Page 79 of Here We Go Again

“Oh God,” Joe mutters. He releases an anxious belch just as Remy St. Patin comes to stand in front of them.

“Joseph.” Remy smiles. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Rock fucking Hudson. Logan is swooning. The confidence of that statement, delivered in that Creole accent, is a siren song.

Logan waits for Joe to follow this up with an equally suave response like they practiced.

“I wear adult diapers!” is the first thing Joe says to Remy. Not suave at all. He wasn’t supposed to lead with that.

Remy stares at Joe with unbridled awe and rubs a callused hand along his jaw. “Okay… Are the diapers the reason it took you thirty years to come see me?”

Logan balks at the directness of this question. She feels like she’s witnessing the boldest, most fearless man in the world. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. Joe clearly doesn’t, either. “No, the diapers are new. Because I’m dying.”

Remy presses a hand to his chest. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he says. “But I’m so glad you chose to find me before that happens.”

“Well, we were in the area,” Joe lies. “We… we were in the area, and we had some extra time, so we thought we would pop in and check out the gallery. Heather on the Hill. After…?”

“That Van Morrison song you always loved, yes. I named this place for you.”

Damn. The fearless honesty. Logan can’t imagine being that reckless with your own heart.

“You… you named it for me?” Joe stammers.

Remy nods. “I did. I wanted you to be able to find me. When you were ready.”

Joe chokes on his tongue. “Well, uh, I did, I suppose. And congratulations on opening your own gallery. It’s beautiful. But like I said, we were just in the area, and now we need to get going.”

“What?” Logan blurts, but Joe is already angling his wheelchair back toward the door.

“Don’t argue with me on this one, Maletis,” he hisses in panic. “Just go.Go!”

She obeys, grabbing his wheelchair and shoving him out the door.

“Joe!” Remy calls behind them, but they’re already outside, and Joe is shouting, “Go, go, go!”

So they go.

“What happened?” Rosemary yells as she runs over from the bench, but Logan and Joe are running too, jostling over the uneven pavement. Odie, naturally, thinks this is a game, and keeps twisting his leash around Rosemary’s legs.

“No questions!” Joe bleats. “Just go! Go! Back to the car!”

They get back to the van, which has warmed to a cool one-hundred and fifty degrees in this heat, and Logan refuses to put Joe inside to cook. “What the hell just happened?” Logan demands. She’s sweatingeverywhere. How has Ocean Springs uncovered new parts of her body that can ooze moisture in just twenty minutes?

“Was Remy not there?” Rosemary pants.

“No, he was there. And he hasn’t aged a day.”

Yes he has, Logan mouths to Rosemary.

“He was there, and he’s still so… so—” Joe bursts into tears. Big, wet, hacking sobs that take over his whole body. “What am I doing here? Coming back into his life just to die? How fuckingselfish.”

Without a word, Rosemary hands Logan the leash and she wraps both arms around Joe, hugging his as tightly as she can. “It’s not selfish,” Rosemary reassures him quietly, “to want to say goodbye to someone you love.”

Joe clings to Rosemary, and for Fletcher’s sake—sheisthe nice one. “I’ll hurt him again,” Joe whimpers. “I can’t come back into his life only to destroy him.”

Logan tries not to think of her own fuckery, her own future hurt. “Maybe he’s okay with being destroyed,” she tries. “Maybe he knows it will be worth the hurt. Prickly pears and all that.”

Rosemary looks up at her and their eyes meet on this sweltering sidewalk, and Logan feels the urge to cry too. To be comforted.