On Teapots and Glue
They were all incredibly focused and busy getting prepared for the four-day journey, each intense on making sure that the time they would spend in their chosen locations would maximize their interests without totally boring everyone else coming along for the ride. They had decided to leave mid-afternoon in time to reach their destination and give them time to settle in the night before their first stop. Then they would have a full day to spend exploring and archiving every moment of their time before they would set off for a late drive to the next stop. Then they would repeat the pattern the next day, arriving back at the cottage late on the final day of the trip. This was all communicated to Lin in a rambling patter of communication that somehow made sense as it spilled forth from Fiona, Ian and Sean in bits and pieces as they pointed to places on the map and told her about the places they had found for them to stay.
Lin made her way to the stove, happy yet thrilled to distrance herself from the cacophony of planning to make a cup of tea. When the kettle whistled, she poured a discrete measure of whiskey into her cup before adding the tea and a bit of milk. She put on her wrap and slipped outside. "Heaven," she thought. It really was just so perfect to have her family here wrapped up in being here, being where she so loved to be, she could not and would not ask for anything more.
The sudden noise of breaking crockery brought her out of her reverie and sent her racing back into the cottage. There was poor Sean, trying to clean up the mess of a shattered tea pot. "Honey, it's okay, we'll just sweep it up and get another," she said. He looked at her with tragedy in his eyes.
"No, Ma, it's not okay. It never is. You told us before about teapots. If you break the spout, you can glue it back, but they never truly pour right again. If you break the handle, you can put that back on - but it never really holds its weight again. And if you shatter it, like this one, it can be glued up, but it never, ever, is a tea pot again. All you can do is set it on a shelf and remember what it once was." He looked at her with his big serious chocolate eyes. "I just turned this teapot into something that can never be more than looked at, Ma. I would be an idiot not to know that isn't fair."
"Sean, it is an old teapot, perhaps its time has come to sit on a shelf and be admired for all that it has done and the comfort it has brought to others," replied Lin. I promise we will glue it back together and give it that much for its service. Okay?"
He smiled his half-grin, "K', Ma. We can do that. Can we do that tonight? I want this grand lady back together before we leave."
And so, the evening planned out, Fiona took the boys to the village for dinner supplies and glue while Lin went down to take care of the birds.
Her mind completely absorbed with Sean and his over-attachment to the teapot and the teapot story, Lin absentmindly made her way to the cavern. She went through all the motions, slipping into the cavern without even thinking of the rocks under her hands. She had just set down her pack and was reaching for the ball-retriever when she noticed movement from the corner of her eye. She looked up just in time to see Roary moving toward the injured bird. He was moving way too fast. She started to say something, but was too late. Roary extended his hand and the bird's graceful neck came up in one fluid sweep, ending in a very loud snap.
"Damn and thunder!" snarled Roary as he pulled his fingers back automatically, moving to put them in his mouth. Lin was there before he could do so, pullling the hand down to look at the damage.
"You stupid Irish fool," she said. "What on earth are you doing here alone?"
She examined the damage the snapping bird had done. It was not too bad, just a nip really, but it had torn the flesh of his index finger just above the base of the thumb. "Come with me," she said, tugging lightly on him. She moved him back into the cavern so they could sit on the ledge.
He started to talk, but she held a finger to his lips and just tended the wound. After she had bathed and bandaged it, she poured him a bit of whisky. She had brought a nip with her to help take the edge off the cold and the day. "Here," she said, " take your medicine."
He stared at her, trying to understand what was happening. When he was satisfied that he was not going to get any answers from the visual feed, he took the cap and drank. "Good stuff. Dew, is it?"
"Of course, I may be American, but I do have taste buds," she laughed.
He twirled a strand of her hair in his good hand. "So, perhaps ye should be showin' me how this is done?" he inquired.
"Yes, or you will need quite a few bandages to get through four days," she smiled.
He leaned in, placed a kiss on her hair, took a deep breath to steady himself, and said, "Well, thanks for savin' me finger and let's get on with it."
She patted her hair where his breath had been, stood and busied herself with putting things away. When she turned, he was right there. He was so easily and simply right there. She could have done what she wanted to do and tasted the whisky on his lips. Instead, she bent down and picked up the ball-retriever, reminding herself that fairytales were for children, and mostly to scare them from doing stupid things, at that.
Roary could still feel the silk of her hair on his lips. Was he totally crazy? The woman could barely stand being around him, or could she? Everything about her was so fluid. He reached out to turn her by the shoulders, but she slipped forward and disappeared around the corner of the ledge. He followed, only to find his heart leaping out of his chest when he saw her balanced like the ledendary Una, one hand barely touching the rock overhead, the rest bent gracefully over the sea apparently harvesting seaweed for the bird. She curled herself back in with a wide smile and, turning, met his eyes. Triumphant and glowing was the only way to describe the look on her face. She glowed with the energy of fighting the sea and winning. It made him glow as well, he realized, just watching her happiness begin to flow. She made it back into the cave and then set about the ritual. She took out the supplies and then gestured for him to follow.
She began to hum. When he did not get the tune quite right, she put his hand on her throat and hummed again. He closed his eyes and let the vibration lead him. Opening them, he could see from the smile lighting hers he had gotten it right. He hummed behind her as they approached the bird. She fed the swan, then invited him to do the same. And so it followed that he helped her change the bandages and inspect the damage. This time it was possible to bandage the wound less tightly; the bird was getting better. They smiled at each other. The bird let them each stroke his neck in turn. It was a perfect moment. They noticed the other swans, wings interlaced, necks intwined, gliding on the water. It seemed they too were happy with this outcome. She turned to thank him as he turned to thank her. Their lips slipped over each others in those words, ever so slightly and certainly without any intention.
Lin drew herself back so quickly that had he not had his arm behind her she most likely would have cracked her head on a rock. The swan lifted his elegant head in alarm. Roary sat, totally still. Then she laughed, "Well, I guess all the thank you's are out of the way," she said.
Carefully, as if she were afraid of anymore shocks to her system, she stood, gathered her things. "Perhaps you should spend a bit more time getting to know him. I know the way out." Then she was gone, leaving Roary with a finger on his lips, wondering if he had just imagined the last few moments.
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