Just like every other day, AE does not like to get out of bed. I know this is typical for kids, but AE really puts up a fight. The internet to his Xbox typically gets cut off at 9 p.m. and his TV off at 10 p.m. With all of the disrespect the last two days, it has been reduced to 8:15 p.m. for the Xbox and 9:15 for the TV. This is the only punishment that I can actually enforce without having AJ override it. She does not have the passwords to get into the internet controls.
Of course, CL could not keep his fingers off the keys. This morning he decided to go to the gas station, I am sure to buy a vape, and then to the Family Dollar, more than likely for diapers as he refuses to potty train his 2-year-old daughter, and then to Bush’s Chicken to spend money on fast food. Money that should be spent going to the grocery store. I am pretty sure he was not there for an interview. Of course I bring this up to AJ and what does she do? She is dismissive of it and says she will talk with CL about it. I know where this is going to go as if CL is opening his mouth, he is lying.
AJ and I went to a local wine bar in town this evening. It was a nice, quiet place to just relax. We ended up playing cards with the owner and talking about how we might start going there on Wednesdays, since we are always looking for places to go together. I mentioned to AJ that it would even be a good spot to record the podcast if it ever gets to that point.
I have been thinking about taking the RV out this weekend just to get away again. The only catch is that I would have to take AE with me, since AJ is planning to babysit CL’s little ones. So I am still up in the air about it. If I do go, though, it would give me some space and time to work on my book.
Lately, I have been circling back to the same thought: the stories I am writing are not really about mysteries. Sure, there are missing deeds, stolen heirlooms, council fraud, even a sabotaged festival. Those puzzles keep the pages turning, but they are not the heart of it. What it is really about is how people live with loss. How they carry it without letting it bury them. How, sometimes, almost reluctantly, they open the door to love again.
The characters at the center are both widowed, both convinced their best days are behind them. They do not fall into each other’s arms easily. Instead, they circle, retreat, misstep, and try again, all while uncovering the secrets and schemes that ripple through a small town trying to survive change.
And the town itself feels like a character. Porch lights, festivals, church suppers, whispered gossip at the diner. It is all part of a place that remembers your name, even when you have almost forgotten who you are.
The mysteries always resolve. But the deeper truth, the one that keeps me writing, is this: grief does not end. It changes shape. And sometimes it clears just enough space for something new to grow.