Nomadic

The dim light from the hallway contrasted with dark room. It illuminated Hogan's silhouette as he leaned against the doorway. The beam of light that crept into the room highlighted the bed and its sleeping occupant, and cast Hogan's shadow against the far wall. The boy's breath was steady and Hogan closed his eyes, listening to it like it was the sweetest music he had ever heard.

He felt someone come up beside him and let out a long, contented sigh. "Thanks for looking after him, Mom," he said quietly.

"Of course. He is such a dear," Mom said, patting Hogan's back. She moved away from the door and beckoned Hogan to follow her. Hogan grabbed the knob and quietly closed the door, leaving only a crack open. He followed Mom down the hall and towards the kitchen where the aroma of cookies greeted him. She motioned for him to sit and set about making him a mug of cocoa. Hogan leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes once more, listening to the cuckoo clock on the wall and the soothing sound of his mother humming to herself. He loved coming home. It was like a warm, safe blanket.

"There you are," Mom said as she placed the cocoa on the table before him. The chair on the other side of the small, round table scraped against the floor as Mom pulls it out to sit with him. She, too, had a mug of cocoa, which she sipped thoughtfully. Hogan took his mug in both hands, felt the warmth of the cocoa, and breathed in the smell. A touch of cinnamon— perfect.

"Will you be staying long?" Mom asked.

"I have no plans to leave any time soon," Hogan replied.

"That's good. Bernard misses you when you leave, you know."

Hogan's head bobbed slightly in acknowledgement. "I know. I miss him, too." Of course he felt guilty for leaving his son so often, sometimes for months on end. But even the war was over, that didn't mean the world was at peace. No, there was still more to do to make the world safe, and Hogan was on the front lines to keep a cold war from heating up.

Hogan took another sip, letting his stress melt away, if only for a moment, as the rich, creamy cocoa warmed his body.

"It's funny how much he looks like you— more and more everyday," Mom said. "But, of course, you were in that prison camp, so I suppose I am only seeing what I wish to." There was a sly look on her face. Hogan knew that she knew more than she let on, but neither really spoke about what he actually did during the war. The official story was that Bernard was simply a war orphan whom Hogan had found and decided to adopt. Very few people knew he was actually his son.

"I hope he didn't act like me while I was away!"

Mom laughed. "Oh, he is a handful! But he is also sweet and helpful— just like you were."

"I'm glad to hear it."

The two sat in a companionable silence, sipping their cocoa, until Mom suddenly snapped her fingers. "If you're going to be here on Saturday, I've arranged for you to meet Mrs. Bauer's daughter."

"Oh?" Hogan arched an eyebrow. "I thought you said none of your friends would let me date their daughters anymore."

Mom let out an exasperated sigh. "Most won't! You're developing quite a reputation again. I really thought that after the war you would settle down." Hogan just shrugged. Mom furrowed her brow and continued. "Really, Robert, you must have plans to settle down sometime, yes?"

"There's time," Hogan said into his mug.

"Hardly. You're not getting any younger. And I think Bernard could use a mother. Surely there must be some woman out there who is good enough for you!"

Hogan frowned, his gaze drawn to his mug in order to avoid his mother's eyes. In the midst of the steaming brown liquid, he could catch a glimpse of the perfect woman. He could see her porcelain skin, rosy cheek, and fiery red hair. Her grey eyes spoke of her courage and strength, her bravery and resilience. As he sipped his cocoa, he imagined he could feel her body pressed against his, warm and soft, with curves in all the right places. Her tender lips lingered on his for just a moment until he set his mug down.

"I think I'll turn in," Hogan said as he stood.

"Robert." Mom stood to reach out to him, but stopped herself. "I'm sorry. I just thought—"

"Night, Mom. I love you."

He knew his mom meant well. She just wanted to see him happy. But Hogan knew her efforts were all in vain. He had loved the perfect woman and had lost her. He knew his nomadic heart was destined to wander from woman to woman, never finding its true home, which was gone forever.

He paused outside Bernard's room and rested his hand gently on the door. A small piece of Tiger lay beyond. He would dedicate his heart to that. And maybe in doing so, he'd finally find peace.