A/n: Thanks for the thirty first time for your reviews, everyone. And we're back to the present...
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Chapter 32: The Locket
Max found herself curled up against Logan's chest for the second time that morning, just holding him and being held. His fingers traced random patterns on her arm that made her skin tingle. It felt... nice. Right, like this was the way it was supposed to be between them. She hadn't really had the chance to enjoy the sensation before; she'd been too busy feeling embarrassed and not a little turned on. Now, she was just soothed, warm and safe and accepted in his embrace.
"Logan?" She asked eventually.
"Hmm?"
"Is it ok if I ask you another question?"
Logan's talented digits froze in the middle of a figure of eight. Is that the only reason she's here like this? To try and extract more information from me? No, it can't be; Max wouldn't want to know if she didn't care, would she? Then a cynical little voice inside his head added, 'you know what they say about curiosity and the cat, Junior...'
"You can ask," he said, distantly. A question about himself, he could deal with, to block out the ones he was asking himself about Max; her feelings and motivations.
"When we went to Bennett's wedding... you said... your mom always wore the locket your dad gave her..."
"Yeah, she did. It was the only thing she had of the loving husband she remembered, apart from their son; the husband who would do anything for her, before he was consumed by his obsession. Like I said in the letter, they were ok as a couple before I came along. She left her wedding and engagement rings behind when she sneaked out of the house; to make it clear that she wasn't coming back. But she kept the locket, so she could tell her son his father had loved them; once, at least..."
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Logan found himself transported back to that day, the day he'd come home. He remembered perfectly waiting until he was sure everyone was asleep and then sneaking over to his mother's old room. The cops had sent all his mother's possessions back with them in evidence bags, including the locket. She'd always told him that the locket was to go to his wife when she gave birth to his first child; that meant he needed to have it, not leave it rotting in a dark drawer in his mother's jewellery box.
Cautiously, he opened the box and began to search through it, heart hammering, fearful he would be discovered. But it wasn't there. He searched through over and over again but he couldn't find it. Finally, despairing, he put the jewellery back and made sure no one could tell he'd been there. Just as he was about to leave, the glimmer of moonlight on plastic caught his eye.
It was the bag, still labelled 'gold locket,' casually discarded on the floor. He picked it up; in hindsight, the box had seemed a little disturbed when he'd opened it, as if someone had already been through it. And even at nine years old, Logan could connect that to how long it had taken Aunt Margo to come back from the bathroom...
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"You're as bad as Original Cindy with talking about all this in the third person, you know," teased Max, gently. She was wary of his reaction, not sure what was going on in his head.
"It's just been such a long time since I last thought about any of this... it does kinda feel like it happened to someone else," he replied absently. "Lots of things do, since..." he suddenly realised what he was saying and stopped abruptly.
"Since... the chair?" Max ventured, aware she was in sensitive territory.
Logan sighed deeply. "Yeah. Since the chair."
Max was stunned. He was actually admitting how big an effect his disability had had on his life, for the first time since Vertes had died. Logan Cale, Mr "I'm fine, I'm not in any pain, I'm dealing, leave me alone before I bite your head off," was actually opening up for once.
God, the blue lady and anyone else who happens to be listening, she prayed ferverently. Please, do not let me screw this up.
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Tell me what you thought.