Dew and Substitutes
There was so much to do in preparation for her family's arrival that it was easy to push the confrontation with Roary out of her mind. She made it a point to visit the cavern early the following day. She managed the "weed-n-feed" with a bit more style this time and was happy to note that the bird seemed to take her presence almost for granted.
In the village she picked up extra foodstuffs, making the staff laugh when she talked about her younger son's love of blueberry bagels. They did not have any of those, but they did have plenty of blueberry scones, so she picked up a few of those, hoping the substitute would work. She purchased some fresh coffee for her mother and an extra brick of the fine aged red cheddar for her eldest son. As she walked back through the village, she made mental notes of the shops that she wanted to bring each person to, pausing briefly at the thought of the antique bookstore. Pity to skip that one, Ian would love it. However, after everything that had come to pass, she did not think it would be a good idea to spend anymore time with Mr. Roary James or expose her family to his rather odd fancies.
She made her way back to the cottage and spent the day scrubbing and preparing. She would need to be at the airport very early the next morning so things needed to be just right before she went to bed for the evening. She was just sitting down to a welcome cup of tea, long after cleaning the last dinner dish, when she realized she had not made plans for taking care of the bird. Well, there was nothing she could do about it now. She wasn't able to walk on water, so she would have to go get her family and then take care of it on the 'morrow.
She tamped down the fire in the sitting room and took a last tour through the other sleeping chambers, plumping pillows and spreading the quilts to make sure the beds looked inviting. As she turned to leave the boys' room, her toe kicked something just sticking out from under the corner of one of the beds. She stooped to pick it up in the faint light. "Faith in faeries," she whispered, "it's my notebook."
"How in blazes did it get in here?" she thought. She did not spend time in these guest rooms. She had not even made the beds or bothered with any decorations until today. No, it wasn't her doing that the book had made it into this room, of that much she was certain. "But how, or who?" she pondered. She went back to the kitchen and poured out the tea. This required a stronger libation. She took down the Tullamore Dew, poured herself a couple of fingers worth and carried the book and the cup off to her sleeping chamber. The room was really quite pretty when everything was in its place. The light green, pale amber and yellow quilt blended well with the oaken wood tones. And the prize piece of furniture, the intricately carved and well worn rocker, was simply the most beautiful piece she had ever seen. For some reason it was easier to cover it than to see it sitting there unused and apparently unwanted. She pulled the quilt off the bed and curled up in the rocker with the notebook and her whisky. She had a great view of the night sky from this vantage point.
She rocked and sipped. Thinking back on the last few days, remembering the rain the sea and the song, she felt somehow wind-tossed and timeless, on the brink of exhalation. Then she crashed forward into the combined vision of the broken bird and Roary's concerned face as he told her that she had no idea what she had gotten herself into. She dropped the quilt and stood abruptly. He had no right to invade here or, for that matter, in the cavern or anywhere at all.
Yet that night she found herself reading the book he had added to her purchases, like a moth to the flame.
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