Cracks in Their Shells

Following Logan's instructions to look around, Becca strolled down the hall. A large bedroom with two double beds took up the entire front side of the house. She guessed correctly that this must be the boys' bedroom. Across the hall, she found the bathroom Logan had referred to and then squealed with delight as she flipped on the light in the corner bedroom. Two walls were taken up completely by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves Logan had built. Aside from a few pictures, more mugs, and a couple of Logan's own trophies, the shelves were filled with books. Becca practically ran to the shelves to examine Logan's library. Melville. Hemingway. Frost. The Bronte sisters. Hugo. Logan clearly had good taste in the classics. Other shelves held books on woodworking, hunting and fishing, and the Boston Red Sox. Most of the books in the room, however, were volume upon volume of history. American and British history dominated the collection, with some German, Spanish, and French thrown in to boot. Elsewhere in the room, Becca noted a teacher's desk with an older model Mac computer, some sort of radio equipment, a printer, and a stack of random papers. Another recliner and a side table with a lamp indicated Logan's reading spot, and a dog bed for Roscoe indicated his spot in the room. A dusty taxidermied deer head (nine points, Becca counted), a largemouth bass, a flag she did not recognize, and some sort of oddly shaped stringed instrument hung over the desk. Maps of the southeastern U.S. and Civil War battlefields took up space on the final wall, along with a painting of a Civil War soldier with his sword held high above his head, leading an infantry charge.

"That's Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain." Logan's voice startled Becca. "He was a Yankee colonel and later general who led a famous charge down Little Round Top at Gettysburg. Saved the Union's bacon that day and arguably kept the Confederacy from winning the war."

"Oh, Logan," started Becca in quiet awe. "This place is a treasure trove."

"I'm working on my PhD," Logan said proudly. "Okay, my Master's. I'm stuck until I pass the foreign language requirement. My Gaelic sucks."

"Janice told me you were taking classes. Gaelic? That's - different."

Logan smiled proudly. "Yeah, not much of a market for it, but it's relevant to my interests, which are Scots-Irish influence in settlement of the Appalachians, eastern Indian tribes, The Civil War, and the British monarchy. Oh, and pirates."

This last tidbit made Becca giggle, but she continued asking questions about the items in the room. The instrument was a mountain dulcimer, the flag was the flag of Scotland, and the electronics were ham radio equipment. "It gets kinda lonely around here sometimes, and Roscoe's not the best at conversation, so I get on the air and talk to whoever will talk back to me. Sometimes it's someone right down the road and sometimes it's someone in Australia or Japan. It's like Forrest Gump and his box of chocolates - you never know what you're going to get. Which, speaking of food, supper's ready."

Logan's cooking would never win any awards for presentation, but Janice was right: He was a good cook.

"Logan, I haven't had a meal that good in ages. I'll bet your Fruity Pebbles are simply divine." He laughed heartily at her joke and asked if she was ready for some cake. "No, I'm stuffed. Let's hold off on the dessert for a while."

"No problem. I could stand to wait myself. Hey! Come out to the workshop with me. I finished the piano bench today!"

Becca praised Logan's craftsmanship as she studied the piano bench. She wanted to make a suggestion, but hesitated to do so.

"What is it, Becca?" Logan sensed her hesitation. "You're not going to hurt my feelings."

"Would it be possible to add a padded seat? I took piano lessons for three years and the instructor's bench didn't have any padding. I always left with a case of bleacher butt. I can promise you Sophie would appreciate the addition."

Logan nodded his agreement. "See, Santa's elf is at work again. I've got some thick foam I was going to use on the seats for Polly, and since you had such good taste in your suggestion that I not put stain on the wood, I'll entrust you with picking out the fabric for a cover. I may just keep you around." Logan began his flirting subtly.

"Well, I may just like that proposition," Becca returned the flirting. Looking around the shop again, her eyes settled on Polly. "I know better than to step on the stool again, Logan, but can I get a look at what's under the tarp? For whatever reason, I'm mesmerized by old cars, or, in Polly's case, trucks."

"As you wish, Princess Buttercup." Becca giggled at the Princess Bride reference. "Buttercup the elf. That has a ring to it, no?" Becca shook her head and tried to stifle another giggle.

"Stand back or you'll get dust all over your clothes. Speaking of which, that's a nice sweater. Very Christmasy."

"Thank you, Mr. Kringle," Becca beamed at his praise of her wardrobe.

Logan whipped the tarp away and dodged most of the dust himself, revealing a primered hood with hinges down the center. The driver's side door was missing, as was the bench seat. Becca saw that they were in the bed of the truck, waiting to be repaired and installed. Logan had placed a paint pail behind the steering wheel to give him a place to sit as he worked on replacing the wiring. "See? Bucket seats," Logan quipped. This elicited another giggle from Becca.

"I like getting you to giggle," Logan told Becca. "It's cute, just like the rest of you." He upped his flirting game. Becca blushed and giggled again. "See?" Logan said. "Cute."

"Elfin cute?" Becca asked, remembering Logan's comment from the previous day.

"Elfin cute," Logan agreed. The two grew more at ease with one another, and genuine smiles adorned both of their faces. The evening was going well.

Becca helped Logan spread the tarp back over the old truck and asked, "What are your plans for Polly? You can't just fix her up and not do anything with her."

"I may drop a V-8 in her, cut down the top a couple of inches, put a modern transmission and some wide tires on her, and make a rat rod out of her. Or..."

Becca interrupted him. "Logan, don't you dare! She's too pretty for that kind of treatment."

"Or," Logan continued, "I may restore her as close to original as I can." He laughed at his own joke.

Becca breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't do that to me. You almost gave me a heart attack. Polly deserves to be in car shows and Christmas parades, those kinds of things."

"Once again, madame elf, you have shown good judgment. That'll have to wait, though. I've got too many irons in the fire right now. Speaking of fire, how about we build a fire in the pit? I even got marshmallows!"

Becca squealed and clapped her hands at Logan's suggestion just as a flash of lightning struck nearby. The lights flickered, then went out as a crash of thunder rattled the windows of the workshop. Neither had realized that a front was supposed to blow in that evening.

"So much for that idea," Logan muttered. "We'd better get back inside the house before we get wet."

Becca led the way, dodging rain drops as she broke into a run. Logan started after her, but slowed his pace as he was mesmerized by Becca's marvelous ass when she ran. She turned to look for him when she reached the porch and caught him looking as he tried to play it cool. She smiled coyly and asked in a low, sultry voice, "Like what you see, Mr. Kringle? You're going to end up on the naughty list."

"I've got the pencil and eraser for the naughty list," Logan replied with a sly grin. "I get to decide who's on or off of it."

Standing face to face on the porch, Becca and Logan locked eyes. Ever so slightly, she leaned towards him. His move mirrored hers, but before their lips could meet, another lightning and thunder tandem broke the spell.

"Shall we continue this conversation inside?" Logan whispered in Becca's ear. "I think we might find the atmosphere somewhat more agreeable." He opened the door and held out his hand to indicate that Becca should lead the way. Finding the house dark, he reached for a light switch and flipped it.

"Power's out, silly," Becca teased. "Whatever shall we do?"

"This." Logan pulled Becca into an embrace and kissed her tenderly. She knew it was coming, but it still caught her a bit off guard. Recovering her wits quickly, she stood on her tiptoes and leaned into him, returning his kiss awkwardly. Logan broke the kiss and said, "This height difference seems to be a bit uncomfortable. Whatever shall we do?"

"This." Becca took Logan's hand and led him clumsily towards the low firelight of the living room. She giggled as she heard him stumble into one of the kitchen chairs and knock it over.

"Ow. Shit. Slow down, Becca!"

She giggled again as they turned into the better lighting of the living room. Logan broke her hold on his hand and tossed a couple of sticks of firewood atop the glowing coals. They caught quickly and lit the room cheerily. Becca settled in the middle of the couch and gave Logan a "come hither" with her index finger, not that he needed the invitation. He sat and attempted to adjust his position, but was unable to do so before the seemingly shy secretary he had only known through casual conversations until yesterday scrambled into his lap. "I think this will take care of the height issue," she giggled, and leaned in for another kiss.

The tenderness of their first kiss soon gave way to passionate, breathless kisses. Logan's manhood tried to rise to the occasion, but couldn't because of the beautiful creature sitting in his lap. He shifted uncomfortably and placed a hand under Becca's bum to lift her so he could adjust his cock.

Becca's giggling was no longer cute; it was passionate and needy. "Santa likes his little elf sitting on his lap, no?" she questioned.

"Busted," Logan smiled. His bemused smile turned to a sly, needful grin.

Suddenly realizing where this was likely to lead, Becca stiffened and sprang from Logan's lap. The ghost of her past manifested himself in her mind and she scrambled awkwardly to the other end of the couch. Logan sat in shock, unable to fathom what had come over the woman who he thought was only a few minutes away from making love to him. He wasn't angry with Becca, but he was damn sure confused. Their eyes met, then Logan realized she was shaking with fear.

"Becca, I'm sorry! What did I do? Did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

"STOP IT!" Becca said, more loudly than she intended. "DON'T APOLOGIZE! IT'S NOT YOU, IT'S ME!" She had begun to cry. She inched her way back down the couch, climbed back into his lap, and whispered, "Just hold me. Please." She sobbed into his shoulder for several minutes. Logan sat quietly except to say "Becca, it's okay sweetie. We'll talk about it later." She continued to cry. Logan hugged her tightly and gently stroked her hair. Slowly her shaking stopped and her crying subsided. She nestled deeper into his embrace, then finally broke the hold and excused herself.

Logan went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Thankfully he had a gas stove that didn't require the electricity, which was still off. The wine he had set out went back in the cooler as he decided that the alcohol probably needed to wait for another time. If there was another time. He sighed at the prospect of his relationship with Becca ending before it even began. He sliced the cake Becca had brought and placed two saucers and forks on the table. He poured a cup of coffee and inhaled its hot aroma, then took a tentative sip of the bitter liquid. He lit a candle and placed it in the middle of the table. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Logan turned to find Becca smiling shyly and sadly.

"That smells really good," she said. "May I have a cup, please?"

"Certainly. How do you take your coffee?"

"Black."

"Ah, a girl after my own heart. I rarely ruin a good cup of hot, black coffee with cream or sugar."

"I like it with sugar and French vanilla sometimes, but I'll let the cake give me my sugar fix tonight. Thank you for slicing it."

"No problem. Care to join me?" He gestured towards the table.

Becca's face softened and her smile grew less forced. "I'd like that," she replied.

They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, nibbling their cake and sipping their coffee. They avoided eye contact until the awkwardness grew to be more than Logan could bear. He was the first to break the silence.

"Becca, this is new territory for both of us. Janice told me..."

"Told you what?" Becca's voice was suddenly laced with acid.

"... to take care of you. She said you had been hurt in the past. I didn't ask questions."

Becca's face softened and she dropped her head. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't be. I won't pry, but I'm also here to listen if you want to talk about it. I'll leave that up to you, though."

"Thank you, Logan. Janice told me something about you, too. She said you were a gentleman. She's right, you know?" Becca's smile was weak, but genuine. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began:

"When I graduated high school, I was bound and determined to get out of Boone. Cassie, my sister, was a senior at App State, so Mom and Dad just figured I would go there as well. I didn't want to go across the country to UCLA or anything like that, but I thought UNC Asheville was far enough away to give me some freedom but close enough I could come home if I needed to. Plus, I wanted to major in English, and UNCA has a top-tier English program. So off I went to Asheville."

"I had only been on a couple of dates in high school. I was so shy, Logan. I thought that if I moved away from home that maybe I could come out of my shell, find a good guy, get married, and have a family. Cassie had already met Tom and they were on the way to getting engaged. I wanted that, too. May I have some more coffee, please?"

Logan took her cup and refilled it with the hot, black liquid. He sat down across from her again and continued listening:

"My roommate was a social butterfly. We were as different as night and day, but she set out to help me get a boyfriend. There was a Sadie Hawkins dance coming up, so that put the ball in my court. We had freshman comp together and she "helped" me pick out a guy in the class to ask to the dance. He was handsome and pleasant, so I screwed up the courage to ask him to be my date for the Sadie Hawkins dance, and he accepted."

"The night started off well enough. Neither of us were very good dancers, so we made ourselves wallflowers and socialized with our friends. He went to refill my punch a couple of times, and I thought it tasted a little funny, but it didn't occur to me that he might have put something in my drink."

Logan set his jaw and he felt the tips of his ears starting to burn. "Becca, you don't..."

She held up her hand to shush him. "No, Logan, I want you to know everything. Maybe if I tell you it will be the last time I ever have to tell it, to explain it all. I started feeling sick to my stomach and started sweating. Knowing the signs that the drug was working, he 'helped' me to the restroom in the boys' locker room in the gym. I came to just as he was pulling out of me for the last time. He raped me, Logan." Tears streamed down her face, and she reached for a napkin to dry them.

Logan was fully enraged by this time, but he held his tongue. Becca continued:

"It went to trial. I had to sit on the witness stand and tell the court everything I just told you, Logan. He was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years but got out in seven for 'good behavior.' Two years later he did the same thing to another poor girl, and I had to testify in that trial, too. He's in for life now, but I still have nightmares that he's going to get out somehow."

"If he does, I'll kill him, Becca."

"You won't have to. I'll beat you to it. But that's not going to happen. This sentence carries no possibility of parole. I hope he's somebody's bitch in the pen."

She continued, "So that's why I am the way I am, and why what happened a few minutes ago happened."

Logan sat in silence as his rage began to cool. Becca stared into her coffee cup and sniffled. After a minute, he stood, walked to her side, and offered her his hand. When she stood, he pulled her into a soft embrace, then tightened his hold on her. She snuggled her head into his chest. They stood like this for some time, until Becca felt a drop of water plop on the top of her head. She pulled away from him and saw the glistening of tears on his cheeks by the weak light of the candle.

"Logan, I'll be okay. He can't hurt me or anyone else now."

"Becca, I'm so sorry..." His voice cracked. He pulled her close to him again.

"I'll be okay," she repeated. "Will you just hold me for a while? I feel safe in your arms."

She led him back to the couch. As it had earlier, the fire had burned down to a bed of glowing coals. Logan placed a couple more pieces of wood on the fire, then returned to his seat at the end of the couch. Becca sat in his lap again and snuggled back into his chest. He hugged her tightly and placed his chin on top of her head. Her breathing became slow and regular as she drifted off to sleep. Logan gazed into the fire and wrestled with his thoughts.

*********

Becca sat up quickly, her eyes blinded by the lamp on the table by the couch. It took her a moment to remember where she was, then she realized she was no longer in Logan's lap. She found him asleep in the recliner next to the couch. He had placed a blanket over her at some point. As she got up to go to the bathroom, she was startled by warm lump that moved behind her under the blanket. She lifted the blanket and looked into a pair of sad brown eyes. She smiled at Roscoe as his tail began to thump rhythmically. She laughed at the up and down motion of the blanket.

She returned to the living room to find Logan awake and smiling dreamily at her. "Hi," he said softly.

"Hi yourself. Sorry if I woke you. Those cups of coffee were ready for a change of scenery."

Logan chuckled. "Yeah, mine too. I was afraid I would wake you if I tried to pick you up again. Besides, it was nice sitting here watching you sleep. You didn't snore too much."

"I do NOT snore!" Becca retorted. Then she meekly asked, "Do I?"

"No, you didn't snore, but you did smile quite a bit."

"I had pleasant dreams. Stuff about Santa and elves and hugs and puppies. Speaking of which, Roscoe is a real hound, you know."

"Roscoe? What did he do?" Roscoe, hearing his name but still under the blanket, started thumping his tail again. Becca giggled and pointed. "Damn dog," Logan muttered. "Sorry about that."

"I'm used to having Nikki in bed with me at home, so no biggie." Pulling the blanket off the dog, Becca added, "You take up a little more space than she does, though." Roscoe rolled over on his back and assumed the belly rub position. "Like I said, you're a hound." Becca scratched his belly vigorously.

"He misses having a woman around. Laura used to talk to him the way you do. He would follow that woman all over creation if she asked him to." He then added quietly, "So would I."

"Janice said you two were high school sweethearts. She must have been special."

"She was, Becca. A good wife and an even better mother. I miss her like crazy."

Fearing she had crossed some invisible line, Laura turned away from Logan and began scratching Roscoe's ears.

"Keep that up and he won't let you leave," Logan said.

"Logan, I don't want to uncover old wounds, but I'm happy to listen if you ever want to talk."

"Thank you, Becca. Life can be a cruel mistress. I would have given anything for it to have been me instead of her. She went from being a beautiful, vivacious woman in the prime of her life to a shell of herself. If only the doctors could have caught it sooner, she might have had a chance. Instead, we watched helplessly as the scans showed the progression and spread of the disease. We tried everything: a double mastectomy, chemo, experimental drugs, all to no avail. It spread to her lymph nodes, her liver, and her throat. God, that girl could sing before the cancer took her voice from her."