It was nearing the afternoon when Miss Fern came to the third floor of the hospital. Logan was moved out of the intensive care unit a few days after Mr. Conway came to visit him. He was taken to the third floor where he was monitored by a new team of doctors that came to see him every morning for their rounds.
Every couple of days he was wheeled down to the elevator, taken up two more floors where he worked with a physical therapist. When he was first admitted, he'd undergone surgery where they put a pin into his ankle. It was very stiff and difficult to move around without pain radiating through his foot. His physical therapist, Jared, had him slowly work on it by doing a few gentle exercises to help build back its strength while making sure not to further strain it.
It was painful for the first few sessions. Unbearable, even. Logan was miserable. Jared's encouragement was not helpful, either. It didn't feel like he was going to be better in no time. At the time, he was hardly able to put weight on it, let alone envision walking on it again. He wasn't going to be able to participate in PE when school started again, not that it bothered him. He was always picked on in gym class. He didn't have any friends so there was no one to pair up with, which usually meant that the teacher had to either force someone to be his partner or he had to join some other group, making it a group of three.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst was dodgeball. Hitting him once wasn't enough for them. They kept going until the teacher would blow his whistle-which was never fast enough.
Speaking of school, it never crossed his mind that he would have to change schools when he would start living with Mr. Conway. The hospital he was staying at was in Little Falls. He'd lived there his whole life.
Until now.
Mr. Conway lived in Minneapolis. It was a little over an hour and a half drive to get there. He would be leaving everything he'd ever known behind to venture into this new place, to a new school and be put into a new family.
His family.
It was surreal to think that less than two hours away, he had a relative that he knew nothing about until Miss Fern told him where he was going to be placed. Just until they found his granddad, then he would be placed under his care until Logan was eighteen.
Right now, he was nowhere to be found. Logan wasn't surprised. In twelve years, he saw his granddad maybe a handful of times and that was being generous. His visits were abrupt and tense. Logan didn't enjoy those visits.
He panicked.
There was so much yelling and if dad was mad then he wouldn't care if he took it out on Logan-
He didn't even think his granddad liked him. Logan could never do right in his eyes no matter how hard he tried. It hurt. It hurt feeling like he was never enough. Not with his granddad. Not with his parents. Not anyone.
The day he was released from the hospital, it was already the start of August. Luckily, school wasn't until near the end of the month so he had time before he was going to be thrust into that. Miss Fern walked alongside the nurse who was wheeling him down to the exit-entrance area. He could walk technically. The doctors instructed him to wear a walking boot for a few weeks. The bruise on his spine made just about anything painful but other than some medication, there wasn't much that could be done for it. It had to heal on its own. His ribs, while not broken, were fractured. It hurt to breathe. He was told to put an ice pack on his chest for fifteen to twenty minutes every hour-not including when he was asleep obviously. As it was only a couple ribs that were affected, he didn't need to have surgery.
"Ready to go home, Logan?" Miss Fern asked him cheerfully.
He wasn't going home.
He didn't really have a home.
He didn't even know what one felt like.
In spite of this, Logan mustered up a weak smile. "Guess so."
As they passed by a closed door, Logan diverted his eyes, not wanting to see his reflection. Out of everything the doctors and nurses had done for him, the one thing that wasn't completely fixed was his face. He'd had surgery to fix his broken cheek bone and while the swelling had gone down somewhat, it did nothing to correct the bruising and the black eye that stood out against his pale skin.
He knew he looked awful.
One kid hid his face in his dad's legs when Logan came by.
He tried not to take it personally.
But he did.
Logan's legs were wobbly as he stood up on his own for the first time in weeks. Miss Fern and his nurse, Molly, were there to assist him if needed. He got himself into the passenger's seat of Miss Fern 's car. The door was shut but not before Molly wished him well. He tried to smile but he just couldn't. He could hear Miss Fern and Molly talking to each other, although their voices were muffled.
He hardly had anything with him, having little to no belongings. There was a trash bag in the trunk of three spare outfits of clothes that were taken from his old bedroom. That was it. It was what was in that bag and the clothes on his back. He'd also been given a few travel sized hygiene items to take with him so he would have something.
When they were done, Miss Fern hopped into the other side of the car. "Ready to go?" She asked again, putting her seatbelt on.
He gave a shrug.
It wasn't like he had much of a choice.
"Would you like the windows down, sweetie?" She said.
"I guess," He murmured.
She lowered the windows slightly, allowing a breeze to hit his warm face. He leaned back into the seat. He should feel something right now-shouldn't he? Anger at not being given choices, at being treated like a child. Hopelessness at everything that was rapidly changing around him. Sadness for what he was losing. Something. Anything.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
Logan could only sit in that small car, hands folded. He could smell the faint scent of lemon from the air freshener-
There was someone at the door. Knocking. Pointedly saying hello.
"Just a minute!"
Her voice may have been friendly, but Logan knew she was desperate to mask the smell of whatever it was that they'd been using over the weekend.
She sprayed. She sprayed that bottle with lemon scent until it was almost empty.
"Do you want the radio on?" Miss Fern asked as they pulled out onto the road.
Logan shook his head without lifting his eyes up. He toyed with the strings on his hoodie, wrapping it around his finger.
Miss Fern was watching him out of the corner of her eye. "Are you sure you're not hot in that hoodie, sweetie? It's a bit warm out today."
"I'm fine," Logan's voice was barely audible.
"Okay," Miss Fern seemed to get the hint that he wasn't in the mood to talk. She refocused her attention on driving, leaving him alone for the time being.
He shifted his eyes to what was outside the window, watching as he passed through Little Falls for the last time.
He hadn't heard much about what happened to his parents. When they were arrested, they were taken down to the police station. That was it, that was all he knew. He tried to ask, but Miss Fern and the other people that were assigned to him, didn't want to say anything. They told him he didn't need to worry about that or they made futile attempts at distracting him. He wasn't a little kid anymore so it didn't work.
He just wanted to know.
It was hard not to feel guilty for what happened. If he spoke up, Miss Fern would probably try to reassure him that it wasn't. He couldn't be convinced. They were in jail because of him. Whatever was going to happen to them now would be because of him.
He thought about his half uncle he'd found out existed. Did his dad know about Mr. Conway? Did his granddad know? He must have. He must have known something. He'd assumed his dad was an only child just like Logan's mom.
He could still vividly remember the moment when Mr. Conway walked in behind Miss Fern into his hospital room. Out of habit, Logan had tried making himself appear smaller, his heart being rapidly. Mr. Conway didn't look like Logan's dad, but the sheer knowledge of knowing that they were related didn't put him at ease.
Miss Fern cut through his thoughts, forcing him back to reality. "Now I know this is new and scary, but everything will be okay, Logan."
He didn't respond. He kept his eyes on his lap.
She gave a sigh, looking sad for him. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but try to think of this as an adventure. You might enjoy this."
He didn't think he would.
When she didn't get anything from him, she tried again. She was persistent. "Are you hungry? It's a little while until Minneapolis. I can get you a burger and a cola, if you'd like?"
"No thank you," Logan murmured.
He hardly ate these days.
"Still full from breakfast?"
He couldn't be. He flushed half of the oatmeal down the toilet in a napkin, then told his nurse he couldn't eat anymore because he was too full.
It used to be a problem-hunger. He used to be starving most of the time, it wasn't like he was given regular meals.
But after everything that happened-he wasn't hungry any more.
"Yes," He whispered. A lie.
He'd been telling a lot of lies lately; telling people he was alright when he wasn't.
He couldn't tell them the truth. He just wanted to push it away until he could get adjusted to this new normal.
Because it wouldn't ever be normal as it had before.
Not ever again.
/
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Logan blurted out.
He backed up to the wall. He wasn't just afraid. He was terrified.
"You think that's good enough?" Dad barked.
Logan's legs were weak. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He couldn't do anything. All this because he'd accidentally bumped into the table, knocking over his dad's beer.
His last beer.
It spilled all over the floor.
Logan was yanked by the back of his shirt, thrown to the floor.
"Drink it!" Dad ordered. "Drink it up."
Breathe, he felt like he couldn't breathe.
He took slow, deep breaths. Gasping.
Beside him, Miss Fern was concerned. "Logan, do you need me to pull over?"
"No," he choked out when his breathing somewhat went back to normal.
Her eyes were still darting over to him. "You fell asleep a while back. I didn't want to wake you. You looked peaceful."
He wasn't.
"We're almost there," She told him. "Just a couple more blocks."
He stiffened.
Almost.
Almost to temporary new life.
Until his granddad could be found.
But if they found him and he didn't want to take Logan in? Did he have a choice or would be forced into it?
Logan's thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Miss Fern pulled into a driveway.
"We're here," She said unnecessarily. "Do you need help up the stairs?"
"No," He said. He'd be fine.
He never thought he would ever be out of his parents' house before he turned eighteen, let alone to be dumped with some relative he didn't know about. But here he was, standing on the porch next to Miss Fern , tightly grasping the strings of his trash bag. She rang the doorbell once and they waited approximately thirty seconds. Logan heard footsteps that were coming from the inside. Instinctively, his breath hitched.
He hid his face in his pillow. The thudding was getting closer, louder. His heart was beating so loud he was sure his dad could hear it.
The door creaked.
The light from the hallway lit up a line into his room. He heard the jingle from the belt buckle as it slid out from the loops. He shut his eyes just as-
"Good afternoon," Miss Fern greeted gaily. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."
Mr. Conway was in the doorway, dressed similarly to how he'd looked when he came to see Logan in the hospital. "Hi," he said. He smiled awkwardly and gestured. "Come in."
"Thank you," Miss Fern gave a slight nod, stepping inside. Mr. Conway was still holding the door open when Logan came through. His eyes fell on him; they made brief eye contact to which Logan looked away.
Miss Fern handed Logan's papers from the hospital to Mr. Conway. It included the instructions for how he was supposed to deal with his injuries, a prescription for pain medication and the referral to physical therapy to finish out the last of his sessions. She told his new guardian several things. He nodded without interrupting.
Eventually Miss Fern, his safety net, had to go. Her time with him was over. If need be, he would be sent someone else closer to the area. She smiled that motherly smile of hers, whispering good luck on her way out. Mr. Conway bid her a good afternoon, shutting the door.
Now it was only the two of them.
Logan fiddled with his hoodie strings again, his only stability in this sea of uncertainty.
"Uh-" Mr. Conway licked his lips, "are you hungry? I've got plenty of food. I know what it's like at that age."
Logan shook his head after lifting his head up for a second.
"Okay..." Mr. Conway was obviously uncomfortable and out of his element. "Well, if you change your mind, the kitchen's that way." He pointed to the room straight across from them.
Logan only stared.
Mr. Conway muttered to himself. Then, louder, he said, "How about I show you to your room?"
Logan followed his half uncle up the stairs and down the hallway. At the end, was his room. There was a bed, a closet, a dresser and a window.
"If you want, we can repaint it," Mr. Conway offered in reference to the beige walls. "It was used before you but besides that I haven't really done anything with this room."
"No, thank you," Logan still didn't look him in the eyes.
Mr. Conway didn't speak for nearly a minute. He must have been angry. Upset by Logan's lack of responses and the fact that he didn't look at him. Great. Less than five minutes here and he'd already screwed up.
It was coming. It always did. Mr. Conway was going to start yelling.
Just like his dad did.
It never took much to set him off.
"Is there clothes in that bag?"
Logan practically jumped a foot in the air. Wide-eyed, he stared dumbly at Mr. Conway, who seemed startled by his reaction. "What?" He practically squeaked.
"Is there any clothes in that bag?" Mr. Conway asked slower this time. He pointed to Logan's trash bag.
Logan swallowed. "Yes."
Mr. Conway was studying him. "Do you need any more? I can take you shopping tomorrow."
His dad said not to accept charity. He said if you accept it even just once, it'll be held over you.
Logan had no way of paying him back.
He shook his head.
"You don't?" Mr. Conway said skeptically.
"No, Sir," Logan lied.
"You don't have to call me sir," Mr. Conway rubbed his neck. "I told you, just Charlie is fine."
"Sorry, Sir," Logan said and winced at his mistake.
Why couldn't he do anything right?
"Right," Mr. Conway said, but it seemed like that was more to himself than Logan. "Listen, I'll be downstairs. You can unpack, get settled. The bathroom is on the right, just before my room. If you want, you can come downstairs and watch TV. Okay?"
Logan could only nod.
Mr,. Conway left him to own thoughts, closing the door behind him. Logan let out a breath. It felt suffocating- the way Mr. Conway had stood there. Tall, hovering. Logan felt like a trapped animal. It was how his dad used to stand there. Less tense, less angry. But similar. His legs were wobbly again. He semi plopped down on the bed.
He didn't even want to imagine going downstairs yet.
He curled on the bed, still in his clothes, clenching the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut.
Why couldn't this just be a dream? A horrible, terrible dream.
He almost wished he was back in that closet.
