smokin' | louigan

three

logan quickly paid the driver and stepped out of the taxi, body growing tense as he stepped up to the old home. his old home.

the townhouse was still buttercup yellow. the picket fence was freshly white, large windows streak-free and open. he could see the white curtains slightly swaying from the soft breeze. the small tree on the sidewalk was gone and paved over with cement.

with a frown, he slowly went up the four steps to the pale front door. his hand was poised in a raised, loose fist when the door opened.

"logan?" a blonde woman stood in the doorframe, watering can and garden spade in gloved hands.

"cynthia." he grunted out, fiddling with the shoulder strap of his duffle bag. she quickly passed him to the front lawn where rose bushes lined the foundation of the home. he sighed quietly and quickly followed. he noticed the quickness of her steps and the new slouch of her shoulders.

"is dad home?" he felt the tension dig into his skin like a thorn. his mother's blue eyes met his own, shooting icicles like bullets towards him. with a shake of her head, she turned back to the bush. she tilted the copper can towards the flowers, and logan watched water flow from the spout. his mother was so cold he was surprised the earth didn't freeze wherever she walked.

"why did you come back?" another shot of ice rattled his bones, and logan refrained from shivering and shying away from his mother. she wiped her forehead with the front of her gloved hand and continued watering the flowers. he bit his lip hard, and felt the blood rush to the flesh when he released.

"life doesn't always work out, mom." logan ran a hand through his hair, repressed thoughts quickly resurfacing. thoughts of a previous life, a previous trial, a previous era. cynthia bush stood tall and faced her son with a scowl.

"you're just realizing that now, son?" her tone was full of disgust, and logan glared at the back of her blonde head as she retreated into the house. he quickly paced after her, an unreadable expression molding his features into stone.

the house was bare. family pictures were missing from the walls, heirlooms in display cases dusty, pieces of furniture missing. logan walked through his childhood home as a stranger. the kitchen had remained the same as always, with sleek appliances and stone countertops. cynthia quickly removed her gloves and set her tools in a small tub on the island counter.

"your father is gone, logan." she said slowly as he stared at her bare ring finger. she continued, "we divorced two years after you left. we didn't see eye to eye anymore, and we always wanted things from each other that we didn't have." logan saw his mother's eyes water, but she quickly turned away from him, running the faucet. he opened his mouth to speak when she said,

"i don't want you here." her hands raised to her face as she washed away the tears. she turned back to face him with a towel in her hands, the same stony resistance etched into the lines of her pale face.

"you left once, and i expect you to leave again." logan stared back at the woman who he called 'mom,' the woman who gave him a roof over his head, the woman who called him family, the woman who gave him life. he was overwhelmed with emotion, so completely mind-blowingly overtaken with emotion that he flipped the switch and felt himself freeze over.

logan quickly nodded and turned towards the front door, not seeing his mother pick the flask out of her pocket and a final tear fall from her eye.