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L O G A N
Driving away from that house in Echo Park was the hardest thing I ever
did, but if I ran back in for her, I’d be showing her that what she wanted
didn’t matter to me.
It took two weeks to wake up from a nightmare. Fourteen days without
her. Half a month of making too much coffee in the morning, an empty bed,
a live-in brother who constantly asked me if I was all right—if Ella was
around or nah.
Two weeks at a massive headquarters I’d lost the desire to run, skipping
meetings to go home to nothing, delegating fires for someone else to put out
so I could get home to a house as empty as my heart.
What was she doing? Was she happy? Was she laughing with the friends
I’d taken her away from? Was she working on the Big Blank? The silver
dress? If I went to her, would she let me see it?
Dad was out of bed in that time. His doctor told him to do something
with himself. Jogging. Parasailing. Horseback riding. After a week of
recreation, he admitted he only wanted to do one thing.
Check in at Crowne.
I didn’t become a workaholic on my own.
He came in to fight his own boredom, made an effort not to get in my
way, and failed. Except that I didn’t care. He could charm the lobbyists over
the conference room table where I couldn’t anymore. I was world-weary,
living a life with Ella in an imaginary universe filled with laughter and
surprise.
“I’m going,” Dad said, peeking his head into my office. “Don’t stay too
late.”