The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(88)

Logan chugged his IPA, swinging the leg he’d thrown over the arm of her living room chair. They’d finalized last-minute details earlier, but he was lingering at her place to avoid his apartment and Steffi, who was there prepping its walls.

“Who’s he?” He didn’t recall that name in their research notes.

“That psychologist I mentioned when you showed up—the one who’s working with the refugees through Doctors Without Borders. He’s helping them unpack all the trauma they’ve endured—rape, torture, war, and more.” Karina then set a bunch of SIM cards, an extra battery charger, and several charging cables on the table.

He finished his third beer, but the buzz he’d been hoping would kill his restlessness hadn’t taken hold yet.

“How much torture is happening in the camps?” Unlike Karina, who seemed eager to delve into that pain, he didn’t relish the idea of taking close-ups of strangers who’d been raped and tortured. Mining for anguish walked a delicate and uncomfortable line, taking a toll on his soul. He’d prefer to seek out an uplifting, hopeful subject for their story.

“Some, but the more common pattern is torture and war PTSD from the refugees’ homeland, then something traumatic happens on the journey to Greece, like an assault or a boat that sinks or something, then they get to camp and the camp guards use tear gas and clubs to beat rioters into submission. The compounding effect of multiple traumas becomes another tragedy refugees must overcome. It’s horrible. There has to be a better way to give these unfortunate people a chance at a good life.”

Logan stared out the window in Karina’s apartment, thinking about trauma. He’d never suffered any, except for an early burst of panic when he’d first learned of Peyton’s diagnosis. Deep down, though, he’d always believed she’d beat it. His sister was and remained somewhat invincible so far, thank God.

But Claire knew firsthand about how unexpected trauma could forever change the trajectory of a life.

He’d gone so many years without realizing that in her fervor to heal physically, she’d neglected her psychological and emotional recovery. She’d hidden those wounds like a champ, but year after year, fear had become her closest companion, shutting her off from many facets of life. Now it was one of several things keeping them apart. That and his own reticence about commitment.

“Hello!” Karina snapped her fingers. “Are you paying attention?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head to clear away the doldrums. “This is going to be our most grueling investigation. At least after the hurricanes, most people were working with each other. Lesbos sounds like a total shit-show.”

“We’ll stay until we find an angle the other news networks have overlooked.”

He’d be looking for that one extraordinary family or person who put an unforgettable face on the problems. Of course, every reporter and photographer who visited would be looking for the same thing. His father’s words about the slim chances of ever being that person who rises above the others replayed.

It required more than skill. There was an element of luck to breaking through the noise, like Ryan Kelly’s being in the perfect spot to capture that prizewinning, brutal image of the car plowing into the racially charged protests in Charlottesville, Virginia.

What did it say about him that making a name for himself was worth placing himself smack in the middle of a riot, literally putting his life at risk? Claire would never think any prize worth a life.

He believed there were things worth dying for—one’s country, an uncompromising principle or value, saving the life of another—but an accolade? Could he really have been pursuing his dream for the wrong reasons all along?

Karina batted his foot. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve been mopey all week.”

He set the empty bottle on the floor, then stood and walked to the window. From her third-floor walk-up he could see swarms of people on the sidewalk, and streets crowded by cyclists, cars, and delivery vans. He closed his eyes to picture the unpolluted view of the Sound and imagined the echo of the woodpecker’s bill drilling the tree outside his bedroom window at Arcadia House. “I’m not mopey.”

“Is it Peyton? Was there a setback or something?”

“No. She’s doing great. If she weren’t, I wouldn’t be going with you.” He scratched the back of his head. His hair had grown only an inch or so. He supposed it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have it short in a hot, dirty place like the refugee camps of Lesbos. He glanced over his shoulder to find Karina scowling at him.

“I’ve never seen you less enthused to dig for a story than you are right now.” Karina crossed her arms. “Is it Claire?”

He glanced away at the first sight of her amused expression. “I’m a little tired, that’s all. It’s been an emotional several months with Peyton, and now I have to switch gears and get back into a working mind-set. I’ll be fine by the time we land.”

“You’d better be, Logan. You might have a trust fund to fall back on, but my career and rep are all I have.”

“Have I ever given less than one thousand percent?” He frowned.

“Not yet . . .” She picked up his empty bottle and carried it to her sink. “But you know the saying. There’s a first time for everything.”

“Not for me.” He turned away from the window.