Elizabeth Finn - Brother's Keeper

Sara and I will be moving to Ann Arbor in mid-August, just over a month away, and that leaves me with little time to get back up to peak performance. I haven’t notified the Performing Arts department of my little injury and have no intention of telling them unless I absolutely have to. I can’t afford to lose my scholarship or worry any of the faculty. My hope is no one will be the wiser once my first practice starts in late August. My scholarship is dependent upon my dancing, and I don’t want to draw any negative attention to myself so early on.

I haven’t heard from Logan for the few weeks he’s been gone, and as much as I want to ask when he’ll be back, I have no intention of saying anything to his parents about him. I could call him, of course, but I won’t. I’m not sure why; I just can’t seem to bring myself to cross that line. If I were to call him, it would just restart the countdown clock to when I can get over him and move on with my life, which is ridiculous because soon enough I’ll see him again. But calling is like somehow acknowledging I’m not ready to move forward, and I have no choice but to move forward. I want to say I won’t see him when he returns again, or I won’t see him alone, or I won’t touch him or let him touch me, but I know full well once he’s here that won’t be a decision I can uphold. In a way, I want it over. I want him here, I want what will happen to happen, and then I want him gone so I can feel the pain and get over it. But I know getting over it will take a long, long time. And I dread it, knowing it will be just like the first month we were apart—every moment a struggle, every day torture.

But Logan continues to keep his distance. Two more weeks pass with no sign of him. Maybe his trip was cancelled. I wouldn’t know if it was, and I know he wouldn’t call me. The understanding of that fact hurts just as if he wounded me with unkind words. I want him to reach out to me, but I know he can’t. He can’t for all the same reasons I can’t. It hurts too much. It’s like an alcoholic taking a sip of wine; the pleasure of the indulgence would be immediate and swift, but the aftermath would be devastating. And with each passing day, I realize, with sadness, he isn’t going to be making any trips home soon. What’s worse, his family, not understanding my complete obsession with Logan, says nothing of his absence. And I can’t very well say anything lest I be ready to admit my utter infatuation with him. I doubt that would go over well.

Before I know it and before I want it, I find I’m only two weeks away from moving with Sara. She already has her boxes packed. She’s excited, and I once again envy her carefree optimism and wish I could share it desperately. Logan still hasn’t made an appearance, and at this rate I’ve given up thinking he will. I know it’s for the best in the long run, but I can’t help but long for one more moment with him, one more touch, one more anything—hell, I’d take a fight even! Just some contact so I know he’s still there and he still cares.

The only thing I’m even moderately interested in is getting to Ann Arbor and starting dance practices. The schedule is brutal and fast-paced. If anything can steal me from the always-present depression that hangs over my head, it is dance. And the more dance the better. We start performances three weeks after the start of the semester, and learning the new routines on top of my classes will leave no time for anything else, including thinking about Logan. I’m counting on my schedule filling the void that has been left by Logan. I’m desperately counting on it, in fact.

Sara’s parents have asked Sara and I to go to the lake house with them for one last summer weekend trip on the coming Friday. I think Ronnie is starting to dread our move, so when she asked me I went out of my way to find someone to cover for me at the Bistro for Friday and Saturday night. But when Friday rolls around, Sara tells me mid-afternoon that there’s a change of plans. Instead, Ronnie and Marcus are going to take us out in Grand Rapids for a sort of going away dinner, and we’ll leave for the lake house the next morning. They’re taking us back to the French restaurant in the historic district of Grand Rapids we celebrated Sara’s birthday at.

And when they pick us up, Ronnie is smiling radiantly. She looks happy and vibrant as always as she ushers us out to the car. Sara is dressed like a fashion model in short dress shorts, a sleeveless blouse, and ankle boots, while I’m wearing a simple black dress. Sara picked it out for me to go with my Audrey Hepburn hair, something about it being the perfect little black dress to complete my look. It has capped sleeves and a trim fit that hugs my body to my knees. A simple white satin ribbon at the waist completes the dress. It is beautiful. Sara tried to talk me into heels, but I opted for black flats instead. Thank God she’s around to dress me, otherwise I’d probably have left the house in jean shorts. Not that I don’t like to look good; she just seems to pull it off a whole lot easier than me.

We hop in the car and make the short drive to Grand Rapids. Marcus pulls up to the valet attendant, and we enter the beautiful old building. We are greeted and escorted to our table quickly. It is a small private room within the restaurant, and there are far more seats than we could possibly need for our small group of four… And this is my first inkling something might be amiss. As we are seated, I look around the table and find all eyes are glued to me. No one says a word to me, but the anxious sets of eyes smiling warmly back at me have my heart suddenly fluttering. I cock my head and wrinkle my brow in confusion as they all continue to appraise me.

My curiosity is overwhelming. “What’s going on?”

The slight smile on my lips is simply for lack of anything better to do with my mouth, but it quickly turns to a gaping “O” the second I see Logan round the corner, escorted by the maitre de. As his eyes meet mine, my hand goes to my mouth in shock as he stops mid-stride—his eyes wide and beautiful. He’s approaching from behind his parents but facing Sara and I directly. The moment Ronnie sees me cover my mouth she is off her chair, looking over her shoulder for him. And I realize in that moment, my secret has been blown wide open.

Relief and complete joy flood unexpectedly through me as I stare back at Logan. I’m trembling as he approaches the table, unable to move, to speak, to close my gaping mouth. He looks quickly to his parents, giving them an equally quick “Hi” before approaching me as I stand. He pulls me swiftly into his arms, clutching me to him.

He makes no move to separate from me, and it is many long moments before Sara’s over-obvious throat clearing catches his attention. “Ahem… Do you think you could put my best friend down now? I picked out that outfit, and you’re going to ruin it!”

I look to her quickly to see a very well-played smirk on her face. But she smiles broadly at me and winks. “And who says I can’t keep a secret?” Well quite frankly, I’ve said it a million times. I realize my mouth is still hanging open and everyone is still staring at me, waiting for me to breathe. Logan is holding my hand in his, and he makes no move to let me go as we take our chairs next to each other. I turn to him and can do nothing but stare. I hadn’t thought I’d see his face before Sara and I moved. I was resolved to this fact, depressed and upset, but resolved. And now here he is, and his entire family is watching our every move.

Logan finally starts to speak. “I might have told them … some things about us.” His face becomes serious and dark, and his brow wrinkles. “You almost died.” And as he shakes his head, his lips pursed into a tight line, I see the pain, devastating pain, he has endured because of me. His eyes gloss as he fights his emotion and the inner ache his memories must cause him, and I look up to see Ronnie tearing as well at the sight of her son so emotional. My eyes return to his, wanting to reassure him. I reach up to his face gently, and at my touch he shakes off his memories of that time, and his lips relax into a slight smile. “I just … can’t be apart from you.”