Last night I got in bed late, as I stayed downstairs to watch the end of a show with August, and after he went home I locked up, did a circuit to check that everything was closed up and locked down, set the alarm, checked the cameras and then came upstairs, climbing up the middle of the bed after brushing my teeth and leaving a pile of clothes on the chair in the bathroom. I slipped down under the quilts and turned away from Lochlan, sliding backwards until I had my back against his chest and his arms went around me in his almost-asleep state, a kiss absently landing on top of my head. He hates it when I breathe directly in his face, hence me always sleeping face toward the headboard.
Ben loves it. He said it makes him feel less alone and also alive and so he moves in closer, arms around both of us and I become sleep-meat. A Bridget sandwich between Ben's bread (soft and pale, God I miss that bread from home, there was a brand called literally Ben's Bread.) and Lochlan-bread, which I imagine to be a dark rye full of seeds and nuts, rustic and full of air bubbles but also dense and woodsy.
I laugh out loud when I pull my green blanket in around me as they tend to make the covers lift up a lot and the cold air rushes in from the top.
What's so funny, Bumblebee? Ben mumbles from my hair.
We're a sandwich and my green blanket is the lettuce, I explain but he has fallen off the edge of sleep again. He's not on alert. Laughter is an audible cue to relax their guard.
Lochlan's arms tighten around me and I start my routine of trying to unfocus my mind, beginning with running up my body from my toes to the top of my head, a visual exercise, shutting off switches as I go, leaving each part in the dark in turn, signalling rest. Of course when I get to my brain the switch is broken and I flip it up and down, frustrated. I invoke my backup plan which is to run through a mental picture of all the places I love most, from the teepee on the brook back in the woods to the Big Ex grounds to the Forks market to Hither Hills to Miss Molpy's basement to the Louvre to Zanoagei Gorges to the Barkley Sound. I usually only make it to the Forks before I am out cold but last night I paddled silently through the predawn mist, looking for new and wonderful birds around the Deer Group islands and then I drifted away on the tides before waking up at five sharp.
That marks a scant three hours of sleep and I am disappointed but exceedingly alert today. Lochlan is not alert. In the least. Ben is almost comatose in his slumber, since shifted onto his back, arm still snaked underneath our necks all the way across and curled around Lochlan's head.
Stay. Lochlan barely finishes the word. He can't stay awake.
It's snowing! I'm going kayaking.
No you're not and if you leave this house you'll be in so much trouble.
Fine. I'll wait until you're up.
I go downstairs but no one is up yet so I read for awhile, then rearrange my cartful on the stationery website that I still haven't ordered from. Then I go down the hall to check in on PJ but he is just a lump of quilts in a dark room so I go back toward the library where I guess I'll watch the snow and read until I hear the sounds of the house coming to life.
When I walk into the library there is a small grey coyote sitting just on the other side of the floor to ceiling window that presses into the woods in front of the house. He is not startled but he looks at me curiously. I stay in place, leaving the lights off. This is a gift, though it's usually a bear or a deer and so I am curious enough to move closer. That's a mistake. The coyote turns and disappears into the trees, leaving the snow falling gently.
I look for prints and take a photo of them through the glass before they vanish too. This part of the yard is inaccessible from the other and is not curtailed by the fence and so it's a regular occurrence to have company outside the windows.
I can't focus to read and so I watch and wait.