Chapter 21 – There's Such a Life to Go

Logan

Friday, May 22, 1pm

DMV-license
Bank acct
Car
Laptop
Wave Hounds? - new board
Nail clippers

Car insurance

Roof rack for board

Busywork is not overrated. Every time sorrow or self-pity creeps up, Logan grabs his now dog-eared legal pad and makes a new to-do list. A ticked-off item represents accomplishment, and time successfully killed, so he keeps the pages filled with check marks. By last night there was only one item left.

House

So began a new round of list-making, aided by a home wish-list he found online using his new laptop. Apartment versus condo versus house? Size? Location? Amenities? Budget? One story or two? Newer home or older? His answer to most are a question mark.

On the flip side of that list are the things he doesn't want: rainbow-hued tile in the kitchen, a swing on the porch, the smell of turpentine when you first walk in the door.

Those are deal breakers.

His deep pockets and desire for waterfront property lead him to Kimberly Roberson, realtor extraordinaire—an elegant, fiftyish black woman who's eager to show him all the luxury oceanfront homes for sale in hopes of a fat commission.

"Logan, you're going to love this next place."

He rolls his eyes at the optimism she's maintained for four hours now. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this."

"I am." Kimberly gives him the side-eye and twirls her massive wedding ring, a tic Logan noticed the first ten minutes in her presence. "I just haven't figured you out yet."

"Yeah, well, I'm complicated." Logan looks out the window at the large estates, similar to those from his childhood. After he turned down every beachfront property that met his specifications, Kimberly suggested they look at other options.

They pull up to an ornate gate with carved lion's heads atop each post. Kimberly's salon-straightened bob ruffles slightly when she rolls down the window to punch in the code, and she flashes Logan a bright-toothed grin amid glossy, maroon lips. "Well, Mr. Complicated, what do you think?"

"That you're getting desperate." Her smile wanes and, because he's being a petulant shit, Logan waves a hand. "But as long as we're here."

Though he takes in the details through a fog of detachment, there's no question the house is a stunner. Cobblestones form a circular driveway, and a six-car garage to the side suggests lots of room for toys. Wildflowers bring the meticulous landscaping to life and every architectural feature is a curve, from the arched windows and doorways to the circular fountains throughout the grounds.

Inside, scents of wood polish and cleaning agent fill the air. Kimberly pulls her Vanna act for the umpteenth time that day and indicates selling points with a wide sweep of her arm. "It's in pristine condition and fully staged, though if you want to keep any of the furniture we can work it out. Walnut floors, six bedrooms, ten bathrooms, gentlemen's library, and a billiards room. If you look that way you can see you'd have your own putting green— "

"I don't golf."

"Well, maybe you'll take it up. Upstairs there's a media room, too. Now, it's farther inland than you wanted but you get more house for the money. Twice the square footage of the beachfront places we looked at in the same price range. It's even got a two-room guest house currently set up as a gym but you could change it to whatever you want."

"Is it soundproof? Because I'm thinking kill room."

An arched eyebrow is Kimberly's only response. "If you look out the windows to your left, you'll see the view overlooks the Fairbanks Ranch country club."

"Fat old men in pastel plaids? That's my secret kink."

Kimberly's phone buzzes in her hand and she pastes on a smile after she looks at the number, her lips tight. "Why don't you take a look around? See if there's any features you like and we can add them to your want list."

The ceilings are fifteen feet tall. The place boasts enough dark, rich wood Logan's sure the builder decimated an entire forest of hardwood trees for the cause. Every doorway is also an arch, and each room big enough to hold La Culpa in its entirety. The wet bar alone is bigger than his kitchen.

His old kitchen. Eva's kitchen.

Fuck.

Logan curls his fingers around the phone in his pocket for the hundredth time that day. He wants to call and beg her to reconsider. Tell her he loves her. Yell at her for being a bitch. Talk through all the reasons she left and he stayed, even if he knows they'll reach the same conclusion.

In the end he doesn't call; he continues the tour of a house he knows Eva would hate, given her modest tastes.

The media room is a thing of beauty. Eight luxury, leather, built-in armchairs point toward a wall screen that's ten feet wide. The remote for the lights and projector is a huge tablet. Without asking, he knows the sound system would rival that in any commercial theater.

"What do you think?" Kimberly asks from behind him, her flawlessly made-up eyes wary.

He shrugs. "Very Howard Hughes. I'm growing out my nails right now."

"Okay, that's it." She snaps her fingers and points to a media chair. "Sit."

Logan sinks into leather while Kimberly glares at him, hands on the small of her back and feet splayed as far as her pencil-skirt will allow. Her voice manages to be both forgiving and steely. "I've been doing this a long time. Logan. By far, clients with money are the biggest challenge. That's fine, I accept that."

"I—"

"I'm not finished."

Kimberly waits, her jaw jutted forward. He waves a hand for her to continue.

"So," she nods, her tone softer now. "Go ahead. Give me all your little comments and make me work for my money. As long as you also give me something I can work with."

"I gave you my wish list."

"And six of the houses met it exactly." Kimberly crosses her arms and tilts her head. "You made up excuses and said they weren't for you. Either you don't know what you want or something's holding you back. Which is it?"

Logan glances down at the legal pad in his hands and the notes he made about each property. They're all as bitchy and unconstructive as Kimberly says: too many skylights, too quiet, too noisy, kitchen's too shiny.

He flips back to his original notes about what he's looking for. Due to a jelly spatter, two of the pages stick together and he comes to his to-do list. House.

Once he accomplishes that, what's left? A few calls to set up utilities? Buy furniture? Figure out what to do with his life for the next thirty or forty years?

"You're right." He drops the pad at his feet and runs a hand through his hair. "The first six houses were all fine."

Kimberly shakes her head. "Maybe you want to go further up the coast? In Neptune or—"

"No," he snaps, then shakes his head in apology. "Thanks. Email me the listings of the ones we saw today. I'll narrow it down to three and we can go see them tomorrow or Monday."

Their drive back to his hotel is quiet as Logan has a private freak-out. What the hell is he supposed to do? He has no desire to go back to school and the only job he's qualified for would take him away all the time. While reading and surfing are respectable hobbies, he doesn't want to live a life in stasis.

Traffic is heavy and steady for the afternoon. Logan plucks Kimberly's listings binder from the backseat and again flips through the homes in La Jolla and Mission Beach. The most appealing is a three story luxe model that manages to be opulent without crossing into ostentatious. Right on the beach, the entire west side of the house is made of windows facing the ocean.

He'd have to live cheek-to-jowl with other millionaires but no one said he had to be sociable.

A sheet protector in the back of the binder holds a hand-drawn floor plan and notes about another property, including a long list of needed repairs. "What's this?" he asks.

Kimberly glances down at the binder and grimaces. "New listing—if we can ever get the property in shape. Poor old man lived alone for years."

"Bad?"

"Depends on how much work his heirs want to put in. It's got some nice features."

"Like what?"

"Oh," she glances over at him, gauging his interest, Logan's sure. "Near Balboa Park. Built in 1913, so it has a lot of custom woodwork. Coffered ceilings, four bedrooms. The master has a sunroom with a great view. Large lot for the neighborhood, with a detached garage at the back."

"Take me there."

Kimberly pauses a beat too long at a stop sign but, saleswoman that she is, takes the turn away from Logan's hotel without a word.

Gai

7:30pm

"Last one in has to clean my sax."

Fish huffs past Gai. "Last one in has to eat my mom's cooking."

Mike, a hopeless length behind, yells, "First one in has to smell my farts."

Gai and Fish kick off their shoes on the fly and dive into the door of the jumpy castle. Mike, wearing laced high-tops, is a minute behind them. All the little kids take one look at him, scream, and hit for the door. Mike plays along, like he always does, and monster-growls at the midgets until the last of them get out.

Getting some leverage, Gai body-slams Mike so they're both sprawled; Fish takes advantage and does flips over them, until Mike catches her by the ankle so she falls down, too. Three cotton candies rumbled in Gai's stomach as he lays there, breathless with laughter.

"You know what?" Mike asks.

Fish, her head resting by Mike's hip, asks, "What?"

Mike lets one rip and the sound, amplified by the inflated bladder of the bounce house, echoes. Fish screams and rolls to kick at Mike's stomach. Their wrestling match gets so violent Gai scoots to the corner so he's not in the way, and watches.

What Fish lacks in size and strength she makes up for with dirty fighting. Gai knows, when you get into it with Fish and aren't careful, chances are good she'll pull your hair or knee you in the balls. Today, though, Mike pins her before she does damage.

"Say Uncle," he teases.

Fish squirms and tries to dislodge Mike, who sits on her stomach, pinning down her wrists with his knees. "Never."

"Uncle."

"Screw you."

Mike uses a knuckle to pound on the apex of Fish's collarbone.

Gai winces. "Dude—not cool."

Fish arches her back to dislodge Mike and, failing that, pummels his back with her knees.

"Hey!" a grown-up voice yells from outside. "This is your third warning. You kids are done for the rest of the night. Out!"

Mike lets Fish go. He suffers her kicks and slaps out the door, laughing the whole way. Then gives her a piggyback ride once they have their shoes on and she complains she's tired.

The movie's set to start at eight. The blacktop's a mass of blankets and people, with some camp chairs at the edges for the older folks. In the dusky light it's harder to discern individuals and, for a second Gai pretends his mom and dad are there, like they've been in the past years, set up on a blanket next to Lydia and Big Mike.

A breeze comes through, bringing with it the bite of cold, and Fish buries her face in Mike's shoulder. "Brrr."

"Hi Gai," a girl says.

He looks down to see Angela Meadows on a blanket at his feet. She looks cozy, in pink fleece pajamas with kittens all over them. Except for Fish, all the sixth grade girls changed into sleep gear for the movie.

"Um, hey."

"Do you want to sit with us?" Angie's three friends, the ones she travels around with like they're in a pack, giggle and whisper next to her.

"No. Thanks. I'm good."

"You guys can all stay. My mom's bringing popcorn."

Fish's legs dangle from Mike's elbows and she uses one to kick Gai in the ass, from which he guesses she doesn't want to sit with Angie and her gaggle of friends. She never does anymore—not since last year when they started spending all of recess whispering and giggling.

"We're set up over there," Gai says, waving toward their spot in the middle.

"Oh, okay. See you around."

As they maneuver through blankets and bodies, Mike puts Fish down. In a low voice she tells Gai, "You could've stayed."

"To sit with a bunch of girls?"

"To sit with Angie. She likes you."

"Likes me, likes me?" Gai takes that in, surprised. "How do you know?"

Fish looks back at him and rolls her eyes. "How do you not?"

About ten second-graders are lined up in sleeping bags at his feet. Gai steps between them and an older couple in stadium chairs on a flannel blanket. "How can you tell?"

"Oh, seriously?" Fish turns so they're face-to-face. "Do you know what the girls talk about at recess? Hair. And clothes. And boys. Who's hot. Who's cute. They do cootie catchers with the boys' names to see which one they're going to marry."

"They do?"

"Totally. It's gross. And your name is in ALL the cootie catchers."

Since Mike's moved far enough ahead he can't overhear, Gai asks, "Is Mike? In the cootie catchers, I mean?"

"Yeah, sometimes, but not like you. He's the bad choice, to up the stakes, because he's always so sweaty. It makes it more fun."

The loudspeaker announces the movies are starting in ten minutes. In the gloaming it's hard to see Fish's expression, but from her angry tone of voice Gai can tell she's not any happier about it than he is. "That's mean."

"Why do you think I'm always hanging out with you guys?"

They make their way over to the blankets Lydia and Big Mike laid out. Big Mike is already asleep, his hands behind his head, and Lydia's working the snack bar for the first hour so it's like they're alone.

Fish cocoons herself in blankets as soon as she sits down. While they laugh and jostle to get settled, other boys from their grade come over to share candy and steal from the large bag of popcorn Lydia left for them.

The first thing shown is an Animaniacs cartoon nobody cares about, past shouting along to the theme song. Gai starts a popcorn fight, cracking up when Mike goes all guppie-face and catches some kernels from the air.

Then it's old-school with a cartoon about a musical note that goes missing from sheet music for 'The Blue Danube' and wrecks everything when they find it. It was one of Dad's favorites. A surge of loss comes over Gai, like they do, and he no longer wants to be there. He feels a hundred years old, a thousand, and everyone rolling around and throwing food seem like little kids.

A body settles in behind him and he knows, without even looking, who's there.

"I don't get it," Steph whispers in his ear, sending a chill up his spine. "Why is his head red?"

Gai swallows, keeping his eye on the musical note stumbling around onscreen. "He's drunk."

She rests her chin on his shoulder. "I missed the beginning. How'd he get drunk?"

"He wandered into sheet music for 'Little Brown Jug.'"

The rest of the cartoon passes in a haze. He doesn't laugh when the drunk quarter note sits on a whole note, and it cracks like an egg, hatching little baby notes. Food continues to fly around them amid shouts and laughter and all Gai can feel or think about is Steph sitting behind him—her chin on his shoulder, and her breath that tickles his cheek every time she breathes.

Steph plucks a stray popcorn kernel off Gai's arm and eats it. "We got here late," she says, "so our blankets are set up at the back. Wanna go there? It's quieter."

"Sh— " he clears his throat before it can screech out on him like it did the other night. "Sure. Mike." Gai nudges him with his elbow. "I'm going to move to the back for a while."

"Yeah, whatever," Mike says, too involved in launching a Raisinet at Cameron to care. It lands on Big Mike's face who bats it away and lets out a snore, making everyone around them hoot.

Fish looks back when Gai moves his legs. He can feel her eyes on him, but it doesn't matter because Steph grabs his hand to lead him through the crowd.

She navigates them to the end of the row so they can circumvent the prone bodies and walk toward the back. When Gai loosens his hand, she grips his tighter and he returns the gesture.

He never got it—the big deal about holding hands with a girl. All the movies make like it's a thing, and whenever kids in his class 'go out,' that's how they show it.

Now, with Steph's hand in his, their fingers entwined so electricity bounces between them, he thinks he understands.

What he doesn't know is what it means. Are they going out? Is that how it happens? He always thought somebody had to ask somebody but nobody's said anything. It's just them walking through the grass and he doesn't know where he's going or why she asked him to come to the back and no one else, or why she's holding—

"We're here."

The spot she points to is at the outermost edge of the blacktop, right next to the grass. At this distance the screen looks small and it's so dark here, he can barely see the ground. The sound system reaches them though it's not entirely clear due to everyone talking. Gai knows once the crowd settles into the movie that'll change.

The biggest difference is how much colder it is. Without a mass of bodies to act as buffer, the night breeze hits Gai's face and cuts into the open V of his cardigan. "Aren't Cam's parents here?"

"No, Zach dropped us off."

Rows ahead, a cluster of girls whisper and giggle. Gai recognizes Angie's laugh and hopes she doesn't notice him with Steph, since he turned down her offer to sit together earlier. Then he remembers his conversation with Fish and doesn't care anymore.

"Hey," Gai says. "Do you do cootie catchers?"

"What?" Steph laughs. "Not since I was, like, ten. Why?"

"Just wondering."

Steph drops down to a sleeping bag that's spread out and uses their linked hands to pull Gai down next to her. "Brrr. Grab the blanket, will you?"

"What blanket?"

"On your side, back a little bit."

His fingers seek and encounter a jumbled pile of flannel. With Steph's direction they get it draped over both their backs and tucked in at their feet.

"Better?" she asks.

Gai lies, "Better." Because it's not better. Now he's all squished side-by-side with her, in the dark, and while parts of him say that's good, he doesn't want her to notice those parts of him. He's never wanted to stay somewhere more, or run away faster.

"Hey Shaggy Boy," Steph says, bumping his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Did you listen to that music I sent you? That band, 'Hebetude'?"

"Uh huh."

"What'd you think?"

"It was—I mean, they're okay."

"Okay? Only okay?"

Gai cringes, not sure what's his problem. Every time Steph's around he no can talk good. "No, like, great okay. Especially that song, 'Penny Thoughts'."

"Mmm, that's one's awesome. My favorite's 'When I Grow Up'."

"Oh yeah. Good polyrhythm in that one."

Steph snorts. "What kind of rhythm?"

"Oh, um, it's like when you've got more than one rhythm pattern. They don't match but, if it's done right, they work together."

"You know about music, huh?"

"A little bit. My grandma's a music teacher."

"Do you play anything?"

"Sax, harmonica, and some guitar."

"Guitar?" she asks, interest in her voice. "Do you sing, too?"

A memory, one of the last Gai has of his dad, comes to him. They were in the living room, facing each other on the couch with guitars balanced on their knees.

"Grandma said you hated the guitar when you were little."

"I did. It hurt my fingers."

"What changed your mind?"

"Watch my hands," Dad says, demonstrating finger placement to extend the F chord. He lowers his voice so Mom, in the kitchen making dinner, won't hear, and winks, "The guy out front with the guitar and microphone? He gets all the girls."

"Gai?" Steph whispers, saying his actual name for maybe the second time, ever, and his stomach blooms warmth at the sound. Her face shifts toward his and, when he turns to look at her, they're close. So close. One side of her is in shadow while the other's outlined in silver, the distant light of the movie screen reflected on her cheeks and in the shine of her eye.

"Yeah," he chokes out, "I sing." And it's not a lie, not really. He's got an okay voice even if it is still a little kid voice.

"Will you sing for me sometime?"

He wants to answer her but he can't. There's a tension between them he's never felt with anyone else, and doesn't understand it, or what he's supposed to do with it. All he knows is he doesn't want to move because it might all go away.

Steph's hand shifts to rest against his, on his knee. Their pinkies brush and it's another point of heat between them. Her head tilts slightly and she leans forward, her head looming ever closer. By some instinct Gai tilts the opposite way and he knows, then, he knows she's going to kiss him and he wants it, god how much he wants it but his heart, his heart pounds and he worries that his breath smells and his lips are dry and he doesn't know how to kiss her back because he's never kissed anybody.

A large chill runs down his spine—a cold drop that makes Gai shiver and wonder. Followed by a river of freezing that makes him scream and jump out of the blankets to get it all out. "What the hell?"

Mike, with Cameron and a couple other guys from their grade, are behind him, laughing so hard they're doubled over. Gai shakes a last piece of ice out of his collar and attacks Mike, getting him in the stomach, and taking him down.

Cameron joins in and pretty soon the other guys, too. When Mike gets up Gai gives chase across the dark grass, away from the blankets and away from Steph. For a second it feels as if he's doing something wrong, goofing around instead of staying with her. Then he's gaining on Mike. Everything else falls away, leaving behind a giddy high of school ending, summer nights, and goofing around with his friends after dark.

Veronica

7:30pm

Logan's waiting for her at the standard-fare taqueria, a white, plastic triangular number on the four-top showing he placed an order. While Veronica approaches, a teenage waitress puts down two plates weighted with food. With the ease of a veteran she pulls two Mexican cokes out of her apron, pops off the tops, and places them on the table.

He looks tired is Veronica's first thought. And broken is her second, when Logan catches her eye and stands up, a half-hearted effort at a smile on his face. The weight of something keeps it from reaching his eyes. "Hey, you."

"Hey, yourself," she responds. Their embrace is clumsy, his attempt at kissing her cheek interrupted by the hug she gives him, and they both laugh at the awkwardness of it.

Logan waits for her to sit first and waves at the table. "Is this okay?"

On the plate in front of Veronica are four fish tacos with extra sides of guac and sour cream, her standard order from their teen years, and a dish of pintos and rice. "Looks great, thanks. I skipped lunch and I'm starving."

"Working a case?"

She waggles her splint at him. "Not released to full duty until my finger heals. I'm splitting my time between grunt work here and closing out the Petturi matter in the L.A. office."

"How's that going?"

"Slow, which is the only speed the federal government seems to know." And ideal, since she has her own reasons for needing to be in Los Angeles right now.

"Ah. Where's Gai tonight?"

"Annual fundraiser at his school. They do a carnival thing, then close out the night with an outdoor movie on the playground. Lydia's bringing him home. Logan, what's going on?"

"In a minute. First, any chance Gai's changed his mind?"

Veronica softens her voice, not wanting to cause more hurt. "I said I'd contact you if he did."

"I know." Logan pokes a fork at his enchiladas.

The guy looks so dejected she has to throw him a bone. "He made a joke about it the other night, though, so I think the shock value's worn off."

"Gai did? What'd he say?"

"Something about catching a boat and hiding out in Chile so he didn't have to partake in the puberty conversation we were having."

Logan's lips twitch. "Hey, I've moved up to punch line. That's progress."

"I hope so."

"Puberty, huh?"

Veronica takes a bite of her taco, and moans when the blend of tilapia and mango hit her taste buds. She talks around the mouthful of food. "He is twelve. Remember that age?"

"I remember long showers and a dirty magazine under my mattress."

"Which Lilly found. Along with a ruler, she said?"

"No," Logan rolls his eyes. "That was in my math book, and I was using it as a bookmark. Leave it to Lilly to turn it into something else."

"Of course." Veronica smiles. "Didn't she annotate it?"

"Yep. At three inches she wrote 'poor baby', at six 'it'll do' and nine 'call me', with a little winky face. God that winky face drove me in-sane. Bitch."

They both laugh, shared humor and nostalgia creating an intimacy that only comes with the oldest of friends. "I still miss her," she says.

"Me too."

"So," Veronica dives into her second taco, and talks around it. "What brought you back? Trina?"

"No, I haven't talked to her." Again Logan pokes at the uneaten enchiladas. "And, actually, I never left—decided I'd stay in California."

"For how long?"

"For good."

"That's," she swallows, washing down the fish with Coke when it sticks in her throat. "New."

"Look," Logan sets down his fork and leans forward, elbows on the table and hands interlaced. "I know it's not what you expected—"

"No, it's—. Logan, from what I got, you and Eva have this whole life in Chile. How can you guys put that aside and move here?"

"Not Eva, just me. She's the one with a life in Chile. I was always on a boat, remember?"

It surprises her, that Eva and Logan would continue to spend so much time apart after the deep connection she observed at dinner the other night, and what she knows of Logan. But who is she to pass judgement? Apparently the arrangement worked well for nine years already.

"So you're staying," she says, clarifying.

"That's the plan."

"Logan, why?"

"A few reasons. Gai— "

"No." Veronica shoves her plate aside and points a finger at him. "You can't do that. You can't upend your life and lay it on my son. Not after he made his feelings clear."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"The hell you're not."

"No, I—shit. Okay, fine." Logan moves his clasped hands behind his head and leans back. "Gai's the main reason I'm staying but so what? You're telling me you haven't spent the last twelve years considering him before you made any decision?"

"He's mine to consider. Not—" she stops before she can say not YOURS, because it feels cruel.

"Then why did you have him meet me? What were you hoping for?"

Their raised voices are drawing stares. Veronica lowers hers and leans forward. "I wanted Gai to know where he came from, and to have a choice. But he's made it, Logan. At least for now."

"And I've made mine; I'm sticking around. I own that choice, Veronica. I won't lay it on Gai. It's not his fault I wasn't here all these years."

A small tug of guilt pulls at her, since it was Veronica's war with Gorya Sorokin that set off the original chain of events. She takes a drink of her Coke and considers the man in front of her. Memories of the past weeks overlap with those from a lifetime ago and Lois' words come back. She wonders how well she knows this latest version of Logan.

She shakes her head. "What are you hoping for? I don't see Gai changing his mind because geography's now in your favor."

"At least he'll know I didn't leave." Logan leans across the table toward her, intention underlining his voice. "Not when I had a choice."

Lynn. Of course. Just as Veronica's determined not revisit the sins of her own mother, Logan won't commit those of his.

Logan bows his head. His fingernail scrapes at a divot in the tabletop. "There's more."

"More what?"

"It's not just California, I'm staying in San Diego. In fact, I put an offer on a house today."

"You—" Veronica breathes through her nose. "Where?"

"South Park, about a mile from your place."

South Park. Not Neptune or Los Angeles where he has history, but here. In Gai's town, in Gai's neighborhood. "No."

"It's a good house. I mean, it needs work, but—"

"I don't care. Logan, you can't live a mile away."

He nods and glances down at the table where the unused straws lie in a pool of condensation from their Cokes. He picks at one, tearing the paper. "How far, then? Five miles? Ten?" His mouth turns down in grim acceptance. "Where's my line? Whatever it is, okay," he swallows, deep. "Draw it for me."

When she doesn't say anything Logan flits his eyes her way. "Veronica, I won't call him, or come by, or anything else unless he asks me to. He'll go about his life and I'll go about mine, if that's the way he wants it. He just needs to know I'm here. That's it. I'm just here."

"That's a lot. Maybe more than he can handle right now."

It's Logan's turn to be quiet. Veronica sighs, exhaustion from the days' events making everything blurry at the edges. "Logan, can we back it up for a minute? What happens if a year goes by and Gai still refuses to talk to you? And you get sick of hopping on a plane every time you want to see your girlfriend?"

He looks out the window as the silence draws out between them. His smile, when he turns back to her, hurts to even look at. "You ever read Antoine de Saint-Exupéry?"

"Sure. The Little Prince."

"Among others. In The Airman's Odyssey he wrote, "Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction"."

The words resonate down to Veronica's bones. She and Sam saw the world the same way, wanted the same things for their lives, and she misses that sense of partnership so much.

"Eva and I aren't living apart. We couldn't face the same direction anymore, so we, um," Logan's mouth turns down and his words grow thick, "we broke up."

It's all too much, too fast, and she puts up a hand as if she can stop the events unraveling before her. "I don't understand. You're walking away from nine years together? Nine years? How can you do that?"

"She's the one that walked away."

"Why would you let her? If you guys love each other, I'm sure you can— "

"We can't," he snaps, "so stop. I don't need the FBI to solve this one."

At Veronica's pointed look, Logan runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. With his other hand he reaches out and, from long memory, their fingers twine together easily. "Sorry. It's all still raw but that doesn't give me the right to take it out on you. Or blame Eva, for that matter. I'm just pissed off at the world right now."

In the quiet Veronica studies his fingers—with nails trimmed down to the quick and freckles that speak of long hours in the sun—and marvels at the fluency that's still between their skins.

Is it like that for everyone? she wonders. When old lovers meet, and exchange a polite touch or embrace, do they all have this underlayment of awakening? A moment when every cell comes alive in recognition?

"Do you mind if we don't talk about Eva?" he asks, interrupting her reverie. "It's not why I asked you here."

Veronica squeezes his hand in silent appeasement. "I'm still not sure your moving here is a good idea. For Gai."

"What if he wasn't the only reason? The biggest, sure, but not the only one."

She pulls her hand from his and leans back. "What do you mean?"

"Not that." Logan's forlorn smirk somehow reassures her and makes her feel ridiculous at the same time. "Things are pretty well shit right now. I have to rebuild my life from scratch and could use a friend. I thought, given everything you've been through, maybe you could, too."

Countless, lonely moments of the last eight months go through Veronica's mind, compounded by years of Logan's absence. All the times she wished he were a phone call away to make stupid jokes or talk about Gai. Pressure fills her throat and damned if she isn't three seconds from crying. She sips at her Coke, hoping the cold drink will help.

Yes, Gai will be pissed; unsettled even. For a while. But a mile isn't that close, is it? A fifteen-minute walk, a five-minute bike ride. They go to stores and restaurants in that radius and rarely run into anyone they know. In truth Gai would probably be as upset if Logan was moving to Neptune or L.A..

If she wants to get technical, Logan's not a criminal—he's done nothing to deserve exile and she'll be damned if she'll name some arbitrary distance he has to keep. The boundaries he's already laid out are reasonable enough.

Besides, if twelve isn't the age to find out you're not the center of the universe, when is?

You're justifying, Veronica.

Her eyes fix on the bottle's logo. "If you say you're staying, you have to mean it. Kids have to know who they can count on, even when they don't want to."

"I'm staying."

"Okay." She takes another swig of soda and leans forward, blaming the happy bubbles in her stomach on the carbonation. "Tell me about this house you're buying."

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for sticking with this story and being so patient. RL has been far too adult lately so I appreciate that I get to escape into this fantasy world with you guys. As always, enormous gratitude to nevertothethird for your friendship and insight-see you in 33 days!