I have news fatigue and therefore have put on a pretty linen spring dress, no shoes and left my hair to curl up lazily around my shoulders and it looks like Lochlan's hair when it gets so long the curls come out, weighed down by the length.
And freeze my toes off in the kitchen because it's minus two outside and PJ burned the eggs and so he's opened the windows.
Peej, Christ!
Gimme a sec, he rumbles. PJ isn't conversational until at least his third cup of coffee. I finished a second cup yesterday at three pm and took a sleeping pill and was still up all night. I don't know how he does it.
I wait five seconds, eyebrows raised. He goes around closing all the windows and points out a little fresh air if good if one is properly dressed and someone definitely isn't.
If it's like yesterday it will be eighteen degrees by after lunch. I remind him, since yesterday I was wearing lined jeans and a black hoodie and was so hot I practically melted.
You have a cold. You should stay warm.
It's getting better.
Right and rush too much and it'll come back.
He's so bickery I turn my attention to Caleb who does a small double take at all the tattoos visible suddenly and the dress and asks me if I'm warm enough as he makes a coffee. His altruistic demeanor is amusing considering a week ago when I developed a runny nose and the world's driest cough he lost his mind, mostly because Lochlan wouldn't let him near me.
I am. I may go get socks and a sweater though.
If you put on some warm things we can take a walk.
Where?
Beach, field. You decide.
Both? And the pool. And maybe up the road towards town and-
Let's start slowly. Go.
I run upstairs, chuck the dress overhand into the closet and find black fleece leggings and a longsleeve black Lamb of God (perfect timing!) t-shirt, black socks and a black clip for my bangs, which are driving me batshit crazy.
Ah. You look like you now.
I almost wipe out in surprise. He hates these outfits.
I meant defiant and dark. I'm not condoning the choice of attire, just pointing out it's predictable.
I wait for more. What a backhanded compliment.
It's warm, he settles on finally and I nod.
It is.
Let's go then.
We start out on the left side of the property if you're facing the sea, walking up the driveway and out onto the road, and past Schuyler and Dan's, past Batman's house, heading down around Batman's driveway to the yard, through the trees, and across to the pool, then down to the cliffs, across the fence and then finally to the beach. Smart, as Caleb knows I'll comb every inch of the beach and if I start there I never make it anywhere else, running out of time or patience or oxygen (the coughing). Or he runs out of time. Or Lochlan runs out of good graces or patience or common sense.
The waves are crispy, icy and fresh. The wind on the water takes bites from my soul, leaving tiny teeth marks in halfmoon patterns, tasting the despair and the hope too. Bittersweet. I dunk my hands in the water and sit back on my legs, hunched over to be as close as I can without soaking my shirt or my leggings. Caleb stands back further but close enough that if I pitch face first into the sea he'll be able to reach down and pluck me out of the surf.
I stand up finally, not looking out into the ocean or into his eyes (close enough with their medium blue today) but at the smallest rocks to sweep for glass or shells when my eye catches light.
Is it jewelry? No, it's a silver dollar. From the eighties. I used to have one actually-
Look for more, maybe. He looks amused.
I stare at him briefly and then do as instructed. All OVER the beach he has tucked silver dollars into the rocks, under logs and into holes in driftwood. At one point he asks me to count them and I fail to clue in. At another he offers me his hankerchief, and I tie them up in a neat weighty bundle.
How many do you have now, Neamchiontach?
Nineteen, I tell him and he nods.
So, a final sweep and then we'll go up and show off your treasure?
You think there's more?
Possibly.
How many more could there be?
Maybe one more.
You think I missed one. I clue in, at last.
Yes, you've missed one. He laughs and indicates the last bonfire and I run to it. Sure enough, in the centre, under the ashes and cinder peeks out another flash of silver light.
Twenty.
That's it then.
That's like an Easter egg hunt but way better.
I thought you might enjoy that.
I did! Except I think I made a terrible mistake.
How?
If I had left the coins where you planted them, the tide would have come in later and watered them and they would have grown into money trees.
God. Your brain.
The whole thing is like a parable for greed-
Neamhchiontach.
Yes?
Coins don't grow into money trees.
But WHAT IF THEY DO and we never knew?
And freeze my toes off in the kitchen because it's minus two outside and PJ burned the eggs and so he's opened the windows.
Peej, Christ!
Gimme a sec, he rumbles. PJ isn't conversational until at least his third cup of coffee. I finished a second cup yesterday at three pm and took a sleeping pill and was still up all night. I don't know how he does it.
I wait five seconds, eyebrows raised. He goes around closing all the windows and points out a little fresh air if good if one is properly dressed and someone definitely isn't.
If it's like yesterday it will be eighteen degrees by after lunch. I remind him, since yesterday I was wearing lined jeans and a black hoodie and was so hot I practically melted.
You have a cold. You should stay warm.
It's getting better.
Right and rush too much and it'll come back.
He's so bickery I turn my attention to Caleb who does a small double take at all the tattoos visible suddenly and the dress and asks me if I'm warm enough as he makes a coffee. His altruistic demeanor is amusing considering a week ago when I developed a runny nose and the world's driest cough he lost his mind, mostly because Lochlan wouldn't let him near me.
I am. I may go get socks and a sweater though.
If you put on some warm things we can take a walk.
Where?
Beach, field. You decide.
Both? And the pool. And maybe up the road towards town and-
Let's start slowly. Go.
I run upstairs, chuck the dress overhand into the closet and find black fleece leggings and a longsleeve black Lamb of God (perfect timing!) t-shirt, black socks and a black clip for my bangs, which are driving me batshit crazy.
Ah. You look like you now.
I almost wipe out in surprise. He hates these outfits.
I meant defiant and dark. I'm not condoning the choice of attire, just pointing out it's predictable.
I wait for more. What a backhanded compliment.
It's warm, he settles on finally and I nod.
It is.
Let's go then.
We start out on the left side of the property if you're facing the sea, walking up the driveway and out onto the road, and past Schuyler and Dan's, past Batman's house, heading down around Batman's driveway to the yard, through the trees, and across to the pool, then down to the cliffs, across the fence and then finally to the beach. Smart, as Caleb knows I'll comb every inch of the beach and if I start there I never make it anywhere else, running out of time or patience or oxygen (the coughing). Or he runs out of time. Or Lochlan runs out of good graces or patience or common sense.
The waves are crispy, icy and fresh. The wind on the water takes bites from my soul, leaving tiny teeth marks in halfmoon patterns, tasting the despair and the hope too. Bittersweet. I dunk my hands in the water and sit back on my legs, hunched over to be as close as I can without soaking my shirt or my leggings. Caleb stands back further but close enough that if I pitch face first into the sea he'll be able to reach down and pluck me out of the surf.
I stand up finally, not looking out into the ocean or into his eyes (close enough with their medium blue today) but at the smallest rocks to sweep for glass or shells when my eye catches light.
Is it jewelry? No, it's a silver dollar. From the eighties. I used to have one actually-
Look for more, maybe. He looks amused.
I stare at him briefly and then do as instructed. All OVER the beach he has tucked silver dollars into the rocks, under logs and into holes in driftwood. At one point he asks me to count them and I fail to clue in. At another he offers me his hankerchief, and I tie them up in a neat weighty bundle.
How many do you have now, Neamchiontach?
Nineteen, I tell him and he nods.
So, a final sweep and then we'll go up and show off your treasure?
You think there's more?
Possibly.
How many more could there be?
Maybe one more.
You think I missed one. I clue in, at last.
Yes, you've missed one. He laughs and indicates the last bonfire and I run to it. Sure enough, in the centre, under the ashes and cinder peeks out another flash of silver light.
Twenty.
That's it then.
That's like an Easter egg hunt but way better.
I thought you might enjoy that.
I did! Except I think I made a terrible mistake.
How?
If I had left the coins where you planted them, the tide would have come in later and watered them and they would have grown into money trees.
God. Your brain.
The whole thing is like a parable for greed-
Neamhchiontach.
Yes?
Coins don't grow into money trees.
But WHAT IF THEY DO and we never knew?