Oh, what a delicate balance I hold today on my rope as one side of the tent features a red-headed nightmare, loathe to embrace the new tenderness of my attempts to care for Satan. Yes, why do we fortify him so that he will become stronger than the rest of us once again?
That's a very good question, Lochlan.
On the other side of the tent rests Mr. Convalescence, who did in fact return to his side of the drive late this morning, and assures me that his medication was simply fucked up and too strong and no, he did not have a heart attack, even though I wondered if I was being protected, jaded in my acceptance of just about everything they ever tell me, keeping my childhood view of the world because it was safer there, for a time.
Caleb is being forthcoming. If anything, had this been more serious he might have proclaimed he could be dead before he turns fifty, thus opening the door for me to hesitate at the center of the tightrope just briefly enough for everyone to gasp with anticipation.
(That was for show, by the way. The redhead never would have let me off the ground if he thought for even a moment that I couldn't pull it off.)
Anyway, the Devil said he is feeling a million times better today (see what he did there? No? Argh.) and isn't that devilish at all right now. He's humbled, grateful and appropriate and I even went ahead and cancelled his upcoming meetings, rescheduling them for next week and I paid his bills listed on the ledger and I made a couple of phone calls on his behalf to explain he would be indisposed at least for next week to people expecting his schedule. I shopped for some groceries for him and cleaned up the boathouse. He was very pleased.
So pleased he put me back on the payroll.
Cue more redheaded indignation right there but really beyond, oh, saving Caleb's life, Lochlan's being a creep about this. He's conflicted, surprised and shocked by how quickly he jumped in and took over the whole situation as if he does it every day.
He doesn't. He was never a volunteer firefighter with the others. He's never had any first aid training past laughing and telling me that what to do when he burns himself is swear because 'it bloody well hurts' and we all know his ability to Be There in an emergency is staggeringly lacking.
And yet there he was. Making sure Henry doesn't lose any more fathers. Making sure Bridget doesn't lose anything either because it would be too much. Too soon. Again.
So back to my leisurely unpacking of clothes I didn't wear on our break at the farm, waiting for Gage to decide if he is going to stay on past the end of next week, since Halloween was his departure date, planning for upcoming anniversaries and listening to Loch talk about how glad he is that the devil is out of his house, our makeshift circus tent, our sideshow stage, my highwire so far up you can't actually see it until the lights come on.
Your house, Lochlan?
Oh, the look.
