CHAPTER SEVENTY
Cruising down the freeway, my hands wet on the steering wheel, a bit Thoreau wrote, Fears are as
good a prophet as hopes, replays in my thoughts. Pretty much sums up how I feel at the prospect of
unearthing another part of my past. It‟s a tug of war between common sense and curiosity. If history
provides any lesson, it might be pay attention to common sense.
“Hey Logan,” Matt derails my train of thought. “Can I ask ya something?”
“Sure.”
“Remember last night when your mom said Mister Eastham got you out of jail?”
My grip on the wheel tightens. Kid‟s a damn sponge, “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“I drove drunk and killed somebody.” No way in hell I‟m going into the sordid details even if I could
fuckin‟ remember.
“Whoa!” He‟s silent for a couple miles but I sense him casting me sly, sideways glances. “How? I mean
didn‟t you say stuff like that didn‟t bother you.”
“Stuff like what?”
“Drugs and booze. I heard mom say once aspirin didn‟t do squat for you.”
This kid don‟t miss a damn thing. “Dunno kid. Happened a long time ago.”
More reflective silence and then the kid mutters, “Guess that‟s what dad meant when he said you‟re a
criminal.”
I shrug. Doubt that‟s all Allen was getting at. But since Pandora flew the coop yesterday afternoon,
I‟m gonna hafta come clean with the kid soon or later. Pulling into a parking spot at the hospital; it‟s
good timing, saving the conversation from going farther. “Ready?”
Matt stretches and yawns.
“Don‟t do that,” I joke, followed by a face crack of my own.
XXX
She‟s sitting in the hospital lounger reading a magazine. Looks like somethin‟ on gardening. Gah! Run
away. Anytime she gets her hands on one, my honey- do list grows exponentially. Wearing the fugliest
puke green hospital gown and no make up, she‟s still perfection in my mind. “Hey beautiful lady, what
ya doing out o‟bed?” I ask handing her a bunch of roses I picked from the gift shop.
“Preserving my spine,” she declares rising to meet me with a kiss. I swear what ever moron designs
hospital beds deserves a special place in hell.” Regarding the posies, “Aww! Thank you. You guys‟ve
outdone yourselves.”
“Completely Logan‟s idea, Ma. Only credit I get is talking him out of orchids.”
Wrapping her son in a hug, “Well, whatever the choice, I‟m impressed.” Poor kid flushes bright pink.
“So, they gonna throw ya out o‟here, darlin‟?”
“They may not, but I am. I can‟t recoup here. It‟s too noisy and with nurse goody- two- shoes
monitoring me and the babies, I can‟t sleep.”
Tipping her nose with my finger, “I hear ya.”
She snaps her teeth, pretending to bite my finger, “How was your night?”
Shaking my head, “Got a couple hours rest.”
“Liar. Answer me this. How‟s the weather back at the ranch?”
Can‟t help chuckling at the way she phrases stuff and I play along, “Tornado watch in effect.”
“That‟s what I figured.”
“Listen Susie, I‟m all for springin‟ ya but not if there‟s any risk to you or the twins. I can cope if I
hafta.” Read between the lines, darlin‟. I‟m out of my league with this medical stuff and ain‟t got the
balls to tell you.
“No doubt, Bright Eyes but I think it‟ll be easier together.”
“You mean so you can babysit me, right?”
“No!” she presses her palm to her chest. “So you can pamper me.”
Can‟t help chuckling again, “B S, little beaver.”
“Well, which ever the case Logan, it‟s at least two days before I can fly home.” Turning her attentions
to Matt, “Son, I‟m seriously thinking you should hook up with your dad. We‟re only talking a day
earlier than originally planned.”
Lounging across the bottom of the hospital bed and zoning on the TV, the kid snaps to attention,
“Mom, no! Please. I‟m cool.”
“Matt, you‟re going to be bored out of your tree.”
“Heck no, I won‟t. Mister Summers and Julia said they‟d take me snowmobiling later.”
The kid‟s looking full of himself and declares, “Besides, I told dad I wasn‟t coming at all.” It‟s false
bravado „cuz I can smell fear and guilt.
Her head snaps up, “You what? Matthew Allen!” Leaning forward, demanding, “Enlighten me on this
remarkable development.”
“I just told him with you bein‟ sick and all, I‟m staying.”
She‟s bothered and flames me her best what- the- fuck glare.
“New one on me, darlin‟,” I reply pulling on my t-shirt collar. Gettin‟ toasty in here. Now, she looks
like she sucked a lemon. “Sorry darlin‟, mind readin‟s not my game.”
Talking to the kid, she asks, “Just when did this come about?
“Last night.”
“Well duh! Details dude, details.”
“Yes‟m. Well, it‟s like dad called; I guess when you were having the operation or somethin‟.”
“And he‟s ok with it?”
“Sorta. Mister Summers talked to him.”
“And?” she coaxes, aggravation plastered on her face.
“He just told dad we couldn‟t get to the plane on time and um, I think he said that you or Logan would
call him as soon as you guys could.”
“Oh well! Clearly I‟m not in a position to fix this right now.” Susie goes quiet and if I had x-ray vision,
I‟d see the wheels turning in her mind. She lets the kid sweat a while before pronouncing decree,
“However son, hear this loud and clear. You ARE going as per original agreement….”
“Mom!”
“Chill! If not, it gives your father more leverage to make things extremely ugly.”
Deflated, he sighs, “Oh.”
“Oh, is putting it mildly.” Next, she takes aim at me, “Did you remember to bring my clothes?”
Ok! Not the bullet I‟m braced for. “Clothes?” I smack my forehead. “Oh my gosh!”
She launches a plastic spoon in my direction, “I‟m going to beat….” She gets I‟m raggin‟ on her. “You
brat! Wipe that silly grin off your face.”
“Gotcha!” Retrieving the plastic missile, I tap the top of her head with it, “They‟re in the car, darlin‟.”
XXX
Plumping pillows and settling into our king sized bed back at the estate, Susie complains, “Good grief!
Hasn‟t even been twelve hours but I feel like a week.”
“No shit,” I answer, exhaling.
“Now that we can talk, how rough was your night?”
I shrug, “No nightmares, if that‟s what you‟re askin‟.”
“No nightmares because?”
I can‟t look her in the eye „cuz she ain‟t gonna like the answer.
“Logan, it‟s not something I see very often, but you look whipped.”
I do? Imagine that. “I‟m ok.”
“Uh huh.” She pats the bed, “Come „ere. Settle in and take a snooze.”
Thumbing through a sheaf of papers, curiosity‟s stronger than fatigue. “Mind if take a look at this?”
“What is it?”
“Five years o‟my life.”
Her brows arch.
“Robert had a copy of my service record.”
“Oh my gosh! Logan, that‟s….that‟s…fantastic!”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“How can it not be? We thought it‟d been completely purged.”
“Apparently who ever purged „em didn‟t know about this copy or figured it wasn‟t worth it.”
She rests her hands against her hips, “Well!”
“Well what?”
“Lemme see.”
“Nosy little broad, ain‟t ya.”
“After all the work we did last summer trying to recover this stuff; bet yer tight buns I‟m nosy.”
Implacable determination softens, “Wait a sec, Bright Eyes. If you don‟t want me to see it….”
“Nah! That‟s not it. To tell the truth, I‟m….not sure I can handle more shit right now.”
“You want me to look at it first?”
Both invites seem just right. I snuggle in beside her and hand over the papers. Before long, her
neutral expression gives way to a tentative smile. Curiosity nags at me. Can‟t help looking over her
shoulder.
“Logan, this is impressive.”
“What?”
“Two tours in Vietnam. And look at these commendations?” Her voice is a mix of awe and sadness. “I
really don‟t know that much about the Canadian system, but medals for bravery and valor are
generally pretty special in any armed force.”
Rapping my cranium on the headboard don‟t loosen any memories.
“Hey genius, get a load of these quals,” she lavishes. “Expert Sniper, Mountain Warfare, Urban Ops,
Jungle Warfare. Not too shabby on the other stuff either. Oh gee, only basic qual for Jump School?”
I chuckle and shrug, “Never could understand why anybody‟d wanna jump out of a perfectly good
airplane.”
“Hmm. I guess skydiving‟s not high on your list of must do‟s,” she teases with a glow in her eyes.
“Not for thrills anyway. Fuckin‟ bites when ya land it wrong, ya know?”
“Ah ha!” she exclaims
“Ah ha?”
“Here‟s the answer to all those languages you seem to know. Pointing to a line on the page she
explains, “Foreign Language School. Completed with honors, I might add.”
“Shit!”
“Oh and la-de-da! Certificate of honors for Infantry School as well as Military Intelligence. And here‟s
the coup- de-grace: Bachelor of the Arts, Military and Strategic Studies.”
“Nah- ah.”
“Uh- huh. Read it.” She shoves it in my face, “Right here.”
Sonofabitch! It does say that. Well, fuck going back to university next semester. I‟ll see to it ol‟ Chuck
eats this.
“James Andrew, you ever give me that Homer Simpson d‟oh act again…”
WTF Homer Simpson? “Damn! I knew nothin‟ good was gonna come out of seein‟ this,” I tease.
She swats the papers upside my head. “That‟s right, the game‟s over,” and continues reading. “Looks
like in „seventy- five you transitioned from Infantry to Intelligence.”
“Wish to hell I could remember,” I reply shaking my head.
“Me too. The backstory, especially Vietnam, must be amazing.”
“More like a major cluster-fuck, darlin‟." Don‟t need memory to know what a bad scene that was.
“You had to have done something right by the commendations you got.”
“I guess.”
“In „seventy- six it looks like you re-enlisted and went Counter Intelligence, Middle East Region. Now
that surprises me!”
“Why?”
“Not that you‟d be counter-intel., but that it‟s stated so clearly.”
“Oh, right. You‟re used to acronyms like U-Scope or somethin‟.”
“Well, not exactly. In the U.S. Navy you‟d simply be assigned a duty station. „Course if the station
happened to be Langly or the Pentagon, you knew the score.”
“Right.”
“By the way, what‟s U-Scope?”
“Buzz for U. S., Canadian Counter-Parahuman Initiative. Forerunner of Weapon X.”
“You‟re joking,” she shudders. “Gives me chills just thinking about it.”
“I never joke „bout shit like that.” Slinging my arm over her shoulder for comfort, I lose myself in a
thought, “Hmm. That weird.”
“What?”
“The ID number‟s different.”
“Different from what.”
“My ol‟dog tags.”
“How can that be?”
“Nah. Actually, it‟s not so weird.”
“You‟re losing me.”
“When I signed on with U-Scope, the old me went sayonara. New ID, codename, all kinds o‟deep
covert shit.”
“Logan you‟re saying that actually joined Weapon X voluntarily?”
“When I joined, it wasn‟t Weapon X. Believe me, babe, when I figured „em out I tried to bust out.”
Leaning back into the pillows, I mutter “I don‟t wanna go here.”
“I think I understand,” she replies tenderly. “Hey, I just thought of something. The ID on your record,
that‟s probably your true Canadian ID, right?”
Oh shit! I can smell the excitement coming off her and it ain‟t from bein‟ horny. “Uh huh.”
“That‟s awesome. Betcha I could track down more of your past.”
“Nuh-uh. No. Nada! And non!”
“Why not?”
“Cuz the last couple times ya did it turned up nothing but a lot o‟pain for both of us.”
“But…”
“No buts. Let it go. At least for now. Maybe later, when we‟re home and things settle down, I‟ll check
it out.”
She pouts, “Ooohh.”
Chucking her chin, “You‟re cute and transparent. Do me a favor. Please leave it „til we get home. I‟m
really at my limit right now.”
“Ok. I promise.”
My appreciative lips graze hers, “Thanks darlin‟.”
“Oh gosh, Logan! Speaking of home, I haven‟t called Allen back. Be a sweetie and bring me the cell
phone, please.”
Complaining, “Just when I‟m settled in all comfortable-like,” I roll of the bed in search of her phone.
“Ya want me to handle this?”
“Not so much, Bright Eyes. I really don‟t want another cell phone crunched.”
Flashing an impenitent grin, I declare, “I‟m hungry. How „bout I check on lunch?”
“Perfect,” she replies with a wink. “Hopefully Allen won‟t be a problem.”
XXX
“Susie…Susan.” Kicking the door, “Open up, darlin‟. Got my hands full out here.”
“Coming.” She stifles a groan, Damn! I smell it; she hurtin‟. What I‟d trade to share my healin‟ factor
with her.
“Careful, it‟s hot,” I warn as she relieves me of a plate of sandwiches balanced on top of bowls of thick
bean soup. “You ok, darlin‟?”
She rubs her side, “Just a little sore.”
We settle around the small tea table adjacent the lounge area. “Oh, that smells great. That hospital
breakfast was gross,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
I laugh. “How‟d it go with the ass….Allen.”
“Be nice,” she scolds. “For a change he didn‟t act like a jackass. Everything‟s all set for Matt to join
him like we planned.”
“Meaning tomorrow?” I ask between chowing down on corned beef and swiss cheese.
“No Thursday, the twenty ninth.”
“Right.” Damn! It has been crazy. Losin‟ track of the date.”
She nods, “I know.”
Conversation lulls while we satiate our appetites. As sick and hurtin‟ as she seemed only last night, it
does me a world of good to see how a little rest and nourishment puts the sparkle back into her eyes
and color in her complexion. I don‟t scare easy, but ……A chill creeps up my spine recalling her
collapsed in my arms. “Susan, remember the other night when I asked ya if you‟d still marry me”
“Christmas night?” She barely glances away from her lunch, “Yeah. Why?”
“What would you say to makin‟ our marriage legal?”
She lets the spoon slide into the bowl. “We can do that?”
“Until the thirty first we can.”
Her eyes dance, “I‟d say yes. What‟s significant about the thirty first?”
“Mutant Registration Act.”
“Oh, that stupid thing!” The delight suddenly vanishes from her eyes, “Oh Logan, this could be a
problem.”
I‟m sensing a boat load of frustration coming from her. “Like what, darlin‟?”
“There are stipulations in my custody and support agreements with Allen.”
“Fuck that!” I snarl. Don‟t blow yer stack Wolverine. Least wise, not at her. Take a deep breath.
“What‟s that slime ball got over ya now?”
“I stand to lose the house for one. Alimony for another, but honestly that‟s a drop in the bucket. Worst
of it, he‟s got first right of renegotiating custody. With the mood of things, you know he‟d jump on it in
a New York minute.”
“Wait a sec, darlin‟. Allen doesn‟t need to know a damn thing.”
“That‟s dishonest. I‟ve never, ever gone that route and I won‟t start now.”
The hesitation I‟m sensing from her don‟t exactly give me a warm fuzzy. “Susan, what are you
saying?”
She sighs, “I‟m saying is I‟ve got to consult with Sandra and it might take time.”
Slamming my head into a brick wall seems like a good plan at the moment. “Look! I get all your
considerations for the boys and I‟ll never fault ya for it. But I gotta play dirty pool here.” Better yet,
slam Allen face first into a wall. “What about our children? I know first hand what it‟s like to be a
bastard. If there‟s a way, then dammit, I‟m gonna keep that stigma off „em.”
“Logan, we‟re in violent agreement but it complicated….”
Her eyes go liquid, reducing me to spam. “What‟s complicated about lovin‟ you and doin‟ the right
thing for our kids? Ok, the timing sucks. I‟m sorry I didn‟t know about it sooner.”
Her voice is full of entreaty, “No, don‟t ever be sorry. Your heart‟s right where it needs to be.” She
reaches across the table and laces her fingers with mine, “Do you know how much I love and respect
you for that?
God! She‟s the genuine article. Ain‟t sure I truly deserve all that love and respect she‟s telegraphin‟
my direction, but I‟ll take it. “So, Susan Stryker Harris…,” I draw her soft hand to my lips,“…will ya be
my lawful wife?
XXX
Massaging between his shoulder blades, “Logan. Hey sleepy head.”
He startles, “Huh?”
“It‟s five o‟clock.”
“Mmmm. So.”
“Matt should be back. Do you mind if we join everybody downstairs for a while?”
He yawns and stretches, “I dunno Susie. After what happened this morning in the pool house, it might
not be a good idea.”
“Oh no. What now?”
It‟s plain he doesn‟t appreciate my sentiments. but I can‟t stop laughing as he tells me the latest
sordid chapter of the Howlett Family Saga. I‟d probably feel different if he didn‟t have a healing factor
and sported Frankenstein stitches across his forehead. “Ok. You do what you need to do. Would you
mind if I tested the water? If not for our family honor, for Matt‟s sake.”
“You sure you‟re up to it? I mean, ya just had surgery.”
“It‟s not like I‟m trying out for the Olympic swim team.”
“I dunno, darlin.”
“Logan, everything stiffens up if I don‟t move around some.”
“Ok. Guess I‟ll dive on in with ya.”
“Fair enough. And if it gets too deep we‟ll backstroke for the shallows.”
XXX
“Marvelous, marvelous,” Elizabeth exclaims as Logan and I make our entrance into the drawing room.
I can‟t smell emotions like he can but I can read his face. Furrowed brow, mouth tight and grim; paint
his expression one of pained tolerance. At best.
“My prayers are answered. You look very well all things considered,” Elizabeth gushes before pecking
my cheek with a kiss.
There‟s no sign the ol‟ girl‟s got an axe to grind-- yet. “Thanks Elizabeth,” I reply. “Scary as it all
seemed, it‟s fairly quick to recover from.”
She continues, “James—Excuse me, Logan. I hope you‟ll forgive that little misunderstanding this
morning.”
Stone silent, Logan bee lines straight for a shot of liquid courage. He‟s such a contrast: An almost
mythic hero who‟s stood up to megalomaniacs bent on subjugating mankind versus the very real man
battling familial and personal demons.
“Hey, hey,” Robert Eastham cuts in. “We were just talking about you two.”
“I guess that‟s why my ears were burning.”
“Only if the talk‟s disparaging. Now young lady, take this seat right here,” Robert charms.
“Sue, ya want something?” Logan asks.
“Club soda, please.”
Amazingly, he sounds cordial when asking, “Top off, Robert?”
He crosses the room, taking station beside Logan at the wet bar. “Don‟t mind if I do. Merci.”
Something‟s up as they converse in low tones. Dag-nabbit! They‟re speaking French.
Elizabeth‟s babbling about something or another makes it doubly difficult to split my attention. “…so
important that we start over, don‟t you think Susan?”
“I‟m sorry,” I reply, reluctantly focusing on my mother in law.
“I said, considering the unpleasantness over the past two days, I think we all need to start over.”
“I think the person you need to ask is Logan.” That shut her down. From the sour look on her face it‟s
a reasonable guess she‟s not about to take things on directly with him. Yee ha! It‟s going to be a fun
couple of days. Not.
The men‟s conversation grows louder and animated as Robert exclaims “Tres bien,” which I
understand before Logan hands me a goblet of club soda. To be ornery, I ask in Spanish, “What‟s the
big secret?”
Smart aleck answers, “Me to know and you to guess,” in Spanish!
“Hey! I thought you didn‟t do much Espanol?”
“Didn‟t „til I figured out I better to keep ahead of you and Electra.”
“And you call me nosy! Now come on, what gives?”
“Robert needed to know when we‟re gonna do this thing „bout legalizing our marriage.”
Elizabeth butts in, “Wonderful. So you‟ve all discussed it and everything‟s settled. It‟s been such a joy
putting this together for you, son….”
“Liz, darling,” Robert pinches his lips between thumb and index finger.
“Oh foo,” she waves him off. “I was so afraid the unpleasantness of the past few days were going to
hamper things.”
Logan casts her a sidelong glance in utter disbelief. Heaving a sigh, he polishes off his drink in a single
gulp and pours another.
XXX
“Oh yeah. That was totally out there,” Just returning from snow catting, Matt‟s exuberant voice and
Scott‟s laughter punctuates the uncomfortable silence in the drawing room. “Julia, you can really
handle that ol‟ snow cat.”
“You mean for a girl, eh?”
“Aw, no ma‟am. For anybody.”
A moment later the animated trio burst in. “Perfect timing,” Elizabeth interjects. “Scott, Julia help
yourselves to brandy. You look positively frozen through. Matthew there‟s pop—oh excuse me, Susan,
the young man‟s allowed pop, isn‟t he?”
I nod and hold up my index finger. Matt understands.
She continues to ramble, “Julia, we were just discussing that little item of business of your brother
and Susan.”
Julia seems to be ignoring her mother and strides to the wet bar, “I am frozen. It‟s been ages since I
took an afternoon and just played like a kid.” Turning to Scott, “Brandy, love?”
Leaning against the huge marble fireplace, Logan seems fixated on the flames. Going to his side,
“Penny for your thoughts,” I murmur and rest my hand on the small of his back.
He sighs. “The whole thing‟s out o‟control, ya know?”
“Time for a break?”
Before he can answer, Elizabeth interrupts, “Speaking of impending nuptials…,” She looks expectantly
at Scott and Julia, “… you two have wonderful news to share.”
“Mother, please.”
“None sense Julia Ann. I‟ve been fit to burst with joy since Christmas Eve. Now with your brother
poised to make a truly honest woman of Susan…“
Truly honest woman? Excuse me! Who couldn‟t be bothered to marry the father of two of her children?
Clueless or self-centered, I‟m not certain, she bulldozes ahead, “Celebration is in order. Robert, be so
kind and open that bottle of Moet.”
Really, Mother! This isn‟t the time. Sue, Logan, mother‟s way ahead of herself.” There‟s no missing her
imploring glare aimed at Scott but he looks surprised by her reaction.
Ever the diplomat, Scott concurs, “Elizabeth, Jule and I, um, thought we‟d keep things low key. At
least „til we had a chance to pick out a ring.”
For the first time all evening Logan seems to loosen up a tad. Perhaps he‟s glad focus has shifted
away from us. He tilts his head and stares intently at his sister and Scott, those nostrils of his working
overtime sorting emotions the rest of us guess at.
On a tangent, it‟s clear Elizabeth isn‟t listening, “Yes, yes. I‟m well aware of the formalities.
Considering those ridiculous laws hanging over your heads, one might assume you and Scott….”
I can‟t understand the words to Julia‟s response, but from the tone and the look on her face, it must
be a hum-dinger. Elizabeth‟s lips freeze in mid-verbiage.
Laugh lines quiver around his eyes and mouth. “Touche,” Logan mutters between sips of scotch.
Momma-bear shoots back in English, “Impertinence suits you not Julia Ann.”
Ooo-wee! That Howlett death glare must be genetic or something.
I spy Robert whispering something to Elizabeth. She seems resistant then abruptly breaks into a
smile, “Ja---uh, Logan, have you been to the solarium?”
He shakes his head.
Crossing over to us, inserting herself between and linking arms she says, “Well, I insist you see it.”
Logan tenses, wrenches from her grasp and snarls, “What for? Got a firing squad or something?”
Chuckling nervously, she asks, “How could you think of such a thing?” Abruptly her mood softens, “I
rediscovered something that I think you‟ll find rather amusing. The plan was to present it last night
with all the other gifts.”
He glowers coldly as she reaches to touch him arm. Retreating, she says “Please son, won‟t you allow
me to atone for my errors?”
Now I wish I could read minds or sense emotions. I‟m fairly certain Elizabeth is on the up and up; at
least as far as she‟s capable. It‟s Logan I‟m not to sure about.
He finally asks, “What‟s so amusing?”
“Come. See. I promise---I think you‟ll be pleased.”
I hear Scott whisper something and Matt snicker.
“Ouch!” Scott exclaims.
Julia punches his arm, “Don‟t say one word,” she warns.
If Logan‟s picking up on their conversation, and it‟s impossible to believe he isn‟t, he‟s ignoring them.
Creased brow, hooded eyes, arms crossed over his chest, his posturing makes me want to crawl under
the nearest rock.
We traipse behind Elizabeth and Robert to the southwestern corner of the mansion. He sucks in a not
so quiet breath, testing emotions, I suppose. It must be instinctive; his arms seem tense; prepped for
rapid claw deployment. Extending my hand, he fists, deflecting my gesture of support. Silently, I pray,
Please God, let this little amusement actually be amusing to my husband.
Pausing, I guess for dramatic effect, Elizabeth throws open immense, shear curtained, double, paned
glass doors, revealing a huge, airy, casual setting dominated by a massive, elaborately decorated
conifer, “Joyeux Noel, fils!”
With what I‟d classify as a practiced fuck-off-who-gives a shit declaration, Logan snorts.
We collectively gasp as our eyes fall upon the surprise. Set up to the left of the tree is an enormous,
detailed model railroad and village.
“Way cool,” my son gushes.
Standing there, shaking his head, unguarded wonderment creeps over Logan‟s features, not unlike his
expression on seeing the twins on sonogram.
“You got that right.” Making restrained eye contact with his mother for the first time, his voice trips, “I
can‟t believe you kept this all these years.”
Phew! Can I breathe now?
Elizabeth replies, “I have the reputation as a bit of a pack rat,” and gently pushes him toward it.
“Besides, this is one of the few good links I have to your father.”
“You mean Tom?”
She nods.
Walking slowly around it, pointing out miniature houses, realistic trees, exquisitely whittled people and
livestock figurines to anyone paying attention, “See this?” He gently fingers a tiny hockey rink,
complete with a diminutive team, “I threw a fit for weeks to have it put in.”
An intense, secret expression flashes over his face. No, no! Please not a bad memory. Not now.
“Geeze, I remember!” Brightening, “I must have four or five. Even got Kai to bug the daylights out of
everybody.” Again, a shadow casts over his delight. “What ever happened to Kai?” he asks Elizabeth.
“I honestly don‟t know.”
Continuing his tour of the model railroad, he points to a slightly lopsided structure, “Oh this is great! I
carved it.”
“What is it?” Matt asks.
“Can‟t ya tell, dude? A ski lodge.”
“I remember,” Elizabeth laughs, “when you made it. And I remember the four stitches in your thumb.”
“Don‟t remember that.”
“James had an amazing ability to consistently mangle himself right before a recital.”
“As in piano recital?” I question.
Try as he might, Scott can‟t stifle a laugh, “I‟ve got an image in my mind…”
“And ya can keep it to y‟self, bub,” Logan warns but his expression doesn‟t match his threatening
tone.
Pointing toward a group of meticulously crafted houses, “But I do remember those.” Gingerly holding
it up, is that nostalgia I see in his expression? “Tom spent hours on „em. Kai and I loved to watch.”
Logan seems awed, “I never realized how talented he was.”
“Like father like son,” I add. “I haven‟t told y‟all about the cradle Logan built for the twins.” Logan
flashes an uneasy grimace and for a second I‟m afraid I crossed an unspoken line.
Scott probably didn‟t catch Logan‟s disconcerted expression and asks, “Is that what he was doing in
the woodshop back at School all these weeks?”
“Nah Cyke. I was…” He starts to make a gesture involving a portion of his anatomy. Considering the
company, thankfully he reconsiders.
“Hey Logan,” Matt asks, “do the trains work?”
Logan glances at Elizabeth who defers to Scott and Julia.
“Scott and I did a test run on Christmas Eve,” Julia assures.
“My men reply with a jubilant, “Awesome!”
“Excellent,” Elizabeth declares. “Now, if you‟ll excuse me, I‟m off to check with Phillip. Perhaps supper
in here might suit best.”
“I‟ll join you, my dear,” Robert says. “Leave the youngsters to their toys.”
Just before exiting, Elizabeth lectures, “Gentlemen, running the trains is acceptable but,” she stares
directly at her son, “Crashing the trains is not.”
“Busted!” Scott quips.
Even on his best behavior, copping a look of innocence just isn‟t Logan and a naughty grin spreads
across his face. “Busted,” he agrees.
“What‟s that about?” I beg, settling into a nearby cushioned wicker chaise settee with a hushed grunt.
“Nothin‟,” he replies fiddling with the power boxes and casting a worried glance at me.
“I‟m ok. Incisions are just a little sore.”
Julia cuts in, “Are you certain? Can we get you something?”
“Thanks so much but I‟m perfect as long as I get off my feet. Now come on, somebody spill this train
wreck gossip.”
“It seems my big brother and his friends…”
“Hey, it was mostly John Paul,” Logan defends.
“Sorry brother! I only know what mother‟s told me. Any way Sue, whomever it was liked to get the
trains going around the tracks so fast they‟d de-rail.”
“Why am I not surprised,” I giggle.
To Logan, she elaborates, “Mother says you destroyed two complete sets one holiday.”
He looks insufferably pleased with himself. “Probably true.” He laughs, “But ya should o‟seen the
head-on JP and I staged.”
“And of course,” I inject, “just like that indoor tennis ball hockey mishap, it was all JP‟s idea.”
“Well—yeah!” Logan replies. Eyes gleaming, an undiluted smile plastered on his face, he sets the
trains to full throttle.
XXX
Footnote: My fears are as good prophets as my hopes. H.D. Thoreau Journal, 19 March 1842. The
Penguin Dictionary of Epigrams
CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE
We haven‟t been asleep more than an hour, well make that him. Heartburn and a soccer match in my
belly keep me in that zone between wakeful and dozing.
Logan‟s flat on his back, his right arm drapes over his eyes and he sounds like a revved up chainsaw.
Despite model trains, good memories and passable interaction with Elizabeth, he still consumed vast
quantities of alcohol; no doubt contributing to his ease in slumber; or would that be passed out?
It‟s so unfair! I‟d give a minor fortune for a couple glasses of wine, a heartburn free night, to sleep flat
on my stomach.
Unfair or not, I let my frustrations loose as we turned in for the night. “Are you planning on spending
the next twenty four hours marinating in booze?”
“Excuse me!” he replied.
“I won‟t excuse you. It‟s too much.”
Glaring sourly, he stripped off his clothes, left them in a heap on the floor and retreated to the
bathroom. Oh that‟s just about right! Dump your duds all over the place „cuz you how much it pisses
me off. Let‟s see; his Neanderthal imitation should be next.
Emerging a few minutes later, grunting and scratching himself, he declared, “I don‟t need this shit.”
If I had a dollar for every time he goes caveman, I‟d do better than my stock broker! “I surely don‟t,
either.” Pulling the covers up to my chin, I griped, “And you don‟t have to get all snarky on me.”
Crawling into his side of the bed, he growled, “Then back off.”
With a harrumph, I switched off the bedside lamp.
Silence followed. A few minutes later, he switched the lamp on and sat up. Warm fingers fondled my
hair, “Susie?” He sounded oddly hesitant. “Listen darlin‟, I‟m—sorry. I‟m working through a lotta shit;
make that we, but… I need …. space.”
Still set on making my point, I didn‟t hesitate with a rebuttal. “I get that, but it‟s the alcohol. If it
weren‟t for your healing factor you‟d be a raging alcoholic.”
He clapped his hands. “Score a point for the good doctor!” Sarcasm spiked each word.
Tossing my hands up, I returned fire, “Don‟t be a jackass. You know I‟m right.”
Paint a target on my forehead! The Wolverine death glare burned a hole into my brain. Propped
against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest, he was coiled to strike, “Yeah, you‟re right.
Blissfully so. Happy now?”
Good grief! No, I‟m not happy. I felt like a first class bitch stooping to name calling. But
sometimes…Oh, never mind. “Logan, I‟m sorry. A fight is the last thing we need.”
His expression mellowed, “Just give it a rest.”
He sounded beaten and that made me feel worse. I smoothed my palm against his stubbly cheek, “I‟m
so sorry I insisted on this trip.”
He draped his arms around my shoulders, “Not your fault. You know I wanted something good to
come from it, too. Sometimes it just ain‟t to be.”
Sniffling into his shoulder I replied, “I guess.”
Silence reigned and then he mused, “She‟s really all over the place, ain‟t she?”
“Who? You‟re mother?”
I felt his head nod.
“That‟s rapid cycling bi-polar for you. Stress exacerbates it.”
“Tell me „bout it. Ya know, Sue, I look at her and I see me.”
“Oh no. I don‟t. Well, maybe that temper.” Chilled, I snuggled closer and added, “Julia seems to have
the same short fuse.”
His brown eyes narrowed, his smile, humorless, “Temper doesn‟t come any where close to describing
what I…”
I touched his lips with my finger, “You‟re comparing apples and oranges. Bi-polar and PTSD are very
different conditions. What I‟m saying is when you have an emotional reaction there‟s a damn good
reason for it. For Elizabeth, it simply happens and sometimes her reaction isn‟t even appropriate for
the circumstance.”
He didn‟t look convinced and his reply, “Maybe,” sounded tepid.
“No maybe about it. This evening‟s a perfect case study. In the span of a few minutes I watched her
run a gamut of emotions; inappropriately manipulate conversations, bait you and your sister. By the
way, who bit? Not you.”
He chuckled but there was no light in his eyes.
“Oh gosh! This hasn‟t got anything to do with your mother and all, but did Charles ever call back
about the mess with Wendy?”
He groaned and muttered, “Shit!” Stretching his arms over his head, he became silent.
Damn him and the silent treatment. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“It‟s deep but that‟s another story,” I joked hoping to finagle his mood. I‟m going to hafta cajole the
details out piece meal. “Did Charles call?”
“Yep.”
“Is everything ok?”
“Far as I can tell.”
“Oh come on! What happened? Did someone try to snatch Wendy again?”
“Again?”
“Yeah. That‟s what the police report chalked it up to.”
“Thought you said sexual assault?”
“That was secondary, if I remember right.”
“Damn! I need to see it when we get back.”
“Doubtful Logan. She‟s a minor and it‟ll be sealed.”
He sighed.
“Hey stinker, you never really answered my question.”
“Which one was that?”
“Grrrr!” I smacked him with a pillow and enunciated every syllable, “Was.. there.. an-o-ther.. ab-duc-
tion.. at-tempt.. made?”
“Ok, ok!” He yanked the pillow away and hugged it close to himself. “Have mercy woman.” His fingers
dug into the pillow as he exhaled, “I‟m still tryin‟ to get my head around this….”
“What? Don‟t tell me…. her mother….What‟s that woman want?”
He dipped his head and snorted. That gesture in itself spoke volumes.
Quick, somebody take my blood pressure. I‟ve got no issues with Wendy; she‟s a sweetheart. If her
budding mutations come to fruition like Hank‟s testing indicated, Xavier‟s school is going to be the
best place for her. Her mother, on the other hand—I don‟t like her nor do I trust her and I don‟t want
her anywhere near my husband.
Who am I kidding, though? Wendy Jennings enrolls and….And I thought Allen‟s wife and their little
princesses were a thorn in my side. At least they live across town.
He sat up, dropped the pillow, scrubbed his face with his palms, and leveled, “Somebody from Weapon
X wants the kid.”
Hold your horses, cowboy! That‟s not what I expected him to say. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“That‟s not funny, Logan.”
“Ain‟t joking.”
Crud bunnies! He isn‟t. “I thought whatever remained of Weapon X is at the bottom of Alkali Lake.”
“Only one division. Marla was involved with Replications….”
I interrupted, “What the dickens is that?”
“Genetic research.”
“Right. That‟s her Ph.D.; genetics. Is it this Replications that‟s interested in Wendy?”
“Sounds like it.”
“Why‟d she call Charles?”
“She didn‟t. She called me. But since we weren‟t there….”
“And Charles thought it serious enough.”
“Yep.”
“Why would…Oh my God! I‟m conjuring up a mess of ugly possibilities.”
With a no- shit expression he assented, “Uh huh.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We are gonna to do nothing. When we get back, I’m gonna have a little chat with her and figure out
just what the fucks‟s going down.”
“Logan, what if she‟s neck deep with them? She could lead them right to our doorstep!”
“Yeah, she could, but Charles didn‟t sense it.”
“He‟s not infallible. What‟s your gut tell you?”
He stared past me and shook his head, “Dunno know, darlin‟.”
Every instinct told me he‟s not telling the whole story but he pulled me close, “Can‟t do squat about it
right now. Let‟s get some sleep.”
I sighed, frustrated over yet another batch of complications stirred into the mix. He‟s right about one
thing. We can’t do squat; for now. “Love you Bright Eyes.”
He added the pillow missile to my stack, plumping it for me, “Love ya, too.” He smooched my cheek,
switched off the light and nestled into the downy mattress. Tangling his fingers in mine, he shielded
his eyes with his right arm and conked out in minutes.
No fair! I wanna feel as comfy as he looks; put stuff out of my mind as easily. I yawned and counted
baby kicks trying to get my mind off Marla Jennings and creeping, cold dread.
XXX
Snorting and twitching, he jolts me from the edge of slumber. Dammit!
I just settle back when he flails about muttering gibberish. One knee bends, tenting the covers,
leaving me short-sheeted.
I yank a section of blanket back, “Knock it off,” I whisper.
He responds with a groan, “Hurts,” and curls protectively around a pillow.
Poor baby! Propping myself on an elbow, ruffling his shower damp hair, I coo, “Logan.”
He sighs and relaxes the stranglehold on the pillow but he‟s still curled into himself like he‟s got a belly
ache or something.
He‟s facing away from me so I rub his shoulders, “It‟s ok. Sshh. Let it go.”
Moments later, I find myself dodging his left arm as he flings it across the bed. Now, he‟s flat on his
back, rocking his head from side to side. Whines of, “Pain! Why? Stop! Uhh. No. Help,” are
intermingled with grunts and moans.
I should have known. He hasn‟t put anything to rest in his mind. I think a nightmare‟s bearing down
on him like a freight train. Afraid how this might turn out, I switch on the bedside lamp.
His eyes dart a mile a minute beneath shuttered lids. He‟s flushed and beads of perspiration well up
like raindrops on his upper lip and brow. Longer strands of raven hair curl while shorter strands either
stick straight up or plaster against his forehead.
Yep. A nightmare for sure and I‟m guessing it‟s a doozy.
His limbs convulse, his back arches, alternately tangling and tossing the covers. There‟s a tell-tale
blue shadow underneath his knuckles.
God help me! He‟s warned me more than once to get the hell away from him if he ever…this is the
ever he means.
Lightning fast he sits up. His eyes, dilated blackened orbs, stare unfocused and then blink. His
expression grows predatory and dire. Baring sharp canines he lets loose with a ferocious snarl. “Kill
you… motherfucker.” Claws spring from his knuckles and geyser of crimson shoots skyward as he
drives all six claws into the mattress and his left thigh.
I scream, wrenching myself out of harms way. He‟s caught the edge of my nightgown. Stumbling, I
wrap my arms around my belly, sheltering our unborn children and nearly fall flat on my face. His
blood rains down, soaks into my gown with vengeance, sears where it touches flesh. The reek of
copper, bitter in my nostrils; defiles everything it touches.
Ejecting himself from the bed, he lands in a crouch. Scarlet tipped claws spike the floor for balance.
Eyes downcast, his brows knit together as one. I think I can hear his jaw or teeth grate together. His
mouth is thin and bloodless as he gnaws his lower lip and exhales a wheeze of pain. The color and
rate of blood gushing from three gaping wounds portends severe damage to his femoral veins.
Dear God! Can he bleed out? Supposedly not, but damn if I want to test the assumption.
Rising to his full six foot three height, assessing his surroundings with unfathomable eyes, it seems
he‟s not fazed by venous hemorrhaging.
“Logan.”
A throaty growl is his answer. Logan is gone; consumed by inner demons. In his place, lurks a
soulless, bestial savage. This is the mythical, feral Wolverine; A man made into killing machine.
His face is hard and haggard. His arm muscles are solid rocks; abdominals rigid as the adamantium
encasing his bones. Stress arousal radiates throughout his body. Even his genitals tent the boxers he
wears. His nostrils flare, puffing like a bull having just run the gauntlet in Pamploma.
Suddenly, he‟s all specifically directed action. Breath ragged, his growls are punctuated with,
“No…can‟t stop….kill …” Claws deployed, any thing in his path is in peril. A marble table top splits and
a crystal vase shatters on the floor. A rosewood dresser splinters; knick knacks scatter, reduced to
trash.
A juggernaut moves with stealth precision in my direction and there‟s no protection curled up on this
couch. I need to get away now but it‟s a long way to the door. My heart‟s about to burst through my
chest. Clutching rock hard belly I know fear‟s making my uterus contract.
“Logan. It‟s me. Please,” I plead and inch my way toward safety. I‟ve seen him in the Danger Room
and I know how fast he moves. Coupled with the claws, if I am his target, I‟m already dead.
No! This can‟t be real. I‟m lost in a nightmare. That‟s it. I‟ll wake up any second. Maybe I‟ll scream
and then he‟ll wake up; take me into his arms make it all go away.
A foot or two from the door, I gasp, biting back the urge to cry. I‟ve tread on something. It‟s sharp
and I stumble backward.
He stops. Raising his chin and cocking his head, he sniffs. Does he smell my pain? My fear? Steely,
cold eyes pierce me, their brightness only outshone by gleaming adamantium daggers.
God help me. I am his prey! My brain demands flight but my body can‟t obey. I can‟t hear for the
blood rushing ice cold through my veins. I can‟t force oxygen into my lungs. My head swims and
sparkles of light dance in my vision. Hold on, Susan. Faint now and it‟s over.
His lips curl into an anticipatory leer. His arousal remains obvious. Oh God, maybe murder‟s not his
intent. Shivers of revulsion raise goose bumps and twist my stomach.
“Logan. Don‟t do this.”
His eyes seem wide, alert but there‟s no sign he comprehends my plea.
Three feet away, his pace is precise, fleet though time is molasses to my mind. I‟m crabbing on all
fours in a futile effort for time and space. “Dear God, if this is your plan…” He‟s two feet away.
He towers over me, all six claws bearing down. Covering my face with my hands, he‟s so close his hot
breath is like a blast furnace against my epidermis. “…please let me die quickly.”
An ominous, canine howl echoes throughout the room.
With crossed arms, shielding our children in utero, I curl into a defensive doughnut and wail, “Noooo!”
CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO
A cold draft puckers my butt cheeks, sends goose bumps up my spine. Susie‟s short-sheeted me.
“Knock it off,” breaks my somnolence. Must be snoring? Grunting, I roll onto my side, mutter, “Sorry,”
and drift again with the warm tide of slumber.
She calls my name and I grunt, “Huh?”
I‟m wide awake. Fear, thick enough to taste, sticks in my throat. What the fuck?
Turning toward her, raising up on one elbow, I see she‟s curled in fetal position protectively hugging
her belly. I hear moans and mewling. Her breath comes in short, shallow gasps.
Jesus Christ! What the hell‟s wrong? She sick again? In pain? Is something going on with the twins?
Don‟t need a repeat of the other night. Get hold of yourself fool! Ain‟t smelling any pain.
“Susie, darlin‟.” Damn! Poor kid‟s half frozen.
Beneath my touch, she shivers but not from cold. Her hair‟s tangled and strewn over the pillow. Her
nightgown clings like a second skin accentuating her swollen belly.
It kills me to see her like this and I feel responsible. Tucking covers around her I croon, “Come on.
Wake up, darlin‟, it‟s just a dream.” To ease her fear, I massage her shoulders and back.
She grabs the blankets tight around her and cries out; something between a whimper and a screech.
This has got to stop. I switch the lamp on and shake her. “Susan!”
Blue eyes dart back and forth, unseeing, staring through me. Tears glisten on lush lashes. Clenched
fingers tear at the blanket. Voice pitching hysterical, she wails, “Logan. It‟s me. Please. Don‟t do this.”
Oh for fuck‟s sake, this is out of control! She‟s having a nightmare about me.
Shielding her face with her hands, she pleads, “Dear God…please…let me die… quickly.”
Out of the blue, she screams, setting my nerves and eardrum buzzing. Thrashing around as if caught
in a seizure, she lurches away from me and I grab desperately, snagging the hem of her nightdress
and pulling her back before she pitches to the floor
She wails, “Noooo!” and folds into herself.
I scoop her into my arms, “Baby, wake up, please. I‟ll never hurt ya.”
She doesn‟t hear and struggles against me. I grasp her chin and force her to face me, “Susan!”
The sour scent of fear gives way to sulfuric survival instinct. She goes ballistic, howling like a banshee.
Fists pound my face and chest. Survival instinct beats fear hands down in my playbook and since she
can‟t hurt me I let her go for it.
That onyx ring of hers meets with my upper lip and I taste salty copper. No worries, but as fingernails
gouge a stinging channel across my cheek and down my neck I‟m thinking it‟s time for a tactical re-
evaluation.
I wrap her tight against my chest, effectively pinning her arms. She wriggles and I feel the pressure of
teeth against my chest. Bracing for the chomp; man, she is beyond outer space!
She gasps and the fire‟s gone. The light reflected in her timid eyes tells me she‟s achieved re-entry
and I relax my embrace.
Delicate fingers hesitantly trace the path of blood from the wounds she inflicted. Tears spill, choking
her voice, “Logan! What have I done?”
“Nothin‟,” I console. “I‟m ok, darlin‟.”
She smells of despair and sorrow. It ain‟t a second before low, tortured sobs rack her little body.
My arms encircle her, rocking her like a child. “It‟s ok. Just a bad dream. I love you,” I murmur,
pressing kisses into her golden tresses. I wish I had the power to repress her misery.
Sobs give way to hiccups and I lift her chin. Her face and my chest are smeared with salty tears and
what she‟d refer to as rhinorrhea
She peers at me with puffy, blood shot eyes and whispers, “I‟m a mess.”
Nodding, I reply, “Uh huh.” Snot ball or not, you‟re still my beautiful darlin‟.
She touches my face once more, “Thank heaven, you‟re healed.” More tears breach the dam. “I…I‟m
so sorry.”
“Ssshh. You‟ve got no reason to be. That was a mother of a nightmare.”
“B-but…I hurt you.”
“Nah!” A couple scratches and a busted lip‟re nothing. Pain‟s realizing that she might be afraid of me.
I‟d let her ol‟ man bond my bones ten times over if it guaranteed she‟d never fear me. After tearing
things up the other day, I‟m not so sure.
I reach for a tissue and blot her face. “Wanna tell me about it?”
A protracted sigh breezes past her lips, “I dunno.”
Eyes crinkled, she nibbles her lower lip and shivers. Fear still radiates from her though it ain‟t the
powerful stuff from before. She ain‟t ready to talk and maybe I ain‟t ready to hear what she might
say.
A deep breath doesn‟t steady her voice, “It‟s bizarre…so….real…I dreamed you were having a
nightmare; the worst I‟d ever seen. I thought you were go--….”
Bam! Bam! Bam! The door rattles on its hinges. “Mom!”
“What the hells going on in there?” booms a deeper voice.
Could‟ve seen this coming; it‟s Matt and Scott. Fuck it all! The last thing we need‟s an audience.
“We‟re good. Susie just had a bad dream.” No way should the kid see his mother like this. As for
Sergeant Snoopy, just go away and mind your own fuckin‟ business.
No surprise, Matt opens the door anyway. In his shoes, I‟d do the same though I‟d probably break the
fuckin‟ door down.
A familiar scent drifts through the door; li‟l sis hanging behind the rescue party. Bet it won‟t be long
before we‟ve got mama bear and her sugar daddy scoping the scene. A regular packed house;
somebody sell tickets.
Summers, hand to visor and assuming the blast Wolverine to shit position, looks like he's got a killer
migraine. Mentally, I flinch. Been on the receiving end and it ain‟t no trip to Vegas.
“Ain‟t what yer thinkin‟, Cyke,” I snarl. “Stand down,”
From his scent, he doesn‟t believe me but drops his arm anyway.
I take a good look at him; more to the point, what he‟s wearing. Taking every ounce of self control I
got to keep from bustin' a gut laughing, I sneer, “Didn‟t ya know Viagra causes headaches, bub?”
“Mom?” Matt, a mix of bewilderment, panic and predictable fury, (fairly aimed at me, no doubt)
sprints across the room.
“It‟s ok,” Susan assures and pulls him into a hug.
Matt breaks free. “Logan, what happened?” Fury peters out to more confusion.
“Cut myself shavin‟.”
“Huh?” the kid replies.
Red faced, Scott rakes me over. Dislike and embarrassment war with curiosity.
Sharp as a bowling ball, I think he got the Viagra comment.
Susie turns scarlet, burying her face in her hands, “Please everybody, I‟m fine. Logan‟s fine.”
Graceful under the gun—again, Susie pulls herself together, takes Matt‟s hands and hushes him before
delivering to Scott and Julia, “There‟s no emergency. I simply had a nightmare and with all y‟all
standing here I feel really stupid. Now please, just go on back to bed.”
Julia closes the gap and tangles her arm in Scotts. Her eyes fall on Susie and I sense confusion and
sympathy. Then she takes a gander at me and her brown eyes darken like thunderclouds. Hey
princess, I ain‟t the bad guy this time.
“Ya heard my wife!” I‟m about to tell them to take a long walk off a short pier but I check myself.
“Everything‟s under control.”
Carbon copy of shared maternal heritage, Julia snips, “Quite,” and yanks Scotts arm. Can‟t help
thinking she‟s got a choker collar on the pup already.
After protracted silence, he shrugs and retreats a few paces stinking of skepticism.
Susie doesn‟t miss his wary demeanor and responds, “Yes Scott, once in a blue moon I get nightmares
too.” Her patronizing tone‟s tame compared to the annoyance and humiliation leaching off her.
Can‟t help twisting the knife, “Time to put Rudy away.”
He catches it, flushes and stammers, “Uh! Well…right. You guys sure everything‟s ok?”
Susie swallows a giggle, and replies with a pithy, “Positive. Now goodnight, y‟all.”
Matt hangs back but it‟s no problem. Ain‟t sweeping anything under the carpet on him. Susie and I
say, “Close the door,” at the same time. We launch into tag team explanations „til the kid‟s sick of us.
Just before exiting, he asks, “Hey mom, do ya think it would be ok if I caught up with Dad tomorrow
instead of Thursday?”
She replies, “I know where you‟re coming from. How „bout we discuss it tomorrow morning?”
The kid nods and is gone.
“Aarrgghh! What a zoo!” she declares, dropping heavily onto the bed.
“Looney bin, zoo, whatever,” I agree. “Speakin‟ of zoos, did ya get a load of Rudolph?”
She breaks into a wide grin, “Oh my gosh! Did I ever. Where do you think he got a pair of „jama pants
with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer…” gesturing south, “…especially there?”
We both snicker like school kids. “Three guesses and the first two don‟t count,” I offer.
“Julia,” we deduce simultaneously and fall back into our pillows laughing our collective asses off.
“Oh, that‟s too much,” she sighs and snuggles against me.
“You got that,” I answer, wiping my eyes. “Don‟t you ever…”
She cuts me off, “Wouldn‟t dare….” Then she teases, “Smiley faces, maybe.”
Forming my thumb and index finger into a pistol and placing in against my temple, “I‟ll just kill myself
now!” I say before pulling the trigger.
“Please don‟t,” she laughs. “Makes a mess and I rather like having you around.”
“Glad to know it, darlin‟. And I‟ll stay as long as ya keep the fashion police outta my underwear
drawer.”
“Deal,” she replies and plants a wet kiss on me.
Things go quiet and my mind drifts. “Sue, what was the dream about?”
“Oh Logan, just forget it. I have.”
“How come I still smell fear?”
“Do not.”
“Do too,” I say, lifting her chin with my finger. “My nose don‟t lie.”
“Oh fine. Yes, it was scary but…”
“You‟re afraid of me.”
“What? No! No way, Logan.”
Well hell! She is afraid of something and she‟s holding back big time.
“Listen to me,” she continues. “You‟re a bloodhound when it comes to nosing out emotions but I‟m not
afraid of you…”
“What then?”
She sighs and knits her brow. “I don‟t exactly know how to explain… Dammit!... I don‟t… want this to
come out…wrong.”
“Spill it Susan.”
“With all the craziness lately, how you tore up that portrait and the cemetery; I guess my
subconscious ran away with itself. Sometimes anesthesia and pain meds can do that…”
Here we go! Quit with the doctor stuff already. I can smell the truth and I gotta hear it no matter how
much it‟s gonna cut.
“…I‟m not so much afraid of you…. I think I‟m afraid of pushing your limits and what you‟re capable of
if that happens.”
There it is. Diplomatically put, but... Aw, damn it to hell! Afraid of what I can do is the same thing as
being afraid of me.
She looks at me funny and says, “You don‟t believe me, do you?”
I can‟t look her in the eye.
“Logan?” She touches my face, “Trust your senses.”
I‟m trying. She‟s being real. Guess everything hasn‟t quite gone to hell in a hand basket yet. “Susan, I
made a promise to you and Matt…” I pointed to the couch, “…sitting right over there. I swore I‟d never
hurt either of you.”
“Yes you did and if I didn‟t believe you with all my heart I wouldn‟t be with you right now…”
She‟s got a very good point and I‟m not smelling the same fear from before. Wait a sec. All of a
sudden I‟m getting some mighty interesting signals.
Warm, soft fingers glide over my chest, “…Nor would I want you to..,” Her sweet warm breath tickles
my ear as she nibbles and whispers, “…make love to me.”
I sigh, draw back and peer into her baby blues, “Darlin‟, should we be doin‟ this? I mean, ya got
stitches „r somethin‟.”
Her hands slither down my belly, “I‟m fine as long as we‟re careful.” She tickles my abs and teases my
navel. “I need you to be…” she purrs and slips her hand beneath the waistband of my flannels, “…my
gentle lover tonight.”
Can‟t say she hasn‟t piqued my interest and in a few unobstructed tender strokes she‟s got my
undivided attention.
I pull her mouth to mine and taste her lips. She nibbles back and soon our tongues are rocking and
rolling.
Nightclothes peel away. She‟s touching me and I‟m touching her. Her scent, the way her body moves,
the heat tells me she‟s ready.
Been a couple nights and I‟m more than ready. She knows it too by the way she‟s alternating the
rhythm of her strokes. Hell! I‟m okay with this if it means I won‟t hurt her.
Our communication‟s as close to psychic as lovers can get right now. By instinct or magic we join. It
doesn‟t take either of us long but it‟s beautiful; a connection almost sacred. Probably the closest thing
to a religious experience my depraved spirit will ever experience.
Separate once more, she‟s pretzels her legs with mine while tickling her toes along my calf muscles.
Her arm‟s draped across my chest and she presses her belly into my side.
“Ouch!” she complains and shifts as the twins wiggle and kick up a ruckus.
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault,” she whispers. “Wait a sec. It is all your fault.”
I can‟t keep a sly grin off my face, “Better believe it, darlin‟.”
We both yawn and I feel her breath go even and deep. “How do ya deal with it all?” I murmur.
“Hmmm?”
“Nothin‟. Go to sleep.”
She cracks an eye and raises her head from my chest, “Deal with what?”
“Everything. Being pregnant with twins? Putting up with my shit.”
“Because,” she kisses the tip of my nose, “I love you.”
She settles back and it‟s not long before she‟s snoring softly in my arms, a tiny trickle of drool forms
on my chest. The twins continue protest marching. Concentrating, I can make out their galloping
heartbeats.
xXx
My body's in neutral but the mind's locked in turbo. I‟m a fucked up wanna be drunk. She‟s a lady. I‟m
a killer and she‟s a healer. Got enough baggage to sink the Titantic, yet she keeps me afloat. How the
hell did an undeserving bastard like me catch and hold on to an angel like her?
Truth of it is she caught me. Go figure? After decades spent avoiding attachment and existing on
meaningless fuckin‟, in she walks and bam; cast a spell over me with subtle sensuality.
Next, she‟s got control; reintroducing me to the different flavors of sex. No, making love. Four alarm,
all-out fuckin‟ lust; spicy and playful; sweet and slow comfortable screw. And just now; as mellow,
comforting and satisfying as fine brandy.
Ain‟t just sex, though. What broke my defenses and captured my heart is her unyielding integrity and
genuine loving kindness.
Aw shut the fuck up, Wolverine. You sound like a cross between the Galloping Gourmet and Dr. Ruth.
Yeah, well so what? Between me, her and the sheets, nobody‟ll ever know.
Despite every fiber in me wanting to, why‟s it so damned hard to accept love at face value? Stupid
question. Paranoia, a sneaky, poisonous bastard, taints every molecule in me.
I need her so bad I can‟t imagine life without her. Scares the shit out of me just thinking it and it‟s a
disaster in the making. Anyone, everything that‟s ever meant anything to me ends up fucked all to
hell.
Right now though, after loving her, I can almost beat the paranoia back. It‟s a never ending fight but
this round‟s mine.
We survived the showdown over her ol‟ man; we shovel through the crap of my past, including the
spectacular show I put on the other day. She puts up with more garbage than any woman should. And
she‟s still here!
She sighs as I brush strand of honey colored hair from her face. “Je t‟aime, darlin‟,” I whisper and
press my lips to her forehead. “Je t'aime plus qu'hier, moins que demain .”** But is love gonna be
enough?
**I love you more than yesterday, less than tomorrow.
xXx
Bzzzzt! Bip, bip! Bzzzt! Electronic tones douse our exquisite afterglow. It takes a second for my brain
to clear enough to identify the offending insect.
Goddammit! It‟s fuckin‟ two am. I was almost asleep.
Groaning and extracting myself from her clutch, I fumble through the contents of the bedside table.
There is goes again. Shit! It‟s on the dresser.
After tucking the blankets around her I shuffle across the distance. The room‟s chilly and the loss of
our combined heat raises goose bumps in places I didn‟t know I could get them.
This had better be really good. Probably is, being the tones are one step below the Team version of
nine-one-one. I grab for the damn thing just as it sets to vibrate once more.
“Yeah! I‟m here,” comes out in a low growl reflecting both irritation at Charles‟ piss poor timing and
desire not to wake Susie.
I hear his precise diction and duly note a lack of pleasantries, “We have a situation.”
Adrenalin kicks in chasing away the fog of sex and sleep. “Kay. Lemme pull some pants on and find a
place to talk.” Now the goose bumps ain‟t from the chill but from anticipation. Gotta job to do.
The End