Page 11 of Wait for Me

Logan feared he was raising a manipulative brat, and what would he become when he grew up?

In the style of his now deceased Urquhart grandfather, Jonas had cut a deal—yes, a deal!—to be compensated for his compliance. It hadn’t seemed to be a difficult demand to meet when Jonas had first brought it up, but now…

Now, Logan was uncomfortable sitting next to Marie at their table in the formal dining room.

He didn’t know why.

She smelled floral, with a hint of ocean. That French perfume suited her. Her hair was as wavy as ever, though she’d had it cut in such a way that its ends sat on her shoulders. With the Pacific sun shining on her hair, Logan could tell she hadn’t colored it. It was the same chestnut hair she’d had since the first day they had met.

So why was he uncomfortable next to her?

He remembered the days when he couldn’t wait to sit next to her, to wrap his hands around hers, to massage her neck, to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, as a loving husband would his bride.

All those were distant memories, rolling away like dry tumbleweeds across a dusty desert.

Across from them, Jonas sat next to Mrs. Ping.

Jonas stared at his parents. “Now I can see both of you together.”

“You mean at the same time?” Logan corrected him.

“Sitting together at the same time.”

Well, okay.

Marie hadn’t said a word, and it was just as well. Every time she had opened her mouth, they had friction. Or perhaps, Logan had been reading too much into it. Perhaps he had been the friction.

Whatever. The point was that he and Marie were still not getting along.

The more he thought of it, the more he realized how different they both were. Logan didn’t speak a lick of French, didn’t care for French cuisine, didn’t like the French Riviera. He was the meat-and-potato sort of guy, preferred greasy southern fried chicken anywhere in small town Georgia, and didn’t care for seafood.

Like this lunch, for example. He had ordered lamb chops. She had poached halibut.

Why would anyone poach halibut? It’s the grill for me.

If he were to ask Marie, she would probably say the reverse.

Why would anyone grill halibut?

Their differences went on and on. Marie wore what looked like a wool cardigan over her long-sleeved dress. She had always been cold. Back when they had been married, she would always shiver when Logan turned down the thermostat.

Always cold.

As for Logan, this room temperature could get cooler.

“I can’t wait to see the whales,” Logan declared as his hamburger and fries arrived.

Yep, taught my son well.

Meat and potatoes.

When everyone’s lunch was served, it was time to ask God to bless the food. At that moment, Jonas said the unthinkable: “Let’s hold hands.”

To appease the little tyrant, Logan reached across the table to hold Jonas’s right hand. The boy’s left hand was in Mrs. Ping’s hand. Her other hand was holding Marie’s hand.

“Hold Mommy’s hand,” Jonas said.

Logan’s hand was under the table. “How do you know we’re not holding hands?”

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