Logan was doing fine, but I was bored to tears.
He could tell as he came trotting up the stairs with the latest bags of carry-out for our lunch. I was ready to blow this fire trap yesterday, but he made me promise to lay low for three days before we hit the road back toward home. I was sitting on the bed making paper airplanes out of the pages of the year-old Reader’s Digest he’d swiped from the motel lobby this morning while on a doughnut run. I’d read it cover to cover and was fast running out of patience with television. I needed fresh scenery.
He scanned the paper airplane-covered floor before he gave me the food bags and tossed his shirts on the bedside chair. He liked eating shirtless, and I loved looking at him eating shirtless.
Before biting into my sandwich, I pointed out to him, “You stepped on my Blackbird’s tail, and totaled my A-10 Warthog. That’s practically sacrilege. They’re tank killers.”
The eyebrow went up. “How was I supposed to know it was a Warthog? And how do you know the difference between a Warthog and a ‘Bird?”
I tap the side of my head and chew and swallow before answering, “It’s a Warthog because I drew a 50 millimeter cannon on the nose with a pen. And I know because Eric knows a lot about WWII aircraft. I think it was a hobby of his. Large metallic things draw his attention. He’s fascinated with you, in a way you probably don’t want to know about.” I give a leering wiggle of my eyebrows and stifle a giggle when Logan’s eyes roll. He actually puts his sandwich down as if he’s lost his appetite, but only for a few seconds.
“There are a few things in this world I don’t need to know. That’s one of them.”
“Thought so. Okay, you’ve dodged the bullet too long. I need to know what happened to you when y’all took down that lab. Where did you go? How did you end up in Sweetwater, Tennessee?”
Logan wolfs down the last chunk of sandwich and goes to pull a beer out of the mini fridge. He offers me one, but I wave it off since I’m still taking some pain meds. He settles cross-legged on the foot of the bed and sighs deeply before starting to explain. I chew in silence and let him get it out at his own pace.
“I was searching the sub-basement for cells or survivors when I heard the gunfire above. I ran into a squad of Security who opened fire on me. My com device and my cell phone both got shot in the spray of bullets. I went down and I guess it took long enough for me to snap out of it that they had moved on. I heard the ‘Bird lifting off, and more gunfire from outside the building. I got back to the ground floor level and saw through a window that there was a paramilitary force comin’, and they were firin’ at the ‘Bird as it disappeared in the distance. I hoped that meant they were all out safely, so I got to the other side of the building and cut my way out of a door, then ran for it.”
He swigged down about half the beer, then continued, “I knew I couldn’t walk around in plain sight in the leathers, so I hid in the woods until dark, then started looking for someplace where I could get to clothes or a phone or something. I found clothes hangin’ on a line behind a farmhouse, so I took what I needed: jeans and a shirt. Some rangy old farmer saw me and yelled at me to stop, but I hauled ass back into the woods overnight, buried the leathers and what was left of my com and cell, then lit out on foot at dawn. That reminds me - I need to go back there and retrieve what I buried. Leave nothing behind...” The rest of the beer disappears before he continues.
“I wandered across a railroad track near a bend where they’d slow down for the curve. I listened to the rail for a while, and when I knew there was a train comin’, I hid in the bushes until it got halfway past me, then I jumped on a railing and climbed the boxcar. Sliced my way inside and went to sleep. I woke up hours later when it was slowing down. I jumped out, got spotted, ran for it again, and when I walked down a highway past a corporation limit sign, it was Sweetwater. You know the rest.”
“Wow. That’s quite a story, sugar. You’re practically a modern-day outlaw, riding the rails, stealin’ clothes off a line, and ending up in jail. I love that; bad boys always did appeal to me.” I reach out my hand and pull him toward me. We snuggle down on the bed and he wraps me up in his strong arms as I bury my fingers in that silky chest hair. “I love you, bad or good in the eyes of the law.”
“I love you, babe,” and he kisses me softly. I know we’ll get all the horror and grief and shock of the past month behind us now. The worst of it will take time, but we’re both well on the way back to our normal insane lives. He surprises me when he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want a session with some kind of counselor or shrink or someone?”
“You think I’m a wack job?”
“No, I think you’ve just been through a miscarriage and were handling everything alone when you thought I was missing in action. That’s a lot to deal with on your own.”
I never was one to ignore stuff, just work head-on through it is my policy, so I dive in with, “I didn’t know for sure I was pregnant until the day you called me to come get you. I had two days on the road and then it was over. I don’t think it had really sank in yet. I was focused on you and getting you back safely. Yes, it’s a lot to absorb, but that’s a daily thing for me and the residents in my head. Am I heartless for not being more upset than I am?”
“You’re anything but heartless, darlin’,” he whispers as he rolls me on top of him. I trace my fingertips through his scrambled hair.
“Can I tell you something? I don’t want to upset you, but I think I need to say it.”
“Then say it.”
“I chose a name for a girl, but hadn’t chosen one for a boy yet.” He’s quiet for a long time after that confession. Finally, he speaks.
“Why just a girl? Is that what you wanted?”
“No. Or, well, given a choice, I’d have wanted a girl first. And I’d have named her after my aunt Joan. It’s a good, solid name; not too frilly and feminine, and not...” My voice breaks for a moment, then I ask, “Would you have wanted a boy?”
“Don’t matter. What comes, comes. Does that mean you wanted the baby?”
Argh, he’s treading on dangerous ground here, but he can handle truth better than anyone I know. “Logan, I was totally torn on the subject. I agree with you that it’s the wrong time, and I would much rather plan a family in the future than have that choice taken away from me by circumstance. And yet, when I knew we’d made a baby together, I went all syrupy inside and was just flabbergasted. I think if it had been anyone else’s baby, I’d have completely freaked out and ran to the nearest clinic. But knowing it was yours, well.... that made everything different. “Wanted” it? No. “Welcomed” it? Yeah.”
“Same here. I didn’t want it, but would I have welcomed it? Yeah.”
“Are you sad about losing it?” He needs to say it, too.
“Yeah, in some ways. And relieved in other ways, and sorry you had to go through all that hell alone. We’ll be more careful so no more accidents happen.”
The eleven o’clock news is coming on, and I stretch and yawn as I settle beside him and watch. As the weather ends, I’m already bored again and ready to haul ass out of Tennessee. I inform him, “We’re hitting the road tomorrow, so you’d better get some sleep.”
“Can’t I talk you into one more day of rest here?”
“My relationship with this motel room ended yesterday. I’m reminded of Oscar Wilde’s opinion of the wallpaper in his bedroom before he died: one of us has to go. Tomorrow, I’m outta here, sugar, with you or without you.”
“I’m drivin’.”
“The hell you are, you still don’t have a license.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I know better. You’re a maniac behind the wheel.”
“You drive like a librarian.”
“We’ll trade off every few hours once we’re north of the Tennessee border.”
He hesitates, then, “Okay.” Yay me, I just negotiated a compromise with Logan!
The next morning, he loads our bags in the car and I walk toward him with a hand extended, palm up, and he grins as he lays the keys in my hand and opens the door for me again. I could get used to this chivalrous side of him.
“You get to drive me home, Miss Daisy.” He kisses me before I settle behind the wheel and belt in securely.
Logan casually slides in the passenger’s side and as I start the engine, I comment, “You really should wear your seat belt.”
“Don’t start that shit again, darlin’. Just drive the god-damned car.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
"There are a few things in this world I don’t need to know. That’s one of them."