Chapter Twelve
I guess I was a little tired after a night of drowning in a twelve-foot pool on a ship after a world-wide flood, being held hostage by a determined outraged yellow jacket in my parents’ back yard that just would not give up the chase, and industrial gray harbor beaches that led… nowhere. A volley of heavy sneezes started Puck’s day, which didn’t make him too happy. He dawdled at breakfast.
“What’s wrong, bud?” The Bear asked him, prepping the coffee.
“I achooed six times,” Puck explained, turning up his nose at the container of yogurt.
However, when I threatened bowls of canned pumpkin mixed with honey and cinnamon – which seemed to cure his cold last time – he ate up.
“Want to go perfume shopping with me today?” Carrie emailed early in the morning.
Just the idea of Puck walking through shelves of glass bottles packed with liquids worth more than my wedding ring makes me a little… tense? But I guess we needed to get out of there for a few hours, because The Bear was about to start his final, and I could see that our presence wasn’t helping so much. I took Carrie up on that perfume hunt offer, which turned out pretty well, actually. A cold gray late morning saw us arrive in the living room where Mom was making phone calls about the old piano, built somewhere before 1920. Francis was out with his girlfriend at the movies; he’s definitely not that nine year-old with a collared shirt pocket stuffed with pens anymore. And Joe was hiking “The Incline” in 42 minutes in Colorado Springs. Fortunately for all of us, Carrie told me the scent selection she had in mind was located in Dillard’s. This meant less opportunity for smashed goods and less looks of shocked awe from a still-purple-faced Kindergartner when he realized once again the capabilities of his distracted limbs.
A drugstore from 1851 carried a new palette of aromas inspired by Morocco [orange flower and lychee], Japan [nashi blossom and pink grapefruit], Uganda [vanilla and cedarwood], and south of France [fig leaf and sage]. Carrie squirted the clear liquid on a few cards, which we pondered only for a few minutes. I’m a sucker for cedar, and soon my very first small bottle of authentic perfume in a box was swinging lightly in the plastic bag in the hands of my son. I have to trust him from time to time. Lowe’s – square board [for Carrie to repair the red velvet chair] and magnets [for the ceiling grate dilemma that had been officially solved]; Puck carried out the board on his head. Petsmart – bunny food. While we waited for Carrie to come back to the car with a sack of it, Mom got a phone call from Grandma Combs, who had found a new owner for the piano, a friend of Linus’.
Linnea had returned from volleyball and a painless dental appointment, with Dad as chauffeur. Apparently that chipped tooth had still been a baby, even at fifteen years old. Linnea opted to let it fall out on its own. She has a moderate fear of sharp shiny pointy tools. Puck joined her for “Spirited Away” which Puck likes to call “the little girl who’s lost” as the afternoon chilled further under a blanket of solitary gray…
“This is the creepy part…” Puck cuddled next to Carrie.
“That’s my cue,” Carrie grinned, draping a comforting arm around her nephew.
Carrie has always liked to cuddle things that are scared. In fact, she would create situations to scare the kids just to provide the opportunity. Linnea munched a china plate of yellow pepper strips and two hunks of cold turkey, tucked into the loveseat. She almost fell asleep before… Puck had previously ogled the set of Italian egg cups painted in pinks, blacks, and greens sitting on the counter that Mom had intended to give away. Then Linnea saw them and wanted them, so Mom easily bartered them back for her with the offering of an alternative model in the basement, printed with a rooster. I don’t really know why, really. Puck is the stuffiest pack rat I’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even really like hard-boiled eggs. I buckled him in for the ride home and we backed down the crunchy side of the driveway, Dad waving us off as usual. As we passed the school, Puck made lists of what he would do back home…
“But first, I will give my compliments to Dad.”
That dad was busy on only the second question of his final, after all that. Greek translations just takes time. To keep things quiet, Puck chowed down on a blue World Market plate – the one The Bear bought for me nine years ago – of beef links and biscuits with jam while listening to the audio version of “Island of the Blue Dolphins” before his Saturday night shower. The rain began to fall while Puck munched his dessert orange. It would turn to snow in the night, they said, maybe by the time The Bear got back from a mini retreat at Louis’ house. They might be 28 and 37, respectively, but video games were still an option on the table for manly entertainment. Crackers watched me from the top of the kitchen cabinet; her oaky fortress – she thought – was impenetrable. I thought I’d be smart and hack off another episode of the last Korean drama I was allowing myself for the next… whenever… by interspersing each Hulu ad with verses in Job. They totally went together. I also admired the 1.0 fluid ounce of Kiehl’s perfume sitting on the table looking very much like a bottle from an old drugstore, which I preferred anyway…
“I like it,” The Bear concluded. “I like vanilla. And if it wasn’t socially unacceptable, I’d go for garlic too.”
Weirdo. And I baked some more biscuits.
“Feels good to get that final out of the way,” he continued. “It was a doozie. My heart still hearts.”