Then, still silent, Dad walked over and motioned for Logan to take off his jacket. He prodded Logan's shoulder as Logan squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to cry out.
"Can you lift your arm?" he asked.
Logan did.
Dad stepped back. "Do you know how lucky you are that I didn't dislocate it? Or break it?"
"It would have served me right if you did."
Dad gave a disgusted grunt. "Sure, that's what counts: that you deserved it. It wouldn't have bothered me at all. Break my son's shoulder. No big deal."
Logan dropped his gaze. "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten in the way."
"That was just the last in a very long string of mistakes you made tonight."
Logan could hear the anger in his father's voice. Icy anger, pushed down deep, turning his voice bitter cold. Logan wished he would yell--lose his temper and snarl and shout. He did with others. Even with Mom. Especially with Mom, though they tried to hide it. They'd get into a fight, both of their tempers exploding, furniture crashing, and even when Logan had first heard that, listening in with Kate, it hadn't bothered either of them. Because they knew it didn't mean anything. Mom and Dad never hurtled insults, never threatened or tore each other down. It was just anger. Two volatile tempers clashing, until one of them would stalk off into the woods, and the other would follow, and, when they came back, everything would be fine.
Logan understood those flash fights. They didn't say, "I hate you," or even, "At this moment, I hate you." They were just a difference of opinion, strongly worded. "I love you, but I disagree with you." Or, "I love you, but you did something I don't love."
That's what he wanted right now. For his dad to shout and snarl and get it out of his system. To be furious with Logan for doing something stupid, because it had scared him. That's not what he saw, though. What he saw was worse than anger, much worse. It was disappointment.
"I'm sorry," he said, trying not to cry. "I'm really sorry, and I know everything I did tonight was stupid and--"
"We told you not to come into the woods. We told you why."
"I-I thought . . . I didn't think it was true. About the mutt."
Dad pulled back, his blue eyes icing over even more. "You thought we lied to you?"
"N-no, I thought there was another explanation. I was absolutely sure there wasn't a mutt out here."
"You are nine, Logan. I don't care how smart you are--you are not in a position to make that determination. If I'm not sure whether there's a mutt, and your mother isn't sure, then you aren't either."
"I know. I'm--"
"Furthermore, I don't care what you thought. It was an order. You do not disobey an order."
"I know, and I'm sorry--"
"No, Logan, I mean you don't. Not that you shouldn't. You don't. So if you did tonight, then something is wrong, and you are going to tell me what it is, or we are going to spend a very long and cold night on this road."
Logan swallowed. He closed his eyes, and steeled himself and said, "I'll show you."
"No, you'll tell me."
"I-I . . ." He lifted his gaze. "Please. I have to show you."
Dad gave a wave, looking tired and frustrated, and let Logan lead the way.
Dad followed behind Logan. Maybe watching for trouble. Maybe just not really in the mood to walk with him. When they were halfway to the fort, Dad's hand fell on his good shoulder.
"It's late," he said. "Just tell me what--"
"I have to show you."
"No, Logan." He stepped in front of him, his face drawn in the moonlight, lines deepening around his mouth. "Tell me, because I need to get inside and talk to your mother."
"It's a puppy," Logan blurted.