Gold guns girls redux.

Today I am summoned rather early. Caleb's bags are packed and sitting just inside the door when I enter the boathouse and he kisses my forehead in greeting before pulling me by the hand down the hall into the office. The safe is open and inside are the breitling boxes, two envelopes full of money, Cole's monogrammed cufflinks (same initials, CXC, but Caleb has an identical pair and I wanted him to have these ones too), a small photo album and a big envelope full of insurance photos of Cole's artwork, five inches of legal papers, a bottle of Macallan and five DVDs. Family films? Naw. Future extortion. Don't ask,  I explained it here years ago.

He gestures as if the fact that the gun isn't there is supposed to end the argument. I roll my eyes and ask him if he's put it under the bed or maybe is he dumb enough to fly with it and oh, by the way, what's the trip?

He tells me he's taking a few days to recharge. In Tortola. May I punch him now? I ask if I can come too and he laughs and says if he thought that was an option we would have gone years ago and maybe never come back. But I am too late and he has a companion for the week, thanks.

My eyes widen almost involuntarily. Peyton?

But he shakes his head. No, not her. I'll be back Friday, you have the numbers. Everything can wait. I need some sun and a chance to do nothing. I already spoke with Henry (who said nothing to me, I wonder if he was coached) and I'll bring back treasures for the kids. Please try and stay out of trouble while I'm away.

I nod. Maybe this will be good. As facts and stories trickle down through the ranks here the only thing holding back the pitchforks and flaming torches (ha, that's separate from Loch's arsenal) is me, and I'm not very strong. He does need to clear out for a few days and let things settle again.

I'll hold down the fort. Joel will spy for you anyway. 

He isn't to do anything of the kind. If you need to talk to him, he's here. That's all. He might be busy. Check first. And I'll miss you. But instead of his rare tender stare I get another perfunctory kiss and a brief hug as Caleb practically shoves me out the door so he can finish packing his carry-on bag.

Fairprovingground.

Hi Baby. He smiled when he noticed me standing behind him. He was sitting on the grass in the sun trying to fix a seized engine part and when he started he had been in the shade. That was four hours ago and my stomach is growling. It's our clock since his watch broke. We don't have money to get it fixed yet so he tucked it into the drawer under some papers and said he'll get it done in the fall. In the meantime when we feel hungry, sleepy or the whistles blow it's easy enough to tell the time.

I heard that one. Give me five more minutes and then five to wash up and we'll go in town for hot hamburger sandwiches and fries, okay? He smiles when I nod and goes back to pulling on the wrench. He doesn't really have much in the way of muscles yet so I have my doubts it's going to be a fast job all of the sudden. But Loch says he's proud and that means stubborn. I told him I must be proud too and he laughed and said no, I was just stubborn and there's no pride in there at all. I frowned and he said it was better my way, that pride eventually makes men look foolish and keeps them from getting the help they need to get somewhere.

I snorted because he always calls himself a man. He's not a man, he's a teenager. I'm glad he's not a man. He's just my Lochlan. I'll be sad when he grows up and I don't recognize him anymore.

What? He asks when I laugh out loud.

The man part. 

My man parts? 

No! Ew! The part where you call yourself a man. 

Should I be a....horse?

No! 

A...tiger?

No. 

A monkey? 

Oh, probably. 

Monkey it is, then. Oo oo. Aa aa. That work for you?

No, Be a man after all.

I'm trying, Peanut, hard as I can. 

(OOh hat trick. Been a while. Three tiny posts, one day.)

To add awesomeness to awesomeness Loch waited until long after lunch and everyone was gone again and then he said, oh, by the way, I've got your passport. So he can't take it. 

Fools seldom differ.

Lochlan saw that we were alone. He pulls out his wallet and shows me the place where he's unstitched the leather and has a sheaf of big bills lining the actual bill compartment. Also in there are the numbers for an emergency line of credit he keeps, unused, just in case.

Carnies are weird about money. We plan for a rainy day to the extent that we'd rather die with hundred dollar bills wallpapering a one-room shack for warmth after the utilities cut the power than needlessly spend anything at all.

Where are we going? He asks with a twinkle in his eye.

Charm malfunction.

The irony.

In an effort to not be the bad guy, Caleb grabs my wrist this morning, pulling it down, squeezing my bones so hard I almost bit my tongue in half to not cry out. He wants me to remove my guesses as to what's in his safe. He says the passports are in the group safety deposit box at the bank, which everyone, including me has access to, and that he got rid of the gun months ago at my request because sometimes Henry stays there.

He was smiling when he said it. He's a liar. I also visited the safety deposit box a week and half ago and my passport wasn't there. I'd rather keep it, next to his Visa infinite that I steal every time he turns his head and the small roll of bills I have sewn into the lining of my favorite handbag just in case but apparently no one likes my schemes and plans so what's a girl to do?

Nod and pretend I'll take the words down and then decide not to.

I suppose if I post this I have to give his credit card back again, don't I?

The more they stay the same.

Caleb brought me a stack of one hundred ten-dollar bills last night and the wickedest smile he's ever worn.

I told him a few weeks ago in a moment of weirdo weakness and reluctant truth that I always wanted to make it rain, that it's on my bucket list, right up there with naked motorcycle-riding in the yard (which I hope is next).

He handed me the money and asked how I wanted to pull it off.

I told him to start dancing for me and I'd take care of the rest.

Oh, how he laughed.

He did not want to dance though, so instead we ate ice cream, the bills sitting on the counter between us, and he quizzed me about said bucket list, even though we used to call it 100 things before I die, and everyone spent most of January first of each year hung over and writing furiously.

He reminds me that he can do a lot more than make it rain. He said he could make it snow, make the sun shine and the wind blow too and all I have to do is say the word and I could have my entire list fulfilled handily by dinner time.

You don't even know half of what's on it. Maybe some of it involves people you don't even know, or is time-sensitive to occur at certain times in my  life, maybe some of it is dumb or silly and you're just going to shoot it down. 

Shoot it down? No, that's not what a bucket list is for. Tell me something on it that shames you.

Well I know it's horrible of me but I still want to ride an elephant, a little one because if a big one took off stampeding into the jungle with me on it I'd have all kinds of regrets about the whole thing. But I can't because the way they break them doesn't mesh with how I was raised. 

How you were...raised? 

On the tail-end of circuses having actual animals. Before everyone freaked out and let a few bad stars spoil the whole sky. 

I see. 

Our animals were loved like people. They were children. 

I don't doubt it. Were the children animals or just you?

WOW. Were you waiting to use that your whole life or did your cleverness just wake up and decide to join in the conversation feet-first?

I didn't mean you any harm. 

For once. I'm well aware I was feral when you found me but that isn't his fault, you know. It's yours. 

I think, Bridget, that we'll save this for a rainy day. Caleb picks up the money and heads to his office where he will put the stack of bills in the safe in his desk, right beside the gun, the empty boxes that held our Breitlings and my passport, for safekeeping.

New looks for summer 2014 (as decreed by someone who needs to be featured on the Goths in Hot Weather site.)

I stood behind Daniel this morning while he sat and talked with Caleb. Caleb was waiting for Henry. It's a  school holiday so they are heading off to do some things. Daniel is very patient when I want to practice fishtail braids but today I was distracted so I just twisted his hair up and around and tied it with a black hair elastic so he had a loose bun.

He looks fantastic. Even Schuyler said leave it quite forcefully (LOL) when Daniel laughed and said he should take it out. Huh. I try not to influence their styles with my opinions because it can have hilarious results but sometimes I want to pressure them to let their metal beards grow to the floor or make dreads anyway just because. 

Daniel keeps saying his neck is a lot cooler and he loves that his hair is out of his way. Pretty sure tonight they'll all need tutorials for pinless hair buns, though only Duncan, Daniel and John have hair long enough for it in the first place. Well, Lochlan does too but if I come near him wanting to practice braids and such he'll literally RUN the other way. It's pretty funny, actually.

I think I'll go chase him around the yard threatening to do his hair.

Two showers a day, never by myself.

Each morning Ben hands me his soapy washcloth and asks very sweetly if I will wash his back as he turns away in our glass shower. It's separate from the tub I can swim in, in a little room all of its own. It's amply big for one person but not so big for Ben. Add me and it's a bit tricky to keep his elbows out of my eyes and when he rinses his hair I get rinsed in an extra layer of shampoo.

His back is a wall, a billboard of black and grey work. I always wash the angels' faces first and then the demons on his skin. I have names for all of them. I make him laugh when I greet them and then when their little faces and hands are clean and the whole place is scrubbed and swept he turns back around and finds more space in a perfect way, lifting me up into his arms, my legs around his hips, holding on for dear life, burning as soap reaches places I'm not so sure it should go.

Each night Lochlan and I spend close to an hour under the same hot spray, our skin red not from sunburn but from the water temperature. My fingers and toes are webbed, wrinkled and steamed. One single kiss on my forehead and we're reluctantly finished and the towels go back onto their heated racks and the expensive shampoo (one for curls, the other for blondes) goes back on the shelf for the next night. Sometimes he turns me away and slides his hands around my hips but mostly we just stand and let it rain.

It's a far cry from years and years ago where he would lock the door, press the stainless steel button on the wall that gave us exactly six minutes of lukewarm water with which to wash away salt, sunburns and bug bites, our bad runs and good marks clouding and sweetening our moods alternately until we would emerge fresh and clean and ready for sleep, heading back to the camper in the growing darkness. We would go inside for the night, putting away the little plastic basket of shampoo, conditioner, soap, comb and razor under the bed until the next night, leaving the towels hanging outside to dry.

 Now showers are an event each time instead of a chore, and we don't run out of hot water anymore.

New school preaching.

Sam practiced his sermon on me last evening because it was a bit edgy, even for him. He used the allegory of Godzilla and being prepared for disasters of faith and how beautiful and terrible it is when you see God's work, God's mark on this world with your own eyes, a swath of truth and destruction. Then you have everything because you have nothing. Then you rebuild, always mindful that He is near.

It was totally neato and something Jacob probably would have done. Sam has loosened up slightly and is taking risks with his words, keeping his church open and progressive, the way he thinks it needs to be in this day and age. He used to skew traditional to the point where more than once Jacob told him he might be happier in a Baptist or Anglican environment instead of Unitarian. Sam protested. I think Sam would have followed Jacob anywhere except thankfully not off the roof of a hotel.

Sam knows my mind is starting to wander down dark paths. I've been their sermon pinning board for so long and it's not easy. You coming tomorrow?

No, I've had all my lessons tonight. This means I can sleep in. And I will because Ben doesn't go to meetings on Sunday mornings. Duncan has to though, but I won't know when he leaves because I'll be in my wing, in my bed, jammed in tight between the joker and thief dreaming of a tray with coffee and english muffins that will never materialize unless I go get it.

Sam nods. He's like Pinocchio but he grows with confidence instead of lies and I leave him in a really good place. He and Matt have weathered their growing pains, it seems and are settling in to a nice rhythm with the day to day grind versus planning their future together. I know they won't live here forever so I am appreciating every day they do. 

Let them fight.

Somehow we managed to get fifteen of us in the same place at the same time far from home and checked in at a movie theatre in the valley. The theatre was ghost town- empty (the way Ben likes it) and had a new AVX room with Dolby Atmos sound.

Did you know that sending fifteen of us to that room with popcorn and drinks costs just a wee bit shy of four HUNDRED dollars?

It was worth it. I didn't miss a word. Also my seat reclined so far I kept looking up expecting to see my dentist.

(One paragraph review: Everything about Godzilla was awesome and over the top good, save for the predictable moments where everyone finds their loved ones instantly in a disaster scenario and also a highly unintentional but hilariously suggestive moment between a M.U.T.O., her egg sac and a nuclear missile that had me snorting for far too long. I'm going back to see it again as soon as I can. Such fun.)