Page 53 of Embattled Return

It was her. His grandmother. He knew it in his bones.

The woman was smiling as she set the steaming plates in front of first Marigold, then Logan. “These are very hot,” she warned them. “Don’t burn yourselves...”

Her voice drifted away as she looked at Logan, and her professional smile faltered. She blinked several times, then seemed to shake herself. She clasped her hands in front of herself and renewed her smile, though it seemed brittle now. “Enjoy!”

He turned his head to watch the woman go, feeling like his life had just changed. Proof of his ancestry was standing across the room, smoothing her graying hair and talking to a younger woman.

“What, Logan? Did you recognize her?”

Nodding, he looked down at the steaming plate, his throat tight. “I think that was my grandmother.”

Logan ate the food but didn’t really think about it. He was too aware of being under scrutiny.

“So, are you going to talk to them?” Marigold asked softly.

Logan looked up into her green eyes with the tiny shatter of gold, and he was suddenly struck by the fact that she was there with him. She wore her glasses today, and just a touch of makeup, not that she needed it. The woman was beautiful, and healthy and strong. He had no idea why she was interested in tagging along with an injured vet, but he appreciated it nonetheless. No, not appreciated it. He was a little flummoxed by the entire situation. She was a good distraction though. She kept him from feeling the anxiety that was creeping in around his consciousness. Or maybe she just tempered it.

“I think I need to,” he said softly.

They were almost done with their meal when the older woman approached them again. Her eyes darted nervously between them, but they lingered on him. “How was your meal?”

“It was wonderful,” Logan told her, though he hadn’t tasted anything.

“It was nice and spicy,” Marigold told the woman. “So many Mexican restaurants don’t use enough spice.”

The older woman finally turned and looked at her. “Yes, I agree. My husband and I wanted our food to be memorable. It was very important to us when we started the business years ago. The food is as I remember it as a girl cooking with myabuela.” She looked back at Logan. “I don’t mean to seem forward, but do I know you? You seem very familiar to me. And, you look...well,” she reached into her pocket and withdrew her phone. She swiped through a few screens, then held it out to him.

Logan took the phone from her and looked down at an old picture, which appeared to have been taken in the seventies. There was a gentleman in the picture that could have been his twin, but he knew it was probably his grandfather.

Logan showed the picture to Marigold, and she nodded her head at him. Eventually, he looked up at the woman. “I think this is my grandfather. My name is Logan Vance.”

The woman almost crumpled before their eyes. “Logan? No...”

Logan started to get out of the bench seat, but Michael, their waiter, swept in and grabbed the woman around the waist. “Nan, what’s wrong?”

The woman straightened and shook her head. “Get your Papi. Go, Michael.”

The young man took off, glancing back over his shoulder once. Several other of the restaurant crew watched them, but Logan’s gaze was brought back to his grandmother. “Why don’t you pull up a chair?” he asked eventually.

She blinked, as if she was surprised at the suggestion, then nodded, glancing around at the other customers. Grabbing a chair from an adjoining table, she moved it to the end of their table and sat down, wringing her hands in the apron hanging from her waist. “You’ve grown,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. She stared him in the eye, though, in a way that he appreciated.

“Well, it’s been a few years,” he said wryly.

She laughed as well, then began to cry again, softly. “I don’t even know where to start. Where have you been all these years? And the other kids? And what happened to you?” She reached out as if to brush her hand over the scars on his face and he drew back. The woman curled her hand away and sat back in the chair.

“When we left here, we made it to Ohio before our car gave up the ghost. We stayed there for a few months, then moved on to Virginia. As for the other kids...” he paused, glancing at Marigold. She gave him an encouraging smile. “Jana passed away several years ago, and the last I’d heard Clint was serving time in county again for a different drug offense.”

The woman’s tears grew into sobs and Logan stopped, glancing around the restaurant. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to do this,” he murmured, reaching out to the woman’s elbow.

His grandmother bobbed her head, trying to stem the flow of tears. “Please, will you come back to the house? We, I know my husband will want to talk to you as well.”

Logan nodded. “We’ll come to your house. What’s the address?”

Marigold typed the address into her GPS as his grandmother rattled it off, and Logan appreciated her all over again. Reaching into his wallet he dropped a fifty on the table, hoping that would cover the meal and the drinks.

“We don’t charge family,” the woman said, stuffing the bill back toward him.

Logan refused the money. “Then use it to tip Michael, or something. Please.”

---