"He didn't even argue," Clive whispered hoarsely, following Eagle inside.
Slightly concerned about his youngest brother, Obi went into the house. The brothers had put their dishes in the washer. He finished loading it, setting it to start. He checked the cabin to make sure that the doors and windows were secure, before heading to bed.
The next morning, Eagle was up before his brothers, preparing biscuits, bacon, hash browns and fried eggs. When it was ready, he called up the stairs to wake them.
"Coming!" they replied.
Five minutes later, they were dressed and downstairs. Obi offered blessing, and they ate until they were stuffed. Nothing was leftover.
"When did you want to head home?" Clive asked as they cleaned up.
"I want to spend the day," Eagle said. "I have some thinking to do, and I do it best up here."
"I agree," Obi said. "You got a burning need to get home?"
Clive chuckled. "I have a blistering hot reason to get home, but I'll survive. Did you want to spend another night?"
"I thought we'd go back in the morning."
"I like that idea. It's sort of pointless to come all the way out here, and only spend a few hours," Eagle said.
"Works for me. What did you want to do?"
"I need to do some meditating," Eagle said.
"Not a bad idea," Obi agreed.
"Really?"
"Why not? It's not exclusive to other religions. You can meditate as a Christian. In fact, if you want, I have this great app on my phone, which does daily meditations."
"I kind of wanted to do my own thing," Eagle said shyly.
"No problem. You do what you want, but keep your phone on you."
"I will. I'm not going far, to the Stone Circle."
"Okay. I'm going to the dock. Clive, want to join?"
"I was gonna smoke on the roof," he stated, pulling a joint from his pocket.
It interested Obi that their favorite spots varied so much. As a Scorpio, he was drawn to water. Clive, a Libra, loved the open air—hence the roof. Eagle, a Taurus, had always loved the Stone Circle—a tumble of rocks which might have originally been some sort of building. No one knew where they came from, but they were on their property as long as any of them could remember.
Making sure to have their phones on them, they went their separate ways. Eagle and Obi went the same direction, until the younger Randolph made a hard right, heading down the bank to the circle.
Obi settled on the dock. Legs crossed, eyes closed, he put his back against one of the poles which supported the dock. The gentle lapping of the water against the wood, was soothing. Taking a few deep breaths, he went into his meditative trance. He had no idea where this would take him, and didn't try to control where his thoughts went. Concentrating on his breathing, he opened his mind.
A million things bombarded him at once. It took a couple minutes, but he slowed things down to a manageable speed. As each image or thought came forward, he acknowledged it, before putting it on its own plinth. These, he laid out in his mind, in a circle. When they were all there, he spun the circle. Watching it flutter by, he let them slow. One came forward, hovering in front of him—Wynter's face. She smiled at him, blowing him a kiss. His chest swelled, and he felt a rush of love through him. He tilted his head, warming his face in the sun. Dots of color, sparkled across his mind's eye.
Staying that way, he had no idea how much time had passed. Hearing a piercing whistle, he looked around. Clive stood on the roof of the cabin, waving. His phone rang.
"Yeah? What?"
"I just got a call from Frankie."
"Okay. I'll be right there."
Trying to hop up, he stumbled, his left foot asleep. Glancing at his watch, he realized he'd been down there for nearly two hours. Moving more slowly, he walked up to the house, meeting Eagle on the path.
"Is everything all right?" Obi asked as they neared the cabin.
Clive stood on the path, hands on his hips. "Yes, everything is fine. She called, and I realized it's almost lunch time. How about a burger at Slow Moe's?"
"That sounds good. I need a pitstop," Eagle said, trotting up the steps.
All of them made a visit before piling into the car, with Clive at the wheel. He took off down a dirt road, that looked like it didn't lead anywhere. In actuality, it led to a backwoods restaurant, which had been there since their grandfather's time. It was a familiar sight. Grinning, they sauntered in the front door.
"Hey-o!" the bartender greeted them.
"Hey-o!" they called back.
"—can I get ya?" Alvin, the bartender and owner, always spoke in fragments, as if he only had the energy to get part of a sentence out. "Usual?"
"Three of your own," Clive said.
"—up!" He pulled three perfect drafts for them.
Clive went to the counter while the brothers sat at a table.
"—to eat?" Alvin asked.
"What's the daily special?" Obi called from their table.
"Swamp Stew," Alvin replied.
"Three," Clive said, handing him money for the drinks.
"Got it. Three Swamps," he yelled into the kitchen.
"Yee-up!" His equally verbose cousin manned the kitchen.
Swamp Stew was a local creation. Everyone claimed their recipes were the original, but Alvin had a hand written recipe card, dated 1922, in a frame by the register. His claim was that his distant relative, who had started the restaurant back when this had been a logging camp, had originally made it to serve to the lumberjacks. The ingredients had morphed from one place to the other, but were pretty consistently venison, onions and tomatoes. From there, spices and vegetables varied. There was a lot of controversy as to whether Swamp Stew had beer in it, or not. Alvin announced, loudly and proudly, that each pot of his stew had a pint of his home brew.
©Dellani Oakes 2023
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