He repeated the process, and the puppy ate all the meat in the bag, slowing only as it neared the end.
"Tomorrow I'll mash it up in the house," he said. "I'll research it and . . ."
And how long was he going to keep the puppy in the fort?
"It's just until I have a plan. I'll--I'll figure out what to do. How to get you a real home and . . ."
His voice broke and the tears prickled again, but he blinked them back and cleared his throat.
"You don't need that. You need exercise." He put the puppy down, got to his feet and started to run, the puppy tumbling along at his heels.
Back at the house, Logan stayed up late, doing his research and preparing food for the puppy, so no one would catch him doing it in the morning. After breakfast, Kate practiced her music. Normally, he'd have stretched out on the floor nearby and read or studied. But, while that was perfectly fine for piano and guitar--and even, if he wasn't studying too hard, for drums--Kate had recently decided she needed to add a wind instrument to her repertoire, and, of course, she hadn't chosen the flute. Maybe it would be better once she had more practice at the trumpet, but, at this point, well, no one expected him to hang around. He zipped out with a quick, "Going for a walk!" to Mom, who hesitated, as if thinking she'd like to escape with him, but he was gone before she could.
He fed the puppy until its tiny belly bulged, and then they played until it collapsed. He wouldn't get back out until around dinnertime. It was his day for Christmas shopping. Jeremy was taking him later this morning. Mom might pretend she was perfectly fine with crowded malls, but she didn't volunteer to go twice in as many days.
While they shopped, Logan tried not to fret about the puppy problem. Of course, he did. At lunch, Jeremy said, "You're quiet today."
Logan found a smile. "I'm always quiet. You're just used to having Kate around, too."
"True, but there's the kind of quiet that says you just don't have anything to say and the kind that says you have too much to say and don't know how to start." Jeremy cut into his steak. "Your dad used to have that same look when there was something he wanted to say."
"Like: 'I didn't do it'?"
Jeremy returned Logan's smile. "Actually, no. At your age, your dad never had any problem telling me when he'd done something wrong. It weighed too heavily on him. He'd blurt it out like a confession." Another bite of his steak. "You have that look, too, though."
Jeremy kept his gaze on his food, but Logan still felt it and tried not to squirm.
Jeremy continued, "Whatever you've done, I suspect you feel worse about it than you need to. There's something you'd like to talk about, but you want to work it out for yourself." He lifted his gaze. "Am I close?"
Dead on. As usual. Logan could feel the words churning inside him, desperate to escape. I rescued a puppy, and I wanted to give it to Kate, but I know I can't, and now I have this puppy in the fort, and I should have said something, and the longer I wait . . .
"Logan?"
He should tell Jeremy. He was the person Mom went to for advice--the person everyone went to for advice. He would keep Logan's secret and help him solve this.
Except Jeremy was right. Logan wanted to figure it out for himself. His mess; his solution.
"I understand you don't like to ask for help," Jeremy said, as if reading his mind. "That you get from your mom. It's not that she doesn't value anyone else's opinion. Or that she thinks she can do everything herself. It's that she wants to be able to do it herself. She expects more of herself. Asking for help is weakness." He looked at Logan. "Does that sound familiar?"
Logan said nothing.
Jeremy took another bite of his lunch before saying, "Your mom has learned to ask for help, but it's still difficult. Do you know what she often does instead? She tells me or your dad her ideas and then waits to see what we say. That way she's not really asking, but we'll still offer advice."
Jeremy waited again, and Logan knew he was hinting for Logan to do the same. Which would be great . . . if he had ideas to share. Instead, he just sat there, fingering his sandwich. Then he said, "Can you tell me a story about my dad?"
Jeremy's lips quirked. "One that illustrates the principles I'm trying to communicate? Or one to distract me from pestering you?"
"I just . . . I need to think some more. A story would help."
"Distract you, then. All right. Let's see if I can find one you haven't heard . . ."
When they got home, Kate zoomed into the hall and launched herself at him. Not unlike the puppy, he reflected. Just with less slobber.
"What'd you get me?" she said as she bounced.
"Was I supposed to get you something," he teased.
"Um, yeah. Only the best Christmas present ever."