Page 106 of Wait for Me

Thank God this was his last week of staycation.

Somehow he didn’t miss Wallace as much. Without the chauffeur around, Logan could drive his other cars. Jonas was excited to be allowed in some of the sleek vehicles, which looked like his toy cars, except bigger and more expensive.

However, after being driven around in Logan’s Bugatti La Voiture Noire, Jonas said he would rather be in his dad’s Ford pickup truck than “all the sports cars in the world.”

Good for you, son.

However, after grubby hands went all over the interior of the truck, Logan had to clean it up. That was Wallace’s job, but he wasn’t there.

This morning, Logan decided he would wash a few of his vehicles by himself. That was also Wallace’s job, but he deserved the time off too.

As far as Logan knew, Wallace was probably at home, tending his vegetable garden. His lovely wife would never be short of squash and tomatoes and whatever else the couple loved to plant in their backyard.

As Logan gathered up things to wash and polish his truck, he wondered what Mrs. Ping was doing. She was supposed to fly from Florida, where her youngest granddaughter lived, to Victoria, British Columbia, where her latest boyfriend would meet her.

Somehow Mrs. Ping had kept up with the captain of theAlaskan Queen of the Arctic Seas, although this would be the first time those two would see each other since June.

More than Marie and me, I suppose.

Logan walked down the gentle slope next to his driveway to find the faucet and the garden hose. When he came up, there she was—wearing a light pink tee shirt, a pair of stonewashed jeans, and what looked like black combat boots—like she had just finished work, and changed only her blouse.

Or maybe, like she could run away in those boots if she had to.

Caught off-guard, Logan nearly slipped down the grassy slop, hose in hand.

“Logan.” It was all she said.

“Marie.” Logan couldn’t speak beyond that.

I love you.

I miss you.

I hate being without you.

None of those words came out of his mouth.

“Marie,” he said again, dropping his hose, and making his way toward her. He straightened up. “Are you here to help me wash my pickup truck?”

“What? You’re putting me to work right away?” Marie smiled.

“Speaking of work, I thought you were in the middle of a project.”

“I was. We finished early.”

“Does that mean all is well?”

“For now.”

“Are we safer?”

“You mean like you and me, or the world in general?” Marie asked.

“The world?” Logan didn’t want to pry for details. He remembered Mrs. Ping’s advice.

Sometimes we have to love unconditionally.

Perhaps Marie was the CIA-type. She couldn’t tell anyone what her job was. At the very least, she worked for INTERPOL, and that was like the FBI. Agents had to be people of integrity, right?

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