Yeaaaah, we end up talking a little too much.

Before we realize it, it’s dark, and the roads have closed from an inondation further down the coast.

It means we’re stuck in Brindleton Bay for the night.

But before Cléo has time to panic, I smile and reassure her. I’ve got a plan. Hopefully.

“Follow me!” 

“Do I have to?…”

Of course I’d stop on he way, in the middle of the storm, to unearth some rare stones from the Brindleton Bay soil.

Cléo also finds some plants she’s never seen befoe, and grabs a few samples.

Our explorer needs satisfied, we finall reach the top of the hill, where an odd looking, blue-roofed house sits.

It’s Gram’s house, the house where Mom was born. And, as if she knew we were coming, there she is, standing in the pathway, a welcoming silhouette in her garden of luminous pumpkins.

There are two stalls that sell fresh products by the bay. I have no interest in buying raw fish that will smell terrible by the time we reach home, but I know for a fact that the other one serves really tasty meals.

I go for fried shrimps. I mostly feel like finger food, and trust me, there’s enough calories in there for a full meal. But I like to pretend that since it’s seafood it’s healthy. 

It takes Cléo a bit longer to make up her mind.

By the time she walks away with her soup, I’m halfway through my shrimp. In my defense, they taste too good to wait for anyone, no matter how much DNA you share with them.

She wasn’t wrong in choosing fish soup: it’s actually perfect for this weather. And it smells delicious!

She won’t let me have a bite. The Stewarts sisters have their prioities straight.

The Stewarts sisters are also all sorts of talkative when they want to. We’re nowhere close to having ran out of topics to talk about.

“Whe should do this more often,” she tells me, and it warms my heart more surely than the fish soup ever would have. And this, at least, has no impact on my breath. “I love that you’re helping me discover stuff you love. Your tastes aren’t too bad!”

And everybody who’s known a teenager knows that’s as good a compliment as you’re gonna get.

My favorite place in the entire world is the belomisian forest, where it’s almost too warm to bear and the concept of a sweater sounds ridiculous. It makes sense that I wouldn’t be a fan of the colder months of the year back home. I’m a hot weather gal.

But you know what else is common in Selvadorada?

Rain. And I love rain.

And rain in Brindleton Bay? That cloudy, heavy weather smell, combined with that of the ocean, the sound of water drops lazily hitting the waves, the cold, wet wooden planks…

I feel like a kid again.

The cold raindrops on my face feel more refreshing than they feel like stabbing icicles today.

No one likes stabbing icicles.

Another great thing about the Brindleton Bay wharf is the food, and you can’t bet we’re trying out the local cuisine.

This is it. This is when we decide if skipping school should warrant a punishment. The jury is ready to decide. One of the members of the jury is asleep, but it’s okay, I guess I’ll just have to carry the whole team on my shoulders.

It’s a trial by combat.

Water balloon combat.

Dad’s in the wrong team.

My aim is unmatched —  Cléo’s probably getting a cold now, but I’m trying to teach her the way of the jungle.

Okay, I’ll admit I don’t actually mind the whole skipping-school business. Dad, Cléo, the cats and I spend a really fun morning together.

Today, Cléo just feels like she can’t be bothered going to school. So, under Loladorada’s disapproving glare, she calls to tell them that she’s terribly ill. Yes, the change in seasons, they’ll understand for sure. It’s been raining a lot.

I’m not sure I approve either, and I will not be an accomplice to this terrible, terrible business, so at ten past eight, I head back to the poolhouse.

At least my relics don’t skip school.

Meanwhile, Cléo decides that the best way to spend her school-free time is to play with dead leaves that have accumulated behind our house.

At least she makes herself useful by burning them.

Though I suspect she really just likes the flames and isn’t really trying to make herself useful. Granted she looks badass.

She’s got the attention span of your average teenager, so the leaves have barely started to smell like coal and she’s already out, back towards the house.

Dad is complicit with her lack of discipline. As a matter of fact, he supports it. Loladorada is still not convinced.

The weather is still warm, but I still wouldn’t go for a swim at the start of fall. It just doesn’t look right.

Why do only the cats agree with me

Some might say it’s childish to have your mom push you on the swings at age twenty.

Call it what you want, I call it love. And a sweet memory that’ll last me a lifetime.

To be fair, I also don’t really care all that much what people think.