Gifted: A Holiday Anthology (6 page)

A grunt, but no argument. Logan picked up a flashlight and scanned the boxes, saying as casually as he could, “I meant what I said earlier about wanting to do more chores . . . taking on more responsibility.”

Another grunt.

“We’re old enough, and I think it’s a good idea.”

Dad walked deeper into the attic. “I asked Jeremy for more responsibility when I was about your age.” He shone the light on a box and heaved it up, placing it by the ladder. “Because I wanted something.”

“What? No, I don’t—”

“I wanted to go camping with the Sorrentinos. Jeremy said no.”

Logan picked up a box marked “Xmas” and moved it to the ladder. “Why?”

“Something about me being responsible for us getting asked to leave the campground.”

“You got kicked out?”

“Asked to leave. It’s different.”

“Uh-huh.” Logan plunked down on a box as his dad kept hunting.

“I just wanted to sleep. That’s the idea of camping, right? You hike and swim and go for a run, and then you sleep at night. Except, we couldn’t, because the people next to us sat around the campfire all night talking. Loudly. So I decided, if we were going to have a quiet night, I needed to move their beer.”

“Steal it?”

“Move it.”

“But how would that help? They could still have a fire and talk.”

“Not without the beer.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Dad shrugged. “Some people . . .” His gaze went distant. Then he shook it off. “That’s how it works with some people. The point of the campfire is the beer. Now, do I get to finish the story?”

“About how you stole their beer and got kicked out of the campground?”

“Moved. Asked to leave.”

“There’s a difference?”

“There is.” Dad caught Logan’s grin and gave him a mock glare. “I
moved
the beer to another site, where there happened to be a bunch of teenagers. If they chose not to find the rightful owners, that wasn’t my fault.”

“Did you get to sleep?”

“We did. It was very quiet . . . until the next day when the people next door saw the kids with their empties, and one of the girls who had seen me with the case ratted me out. Then we were asked to leave. So the moral of the story is . . .”

“Don’t let anyone catch you when you move the beer?”

“Exactly. But the point is that I decided I’d show Jeremy I could go camping again by proving I was more responsible. I did more chores, and he let me go.”

“It worked, then.”

“Sure. After I broke a bunch of dishes, threw a red shirt in the white laundry and doubled the salt in the stew, Jeremy was just happy to get rid of me for the weekend.”

“You’re not really making your case here, Dad.”

His father laid down the last of the boxes. “I’m kidding. Well, not entirely. I tried, though, and that was the main thing. The problem here, Logan, is that this isn’t the same. I wasn’t allowed to go camping because I messed up. You not being allowed to get a puppy has nothing to do with you messing up.”

“Whoa. What? Puppy? No, I didn’t say anything about—”

“You don’t need to. It’s the only thing you and your sister really want that we aren’t giving you. Therefore, it’s the only reason you’d suddenly decide you needed to show more responsibility. In this case, though, lack of responsibility has nothing to do with why we’re saying no. I’m sure if you get a puppy, you’ll look after it. Even Kate might laugh when her mom asks her to help Jeremy with dinner, but you know what? She went in and helped him. Irresponsibility with her is all about image.”

Logan would have smiled at that, but his heart pounded too hard, seeing his puppy plan dissolve before his eyes.

“It’s not about responsibility, Logan. It’s about timing.”

“I know.” His voice was so soft even he barely heard it, because he did know that, and yet he’d told himself otherwise. Responsibility was something he could fix. Timing was not.

Dad sighed and lowered himself onto a crate opposite Logan. “Sometimes, when your mom says we’ll talk about something later, what she really means . . .”

“Is that she doesn’t want to talk about it, and she’s hoping we’ll forget.”

“But that’s not what she means this time. It isn’t
no
. It’s
not now
.”

Logan nodded.

“What if we laid out a timetable?” Dad said. “Figured out when we might be able to make this happen?”

That was exactly what Logan had been hoping for.
Before
the puppy.

“Maybe the end of the school year,” Dad said. “We’d need to discuss it with your mom, but she was already talking about that. Spring’s a good time for puppies. She says we can put in our name with a breeder and then pick out the puppy as soon as it’s born.” Dad smiled. “Apparently, she’s done her research.”

Logan forced a return smile.

“And that’s not what you wanted,” Dad said slowly.

“It’s just . . .” Logan squirmed.

“Did you see puppies for sale? Is that where this is coming from?”

No,
Logan wanted to say.
I already have one. It’s out back, and if you come and see it, you’ll know it’s perfect for Kate, and it would be the best Christmas present, and it would make her so happy, and I really want to give it to her.

That’s why he couldn’t say it. Because it really would be the best gift ever, and there was no way his parents would want to say no once they saw the puppy, and then he’d feel as if he’d forced their hand.

Instead, he nodded and said, “I saw a sign.”

Silence. It was so long he thought Dad wasn’t going to answer. Then, he said, “I wish I could say yes, Logan.”

And that hurt, really hurt, because he didn’t want to make Dad feel bad. His parents did have lots going on, and Logan saying, “But I want a puppy!” was selfish and spoiled, and he never wanted to be either. He wanted to be mature and understanding and acknowledge that, compared to most kids, he
was
pampered and spoiled, and a kid couldn’t ask for a better life or better parents. He always wanted to remember that, especially when things didn’t quite go his way.

“Dad!” Kate shouted from the bottom of the ladder. “Logan!”

“We’ll be down in a few—” Dad started to call back, but Logan rose and yelled, “Coming!” Then, he said to his dad, as maturely and sincerely as he could, “I understand,” picked up a box and headed down.

After everyone went to bed, Logan snuck out with leftover roast beef and a hoodie from Kate’s hamper. He’d give the puppy the sweater to sleep on, along with the one of his own he’d left. That would get the dog accustomed to both their scents. Not that the puppy would be staying but just . . . Well, he wasn’t sure why. He told himself he was taking the hoodie so, if she did see the puppy, it wouldn’t be afraid of her.

He also brought a backpack with a separate set of clothing, which he’d change into for puppy-detail and store near the fort.

He tried not to feel guilty about sneaking out. He still did. That was his wolf brain. It wasn’t just breaking the rules that made him feel sick. He’d made a mistake. A big one. He should have taken the puppy to the house right away. Told his parents what happened and let them deal with it. He’d gone behind their backs, hiding it in the fort, and now he was digging himself deeper into a hole. There was no way he could go through with his plan now. He shouldn’t even try. Which was a good and mature realization. Except . . . well, that still left the puppy.

As soon as he drew near the fort, the puppy started whimpering. He trudged those final steps, because he didn’t want to see it. He wanted to shove the meat through a hole in the wooden walls and run back to the house. That wasn’t fair, though. This wasn’t the puppy’s fault any more than it was his parents. He’d started it; he had to follow through.

He opened the fort and the puppy launched itself at him. He fell back on the snow as it jumped on his lap and wriggled, whimpering and whining in excitement. It licked away the tears on his cheeks, because, yes, there were tears, as much as he’d tried to hold them back. After a moment, when he didn’t respond, the puppy’s wiggling and whimpering became more frantic, a little panicked. So, he wiped away the tears, gave it a fierce hug and took out the meat. The puppy licked a piece, gulped it and started to choke, which meant a major freak out, until he managed to pull the strip out of its throat. That’s when the tears threatened again, when he looked at the puppy on his lap, coughing and shaking its head, and all he could think was,
I can’t do anything right.

“Feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to help, is it?” he said, his voice echoing in the night.

The puppy whined and licked his face, its whole body shaking with fresh excitement. Logan took the puppy in his hands and looked at it.

“You’re not old enough for meat. I should have thought of that.”

The puppy kept dancing in place, tiny claws scrabbling against him, just happy to hear his voice, to have his attention.

“We don’t have any baby bottles. I don’t know what else . . .”

How did wolves feed their young once they were ready to start meat? He knew the answer. Regurgitation. He made a face. “I can’t do
that
. But I guess . . .” He took a piece of meat from the bag, chewed it and spit it into his hand. The puppy gobbled it up almost before it hit his palm.

“Well, that works,” he said. “Still gross.”

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.