesn’t mean I won’t be up all night worrying about you and watching the Weather Channel.”
“You hate the Weather Channel.”
“Just goes to show how much I care about you, now doesn’t it?”