The house is empty.
I hid in the bathroom, on a camp chair, for most of the day, my feet on a rolled up sleeping bag.
It's kind of fun, actually. Our ties to this life are being snapped loose, one by one. We are floating free. We have no place to live, no job to go to, no schedule to keep. It's like camping; I keep wanting to grill something, or go for a swim.
Of course, it follows that we are driving each other crazy.
Tomorrow, we clean.
By the way, Keith read a section of my story and got hung up every other sentence on the names. He pronounced Ceallach like Cialis- as in the, "I can be ready anytime the moment is right...," Cialis.
I died laughing. It's a wonder I'm alive to type this right now, I laughed so hard and so long.
"Why can't you just name them Jones or something? That's a perfectly good name; it's American."
But the fact of the matter is, I've no idea, half the time, how to pronounce them myself, and I simply make up my own way of saying them. (Ceallach is officially pronounced "KULL-ach," in case anyone wondered.) I get them off a website that has name lists of ancient Irish names, which is my nod to the Irish for having come up with the original legend.
Excerpt:
I heard the sound of footsteps. All three of us looked up to see Dalbhach standing in the doorway.
He cleared his throat, looking a little nervous. I got the feeling he wasn't very comfortable around women, even his own.
“Well?” he asked. “How’s breakfast?”
“Juicy,” said Eithne, her eyes twinkling again.
“Good, good,” said her father, vaguely. He wandered over to the sideboard and began to pile his plate high with meats and breads. “Did Ceallach and Siofra leave for the forge?” he asked, his back to us.”
“Ceallach left already?” asked Siofra, appearing in the doorway.
He sounded disappointed. He wore loose pants tucked into his green, lacquered boots and a loose, dark brown shirt over it. The shirt had fine, gleaming embroidery around the hem and round neckline. He reminded me of those farmers I’d seen on the road to Bellaghy, only wearing better quality fabrics.
“He left very early,” I said.
“Damn it,” muttered Siofra.
Dalbhach sat down at the head of the table and began to make short work of his food.
“You couldn’t have gotten close to that forge anyway,” Dalbhach said, swallowing. Mealla stole a piece of bacon off his plate; he didn’t seem to notice.
“I know,” said Siofra. “But I was curious just the same.”
“We could ride over there,” said Eithne. “I’m curious. Grace, too.”
“I can’t,” I said. “He told me to stay in the house.”
“Yes, and much better that you do, too,” admonished Dalbhach.
Siofra sat heavily down next to me, his plate clanging unexpectedly on the table. He reached out with his long, knobby knuckled hands, instinctively, to try and quiet it. He looked up, nervously. I saw Eithne’s dimple reappear.
“But you two could go,” I said, casually.
“Yes, take her, for goodness sake,” said Mealla, briskly, to Siofra. “She’s always underfoot, getting in the way.”
His eyes widened in surprise as he looked at Eithne. He looked doubtful. “She does?” he asked.
"Constantly," her mother said, complacently.
“Well, I don’t mind taking her…”
“That’s kind of you,” said Eithne, gratefully. She looked down at her plate and then up at him, which was a very pretty maneuver, considering the length of her dark eyelashes. I saw Siofra’s hands go still for a moment.
