I sincerely apologize for how long this has taken me to get out. As always, there aren't enough kind words and praises I can heap on Bondopoulos, who makes sure the mangled words that come out of my head translate on the page. Thank you, to everyone, who has stuck by and continues to read. Y'all really are the best!
4 January 1946
Vinnie closed the blinds, darkening the room against the too bright California sun. The smoke that wafted from the end of his Gispert cigar swirled in the fading light, filling the room with its acrid scent. He picked the folders up off the waiting room table and carried them back to his office. With great difficulty, he balanced the folders and cigar in his uninjured hand and jimmied the door open with taped knuckles. The papers rustled about as he tossed the manilla onto his less-than-tidy desk. He plopped himself unceremoniously into his client's chair, taking a long, slow drag from the Cuban. He coughed as the desk chair swiveled to face him; blonde hair tossed back falling to settle on her shoulder.
"So?" she questioned. She leaned across the desk and dropped what was once a perfect manicured nail onto the folders, tapping it's now bitten edge against it.
"Everything's in there, boss," he said with a smoky exhale. Her nose crinkled in distaste as the folders slid across the desktop and fell into her lap. Red lip quirked, she rocked back in the chair skimming the first page of the ensconced report. Vinnie was certain that by the time she thumbed through the whole thing, she'd be smiling ear to ear.
"And everything's still…"
"We're on the up and up, Mars." His attempt at smoke rings ended in a plume of smoke that lingered just above his head. Veronica stood and waved herself through the noxious cloud, rolling her eyes at Vinnie as he tried, and failed, to blow smoke rings again.
Slipping the acquired folders between another stack of papers in her hand, she turned back just before she opened his office door." You might want to curb your disgusting habit; the old man is hell-bent on turning this into a business of repute. He gets his wish and —pfft—" she sliced through the haze, "you lose half our clientele."
He scoffed. "Half. That's cute."
She laughed as the door closed behind her. She'd barely made it to her own desk before she opened the folder and was lost in it before she found her chair. After the fifth—or maybe sixth—time, she had committed it to memory. And after the tenth time, with passages emblazoned into her psyche, she steeled herself to bring down Aaron Echolls. And dance on his ashes.
Logan watched San Diego disappear from beneath him, the structure of the city giving way to ambling roads and the brown of the desert as they ascended toward the clouds. He tried, in desperation, to keep his mind on the seat in front of him rather than wandering into the cirrus they were flying through. He couldn't stop thinking about what happened the last few days. New Year's morning, Veronica waking in his arms, the feeling of never wanting to let go. He'd nearly blown off the trip to Morgan Hill to stay in bed with her for the next few days, but she'd insisted. They were going to his grandparent's ranch, and hell or high water, they were getting answers.
He hadn't thought they would learn anything, the way his grandparent's housekeeper kept sneering at them. Or, Veronica. Of course, she'd already found the ranch and asked her own questions, but she'd let Logan take the lead where his mother was concerned. For that he was thankful. So she had excused herself and made her way down to the stables while Logan talked to Gertrude. Which yielded nothing more than a scolding about his grandmother's passing during his absence.
Logan had walked out of the house completely discouraged, and perhaps a more than a little heartbroken. He'd been so certain that any and all clues would be here; Lynn had nowhere else to go. And no one else she'd have trusted to see it happen than the staff that'd practically raised her. It wasn't until he saw Veronica leaning against the pasture fence with her blonde hair blowing lazily around her, radiant, ear to ear smile on her face, that he realized he would do anything to be the one who kept it there. Renewed, he watched as she talked to a young stable hand, who thankfully didn't misinterpret her obvious love of all things equine as general interest in him.
When Veronica saw him, she'd abruptly ended her conversation and made her way to him. He remembered the feel of her hands grabbing onto his as the smile broke over her face. She'd known something.
And that's how he ended up on a plane to Buffalo. Not where in New York he'd thought his mother would go, but it was something. A lead. Logan sighed heavily and ran a tired hand across his brow. He cracked his neck from side to side, trying to adjust his long frame without kicking the person in front of him.
"Everything okay, Logan?"
"Oh yeah. Just dandy, Mr. Mars," he replied bitterly.
Logan watched as the eye closest him popped open from under the brim of Keith's fedora. The older man sighed and sat fully upright. "Something on your mind?"
Logan scoffed. The non-stop stream of what-ifs and what's-next were almost too much to bear; verbalizing them to the man he most respected was not going to happen. So he smiled, the easy unaffected smile that came naturally from being the progeny of two of the most recognized actors in the United States, and waved it off. All the while the tumult in his mind churned, and the fear about what he may—or may not—find swelled like the waves on the shores of Peleliu.
6 January 1946
"Clarence Weidman. Served in the first World War…" Veronica's voice reverberated around the room, echoing off the cold, brick walls, as she descended the metal spiral staircase."...in the 369th—"
"Are you going to continue with my distinguished service or can we skip right to the fun stuff?"
Veronica stopped in front of him, head crooked to the side and stifled a smirk. "I thought maybe you'd like a reprieve from the fun stuff," her eyes shifted from Clarence to Albano and his son, whose bloodied knuckles matched the wear on Clarence's face. "Maybe try the easy way."
"Why Miss Mars, perhaps Aaron was right about you." Her eyes snapped back to his. They were sharp. Veronica was sure he was cataloging every reaction, storing it away for Aaron. As far as he could against his restraints, he was leaning toward her. "Easy, that is."
In her periphery, Veronica noticed the younger Leone tense. "Stop. You'll make me blush." She replied without missing a beat, momentarily deflating the tension and putting her back in charge of the conversation. Although she was certain that all she'd need to do was tilt her head and everything would realign. "Now tell me why you're helping Aaron Echolls."
He seemed to look past her. Not at the other men in the room either, just a slightly vacant stare that unnerved her. She crossed her arms across her chest, shielding herself from the tumult of emotions that threatened under the service. The longer Clarence remained silent, however, the more steeled Veronica became. Her blonde waves slid behind her shoulders as she heaved a sigh.
"I suggest you answer her questions Mr. Weidman. If we have to ask Miss Veronica to leave the room, well, she likely won't be able to talk to you again for quite a few days—"
"And frankly, I don't have that kind of time." She took a step nearer the chair he'd been tied to. "Answers. Now."
Clarence let out a tired breath and laugh. "I'll tell you what I can."
He explained that Aaron and he had been introduced by Jake Kane. Mr. Kane, he'd said, had used his services previously. Twice. And had been so satisfied with the results, he became the first name on his 'fixer' list.
"So, I was a problem that needed fixed? My child…" she swallowed thickly, choked with rage. Her breathing was ragged as she tried to find words.
"You're not keeping up, Miss Mars. I thought I had heard you were bright."
The words still didn't come. Veronica fought against the instinct to lash out, to cause him more pain as she bent closer to his restrained form. Her palm itched, desperate for the stinging relief that slapping him would bring. Instead she clenched her fists, swallowed down her contempt and trudged on.
"Stop talking in circles."
"No circles, ma'am. Simple facts. I only met Mr. Echolls this past September. It just so happened that the younger Mr. Echolls also returned this fall. My initial employment had nothing to do with you."
"Initial?" She repeated.
He nodded. "Correct. My services were enlisted for a very different…" Clarence paused just a moment before lifting his eyes to correct with Veronicas. "...issue." His voice carried a weight Veronica didn't want to acknowledge.
"So, that's what you do?" She spat with no small amount of disgust. He laughed mirthless and tried to stretch against his restraints.
"Wrong again. I am simply employed to provide... distraction." Veronica's brow quirked up at this.
"Political scandal looming? Look over here instead, we'll beguile you with something flashy and shiny. Maintain positive PR for our subject and destroy whatever is necessary to do so."
"To hell with morality then?"
His eyes swept side to side dramatically, making the obvious point to her inherent lack of morals. She merely shrugged, her hands were barely dirty in this. "When being good pays as well as covering up the misdeeds of the wealthy…"
"And we all know how they love to play." When Clarence winked it made Veronica's skin crawl.
"The only thing that's precious to them is their reputations. Not family. Not friends. Just good press. Which is where I come in. Let's just say, without too many details, that Aaron's problem was a far less grand scale than what I aided Mr. Kane with. Intricate as hell, too, what we did. But no one will ever be the wiser." A smarmy smile slipped into place as he leaned back against his bonds
Veronica's hands found her hips as her tongue darted across her lower lip. She had a million questions, though none seemed to be about her anymore. She believed he had nothing to do with her accident, surprising herself. But right now, she couldn't stand the sight of him.
"I'm not interested in your other employment, Mr. Weidman, and since you have no information pertinent to me...I'll take my leave." She took a step back, and another, before the 'tsk' coming from Clarence's mouth reached her ears. "Yes?" She asked, exasperated, slowing her retreat.
"I may not have been involved Miss Mars, but that doesn't mean I don't know anything," he said, eyes glowing bright in the dim light.
"Then I suggest you spill your guts, Weidman. Veronica may not be getting impatient, but we surely are." Albano intoned from across the room. Clarence held up his hands in surrender the best he could.
"Fine. All I can say with certainty is that perhaps you might want to ask the law for answers."
8 January 1946
Veronica was exceptionally careful as she placed her purse on the booth next to her while she sat. She adjusted the demurely styled brown wig before smoothing the pleats in her skirt. After giving her order of coffee and sandwich to the waitress, Veronica sat back and took a deep breath.
When she had first started working with Vinnie, rather than just for him, he had been extremely hesitant, mostly afraid for his own safety. If anything ever happened to her… She'd heard it a million times, but she knew from that very first minute, that this is what she was made for.
As if on cue, Aaron Echolls walked in. She felt his eyes pass over her as he scanned the nearly deserted restaurant. Veronica's face, half hidden by her handy King James bible, assured he walked right past her into the adjacent din.
"I need you to take care of this," she clearly heard Aaron say. She didn't dare look up, so she had to presume it was his fist that made contact with the table's surface.
She did not, however, hear the reply. Nonplussed, she gingerly pushed her purse nearer the edge of the bench. Veronica sighed as she sunk bank into the booth, the sound of her shaky hand echoing off the vinyl. Damn him! She hated that he could affect her like this, make her feel so afraid. Being angry, essentially her default emotion, was how she'd managed to survive the last few years. Not that she particularly cared for sadness, but she was pretty adept at feeling that, too. But fear? No. Fear was weakness, and Veronica Mars was not weak.
She swallowed down her nerves and nibbled at the sandwich.
"Look, Aaron...I wish there was more we could do but the Leone—"
"Fuck the Leones! Don't I pay you enough?" Veronica could feel her heart nearly beating out of her chest. She had heard that. With her own ears. But that was the last she'd heard for a while. Clearly whomever Aaron was meeting with didn't want their conversation overheard. She sat quietly, albeit not really patiently, so lost in her thoughts that most people probably thought she was deep in prayer, which suited her just fine. It kept any one person from paying her too much mind.
She wasn't really sure how much time had passed, only that her third cup of coffee was disgustingly cold and the pie she'd additionally ordered was just crumbs. About to leave, she started to gather her things when the voices ambled nearer.
"Well, I do hope we can work these things out, Don. You're a fine sheriff; I'd hate to see anything get in the way of your leadership," Aaron schmoozed. Veronica only nearly resisted the urge to gag.
"I'll see to it that our vested interests are handled with the utmost of care, Mr. Echolls."
"Sheriff, as always, a pleasure doing business. Oh, speaking of pleasure," he said as they walked nearer Veronica's booth, "how is Madison? She's a fine little filly, don't you think?"
The sheriff stopped and ran his thumb and forefinger up and down the bridge of his nose. "Ahh, well, she's something isn't she? At least you did the work of breaking her for me."
Aaron laughed as they walked past Veronica. Before they got through the door, Don Lamb shook the hand of the man who had nearly destroyed her life.
11 January 1946
It's not Buffalo. Or at least, not anymore. After three days of poking around the limited theatre district of the western New York City, Keith had finally gotten a solid lead, and Logan could not have been happier. It turned out January wasn't the nicest time of year to visit Buffalo.
It wasn't as though where they were headed was a whole lot better. A little more than an hour later, and close to another foot of snow on the ground, and they were in Chautauqua Lake.
The first of the Chautauqua Institutions, the campus sprawled over two-thousand acres, boasting hotels, libraries, theatres; all of the arts were equally represented, and visitors were taught with the aid of the ensconced thespians and professors. And while its popularity had all but died out, it seemed the perfect place for artists to commune and practice their craft.
"You ready for this, kid?" Keith asked as Logan held the door to the Athenaeum Hotel. Logan shrugged and walked up to the desk, looking around for the concierge. "Logan, you know you can talk to me, right? I know it's been a crazy few days, and you're tired. I get it, but…"
"No, Keith, it's time," Logan said resolute. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat as he tried, in vain, to tamp down the last of his anxiety.
"Gentlemen, I'm sorry but we're currently not taking on new guests," the sharply dressed young man said with an air of indifference.
"Excuse me?" Logan shook his head, anxiety exuding from every pore as his hands moved from his pockets to smooth the sides of his hair. "I'm not really sure how we look like we're interested in lodging."
"We don't question our guests, we simply ask for the same courtesy," Andrew, according to the name tag, sniped while he laced his fingers together and sat them primly in front of him.
Logan sneered, lips twisting sourly as his hands came down hard on the counter, causing the man behind it to flinch. "Listen, Andy," he spat vehemently, "I don't really care what courtesies you think I want extended, or think I should reciprocate. What I want are answers and you're—"
"That's enough, Logan," Keith said sternly. Logan closed his eyes for a second, his fingertips slowly sliding back toward him across the counter, gripping the edge and pushing himself back. He spun away from the desk and stopped behind Keith. His hands shook even as he shoved them back in his pockets.
Keith nodded, slipping his hat from his head and setting it in front of him. "Look, kid, it's been a very long night—"
"Night?" Logan barked. "That's an under…" his voice trailed off when Keith turned back to him wearing his most unimpressed face. Logan rocked back on his heels, with curt nod and small salute, he twirled himself away before he could embarrass himself anymore.
He knew he wasn't aiding Keith back there. He just couldn't help himself. They were so close; how was he supposed to keep his mouth shut? His mother was here. Somewhere. And all he could do was mess up their best chance at answers because he couldn't keep his nerves in check.
The hotel was an eerie quiet, Logan realized, as he wandered through the meandering halls of the Athenaeum. His heavy boots echoed through the empty, tiled halls. He wondered if it was still snowing outside, having not passed a window in sometime. He sighed. A young couple, sneaking kisses in the hall, giggled past him and disappeared down a different corridor. With a ghost of a smile, Logan took off in the same direction.
He lost the couple within seconds, but the faint sound of a piano drew him in deeper. He stopped outside of what must have been the ballroom. The corner of his mouth turned up as he thought of the previous week, dancing in the new year with Veronica—how their problems seemed to melt away as they swayed. He leaned against the wall adjacent to the entrance as he thoughts began to consume him. Just before he was pulled entirely into his subconscious, a voice cut through the air and struck him in the heart. With a shaky sigh and a silent prayer, he propelled himself off the wall and into the room.
Her voice was exactly like he remembered. Soft yet strong; her mezzo was resonant through the room and carried through him. Slowly, he approached where she sat upon the baby grand. The diners—who all must've been staff—had gathered around to catch the show. Logan positioned himself out of her line-of-sight, obscured by a pillar. Leaning against it, a frown creased his brow. The tune was familiar; it reminded him of London a lifetime ago. He was five and it was the stage debut of Lynn Echolls. Well, sort of. She and Aaron had met in a production back in '24 and fallen madly in love, but, she was Lynn Lester back then. When Lynn had found herself pregnant, they'd quickly married before she'd been stashed away. Of course Aaron had continued to act on stages around the world.
Evergreen was meant to be their renaissance, and to everyone else it had seemed to be. But Logan remembered this time tinted a much darker hue. It was the first time he'd remembered his father hitting his mother. Too friendly with other co-stars, or some nonsense. He remembered her tears when she'd practice in their flat. This song—the one her character sang while waiting for her lover to return to her—made his stomach turn. The fact that she was smiling, laughing, not at all fighting the sick that threatened to spill over, made him angry on top of it.
Lynn had ended her rendition of Dancing on the Ceiling to whoops and hollers from her fellow Chautauquans. Logan could hear the happiness ebb from her voice. He turned away from the pillar with an angry flourish and rounded on the unassuming crowd with an audible slow-clap.
Logan stopped a couple feet in front of his flabbergasted mother, clasped his hands dramatically in front of himself and started to rock from the balls to the heels of his feet. "Wow, haven't heard that in a long time. I thought, though clearly incorrectly, that the mere mention of that time was sacrilege. How addled must your memories be?"
Logan watched as Lynn slid off the piano. She was visibly shaking, but apparently she couldn't help but smile. The pianist had stood up as well but she shooed him away, her hands slipping up her face as she stepped closer to Logan. "It's really you?"
Logan tried to swallow. His tongue felt unnaturally heavy and thick, and his strong sure words from just a minute before disappeared as she slipped her arms around him and held him close. He froze, stiff and unyielding in her embrace. Lynn released him after few awkward seconds and ran her hands up and down his arms before she stepped back, tears streaming down her face.
"You look so grown." Lynn said, bewildered. She reached for him again, this time, he flinched.
He nodded curtly. "Time has that effect."
"I imagine it wasn't just time, Logan. Where were you?" His mother's voice dropped just above a whisper. He turned away from the intensity of her gaze, fixing his eyes on the piano as his anxiety seeped from his fingers as they pulled at his sleeves. "I missed you."
Logan's eyes shot back to his mother. They glowed near incandescent, disdain scorched amber. "Missed me? That's a gas. Don't worry; there aren't any cameras rolling. Not here."
"How could I not miss you? My love for you was never conditional! And especially not for the press; I'm not your father. And I know…" she let out a shuddering breath as she reached for him. He shrank away, afraid to feel her hand on him. Her touch was always accompanied by Aarons. It was supposed to bring comfort, but it never did. How could it? Lynn nodded as she pulled her hand back to her body, tear spilling down her cheek. "I know I was barely an adequate mother but I thought of you every day you were gone."
"Was I a thought when you decided to join the USO tour? Or when Aaron first decided to use me as an ashtray?" He leaned forward with hands clasped behind his back, tipping his head to the side. "Or maybe...just maybe I finally warranted a real thought when he nearly killed Veronica, and our unborn child."
Lynn inhaled heavily, her breath catching in her throat. "You're my son, Logan, regardless of what you may think of me —"
"I tried not to. Think of you that is. On those beaches, in the middle of the Pacific, but often did you make your way into my mind. And I tried; I really, really did. I tried to forgive you—" he took a step toward her and unclasping his hands and flourishing his fingers before pressed together in front of his mouth. His head shook, emphatically. "—and in a way I suppose I did. I made a certain kind of peace with my past. The kind of blanket absolution one grants when they aren't sure how many more sunrises they get."
"And now you're rescinding your pardon." Lynn finished with a small smile though her breath still seemed to be hitching. "That's fine. I don't want generic forgiveness. I want to earn it."
"It's going to take time."
Lynn nodded and reached out again, this time Logan didn't flinch away. "How did you find me?"
His smile was soft and warm. "Veronica."
15 January 1946
The snow had started; slow, languid, lazy flakes floated to the ground, only revealing their weight as they piled on the tracks. Through the darkened train windows, they blotted out the world behind them, enthralling Lynn Echolls. They danced, through the haze, their beautiful descent choreographed through the dissonance, weaving through the night like spectres. They clung to the glass, crystalline for only a moment before melting and streaking down the windows like tears.
Her fingers stretched against the panes, tracing the tracks on the inside and watching as they pooled at the bottom. For a moment she'd felt almost sad watching the snowflakes melt into nothingness until she'd remembered that, while that particular form was fleeting, they would in some form or another last.
"This is quite a step up from the last room," Keith mused.
Lynn jumped at his voice, so deep in her own head that she'd momentarily forgotten. She smiled tightly and nodded. This wasn't your standard sleeper car. In fact, it wasn't even a posh cabin on the train. No, when they had switched trains in Chicago, Logan had seen to it that they would have a private car as they made their way back to California.
The train lurched forward again, clinking the ice cubes in Keith's glass against the sides. Lynn took a deep breath and a slow sip from her tea, returning her attention to the burgeoning squall. She heard a sigh to her left and the closing of the cabin door before sound was swallowed by the clacking of the rails.
Her mind drifted back to the snow, falling heavily, as they trudged their way west. Her eyes strayed back to the door Keith had walked out to the hall that lay beyond. Behind one of those doors was her son. The one she'd abandoned for the majority of his life. Whose spirit, and body had been broken more times than she'd ever like to recount.
As much as she loved him, she'd never fought. Not for him. Not for herself either. But she had tried and made a stand with Veronica. She'd taken her under her wing after the accident and insured that the young girl would never had to worry again. Probably more than Logan and Veronica had realized. Had Logan not returned in five years, the properties would have reverted to Veronica...who was free to do with them as she chose. Lynn was more than just a little happy that particular clause needn't be evoked. The fact that Logan had come to find her, with Keith Mars no less, meant that at the very least he and Veronica were speaking. Which was more than she could say for the two of them.
Lynn smiled slightly, her reflection startling her as the upturn of her lip looked as ragged as she felt. The year or so of clean living had been exhausting. Having been fearful of slipping back into a besotted existence, Lynn worked around the clock at the Institution, doing anything and everything from teaching acting classes to restocking books at the library. She had her hand in every basket as a way of to outrun her demons. Now that she was forced to stop, she could see the effect. And if she was being completely honest, it was the only honest labor she'd ever done in her life. Lynn could regard her new wrinkles and scars with pride. For once. Because even if they marred her, she earned them.
Now if only she could get a good night's sleep. She snorted, most unlady-like and completely unaffected, as she turned her chair away from the window. Her eyes caught on the bar cart. She pursed her lips and sipped her now luke-warm tea. The sound of footfalls nearing drew her attention away and back toward the door.
Keith Mars walked into the parlor, ducked his head and set two empty glasses on the cart.
"Is he…" Lynn started, her voice raw to her own ears, as if she hadn't spoken in years.
"Sleeping," Keith nodded, filling his glass with a sad smile and motioning at the chair across from Lynn. She smiled brightly and extended him an invitation to sit. "It's surreal, isn't it? Seeing him again."
Lynn cocked her head, her fingers anxiously tapping on her cup. "He's exactly as I remember him, and yet not at all. I don't really know what to make of it. He's a man, clearly. And a war hero? I don't know anything about his service, but I see he carries it around his neck like a noose." Keith's surprised expression threw her for a second, then she continued. "I may have been a lousy drunk, but don't for a second think I didn't know my son."
Keith nodded and his mouth quirked into a half-smile. "You'll be happy to know his mouth is exactly the same. Smart as it ever was."
Laughter bubbled up and spilled from Lynn, surprising even herself with its volume and earnestness. She quieted after a moment, still smiling though she could feel the tears prick, and set her cup on the side table.
"I'm sorry. It's just that I never thought I'd see him again. Whether or not he came back from war, I never thought he'd seek me out."
"You're his mother, Lynn. Regardless of what's happened in the past—as awful as it may have been—it's done. All you can do is hope to move forward."
"Move forward?" she said with deliberation. Her eyes narrowed and honed on Keith. She couldn't understand how that could happen. In order for them to move on, Logan would have to forgive her—which she wasn't sure she deserved. Could he disassociate all of the negative memories of his mother watching as his father beat him? No. There was no way. She didn't think she'd be able to do that, and how could she expect him to. Her head shook as her arms crossed in front of her body.
"He's been looking for you since he got back, Lynn. And Veronica even longer." The tears that had threatened spilled from the corners of her eyes unchecked. "You could've never stopped Aaron, Lynn. You have to know that." Keith sat forward, elbows on knees, and offered her his handkerchief.
She took it and flourished it through the air before daintily dabbing her eyes. She caught Keith laughing to himself, shaking his head with what looked like an eye roll.
"What?" she demanded, mildly affronted.
"Just seeing where Logan got it from. It's enlightening, really."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Keith." He leaned forward and snatched the handkerchief from her hand, waving it all about in front of him before dramatically fanning himself with it.
"The flair for the dramatic. Even the most mundane task that kid makes look like an intricate dance, and now I know why."
"Why Mr. Mars, are you implying that my son is a ham?"
Keith laughed and sat back in the recliner. He appeared to take a second to think about it before nodding his head.
Lynn laughed again, throwing her head back and clapping with delighted. "I'm glad to hear it."
She watched as Keith's smile faltered, his brows knit together and he sighed. "Lynn, can I ask...what your plans are, you know, when we get back?"
"I don't really know, Keith. I hadn't really been planning on going back just yet. I heard Logan say something about taking the circuitous route back to Neptune. I guess that gives me a few days to get something solid together."
"Well, I'm sure you're aware there's room at the house. You're more than welcome, obviously...I just thought you should know."
"That's very kind, Keith, but I'm sure Logan and Veronica don't want me looming while they're trying to reconcile...or whatever it is they're doing."
"Well, I think the reconciliation is complete. They still keep separate rooms, but I really think it's just because I'm there. It's sweet they try and keep up the pretense at all, but I appreciate it nonetheless."
"Oh, I didn't realize...that seems very fast doesn't it?" She was concerned. Not that she really had reason to be, or the right to be, but she couldn't help it. She was worried.
"C'mon! You saw those kids. And I mean kids, Lynn. They've been in love with each other since before they knew what love was."
"I'm surprised you're so calm about this."
"Veronica is an adult. She has been for a long time. Without my help, or guidance—or her mother's for that matter—and I trust her judgment. And if she thinks that Logan is worthy of her love, then who am I to object? Clearly, I'm not the best judge of character when it comes to matters of the heart. I don't even know where my former, or current I suppose, wife is." He drained his glass with a mirthless chuckle and set it loudly on the table.
Lynn winced. They were both silent for a moment before she spoke. "I think you and I got the short end of a few sticks, and while that may be quite literal in your case—"
"Hey!" Finally. A shred of normalcy. Lynn and Keith talked and laughed into the dawn as the train barreled west, finally breaking free of the snow.
Lynn and Logan had managed a modicum of pleasant conversation as they traveled across the country. There were a million things Lynn wanted to ask, but she never pushed, never dared to cross lines. She had seen him on the phone in Chicago—moony faced and sixteen all over again—and it took every ounce of self-preservation she had to not tease and pester him into telling her everything. Patience, she reminded herself. They'd get there.
The train began to slow for the last time as San Diego's Union Station came into view. Lynn was nervous. California could do that to a person. But she'd promised herself and Logan that she would be better. She hadn't seen him in the last few hours, probably packing, checking, re-packing, pacing...she chuckled. He'd been a bundle of nerves from the moment they crossed into California.
The train's whistle split through the air as the wheels began to screech on the track. Lynn wasn't even sure the train had stopped fully when she Logan's trenched figure step onto the platform. He moved with purpose to a small figure draped in dusky rose coat and hat. She watched as Logan's shy smile turned to one of reverence as he cupped the face of the girl and pulled her toward him. They spun, blissfully unaware of anyone else around them, until she and Keith disembarked the train. Veronica smiled warmly at Lynn though her eyes looked red and something about the way she was holding onto Logan's hands nettled every bit of maternal instinct in her.
"Welcome back, Lynn. Shall we?"