I'm sorry, Bridget. I really think you're spreading yourself too thin. I worry about you. I fear for your heart and your continued improvement when you degenerate into trying to please all of them.
All of us, don't you mean?
No, the houseful you have. I am a separate entity.
It's the same thing, Cale.
I didn't invite you here to argue, I invited you down for a bite to eat and a drink. What would you like?
Scotch, bourbon. Whatever you're drinking is fine.
Bulliet.
Oh, how fitting. Pour me a big one, would you, please?
Done.
I turn and look at the water as he heads inside. A cigar rests in the tray on the table. All it needs is a brief hint of oil paint and I will be in 1995 again. Memories are a time machine and we are just too chicken to get in so we watch them like a movie through the windows of our minds. Because you can't go back. Time machines aren't real. I go back inside.
Here, baby girl, a little ice for you too.
Thank you. I take a huge gulp and stare up at him up over the rim of the glass. He's smiling at me slightly, curiosity in his features. He's so handsome my knees start to tremble lightly. I didn't ever in a million years want to acknowledge that but I may as well. Time is short and he's got a defective ticker and a death wish. Sort of an odd conundrum for Satan, but I don't see Satan around anywhere right now. Oh well, the night is young, now, isn't it?
Where is Ben tonight?
Downstairs in the studio.
Anything new?
Maybe. Yes, I think so.
Lochlan?
Why don't you find him and ask?
I see. How long can you stay?
I'd like to stay for as long as it takes me to drink this without rushing and then I'm going up to the house to go to bed. I'm still not a hundred percent but worlds better through the weekend. We settled in at the kitchen island despite his protests and chat about the children for a while. I include discussions on Ruth because it's a habit and because I'm not dividing my life or their lives down the middle just because Caleb and Lochlan stand on opposite sides of the yard most days and scowl each other down.
Eventually he sees that I am three-quarters finished and brings the subject back around to shared interests. He remarks that he's almost glad the offer on the property up North fell through. Whistler casts a magical spell around those who visit, imploring us to stay. In reality we won't get up there any more than once every few weeks.
Instead he suggests some changes to expand the boathouse and I shut him down, pointing out the permit headaches with the dock already and the fact that I like the boathouse the way it is, and can't deal with any more change. I tread carefully, his name is on the mortgage contract and I don't own this house after all. I tread confidently because he is in my good graces and I am as generous, if not more, to try to keep us equal. It's easier.
He suggests a home in the country, then. A luxurious retreat with horses, near the lake where the children like to swim, a getaway but still within a couple hours drive. I veto that, we have plenty of room, he can go and buy whatever he likes but this house makes me happy and I don't want a second, thanks.
I am trying to figure out what Caleb is up to when he abruptly changes gear again.
A trip, then. Somewhere warm, a break from this weather.
Where? (I am humoring him and curious besides).
Maldives? Montserrat? Spain? Pick somewhere and we'll go.
Who will go?
You and I. Maybe the children if you wish.
My drink is finished. I get it. He wants to score points, hell, he just wants to score and has reached the desperation stage where he would give me the moon if only I would view it in his presence, exclusively. I call him out because I can't stand it anymore.
Why do you do this?
I'm making sure you have an escape this time. Something I didn't give you before and I should have.
An escape from what?
Men like Cole. Men like me.
I drink the last of my bourbon in one giant gulp and let it burn right down to the ends of my toes while I consider his confession.
You're right, Caleb. You should have done this years ago. Why the fuck didn't you do this years ago?
Would you have taken it? Would you have accepted rescue from someone like me?
I left the question hanging in the cold night air, letters smeared in the fresh snow, words chilled to just above freezing, almost imperceptible in the dark. It seemed like the right thing to do.
