Chapter 41

November 18th, 2022

The thought of kissing Rory was still making Logan giddy several days later. It was kind of funny even - a grown man, a few lonely grays in his hair and wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, smiling non stop like a child who'd just been to the candy store.

It almost made up for the concern he had for Em, knowing she was home that week with a runny nose mostly hanging out with Catalina or Christopher who had now returned and decided to work form home that week. Rory had assured him it was no big deal and saw no point in Logan subjecting himself to catching the same virus by babysitting her even though he'd offered. They'd discussed how Catalina was feeling a little concerned about her job now that Logan was around more, so they decided not to push it, not wanting the nanny to go looking for other jobs despite their assurances that they still needed her, even if it was a lot less.

Naturally Logan hadn't fully complied - he'd stopped by with treats, the healthier kind, and dropped off the bedspread from Em's room at his place that Em had loved so much, wanting to make her extra comfortable, as well as talked to her on the phone a couple of times. So it was safe to say Logan was in no way isolated or felt isolated from Em or Rory, despite her too having a rather busy week at work, trying to make up for her mistake. Logan wasn't pushing it, knowing a lot more certainly now that missing a lunch wasn't the end of the world for them.

He hadn't actually gotten around to delivering the carful of clothes to the charity until that day, having felt there wasn't any particular hurry, and hoping for them to actually get back to him about whether there was anything specific they required. Finally he'd gotten the response e-mail, assuring that they really had no shortage of people's second hand items this time of the year, but were gladly accepting monetary donations much like Logan had expected.

Making donations came together with his identity really. Some places he donated to for tax reasons he hardly ever thought about - those were handled by his accountants, and they covered a broad spectrum of things he agreed as a part of PR management. But every once in a while he felt like he needed to do something more. When he'd made his first million - he'd donated some money to a local start-up aid over at San Francisco, there had been that one donation to a cancer foundation in London too after he'd found out about Odette's illness.

But right now - other than being in this new position of getting his second chance - he really didn't have anything concrete in mind. So, before he decided and actually wired them a sizable donation, he wanted to check this place out in person and hence he'd volunteered to rent a truck and deliver all the items collected at the school to them himself. It was not like he was very busy these days. Besides, it gave him something else to think about than wondering how his father was going to take the news he'd been delaying telling him next week.

The donation center in question was located in a pretty generic warehouse district, next to some grocery logistics center that had large trucks coming and going every few minutes. From the outside the place actually looked pretty impressive in its size, truth be told, but as he made his way inside he was met with a row of trolleys and a grumpy-looking old man, reading a newspaper.

Without even looking at him the man grumbled - "You can load up the donations to the roll cage and just roll them in," assuming his business, even before Logan had gotten out a 'hi'.

"Oh, alright," Logan complied, feeling how he was now standing out like a sore thumb in his no-doubt expensive-looking Moose Knuckles parka that he'd recently purchased, thinking of his trip to Martha's Vineyard next week.

He pushed the heavy roll cage container outside, feeling relieved it hadn't snowed yet.

There were about three-four trolley's worth bags, none of them really heavy, that other parents had also brought to the school, besides the things from Rory's attic and his own old suits.

Each time he went back inside, he was hoping for some eye contact, something, to start a conversation, but there was none. He wondered whether it was some type of genuine dislike towards people like him or just plain indifference.

With the final load, he decided to just ask, feeling especially empowere

"Hey, is there anyone else here? Someone who's in charge maybe?" Logan asked, looking around the space that was closed off from the vast warehouse. He could only hope he wasn't coming off offensive, he was trying not to.

"Is there a problem?" the old, skinny-looking, man asked, crooking his eyebrow, not even putting his paper down.

"No, no problem. I was just in touch with somebody here earlier this week. Carla, I believe was her name, Carla Simmons," Logan said, recalling the name. He always had a knack for names, thankfully. "I was just hoping to meet her, maybe get a chance to look around a little at what you guys do," Logan explained, not quite wanting to mention his intentions.

"It'd be better had you agreed upon a time, she's not always here," the man said, reluctantly folded up and rose from his seat.

"Carla, there's somebody here to see you!" he called out throughout the warehouse door. Logan could feel a sharp contrast in air temperature as the door opened, it being very much on the cooler side in the wareouse.

"Who is it? It isn't Maddox again, is it?" a woman's voice called out, sounding a little annoyed. The voice was followed by the loud sound of the garbage compactor.

The man didn't even ask, just looked at him, having not asked for his name, urging him to respond by himself. This wasn't the warm greeting Logan was used to, but he was kind of curious to how much the treatment would change once he said his name. For a split second he considered using the Gilmore name, the name almost feeling second nature by now, but figured it would be difficult to explain if he did go further with this cooperation.

"Logan Huntzberger, I wrote you an e-mail the other day," Logan called out, having to strain his voice. The woman was still nowhere in sight.

The attitude indeed changed, but not the man's. The woman made her way to him in a haste, looking out of breath and not entirely tidy. But the setting wasn't really supportive of looking one's best either. The woman, Carla, possibly in her 50s, was dressed in a pair of sparkling jeans and a neon-pink puffer jacket, its pockets being visibly stained from putting less than clean hands into her pockets.

"Welcome, Mr. Huntzberger. I wasn't expecting you," she said, while the man scattered off to read his paper.

"Hi! My apologies. I just dropped off a bunch of donations from a school," Logan explained.

"Oh, that's good," Carla replied, not sounding too thrilled at the sound of it, which was somewhat surprising to Logan.

It was only then Logan began to sense he'd seen the woman from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place the face. Maybe it was the setting that was throwing him off. But the woman didn't say anything either.

"I was hoping you could tell me a little bit about this operation you have going here," Logan said, nearly saying that he liked to learn to know the ventures he was considering in investing in, realizing he wasn't investing in this case - this wasn't a company he was acquiring - god, maybe he'd been away from the HPG too long that he was thinking things like that.

"Well, like I said - we are a small NGO going on year 26," Carla began to explain, as she led Logan through the warehouse. The first few 20 feet were just rows of garment bags and clothing racks holding items that had clearly been set aside for some further actions, and those were followed by white laundry bags in cage containers. The rest of the warehouse, however, at least a few hundred feet of it was full of random plastic bags, some ripped with clothing pouring out of them, in various states, still to be dealt with. It was the sight that shocked him- it looked like a landfill almost - but also the scent. Clearly something was either wet or moldy, and that was not exactly an inviting smell.

"This time of year we get a lot of donations, so we sort through them, we wash some of them, and those we send straight to our partners to hand them out to those indeed - large families, the homeless, elderly. We try to sell some, because what use is an Armani tux to someone struggling to feed their family… at least we have some experience in selling things online for what they're really worth," Carla explained. "But everything is on the books, nothing goes anywhere other than upkeep and basic wages for me and William who drives the truck. Don't mind him… It has taken me constant convincing to get him to help out," Carla added, apologetically.

"And the rest?" Logan asked, still pondering where he knew the woman from.

"Most of it is just trash to be honest - impossible to sell. We try, believe me. Things that are more than a decade old, few even want them for free. And we still get stuff that's stained or wet, last week there were bags soaken in gasoline! They're not only excess waste for us to dispose of but they'll end up ruining a bunch of other perfectly good things too. And we apologize for the smell - the refrigerator complex next door had a leak over the weekend, flooding a lot of our along with it. It'll just take us a bit to clean everything out - clothes absorbed a lot of the moisture. And naturally insurance doesn't exactly cover things like that - they'll just label it trash," she continued, and went on to tell a long list of stories on how that so-called trash could sometimes hold real treasures.

"Do you get any support from the city?" he continued to inquire.

"Some, but we have to apply for it on a yearly basis," Carla replied.

"But I assume you've had some luck with that considering your longevity," Logan pointed out.

"We've had our guardian angels. Donations, sometimes some state project based funding, sometimes the city… mostly it's just good budgeting if I say so myself," Carla explained, going into some further detail.

Clearly she was hoping for his donation as well, but Logan was relieved she wasn't becoming needy about it or trying to please him by her choice of language or tone. He appreciated genuine people. The woman seemed to have a good attitude towards getting by, not that it was okay that good-doers needed to live with such insecurity and in such conditions.

"Hey, do you mind if I ask… you look familiar? Have we met before?" Logan asked, after several minutes of discussion, having already put his thinking cap on. He was in new waters here - it was nothing he'd ever dealt with, and perhaps it was even a little cocky of him, just waltzing in and thinking his great brain could help them somehow, in some other way than just giving them the money.

"You might've seen me over at M Street Beach one morning," Carla replied.

"Ah, that's right… now I think I remember," Logan replied, along with a chuckle, mostly laughing at himself from having not recognized her with this many clothes on. She was one of the open water swimmers he went swimming with. They usually went within the same hour and aroudn the same location, not coordinating it by any other means. But it was a pretty silent bunch - there was security in numbers, watching out for each-other - both for their belongings and water safety aspect, but not a whole lot of speaking to the others on most mornings. Especially now that the weather was getting colder. But he, much like Carla, was still going at least a few times every week.

They continued to talk a little more, Carla actually offering him a cup of coffee from a not too attractive looking but essentially clean mug, which he accepted, deciding to venture a bit out of his comfort zone. At the very least he could hear them out. It was experiences he was after, wasn't he?

But as often happened with Logan, he left the warehouse, having given them something more than money - "I think I may be able to help you, but I am not quite sure in what way exactly yet… But if you bare with me, I'll get back to you in a few weeks." And those who knew Logan, knew he meant it.

It was either something he figured out, something more sustainable than the money, or then it was the money - either way he didn't see the harm in moving his brain cells a little and neither did they. But he did believe it was the strange connection - the open water swimming hobby - that seemed to have bought him their trust.

AN: I know you hoped for ROGAN... it'll come. But I need to find things to ground Logan to the city better and to get Rory over her work lowpoint, so setting the stage for something there... Next chapter will already be about Nantucket! So doing a bit of a jump in between, but it might be a few days until that.