Russell.”
“I don’t care.”
Steel-blue eyes peered over bifocals at Logan and
held him for an icy moment.
Someone coughed. A snicker was stifled. “Logan Russell, you will see me after practice.” The spinster Sobil Mounce-Bazley was a legendary
music director, having led children’s choirs in London and New York until she retired to her brother’s ranch near Cold Butte. When word spread of the historic papal visit, she accepted the school’s invitation to form and lead the choir that would sing for the Holy Father.
Music had been her life, perfection her standard. But things weren’t going well today. Number 27, the lovely alto, was straining her patience.
“You want to tell me what your problem is, Mr. Russell?” she asked Logan after everyone had left.
He didn’t answer.
“I’m sure you’ve heard it said ad nauseam that to sing for the pope is a once-in-a-lifetime oppportunity.”
“I miss my mom.”
“Where is she?”
“In California. My mom and dad kinda split up and I moved here with my dad and his new girlfriend.”
“That might be tough, but it’s no excuse for rude ness.”
During her time in London and New York, Sobil had directed children who’d had parents murdered, baby brothers or sisters who’d been sold by crack-addicted relatives. Acting out over a divorce was not high on her sympathy scale.
“I won’t pry. I’ll cut you some slack. Mind your manners. Memorize the songs, practice the tempo. If you don’t improve by the end of the week, you’re off the team. Is that understood, Mr. Russell?”
It was.
* * *
On the school bus home, Logan leaned his forehead against the window and watched as cloud shadows floated over the eternal empty grassland.
He’d never felt so alone. Tears filled his eyes.
Mr. Russell.
Russell was a lie. His name was Logan Conlin.
He didn’t even know who he was anymore.
He didn’t understand anything, anymore. Ever since his dad went off to Iraq, nothing seemed right. His dad wouldn’t talk about what had happened to him over there. But when he came back, he was weird. Different. He had headaches, lost his temper all the time, argued with Mom all the time. Logan’s friend Robbie said that’s how it was with his parents before they got divorced.
Logan didn’t want his parents to get divorced.
He needed both of them. Together.
Then came the worst moment ever, on the soccer field with Logan’s coach, Mr. Ullman. It scared Logan the way Dad wanted to fight him. The look on Mr. Ullman’s face—like his dad was a psycho. At night he heard Mom crying in her room. A couple of months later, things seemed better, but Logan still feared his parents were getting a divorce.
Then it happened.
Not with lawyers and courts and papers like Robbie said.
Dad just surprised Logan at school. Just showed up in his rig.
“We’ve got to go, son.”
Dad wouldn’t say where they were going, or why. At first it was like the coolest adventure. They just drove and drove. But as they left the city behind, his dad’s face got all serious and Logan got scared.
“This will be the hardest thing you’ll ever have to face, son. It won’t make any sense to you. It doesn’t make sense to me. Your mom’s in love with another man and wants to have a life with him.”
“That’s a lie!”
“I wish it was. I’m sorry. I know this is hard, but please listen. There’s no other way to say it. Your mom and I are splitting up and you’re going to live with me.”
“Turn around.”
“I can’t. There are complicated court orders. Laws, rules we have to follow. A lot of changes I’ll tell you about later. But the bottom line is we can never go home again.”
Never go home again.
“No! You take me home right now!”
“We can’t. There are rules and the law.”
“Then let me call her. I want to talk to Mom!”
“Logan, we can’t.”
He tried to punch his dad but only hit air. Something inside Logan broke in two. Pain shot everywhere. It hurt so bad he couldn’t
“I don’t care.”
Steel-blue eyes peered over bifocals at Logan and
held him for an icy moment.
Someone coughed. A snicker was stifled. “Logan Russell, you will see me after practice.” The spinster Sobil Mounce-Bazley was a legendary
music director, having led children’s choirs in London and New York until she retired to her brother’s ranch near Cold Butte. When word spread of the historic papal visit, she accepted the school’s invitation to form and lead the choir that would sing for the Holy Father.
Music had been her life, perfection her standard. But things weren’t going well today. Number 27, the lovely alto, was straining her patience.
“You want to tell me what your problem is, Mr. Russell?” she asked Logan after everyone had left.
He didn’t answer.
“I’m sure you’ve heard it said ad nauseam that to sing for the pope is a once-in-a-lifetime oppportunity.”
“I miss my mom.”
“Where is she?”
“In California. My mom and dad kinda split up and I moved here with my dad and his new girlfriend.”
“That might be tough, but it’s no excuse for rude ness.”
During her time in London and New York, Sobil had directed children who’d had parents murdered, baby brothers or sisters who’d been sold by crack-addicted relatives. Acting out over a divorce was not high on her sympathy scale.
“I won’t pry. I’ll cut you some slack. Mind your manners. Memorize the songs, practice the tempo. If you don’t improve by the end of the week, you’re off the team. Is that understood, Mr. Russell?”
It was.
* * *
On the school bus home, Logan leaned his forehead against the window and watched as cloud shadows floated over the eternal empty grassland.
He’d never felt so alone. Tears filled his eyes.
Mr. Russell.
Russell was a lie. His name was Logan Conlin.
He didn’t even know who he was anymore.
He didn’t understand anything, anymore. Ever since his dad went off to Iraq, nothing seemed right. His dad wouldn’t talk about what had happened to him over there. But when he came back, he was weird. Different. He had headaches, lost his temper all the time, argued with Mom all the time. Logan’s friend Robbie said that’s how it was with his parents before they got divorced.
Logan didn’t want his parents to get divorced.
He needed both of them. Together.
Then came the worst moment ever, on the soccer field with Logan’s coach, Mr. Ullman. It scared Logan the way Dad wanted to fight him. The look on Mr. Ullman’s face—like his dad was a psycho. At night he heard Mom crying in her room. A couple of months later, things seemed better, but Logan still feared his parents were getting a divorce.
Then it happened.
Not with lawyers and courts and papers like Robbie said.
Dad just surprised Logan at school. Just showed up in his rig.
“We’ve got to go, son.”
Dad wouldn’t say where they were going, or why. At first it was like the coolest adventure. They just drove and drove. But as they left the city behind, his dad’s face got all serious and Logan got scared.
“This will be the hardest thing you’ll ever have to face, son. It won’t make any sense to you. It doesn’t make sense to me. Your mom’s in love with another man and wants to have a life with him.”
“That’s a lie!”
“I wish it was. I’m sorry. I know this is hard, but please listen. There’s no other way to say it. Your mom and I are splitting up and you’re going to live with me.”
“Turn around.”
“I can’t. There are complicated court orders. Laws, rules we have to follow. A lot of changes I’ll tell you about later. But the bottom line is we can never go home again.”
Never go home again.
“No! You take me home right now!”
“We can’t. There are rules and the law.”
“Then let me call her. I want to talk to Mom!”
“Logan, we can’t.”
He tried to punch his dad but only hit air. Something inside Logan broke in two. Pain shot everywhere. It hurt so bad he couldn’t
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