Page 114 of Here We Go Again
No, he’s the Grand Canyon: lines and cracks and crevices cut into a mesmerizing pattern by time and nature. The soft, vulnerable skin drooping from his forearms. The sag of his barrel chest, the puckered skin around his stomach, his thin legs awkwardly folded into the tub. Every part of him looks majestic and perfect, and Logan is crying.
This is love. Love is seeing perfection in every flaw. Seeing every flaw as a miracle because it belongs to the person you care about most. Love is saying,yes, still. Even after all these years.
Every brush stroke contains awe and reverence, a love letter to a gay man who grew old, and the miracle of Joseph Delgado. Remy painted Joe with wonder.
“Wow,” Rosemary whispers, also with wonder. “It’s you, Joe.”
Joe laughs, then coughs, then cries. The Joe in this painting isn’tstaring at viewers with the cocksureness of his younger self. He’s staring at them with a desperate plea in those brown eyes.Live, he seems to beg.Live as much as you can.
Logan clears her throat. “You look like that Johnny Cash song. ‘Hurt.’?”
“I look like Johnny Cash?” Joe wheezes.
“No, you look the way that songfeels,” she tries to explain. “Like a nice, long cry.”
Rosemary snatches up the painting and flies out of her chair. She moves like a woman on a mission, marching over to the wall beside the TV. She removes a painting of a lighthouse and on the bare nail behind it, she hangs the nude portrait of Joe. She adjusts it, then steps back to study it for a second. Rosemary looks pleased with herself, and the sight of her makes Logan’s newly awoken heart ache.
Logan wishes she could find a way to paint all of Rosemary’s perfect flaws, all the things Logan was wrong about.
Rosemary’s not rigid. She simply knows what her brain needs. She’s not controlling. She’s organized and thoughtful, and she always wants things to be perfect for the people she loves. She’s not condescending. She’s just usually right, always the smartest person in the room. And she’s not that scared little girl who lost her dad. She’s the bravest person Logan has ever met. Brave enough to try to be her best self. Brave enough to care.
She cares about Logan. Or she did, back in Ocean Springs. She couldn’t hide that at all. The way Rosemary nuzzled herself into Logan each night, like a perfect baby spoon. The way Rosemary would tilt her head up toward Logan without even realizing it, asking for a kiss. The way her eyes softened when Logan touched her, like she couldn’t quite believe she was letting herself lose control with someone else.
Logan loved being that someone.
She thinks she could get back to that, if she could find a way to show Rosemary how much she cares.
ROSEMARY
She adjusts the painting of her naked former English teacher one more time.
There. It’s perfect.
Rosemary takes a step back and appreciates the sight of it on the wall, on display, where it belongs.
“Girls,” Joe says from the hospital bed. “Come here. I need to tell you something.”
Rosemary turns around and catches Logan staring at her intently. Their eyes meet across the dated living room, and for a second, she lets herself enjoy the alchemy of those hazel eyes. Slowly, Rosemary crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed next to Odie.
“Something to, uh, confess…” Joe carries on.
“Oh, please, Joe, don’t divulge your sins to us,” Logan whines. “Twenty years of idolizing you, and it might destroy me if I find out you don’t recycle or you voted for Reagan.”
Joe laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m going to hell with my sins. This is… this is about the cottage.”
Rosemary takes in the scuffed hardwood floors, and the Formica kitchen countertops and ancient appliances. The big windows and the front porch with a view. “What about the cottage?”
Joe asks for his water, and he takes a long drink through his bendy straw before he can continue. “I-I couldn’t part with this house, even after I left Remy and Maine. Remy moved out shortly after I did—the neighbors told me—but I didn’t want to sell. I convinced myself that I kept it because it was a good investment—” He coughs for a moment, and Logan helps him drink more water. “But the truth is, I just couldn’t stand the idea of parting with it.”
Rosemary looks at the nude painting on the wall and understands. Thirty years did nothing to dull the love Remy and Joe had for each other, and he kept this house like keeping a shoebox of old letters, a memento of that love.
“And itwasa good investment,” Joe continues. “I own this house outright. The mortgage is paid off, and home values have increased considerably since I bought it.”
“I can only imagine,” Logan says slowly. Rosemary doesn’t have to imagine. She looked up this cottage on Zillow the day after they arrived. Three bedrooms and an ocean view in a resort town near Acadia National Park? It’s worth just under a million, even with all the updates it needs.
“Do you need us to help you sell it?” Logan asks. “Clean it out for you? Whatever you need, we’ll do it.”
“Yes, of course we will,” Rosemary adds. “We’ll help take care of the house.”
