This morning when I came down the steps, I managed to arrive just in time to catch Caleb turning Ben's mug around so that he could easily pick it up by the handle, after setting down the cup in front of him at the table. We don't sit at the island anymore for coffee. Ben doesn't trust the tall heavy stools to hold his weight. They will and then some, but he doesn't trust them and that's okay, the table works perfectly too.
(I trust them because I once climbed up Ben's back and right over him to dance on the island. PJ thought it looked like fun and followed me up, climbing over Ben and we laughed and laughed. So they hold at least four hundred pounds.)
It was a tender gesture and things are evolving again and suddenly Ben and Caleb are new best friends and I swear to God Caleb was put on this earth to torture (his former best friend) Lochlan and nothing more sometimes.
Caleb has pledged that he will take Ben on, be his primary caregiver, look after whatever he needs help with and completely facilitate Ben's physical and emotional therapy until he is one hundred percent Ben or as close to it as he can get. Financially and time-committed. His very own version of restitution for what he has done. I'll maybe forgive him someday, like I have for everything else but for now I watch Ben lift the cup to take a sip, the barest of shakes making him slow his movements ever so slightly and I know I won't forget, like I haven't forgotten anything else he's done, permanently altering who we are with his own actions, thinking he can fix it all with money and attention to detail.
Ben and I and Lochlan are just closer than ever now, further cemented together as Caleb's favourite triad of targets. He's left jagged, hideous scars on all of us now and we'll never be the same.
He sees me (he knew I was there) and smiles.
Good morning, Neamhchiontach.
Morning, Diabhal.