The rain resumed midway through my little mini backyard afternoon vacation, so heavily I had to snap my laptop shut and run for the steps but the door was locked (everyone has this bad habit, we're constantly locking one another out of the house) and so I left my computer by the door (covered) and ran for the boathouse instead.
By the time I get there it's almost too late and I'm soaked again. My Docs will be full of water too. My stockings are probably ruined. Caleb laughs and asks me if we're doing scenes from The Notebook today and I say no because we have neither swans nor a rowboat and he says he'll make notes for next time. He gets me a clean towel from the linen closet and pours me a shot of whiskey and I drink it before I wind up shivering too much to hold on to the glass. I wrap the towel around my back and hold it together in the front. Warmer now.
Could you let Duncan know I'm here and ask him to get my laptop from the back deck? He nods and calls. I yell that I'll be home in a few and Caleb glares at me. When he hangs up he says I should stay. I point out that I have things to do and that was a little break and I had no intentions of being out very long when the weather made sure of it.
He asks if I would like to hear his news. I told him I already heard that the boat sold and I hope we can get a little zippy outboard or something or maybe jet skis to play with in our teeny-tiny cove and he nodded and said yes we can but that isn't his news. He gave up the expensive, depreciating asset for an appreciating one instead.
Another house.
Number three, if you're being absolutely technical (considering the boathouse is part of the main property, and Schuyler and Daniel's house is next door but counts as house number two). Which is sort of astounding considering everyone I love is so minimalistic, nomadic, indecisive and unwilling to put down roots anywhere it seems but inside me, wrapped around the little charred pieces of my formerly robust heart.
He went on to describe it as not really a house, more like a cabin. A five-bedroom, three-bathroom cabin with a lot of waterfrontage in Tahoe and a very private road.
You bought a house in Lake Tahoe?
Yes, Neamhchiontach. It's a familiar place to you, close enough that it isn't impossible to get to on short notice and yet far enough that it's a decided break from here.
Here?
The commune. Your beloved collective. It's a place where I can breathe and you can have a little privacy. A place you can call your own.
But it isn't mine.
No, it's ours. But when we are not using it the others are free to enjoy it.
Just not together with us.
No, not with us.
Then why five bedrooms?
He laughed. Because I don't think you can get a house any smaller there. And if I could, I wouldn't want it. I told you, I'm going to show you a life that will keep you in awe, and it doesn't involve magic or elaborate shows.
So this is not an elaborate show?
No, Bridget, this is a wise business decision and a promise that you're going to have a good life no matter how many times Pyro tries to burn down my efforts.
Better not show him the new house then, because that's exactly what he'll want to do to it.
