For the next nine minutes I could hear indignant but otherwise unintelligible heavily-accented shouting coming from behind the door.
Nine minutes. That's almost a record. Usually Caleb grows weary, then amused and will hang up on Lochlan, who will always, always finish his sentence into dead air before giving up and putting his phone down.
At least his isn't a shorted out paperweight now.
PJ was comforting. Let him get it out of his system. We'll get you a new phone in the morning.
A new phone arrived twenty minutes later. Not a new iPhone 7 but a regular six, in the same color that I had. With a headphone jack and everything else I needed.
If only we could restore your life at the bad junctions, said the note. Love, CXC
Yeah.
If only.
That phone lasted six and three-quarter minutes and Lochlan fired it at the general direction of the Boathouse, this time from the side door off the kitchen. It landed in several pieces in the driveway after hitting the rock wall.
Could you stop it please? I need a phone for the kids.
They'll call Padraig.
They text me.
Bridget, I'm not doing this with you right now.
YES YOU DAMN WELL ARE, LOCHLAN.
Don't you defy me!
WHAT THE FUCK. IS THIS THE 1800s?
YES. YES IT IS AND YOU'RE GOING TO LISTEN!
That's not going to work.
It did before.
Right. And I've done NOTHING wrong so stop yelling at me. I didn't make you angry, Caleb did.
I'm not angry with you, Bridget.
Then why are you yelling?
I'm afraid.