Page 7 of My Song for You
“Thanks. We like it.” She led me down the hallway, past an open door into what had to be Logan’s room. The pictures on the hallway wall ranged from when he was a baby to more recent ones. No one else was in them. Only the baby picture looked to have been taken by a professional. The rest were snapshots that had been enlarged to fit the frames.
Like the apartment building itself, the furniture was nicer than I would’ve expected for a twenty-two-year-old. The couch was beige, with a few stains on the puffy cushions, but despite that, it was obviously of quality. As were the dark wooden end tables with the simple yet masculine lamps, and the coffee table on the rug, which had rectangles in various shades of brown. Everything was expensive—and oddly familiar.
More pictures of Logan, of Callie’s family, and of Callie with Logan were scattered around the room, both on the walls and on the dark-wood bookshelf. No pictures of a boyfriend were visible. Maybe he was camera-shy…or was the photographer.Or he didn’t exist.
The other pictures on the walls were ones I recognized as the style Callie would’ve created. They were the kinds of drawings and digital art you’d expect to find in a kid’s picture book, the colors bold.
Before I could ask her about her dreams of working at Pixar, an energetic Logan catapulted from the couch and rushed over to me.
“Is that mine?” he asked, pointing at the dog balloon.
“Is that for me?” Callie corrected.
“Is that for me?” Logan grinned at the oversized balloon.
“I was gonna give it to Mrs. Rogers,” I said, “but do you think she would like the flowers more?”
Callie laughed, the sound of it more beautiful than I remembered. “I don’t know. I think Logan loves flowers even more than balloons.”
“No, I don’t,” Logan said with a pout. “Balloons better.”
I expected Callie to correct his sentence, but she didn’t this time. She laughed again. “You’re right. Balloons are much better.”
Logan took the balloon from me and grabbed my hand. “I show you my room.” He led me away, but not before I caught Callie worrying her lip again.
The bedding in his room was bright green, as was the rug covering the light gray carpet. An oversized soccer-ball-shaped cushion lay on the floor. On the wall behind the head of the bed, a soccer goal had been painted with trees in the distance and a blue sky behind it. Scattered on the floor was an assortment of toys.
“Do you like it?” Logan asked, clearly proud of his room.
“It’s very nice. Did your mom paint that?”
He nodded. “Mommy’s an artist.”
“I know. She’s a very talented artist.”
“Thanks,” Callie said behind me, voice so soft I almost missed it.
She was standing in the doorway, her eyes fixed on the painted walls but her gaze far away. It was as if she was somewhere else. Another time. Another place.
“Weren’t you planning to eventually work at Pixar?” I asked.
Her gaze flicked to Logan and the sad smile said it all. She had planned to work there, but then she’d had Logan and everything changed.
Unlike Alexis, Callie hadn’t aborted her baby, even if he had put an end to her dreams.
Logan was so busy with the balloon, he missed the look on his mom’s face. When he glanced up at her, she was all smiles again for him.
“I decided being a graphic designer was a better career choice. More job opportunities.”
That was probably true, but I suspected that before Logan came along, it wouldn’t have made a difference. She would’ve found a way to survive until her big chance came. She’d never been into expensive things. None of that mattered to her, as long as she was happy. Which was why her choice of furniture was not what I would’ve expected.
“So you work for a company?” I knew zero about graphic design.
“Maybe one day, or I can work freelance. Right now I’m working on my degree and doing freelance work on the side. Mostly covers for a few romance authors, designs for their website banners. Swag. Stuff like that. Nothing major, though.”
The enthusiasm she used to have whenever she talked about her dreams was missing. It sounded like her career choice was a chore. It was just a job for her, nothing more.
“Where’re you studying?”
