Tuesday, June 2
7am
Gai
A cool hand brushes the hair back at his temple, bringing with it the freshly showered scents of vanilla and soap. "Wake up, sleepyhead."
Gai squints up at Mom and pulls Mr. Ness tighter in the crook of his arm. "Why?"
"I have to leave soon, and you have to get to Mike's."
He yawns, talking around it. "Mike's still crashed half the time I get there, and I just sit around, waiting for him. And next week he starts football camp, so he'll leave butt-early, anyway. Why can't I go later?"
"Because," she pauses, frowning. "How much later?"
"Whenever."
Mom plucks the stuffed animal out of his arm and talks to it like she did when Gai was little. "What do you think, Dark Ness, old friend? Can Gai manage by himself for an hour or two?"
She cocks her head like Mr. Ness is talking to her, and nods. So lame. "We think you could manage on your own until nine. Deal?"
Gai yawns again and takes the stuffed mole she hands to him. "I'll let Lydia know, and you check in with her if you go over to Cam's or Fish's."
"I will."
"And Grandma's picking you up at twelve, don't forget."
"I won't."
"Okay. I'm going to take off. No one in the house when I'm not here, deal?"
By no one, Gai knows she means Steph. He ignores it and nods, figuring if he's off the leash she wouldn't know anyway, so it's easier to not argue. It's not like Mom tells him what she's up to every day.
After she leaves, Gai tries to get back to sleep again, but no luck. He quickly showers and dresses, wolfs down a bagel, and texts Steph. Unfortunately, she's on a day-run with her dad, so won't be around until tomorrow.
Gai leashes up Keller and walks her over to Fish's, since Fish is always up with the sun. From outside the garage, he can hear the muffled sounds of music.
Fish's Mom answers the door, dressed in her janitor's jumpsuit from her night job and clutching a Big Lots shirt, still on the hanger. She looks as faded and worn as the Strawberry Shortcake doll Dad dug up when he redid their backyard. Red hair faded to a dull peach, greasy at the temples and frizzy at the ends. A skinny body topped by a wan face with deep circles under her eyes and lines of disappointment around her mouth. Still, the mouth turns up in an anemic smile for Gai as she steps back to let him in.
"Hey, Gai, what shakes?"
"Doing okay Lori, how're you?"
"I'm," she breaks into an enormous yawn which she covers with a freckled, short-nailed, work-worn hand. "Sorry, I'm headed to bed. Catch a few Zs before," she holds up the Big Lots shirt, "my afternoon shift. Fish is in the garage."
"Okay. Sleep well."
She waves and shuffles down the hallway. Gai can hear her open a door and give, presumably, Fish's aunt Denise instructions on where to find the food Lori has made for her day.
Gai cuts through the dining room and kitchen, passing an entire wall of macaroni art on the way. Varying pastas, yarns, construction, paper and glue cover the dining room table. On the kitchen counter sits an array of envelopes, at least three with 'final notice' and 'past due' stamped on them.
He lets himself in the garage and spies Fish ensconced in the orange bean bag chair patched with duct tape. She has her eyes closed and the 70s era stereo Dad scored for her at a garage sale last year blasts MC5's "Ramblin Rose"'.
Tiptoeing over to the stereo, Gai turns it down and flops onto a large floor cushion next to the beanbag chair, Keller laying down with a grunt beside him.
Fish opens her eyes and stretches, yawning. "What's up?"
"Nothing. Bored. You?"
"Bored. This summer sucks."
"It just started," Gai says, thinking of Steph.
Fish puts a hand down and pets Keller. "Mike's gonna be at football camp half the summer, which means Lydia won't take us to the pool. Our moms are busy working, and Sam," she stops. "Veronica hasn't said anything about taking us camping, has she?"
"No. She's too busy with a case. Besides, that was Dad's thing."
"Your mom seemed into it."
"Mom liked getting Dad to herself." Gai remembered the arguments every time Dad filled their evenings and weekends—hanging with friends, band rehearsals, helping Grandma and Grandpa, or whatever. But camping, once he, Mike, and Fish went to bed, it was just Mom and Dad, snuggling under a blanket by the fire. That gut-punch feeling, the one he never knows if it's coming, hits him right in the solar plexus.
"At least you get to go surfing."
Gai stares at Fish. "What are you talking about?"
"Logan showed up. I was awake and looked. He was waiting in front of your house, twice now."
"So?"
"So, I mean, at least you can go surfing."
"Yeah, with an asshole. Hard pass."
"You met the guy once."
"Three times." Gai ticks them off on his fingers, forcing more outrage in his voice than he feels. "Dinner, when he said he's moving here, for me, and when he laid out his surfing plan. The dude's not just an asshole, he's a first-level stalker."
Fish's eyes narrow, and she cocks her head. "You're my best friend, so you get it if I tell you this, right? Sometimes you're an asshole."
Gai laughs. "I love you, too."
She rolls her eyes. "Let's go wake Mike up."
9:30am
Logan
Back when he lived in Chile, Logan had no problem filling his days at home. He'd play with stocks, moving money around like it was a shell game. Surf and swim when the weather was good for it, and sometimes even when it wasn't. Read from the piles of books he collected.
And Eva, always Eva. When she was home she filled the space, even in her quietest moments, sleeping or absorbed by a painting. If she was selling at the market, he always had the choice to tag along. On the ship there was company to seek, if he wished.
It's the advantage of family, Logan misses. Related or not, like them or not, living with others meant if he spent time alone, it was by choice. Without that choice, solitude makes way for loneliness. Logan puts down his book, having read the same page five times and with no idea what it says.
So go shopping.
For what?
Furniture. Unless you think pressboard and veneer are making a comeback.
Restless, he crosses the room and squats in front of the minibar fridge. All that's left is Three Musketeers, his least favorite candy bar. Taking one out and unwrapping it, he walks to the patio door while biting down, finding little resistance through the thin layers of chocolate and dubious filling.
The day is sunny and cloudless, no surprise in San Diego. His candy bar gone in three bites, Logan throws the wrapper in the trash, on top of five others since he last let the maids in to clean and stock the room.
Then shop for clothes. Keep eating like that, you'll need to size up.
Thankfully, his phone rings just then, providing him with a three-minute distraction. As soon as he hangs up, Logan's first instinct is to share the good news, but he hesitates over his few contacts.
As kids they learned the phrase, "la petite mort''. It was Lilly who first introduced it, of course, explaining it was that blissful moment post-orgasm when your conscious mind separates from your body. In a college literary course he learned its more universal application, and felt it an appropriate term to use when you lose someone, too. Of course there's the big loss, their death or the severing of your relationship. But what follows, and can push you reeling just as hard, are the thousand little deaths. The first time you go an entire day without thinking of them, or when you lose something meaningful they gave you. Or if something exciting happens and you realize you can't call the woman you've loved for almost a decade, because to do so would hurt you both.
The restlessness from earlier is still there, now added to a noxious blend of remorse and anger, Eva still very much on his mind. As a consolation, he shoots Dick a text with the news. Official residency on deck - closing escrow in two days.
Five minutes later, and Dick still hasn't responded.
Logan strips naked, wincing as he pulls on the still-wet swim trunks he wore surfing that morning. The elevator is quick; the pool crowded with summer tourists. Too crowded for laps, anyway. He chooses the diving board instead, using the repetition of dive, somersault, swim, and climb out of the pool to still his twitching muscles, restless for activity.
Finally, waterlogged but nowhere near tired, he grabs a vacated lounge chair and lays back to let the sun warm his skin. Checks his phone. Dick's only response is a gif of two frat-like guys high-fiving. No offer to help him celebrate, asking when he can see the house, or anything resembling interest.
Around him, everyone seems to be part of a unit. Logan watches a plump woman sunscreen one child while the other pulls on her arm. "In a minute, Jeffrey," she sighs, world-weary. Seeing Logan, she smiles shyly before she tucks her head and adjusts her sarong to cover an exposed, dimpled thigh.
Two business-types in their forties trade binder-clipped pages back and forth, casting annoyed glances at every scream and splash from the pool. A group of bro-dudes down tomato-beers and bloodies, pushing each other and laughing at what, could he hear it, Logan's sure is idiotic and misogynistic banter.
At his left, he meets the side-glance of a long-legged brunette with massive sunglasses. Her white bikini shows off a sunbed tan, flat stomach, and enough gentle swells to keep it interesting. Noticing him noticing, her mouth turns up in a knowing way before she leans and says something to her friend, a Christina Hendricks type with red hair, generous curves to fill a man's hands, and skin the shade and luminescence of a pearl.
The Christina flips her way through a magazine with bored disinterest while the brunette slips on her low-heeled mules and clacks her way across the concrete.
"Hi." Without invitation, she perches on the chair beside Logan, facing him with her knees turned to accommodate the low seat. "You have nice form," she waves a hand at the diving board. "We were watching."
"Thanks."
"I'm Winifred. Win."
"Logan," he says, nodding a hello. Behind her, the Christina shifts to look at him with cold appraisal before going back to her magazine.
"Where are you from?"
"Hmmm?" Logan glances back at the brunette. Win. "Here. Just moved back."
"Oh? We're on vacation, from Minneapolis. Saw some cheap flights last night and grabbed them. Not sure what to do now that we're here."
"San Diego's a fun town. If you're into that sort of thing."
As if finding the opening she was looking for, Win swings a look at her friend, flipping her long hair over her shoulder, and bringing it back when she turns to give Logan a sultry smile. Her eyes center more on his torso than his face, including a quick u-turn south. "Yeah, we're into that sort of thing." Her voice raises. "Aren't we Stell?"
"What?"
"Into fun."
The Christina, Stell, flips another page of her magazine without looking up. "Maybe."
Win leans toward him, resting her elbows on her knees so her breasts push together, her nipple creating a convex dent in the tight fabric. "We were just heading up to get out of the sun. Why don't you come with? You can tell us all the best places to go."
Theirs is a well-honed partnership. Win acts as a seductress, pulling him in, while Stella's nonchalance lets him know they're in charge and anything he gets, he'll earn. Which only makes the moment of payment more rewarding.
Temptation rouses the devil that's never fully vacated his shoulder. Go ahead, it nudges. Enjoy yourself. Who will it hurt?"
No one. No one he owes the truth of it to, anyway. It's not anyone's business if he whiles away the morning with a couple of Minnesotans-gone-wild. With bitterness, Logan realizes he can fuck his way through every bar in the Gaslamp Quarter with a bulk supply of condoms and a clear conscience.
His silence at the invitation earns him another glance from the redhead, and Logan's dick twitches at the thought of seeing those flat, bored eyes widen in surprise before they slide closed with pleasure.
While experience has shown him no amount of rutting will make him forget Eva, or move on from her, it could make him feel less of a martyr. At the least, it would kill a few hours.
"Logan?" Win tilts her head at him. "What'd ya say?"
12:30pm
Veronica
As Veronica leaves the counselor's office, she scratches a name off the list Mari gave her. This therapist's eyes held far too much intelligence and her insightful, well-honed questions left Veronica scrambling for a palatable answer.
That won't do, not at all.
The next name holds promise—thirty-two reviews on YELP, most in the two or three star range. Even more promising, when she calls there's an opening for tomorrow.
Based on the screams from the hotel pool, summer in San Diego has begun. Veronica doesn't mind. She hasn't seen Matthew since Sunday and the sounds of life outside the window make her feel, at least a little, less alone.
Thanks to discovery rules Veronica has a good portion of the prosecution's case file as well as the defendant's file. After culling the overlap, and spending hours reviewing, she's come up with only one new piece of information.
The prosecution and police share her suspicion that someone else was involved in the robbery and/or Sam's shooting. The missing gun, and that Weston robbed the store at all given her straight-laced background, made them feel someone else was involved.
Neither side came up with any answers, only questions around the same theme. Who was that someone else? Since Jennifer Weston had ninety minutes to waste every day between school ending and her shift at the Gap beginning, where did she go? Statements taken from fellow Gap employees show while she was occasionally early to her job, hence the time spent drawing in the break room, most days she came in only moments before punching in for the day.
Weston had a car and was diligent about her periodic services at the local Jiffy Lube. Both files have records comparing her mileage with the distance to travel from her home, seven miles in the opposite direction from the Gap, to school, and then to work, and found it matched almost exactly. So if she stopped anywhere, it was on the route between school and the Gap. Also, it was the only time of day away from the watchful eye of her mother, her teachers, and her boss, so if Weston did have any secret friends this is when she met them.
Neither side's investigation into that theory netted anything. The police canvassed the most direct route between work and school and came up dry. The law firm hired a PI who didn't get much further.
Or this is all bunk, she thinks, and there is no second person. Or there is and she met them in college, after she moved to San Diego.
Or a million other possibilities that don't matter. The detective was let off the investigation when Jennifer pled guilty, and the police dropped the matter at the same time. Which leaves lots of side streets between The Gap and Weston's school to check out. It's a fresh lead in a very stale case.
The only items in the detective's file that aren't in the police's are tacked outside the organized folders and without context—the marriage certificate for Jennifer Weston's parents and a picture of Tony Washington, from the Instagram account of another Gap employee. Tony's looking at Jennifer Weston with an embarrassed grin as she holds a pie with a lone birthday candle stuck in the middle. Boss' birthday! Is the only caption under the picture.
Veronica flips to the signature page on the last name of the P.I.'s file, running the name in her mind a few times. It's familiar, but only tangentially, from time spent working in her dad's office. The private dick game is small, even when you run a practice sandwiched between two large cities, so you get to know names even if you don't know reputations.
Keith's cell is picked up on the third ring, his voice hoarser than she expects. "Mars Investigations."
"Dad?"
"We've talked about this. You know I prefer Daddy."
Veronica rolls her eyes. Not her dad but Tom Justice, his much younger partner. The one she nicknamed Buford after seeing how he signed his name T. Justice. The only women Buford doesn't flirt with are clients, at least until their case is closed. Sam was endlessly amused by him. "Buford? Why are you answering my dad's cell?"
"Because he's answering the call of nature."
"Can you tell him I'm on the phone?"
"Nope."
Veronica bends a pen across her fingers, half irritated, half amused. "Why not?"
"Because I only do favors for friends. And my friends call me Tom."
"I can think of a few more things to call you, if you don't put my dad on the phone."
"Dad," Buford faux-whines, his voice now at a distance, "Ronnie's being mean to me."
Keith's voice is audible in the background "Knock it off or I'm grounding you both. Veronica," he asks into the phone.
"Hey, Dad."
After a few minutes of banalities Veronica works her way to the reason she called. "Hey, I'm working a case and came across a PI in my file. I was wondering what you know about him?"
"What's his name?"
"Freddy Kent."
"Yeah, out of L.A. Been around thirty years or so, on retainer for a few mid-size law offices. Does good work, but more of an armchair detective. Rarely gets in the field."
"That's what I needed to know, thanks."
"Seems weird you'd come across him. Most of his work is for trial prep."
Shit. She hates lying to him, and is only grateful they're on the phone instead of face to face. "It's for an arrest I already made. I might need to testify and wanted to know who's warming the bench on the other side."
"Glad I could help. When am I going to see that grandson of mine?"
"Not sure—sorry, things have been a little crazy lately."
"This weekend?"
"Can I call you back after I talk to Gai?"
"Sure, honey. Hey, Tom's waiting to talk to you again."
"Okay, love you."
"Love you. Here's Tom."
Veronica hits end-call. Five years into Buford and her dad's partnership and she's yet to hear something come out of his mouth that wasn't a tease. He can save it for the next time she calls or drops by.
The work catches her up again, and she doesn't lift her head until it's to turn on a light. The darkness of the room surprises her. Outside the sounds from the pool have quieted, and the window shows the remnants of dusk.. Her stomach growls, reminding her she hasn't eaten since breakfast, is due to pick up Gai, and still has to swing by the post office. She quickly prints up maps for the neighborhood between Weston's school and work, for use tomorrow, and shoves it in her bag.
The door beeps and Matthew lets himself in. He looks like hell, with greasy hair and bloodshot eyes.
"Hey, Sis."
"Hey, yourself. Where have you been?"
He drops his backpack onto the floor and sinks into the chair opposite her. "Everywhere."
"I called."
"I saw."
Sam and Matthew used to have vicious fights that started this way. When Matthew's rolling, he knows, he lets his calls go to voicemail and gets back to you in a few days. Sooner, if you let him know it's urgent. He doesn't consider a check on his well-being urgent.
She shuts down the laptop and grabs her bag, knowing if she stays they'll end up in the same fight. "Are you up for a trip to L.A. tomorrow? I could use your help."
"Sure." The word comes out slow, slurred, and he's already falling asleep. Veronica shakes her head and scrawls a note for him, using a hot pink Post-it to stick it to the hotel door so he won't later be able to claim he didn't see it. For added measure, she texts him a reminder.
9:00pm
The windows of Lois and Giv's house shine, as if every light is on. Veronica can hear the music as soon as she opens the car door. A neighbor couple sways on the sidewalk, moving in time to "Love Me Tender", and wave as she goes by.
She lets herself in quietly, not wanting to disturb. It's been a while since she's seen Gai play the sax. Lois nods from her stool where she fingers a double bass, keeping time. Gai acknowledges her with his eyes but doesn't miss a note.
Veronica sits next to Giv on the couch and rests her head on his shoulder, Keller at their feet. He pats the hand she puts on his arm and leans his cheek against the top of her head, tapping his foot to the beat when Lois and Gai morph into "Fly Me To The Moon."
"Let me play among the stars," Giv sings off-key, humming along with the rest of the words.
For what feels like the first time that day, Veronica relaxes. Sitting in this room, listening to Gai play with Lois, it could be anytime in the past seven years. Any night when Sam was working late so she handled pick-up. Logan would still be a distant memory and Veronica wouldn't have yet another piece of refused mail from Weston's prison sitting in her bag.
When they finish, she applauds. "You guys sound great."
Lois' lips tighten. "Gai, your breathing was off. Have you been doing your exercises? Lay on the floor."
"Grandma—,"
"Now."
Gai rolls his eyes, once Lois turns away, and lays on the floor. Veronica's seen enough lessons to know Lois is dictatorial with all her students, and Gai prefers if she doesn't interfere. She bites back a smile as Lois stacks old encyclopedias on his abdomen and chest. Keller stretches out beside him and nuzzles his ear, thinking it's a game.
Gai giggles and pushes her head away. "Grandpa, call her?"
Veronica snaps her fingers until the dog comes and lays her head in Veronica's lap, one paw on her knee.
"I want to see all those books moving." Lois comes around to sit in the chair opposite Veronica and Giv. "Veronica, did you eat dinner? We have plenty."
"I did, thanks."
"What did you have?"
The parental concern is annoying. They've never had that type of relationship and yet, occasionally, Lois will try to play mother hen. Veronica's sure she does it just to needle her.
"I'm fine."
"Still, let me fix you a plate."
"I ate," she lies. They've been walking a tentative truce for a week. Every snarky response that goes through Veronica's head threatens to break that truce.
"What did you—".
Lois cuts off when Veronica's cell buzzes and she reaches for it, like a lifeline. After shooting off a reply, Veronica looks up to catch the censorial eye of her mother in law.
"Who is texting you, at this hour?"
Only someone over the age of seventy would consider 9:30 too late to text. Normally Veronica would sidestep the question, if only to irk Lois, but for once her nosiness is convenient. It's easier than finding a way to broach the subject with Gai.
"Charlotte. Logan's closing escrow this week—she and Dick are rounding up bodies to help him do a move-out on Saturday."
Giv turns to her. "But I thought he was moving in?"
"Before he can start work the place needs to be emptied out. He's getting a moving truck and dumpster, and a few of us are going over to lend a hand."
"And where does that leave Gai on Saturday," Lois asks.
The books on Gai's chest stop moving. Veronica imbues her words with meaning, speaking them slowly. "That's up to him. He's welcome to join us."
Lois prattles on, shaking her head. "Gai, breathe. I have lessons all day but Giv, you're working. You can take Gai with you, can't you?"
"Lois." It's rare that Giv censures his wife, at least publicly, and just as rare he says anything not punctuated with a laugh. His admonishing tone has all eyes turning his way, but Giv only looks at Lois. "The boy might like to spend the day with his mother and their friends."
"He doesn't want to spend time with that," Lois pulls in a breath, making her voice less strident, "with Logan."
"Well now, that's up to him to say, isn't it?"
Gai, as if sensing the focus is about to swing his way, quickly snaps, "I don't."
"Good. That's settled. You'll go to work with Giv."
"Sure," Giv squeezes Veronica's hand in commiseration, the jovialness returning to his voice. "Sure. We got two truckfuls of huts to pick up and clean. He can help. Ten bucks an hour. What do you say, kid?"
Gai turns his head and implores Veronica with wide eyes. He'd never say so, since Giv is so proud about owning his own company, but Gai hates everything associated with the portable toilet business. Most particularly the yard where they power-wash and sanitize.
"Actually," Veronica says, letting out the words as if they're an option, rather than the lifeline she knows Gai wants, "my dad asked about spending time with Gai."
"Yeah, I haven't hung out with Grandpa Keith in a while. I should probably do that."
"Gai, don't talk. Breathe." Lois flattens down the doily on the arm of her chair. "It's probably best, anyway, since we'll all be gone next month."
Gai looks as confused as Veronica feels. "Gone where?"
"The family reunion, next month, in Oregon? You were sent an invitation."
"We were?" Veronica thinks back and vaguely recalls an envelope she received last January and discarded as soon as she saw the word reunion.
Giv sifts through a pile of envelopes propped up to the lamp by his chair, and hands Veronica a pile of papers. "Looks like a good one."
Like a lot of families, Lois' clan was spread far apart and rarely connected. They exchanged Christmas cards, attended weddings and funerals, but most had little to do with each other otherwise. Except for the reunions. Once a decade or so, a small group of cousins colluded and put together a two week extravaganza, always at someplace beautiful and outdoorsy, with nighttime campfires to draw everyone together, but leaving them to their own devices during the day. The last one was near Yosemite seven years ago, when Sam and Veronica were newlyweds. While Gai spent the two weeks running with a gaggle of small children, watched over by Giv and Lois, Veronica and Sam snuck off to go on every outdoor adventure within an hour's drive. And screw their brains out. If her kink was hotel rooms, Sam's was the scents of eucalyptus and pine resin. The memory chokes her.
This time the clan has rented a camp owned by the Boy Scouts in the Mount Hood forest of Oregon. Pictures on the invite show a lake, stables, and shaded campsites. A whole host of activities are listed on the page, including zip lining, windsurfing, mountain boarding and biking, rock climbing, and white water rafting. Sam would have loved it.
"I can't," Veronica holds out the envelope, clearing her throat when her voice comes out thick. "I can't go. I have to work."
"Surely you can come for a few days. Just fly into Portland and rent a car. The drive is only a couple of hours."
"No, I really can't. I'm in the middle of a case."
"What case?"
"Just a case."
"I'm sure someone else can—"
"No," Veronica snaps. She gulps a breath to tamp down the anger that's got her close to revealing a truth that will shut Lois up, but reveal her undertaking of Sam's case. Calmer, she repeats. "I can't go."
Gai slips the books off his torso and sits up, watching her.
"Well," Lois smooths the edge of her skirt over her knees and is careful to avoid Veronica's eyes. "We're planning on taking the fifth wheel. A week up and a week back for the drive, two weeks at the camp. Gai will come with us."
Veronica almost says yes, thinking how much easier it would be to focus on Sam's case without Gai to worry about. Lydia told her about the football camp, and Veronica had worried he'd feel left behind. But then she sees his wide eyes and clenched fists, can feel how he's willing her to turn down the offer. It takes her a second to realize why, then almost accepts it, anyway.
Steph.
She sighs, remembering how, the summer she was fifteen, the Kane's left for a six-week sailing trip in the Caribbean. Veronica kept busy, but every day away from Duncan felt like a year.
"I don't know," she says, drawing Lois' eyes to her. "A month is a long time. Let me think about it, okay?"
"Think about it? Veronica, you're working all the time, and with Sam gone Gai is—,"
"Gai is fine, and this is my decision. If you want an answer right now, it'll be no."
Lois' lips tighten, bringing out every wrinkle she's earned in her seven decades. "Well, maybe this decision should be up to Gai, too." She turns to Gai. "Do you want to come with me and—,"
"Gai," Veronica interrupts, her voice firm and commanding. "Go get your stuff."
He's barely out of the room when she leans toward Lois, practically hissing through her teeth. "You just can't help yourself, can you? Do not put him on the spot like that."
"Me?" Lois huffs and glares at Veronica. "You put him on the spot constantly, with this Logan person. Trying to get him to come with you on Saturday, allowing that man to harass your child by showing up every morning. Oh, yes," she says, her voice accusing at Veronica's surprise, "Gai told us about that."
"He didn't say harass," Giv interjects. Veronica looks at him, sees the ashen embarrassment in his eyes. "Lois asked about Logan, and Gai said he comes by in the morning but he never sees him. He said it's whatever, no big deal."
Veronica lets out a slow breath of relief. As tense as things have been between her and Gai, they still have each other's backs. He could easily use Logan to pit Lois against her, just as she could make him spend the day at work with Giv. She turns back to Lois, who holds up her hands. "I didn't say harass to Gai either, but Veronica, this man sits outside your house, morning after morning. What would you call it?"
"Trying." Veronica addresses Lois in a low voice, listening for the sound of Gai's footsteps as warning. "Lois, Gai doesn't know Logan. He's a kid who's hurting, who's missing his dad. Rejecting Logan has nothing to do with Logan, himself, it's classic child psychology, and classic bargaining. If he rejects Logan, then Sam will come back."
"Please, Veronica." Lois doesn't roll her eyes, but she may as well have, given her condescending tone. "Gai is smart enough—,"
"Intelligence has nothing to do with it. Lois, if anyone understands what Gai's going through, it's Logan. I saw him go through something very similar when his mom died. At the least, I want people in Gai's life he can talk to. Don't you?"
"Yes, of course."
"That's why I said yes, when Logan proposed his surfing idea. At some point, Gai will fully process Sam's loss. And when he does, he's going to remember all the people that were there for him when he was at his lowest. Even if they never develop any kind of relationship, it's going to mean something to Gai, that Logan was outside his house every morning."
Lois purses her lips tight. "Or he'll feel that his mother, the one person left to protect him, did nothing."
"Maybe." Hearing movement in the hallway, Veronica clips Keller's leash onto her collar and stands up. "But then he'll have you to talk to, won't he?" She turns a bright smile to Gai, backpack over his shoulder and sax in hand. "Ready?"
A/N: Hello, dear friends! I don't know about you, but I'm in a celebratory mood with this fucktangular year coming to an end. I hope you and yours are safe, and spared the worst 2020 had on offer.
