CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

Glass doors opening between the main house and here assault the senses with their screeching. In walks Eastham, dandied up in a white and red trimmed terry robe. Appraising the shattered bench and my fierce expression, "I don't believe I've ever seen you in a civil mood," he soberly declares.

In no mood for conversation, my vision remains fixed straight ahead.

He clears his throat, "Hope you don't mind. I didn't expect to find you here." Shrugging off the robe, he strolls poolside, "Daily work out, eh. Won't take long." The water hisses as he dives. A moment passes and I hear the rhythmic splash of swim strokes.

Time for me to ease out o'here. Feeling guilty over the bench, I take time to stash the remains out of the way. It's a mistake, giving Eastham another opening.

Elbows on the ledge, "Logan, your mother asked me to discuss an item of business with you," he respectfully petitions.

My back's facing him. Bet she does. After all that's gone down, I'm probably disowned—again. Maybe there's justice after all.

Eastham continues, "Might I have Phillip provide us with coffee and a bite of breakfast while we chat privately?"

Executing a one-eighty and facing him, I mimic his refined panache, "Might you just take a hike, bub? Listen up, Eastham, if the dowager queens wants t'gimme the golden boot she can fuckin'- well do it in person."

He scrambles from the pool, retrieves his robe. "First of all, you cantankerous lout, while quite possibly deserving it, she has no desire to cast you out…."

"Hey!" Gesturing thumbs up, "My stock's risin'." Mother fuckin' bastard to cantankerous lout.

"Secondly, with emotions running amok as they are, she believes it best to leave you to yourself."

Reloading her guns, no doubt. "Right."

"Finally, she's under the weather herself today."

The real distress in his voice tempers my apathy, "The cancer?"

Eastham's brow rises, "Why yes! How do you know?

"Part o'my mutation."

An officious frown settles over his craggy complexion. Betting what's next out o'his trap, I seize control, "So what's this all pressing item of business?"

Settling onto a poolside chaise, he's both informal and imperious, "The favor you asked of her a week or so ago."

"Sonovabitch!" That's what she meant by it was all arranged. Chuckling mordantly over the irony, "Looks like ya got me over a barrel—again."

Annoyed, he censures, "I don't understand how Doctor Harris tolerates your crass mannerisms. If I was her attorney I'd advise her to…"

"Well you ain't."

I can smell his regret but no apology's offered. "Indeed," he responds stiffly. "Regardless of how you choose to view things and because it means a lot to your mother, I'll legalize the union between you two."

Smacking my bent left elbow with my right fist, "Why don't you take your and my mother's good intentions and…"

Eastham raises his hand, palm toward me. Wrath sours the air. "Enough of your insolence!" he thunders.

Suddenly, I can't utter a sound! The sonovabitch paralyzed my vocal chords. Pressing my fingers to my throat, I don't feel pain. Holy shit! The best I can muster is an anemic rush of wind.

His outstretched hand quivers, "I'm sorry I have to do this."

Ya ain't seen sorry yet.

"If you'll get yourself under control, I'll state my business and trouble you no longer." Hands at his side, up and down he smoothes the nap on his robe.

Trouble me no longer? Yo bub! Ya got a serious death wish and I'm the fairy godmotherfucker who's gonna grant it. I take a menacing step towards him. Next thing I know my larynx starts doing the jitterbug.

If this weren't happenin' to me it be fuckin' hilarious. Gotta give the s.o.b. kudos for havin' the cajones to take me on. Making a cutting gesture across my throat, I hope he understands I'm standing down.

Apparently not. The fear coming off him stinks like a west Texas stockyard. Quicker than a colonoscopy patient needs the crapper, he's on his feet, but somethin's gone wrong. Next he's ass over tin cups, tangled in the lounger. Before I can react; make a grab, he and it go over the side into twelve feet of water.

He's gone too deep, too fast to simply reach down. Damn! Don't see no handy-dandy lifeguard so it looks like I'm going for a swim. With a hundred extra pounds of adamantium, I'm a lead balloon in water. In this case, it's a good thing cuz in a second I'm standing on the bottom. Chlorinated h-two-oh can't mask the funk of panic as Eastham struggles like a hooked carp. The tie of his robe's knotted fast to the lounger.

Only one thing to do. Ejecting the claws on my left hand, I hope he doesn't throw a coronary. Neat as ya need, I separate Gramps from the lounger.

Aw hello! He ain't breaking for the surface. Water pressure's effect on my senses ain't pleasant. Factor in a very real recollection of drowning and seventy two inches to the surface might well be seventy two miles. Gramps ain't no small dude and I'm a brick. Don't think Wolverine. Just do it! Grabbing him in a bear hug, pushing off the bottom with all the spring my legs'll give, he just breaks the surface and clings to the tiled edge.

Momentum's lost and I find myself back on the bottom. No siree! Water and Wolverine ain't a happy mix. Again, launching with my legs, I torpedo up, spiking the wall with my claws and split the surface sneezing from the chlorine.

Instantly, a shriek reverberates in my ears followed by a sharp whack upside the head. "Ow!" erupts as a silent rush of wind. What the fuck? Elizabeth? She hit me! My own mother split my forehead wide open with the rescue pole! Deep crimson cascades down, drips off the tip of my nose, turns pink then vanishes, diluted by water.

Didn't think the ol' gal had it in her but she's cussing up a storm in French. Eastham, still kackin' up half the pool, tries valiantly to stifle her. Before he hauls himself up the ladder, she tomahawks down with that damn rescue hook again. I grab it and we connect in a ferocious battle of ocular one-upmanship. With the meekest yank, I could pull her in. She knows it but still has the chutzpah to keep it up. "You wouldn't dare," she taunts.

My lips form, "Try me," but not so much as a squeak comes out, my pipes still gummed up with Eastham's voodoo. This is fuckin' useless. I slip under, propelling toward shallow water, out of the poles reach. I can hear Eastham half chokin' half tryin' to explain but Elizabeth ain't hearin' any of it.

Breaking surface at waist depth, I see Eastham's got her disarmed but she's still on a roll; directed at him as much as me.

With a hang-dog expression, "Liz, mon cher, veuillez être tranquille?" he beseeches.

Wind milling her arms, "I will not be quiet, Robert. He tried to kill you. I saw….."

"No, no!" Eastham countered, circling her in his arms, "He saved me from…."

Screeching, "Those claws," she's wild eyed and wrenches away. "He's out of his mind. First it was Thomas and now he's after you!"

Uh- huh! Who's out o'their mind?

Eastham raises his hand and commands, "Elizabeth, silence!"

Suddenly mommy-dearest can't utter a sound. Man o'man, the death glare she's givin' off might just melt adamantium.

Guiding her to a lounger, "Now my dearest, you will sit down, take a deep breath and listen to your son." Waving me in, "Will you please?"

I'd like to say hell no. I don't please. I'm stayin' right here. But I'm stuck gesturing to my throat.

"Ah! Mon dieu!" He raises his palm, "Me pardoner."

My voice sounds like a strangled bleat. "Nah, I'm good right here." A couple o'painful coughs side track me, "And what the fuck did ya do to me anyway?"

Tenderly he touches Elizabeth's neck and begs her forgiveness.

Apoplectic, her face looks like Easter dinner's boiled ham. She makes to slap him across the face which he blocks. "How dare you," she starts in again, voice restored.

Now this should be funny; her rippin' lover gramps a new one. But the spear she chucked, comparing what happened to Thomas and what just went down, pierces deep. She really is crazy as a loon.

"And for you," she turns her venom back on me, "you psychopathic cur, explain yourself."

"Old woman, shut yer face," I growl and her jaw makes like an open Venus Flytrap.

"Liz, please." Eastham butts in. "You've got it all wrong."

"How is it then?" she snipes in French.

"I tripped, fell in and Logan rescued me."

Oh, here we go! She ain't getting nowhere with the pissy bitch act, so here comes the waterworks. "Oh Robert! But the claws?"

"My robe tangled in the lounger. He cut me loose."

Climbing out of the pool, "I'll fucking show ya just like Thomas!" I growl damn near loosing control and ejecting my claws. "Thomas was a motherfuckin', cold blooded killer. Deserved what he got." Pointing to Eastham, "He's just an idiot. I don't kill idiots."

Blanching, she cradles her face between aged hands, "Oh, mes cieux! I've been grievously unjust. What both of you must think of me?" Switching to mommy-make-it-better mode, she reaches to stroke my forehead, "James, your head?"

Hissing, "Back off," I block unwanted contact.

She laughs, "Well, thank god, it's healed. Sweeping glances to me then back to Eastham, her mood somersaults again. "I suppose I'll leave you gents to your business then," she says blithely and strolls to the main house.

Her rapidly shifting moods turns my rage and pain to grief. Been over that cuckoo's nest a time or two. "She's still like that, eh?" I question Eastham.

"I usually manage to work around her moods," he answers, toweling off.

"Damn," I mutter, shaking the water out of my ears. Ain't sure if I empathize with him or not. Growing up around her, I didn't have much choice. Choosing to live with a shrew like her sure makes me wonder if he's got dead air between his ears.

"Before another crisis erupts, allow me to apologize again." He hands me a towel, "I don't use my, er, power indiscriminately."

Don't need nor want an act of contrition. Waxing impatient, "Ya said ya had something to important t'say."

"Yes, and I promised to be brief." Draping himself in snowy terry cloth, "Timing is critical if you wish your union with Susan to be legalized." Pounding fist into palm, "That confounded Mutant Registration Act contains a stipulation declaring mixed unions not filed by midnight of the thirsty first will not be recognized."

I cock a quizzical eyebrow and hike up my soaked and sagging jeans. Butt- crack- R- us ain't in my fashion repertoire.

"The internet grossly misrepresents the complexity of legalizing mixed unions; particularly so because you are Canadian and the good doctor is American. To accomplish this yourself, which I'm becoming more inclined to let you have at it, would take a week at the very least. Factor in the Holidays and you're looking at a solid two weeks."

Whipping a towel, the crack resonates off the glass panels, "What the fuck takes two weeks?"

"It's the interview process." Wagging a finger, "Do you have any idea how busy that lone ministry office is being the only one administering mixed unions?"

"Damn!" I shake my head, showering anything and anyone in range. "The fuckin' beauracracy." Then, raking my fingers through unruly locks, "So, you're saying I'm screwed?"

Shrinking as if I'd loosed raw sewage in his face, "Hardly," he splutters. "I can make this happen in ample time to beat the deadline."

"I'll bet ya can." And all I gotta do is bend over and spread 'em. Twisting my wedding band round my finger, "So what do I gotta do?"

"As soon as Susan is well enough, I conduct a short interview with the two of you, separately and then together. Verify your identity. Everybody signs on the dotted lines and it's done."

"Right." I glance skyward expecting the bird o'paradise to take a dump on my head any second.

A genial smile creases his mouth, "I can say a few meaningful words…"

Or not.

"….if you like or the two of you can troth your love, fidelity and what not, but that's discretionary."

"Ok. I haven't sprung this on Susie yet." Heaving a bottomless sigh, "Lemme find out when they'll let her out and we'll get it going."

Eastham nods then draws his arms across gray chest fuzz, "Don't know about you but I'm cold and hungry. This time, would you join me for coffee in the morning room?"

Flicking my watch face, "Yeah." Oh man, I sure hope to hell Rolex's are waterproof. "Guess I gotta a couple minutes."

I took time to roust Matt to the shower before tossing on dry clothes. My jeans and flannel work shirt stand in stark contrast to Eastham's natty wool slacks and crisp monogrammed shirt. So, sue me! At least the flannel's new.

Stuffing my face with bacon, maple baked beans and some kind o'blueberry crepe thing placates my snarkish 'tude. "Hey um… Eastham," Gotta lick cream cheese off my upper lip, "…pretty slick maneuvering 'round Elizabeth back there."

"Robert's fine," he says, pronouncing it as Ro-bare, "and you're welcome, Logan."

"'Kay, Ro-bare." Slurping my own hot cup o'joe, "So, how long ya been with Elizabeth?"

He snickers, "You missed," and points the fork at my mouth. "Truthfully, since about a year before John and Thomas died. But I've known your mother since I was just a clerk in my father's law firm."

White linen makes quick cleanup of my pie hole, "So you know where all the skeletons are, eh?"

"Correct."

All goes quiet save for slurps and crunches as we devour the bounty heaped on our plates. "Lemme ask ya 'bout something that's been on my mind for a while."

Mouth stuffed, Eastham nods.

"What the hell's the manslaughter thing?"

"Beg pardon," he says, sliding the plate off to the left.

"Back thirty years ago. The way I remember it, and I don't exactly remember, I thought it was just a fight."

"Yes, you were involved in a serious altercation with another young man." Meticulously, he refolds a napkin and places it atop his plate, "You nearly killed him as well as completely mangled his face with those claws of yours."

"Nearly killed?" Stabbing a fork in the air, "That don't add up to a murder rap."

He frowns, eyes level under drawn brows, "You're conviction stemmed from the fatal automobile accident you caused afterwards."

My appetite vanishes. "Shit," I mutter and let the fork clatter on the table.

Cold and authoritative, he chronicles my transgression, "Impaired far beyond legal limits with alcohol, not to mention drugs, driving at a high rate of speed, you collided head on with a woman and her three children. She died. Luckily the children survived relatively unscathed- albeit motherless."

I feel nauseated and push back from the table. "What—what happened to the kids?"

"The estate paid out a tidy sum and if memory serves me correctly, they were cared for by their father." My conscience withers under his condemning scowl.

"And the guy I mangled?"

"He disappeared. But that's not surprising since he had a long history with local authorities and the RCMP; trafficking drugs being one of many nefarious activities."

Gouging the tables' edge with my finger nails, "Cocksucker probably deserved what I ever I gave him." But bluster don't change a thing for those kids or assuage my remorse over it.

"Perhaps Logan. But your association with him didn't make it easy for me to finagle the deal I worked out for you."

Meaning I was pedalin' in the same shit. I shrug, "So why bother?"

"Beg pardon?" He slaps his forehead, "Why in God's name do you think? Ever hear of a little thing called maternal love?

"My ass, Robert!" Drumming the table top with index and middle fingers, "I'd lay odds it came down to keeping the family name unsullied. A jailbird Howlett just ain't copacetic."

Exasperated, he sighs, "You are one sorry piece of work; you know that boy?"

Ain't no boy. "Go ta hell!"

"You know something else?" he grinds between clenched teeth. "You almost make me regret trying to salvage your sorry ass."

Almost? Fuck that. Must be losing my charm. In his face drill sergeant style, "Get a clue Eastham. It's help from bastards like you that sent my body and mind; my very life on an express cruise down the River Styx."

"No," His jaw twitches and I can smell his ire. "It's help from a bastard like me that gave you a better shot than you deserved after leaving three children without a mother."

Stick it in and twist it good. He's dead right.

"Regardless of the steep dues you've paid since, the record shows those five years you served in the army under my adjudication were very productive years." Never breaking eye contact, he pushes back from the table, "If you don't believe me, if you can't remember…," his fist punctuates each word, "…I've got the damned records to prove it."

What? The revelation stuns like a thunderbolt rendering me mute. Records! A chance to get back something I thought lost forever?

"If you'd like a copy, I'll have my secretary fax them before the days end. Study them. If you still believe I bear responsibility for the horrors you've experienced, then so be it. You're beyond redemption…" To emphasize his sentiments he rubs his palms together, "And I wash my hands of you."

My mouth's gone dry. Breakfast feels like boiled stones in my belly. Suck up the pride ya stupid cannuck. "Yeah. I wanna see it."

Dislclaimer: Marvel's got the lock on Logan. I'm not making a penny. But I am having a blast!

Author's Note: Many thanks to Rhiannon UK, my best beta and cheerleader. With equal measures of pats on the head and kicks to my butt, she's gets the credit or blame for bringing out my best. "Oh, my aching pick one, depending head-backside!"