Page 54 of Embattled Return

She retracted her hand, nodding. “He’s going to school, so he’ll appreciate that.”

Giving him a long, lingering look, her gaze traced quickly over his body. “I, I’ll meet you at the house,” she said in a rush, and turned away.

Logan climbed to his feet, hating that he had to use crutches in front of them. Defensiveness roared through him, the look on his grandmother’s face stuck in his mind. What had she thought, looking at his broken body? Logan went through the restaurant and out the front door, incredibly aware of the several pairs of eyes on him. This may not have been a great idea.

Marigold hurried ahead and unlocked the car. “We suck at surveillance. We were made within ten minutes.”

He snorted. Leave it to her to find the humor in the situation.

“They live just a few blocks away.”

“Take the long way, would you,” he murmured, settling into the passenger seat and wedging his crutches beside him.

“Of course.”

They left the lot and she turned left, away from the house located on the map. Marigold didn’t say anything as he stared out the window and tried to gather his thoughts. “She seemed nice,” he said, glancing at her, asking for her input.

“Very. You can see she’s been traumatized. Seeing you was a shock. But a pleasant shock, I think.”

“Yeah, I think I got that as well. I hate that I made her cry.” He watched out the window for a while, then caught her eye. “Ok, we can head over there. I just needed to breathe for a minute.” Reaching out, he rested a hand over hers on the gearshift. “I appreciate you being with me, Mari. This isn’t what you signed up for.”

She shrugged and tossed him a grin. “No worries, Logan. You might be surprised what I’m up for when it comes to you.”

His throat tightened with emotion as he looked at her. Even when the world was screaming around him, she was proving to be a rock.

Within a few minutes they were pulling up in front of a pretty brick ranch house, long and low to the ground. There were several cars parked in the driveway and Logan wondered who would be inside when he went in. The house, amazingly, looked familiar to him.

“I’ll be right beside you, okay?” Marigold leaned close, brushing her lips against his, and he took a minute to just enjoy her touch, blocking everything else out. This was an epically important point in his life-- he was about to meet his family-- yet he found himself wondering how soon they could get back to bed. Mari had rocked his world, and he was ready to just curl up with her again.

No, he needed to get this worked out. Kissing her firmly, he ran a finger down her cheek. “Till later,” he sighed.

Stepping out of the car, he adjusted his crutches on his forearms and made his way up the walk. The temperature had dropped again, today, and salt had been scattered on the walkway to dissipate the threat of ice.

Logan looked up at the house, feeling nostalgia creep through him. Around the side of the house there used to be a big, yellow aluminum swing set with a merry-go-round. Just one of those little four-seater jobbies. He remembered playing with someone there, another little boy. Not his brother. Clint had been too little at the time. Must have been a cousin or something.

The front door opened, and an older man stood there. Logan recognized him immediately. Tall, with a shock of bright white hair, he had the bearing of a former military man. He also looked like an older version of his own father. This must be Arthur. Logan held out his hand. “Sir.”

The older man shook his hand carefully, looking him up and down. The older woman from the restaurant moved to his side, curling an arm around his waist, and together they welcomed him inside.

As soon as he saw the old organ in the corner, he smiled. “I remember playing that. Actually, I remember flipping the colorful switches, and you,” he pointed at the woman, “getting after me.”

Eugenia nodded, her eyes filling with tears again. “You just flipped them back and forth. You knew to hold a finger on one of the keys and use the other hand to change the instrument voice.”

She waved them into the living room and to a pale cream couch. There was a pitcher of iced tea on the coffee table, and several glasses with ice. Once Eugenia had poured them all glasses and they were settled, she looked to her husband.

Arthur had stared at him ever since he’d entered the house, and Logan supposed he didn’t blame him. A lot had happened to him over the past twenty years.

“So, I guess I’m your grandson,” Logan said eventually. He’d brought the file with him that John had compiled, but he tucked it beside his leg on the couch. “I didn’t realize there was actually anyone left. Dad seemed to intimate that everyone was dead, pretty much.”

Eugenia covered her mouth with her hand. “No, he didn’t,” she gasped.

“Oh, he did,” Logan disagreed. “For my entire life.”

Arthur’s mouth tightened with anger and he looked down at his wife. “I didn’t think he could hurt us anymore, but he has.” He turned his bright blue gaze, only slightly faded with age, to Logan. “Is he still alive?”

“He is, but not in good health. He’s fought addictions for years.”

“We made him go to rehab many times, but it never worked,” Eugenia said. “He was always breaking out and partying. I got so tired of that word. Partying.”

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