This is why I don't write so much now and it's why I no longer write back.

Leave me be. It's been eighteen years and I'm just trying to get out from under this. 

Eighteen years and I've grown roots like a tree in a grief mightier than any maple on this property. 

Eighteen years and I still see him when I close my eyes.  

Eighteen years and he would have been the handsomest old man that ever was but that's the problem. He isn't, anymore. He left me here alone and I came out understanding the true meaning of loyalty and you all still think it's a cult. 

You think Ben is some sort of wizard, and that Lochlan is untrustworthy. You think Caleb is the Devil. 

(Okay that one's true though.)

I'm taking a little trip this week. I'm scared to death to leave but sometimes you need a change of scenery and hopefully it's what the doctor ordered and hopefully it works as intended and then I'll be back. I didn't want to mark a birthday that won't be celebrated or a death date that gets far too much brain-time. I didn't want to be me, for once. 

Sauv(age) love.

Friday night and the rain has finally let up, though the coziness has not. I've got a big glass of cold white sauv and a new Restoration Hardware catalog and the Devil on a leash so short we both have whiplash. 

What a glorious day.  

I spent the whole day raking leaves and offering up my soul if they would just let me use the leaf blower. I threatened to hook the flame thrower (for Raku) up to the propane and I threatened to sell the whole property more than once but you know what? It's done. The majority of leaves are down and the wind is fierce and the few trees that haven't dropped will eventually or maybe they won't at all. 

The Devil takes my glass and helps himself to a sip and then a generous swallow. 

What is it? Cloudy Bay? 

Gato Negro, I say with a peal of laughter and a signature snort. I can't help myself. He's the walking embodiment of the Grey Goose joke.

Haven't heard of that. He's trying to save his own face before I eat it off. 

You wouldn't. It's at the grocery store for eight dollars.

Jesus, Neamhchiontach. I raised you better than this. 

No you didn't. Lochlan did. It's a chide, a smarting ache against his revisionist history. 

He should have let me do it. 

I raise my eyebrows and bite my lip. You can't tell me he doesn't note my expression and 3..2..1...

I've loved you from the beginning.

Unexpected tears burn my eyes. None of this is true. He hates Lochlan more than he'll ever love me and therein lies the problem. 

Diabhal-

Drink your cheap wine, make your shopping list. Reassure them that I won't bite you and you'll be delivered safely back at first light. 

We sleeping in?

If you like. 

I don't sleep at all anymore. 

That's what I was hoping you would say.