Grace and I had arrived home after we took our Italian food to go. Neither one of us was in the mood to eat in and hear the meaningless chatter of the patrons talking about their day. I sighed, placing the fistful of bags onto the long glass table that sat in the large dining room. Looking to Graceona, who took her jacket off, hanging it to dry on the coat rack by the door. The two of us were damp from the freshly falling snow that, for a few hours, had come down byways of a blizzard covering the grounds in a cold white blanket. I took my jacket off, hanging it beside hers. The cozy heat that hovered around the large home was very inviting compared to the glacier temperature outside our doorway. Graceona opened the bags that I had laid on the table, and I followed in, helping her put away the many bags of food. Sitting out our pasta and our roll of freshly prepared garlic bread. The two of us silent, when at last we put away the last of the food, we made our way to the large living room, sitting down. I leaned back into the white leather sectional couch, propping my feet up on the oak coffee table, losing my tie, exhaling, feeling the stresses of the day just melt away. I looked around the cleanroom, as Graceona's laptop sat open on the portable table, with a large binder lying in the chair. "What are you working on, Grace? Your binder is huge, and it seems most if not all of it is because of the pages you have hidden in there. Is it your latest project for work?"
I looked at her as she looked at the corner in question. "A bit of imagination here and there."
I looked at her with a raised brow. "You were serious about your being a writer? Maybe I should lecture you about overworking."
"Hardly, though I have some imagination. My business with the government is strictly number one. My experiment in the arts is merely that, nothing more, nor less. It feels good just sitting at a computer and typing my stress away, just keeping my mind off things."
I leaned my head back with a chuckle. "Perhaps I could use a hobby, I need to find something to put my time and energy into keeping my thoughts under control, I probably would be less of a zombie, which would be a pleasant change for all of us, less worry for you and the girls and peace of mind for me, maybe if I can do it right, maybe I can gain a couple of nights sleep. Now that would be a delightful change."
I looked at her; her gaze not leaving mine as I sighed once more. "The only problem with that idea is, I have no hobbies that I can think of. I don't have the desire to write, nor the patience. Art isn't something that I can call my own."
"You have plenty of hobbies, Leonard."
"Oh yeah, name one."
"You're great at designing homes, your blueprints are amazing. You do marvelous work with the instruments. According to Kourtney, you have some imagination in you. She loves your stories. She wasn't happy with mine. The child even told me she liked your stories better than mine that she wished you would get better and start telling her stories again."
"Ouch, you got burned, love. Kourtney isn't that blunt unless."
"Unless she means it, yes. I, however, redeem myself with my cooking, the child seems happy with just a grilled cheese."
"We have very simple children. They can have anything in the world. Phones, tablets. Anything a child could want but Kyra is happy with Cotton and getting friends for him, and Kourtney she feels complete with grilled cheese sandwiches, slime and bedtime stories."
Graceona got up from the couch. "Get your laptop."
"Why?"
"You and I are going to get your imagination tank ready for when Kourt comes back home. You, dear, are going to get some patience and you're going to get the desire to write. Trust me, you'll be ready to go to bed when your mind is clear. It's a win-win. You get to sleep; Kourtney will get her favorite storyteller back. There will be peaceful, non—worried children in the Shepherd household."
I looked at her. "Are you serious, Grace?"
"I'm serious. You've known me most of your life and you're still shocked to find out that once it comes to my family and their happiness, I never kid around."
I looked at her with a sigh. "Very well, if it will get me to sleep. I'm willing to give it a go. I just have to remember where I left my laptop. I was looking for it this morning, it wasn't in the bedroom."
"It's in the office. I put it on your desk last night." I looked at her. "You wouldn't sleep with it in the bedroom, so I thought it would be wise to cut you off like we do the girls. No electronics at bedtime. You went to sleep, didn't you?"
"True, though I think I had some help with that honestly."
She looked at me, shrugging her shoulders. "I will apologize for nothing. You got what you needed, so I feel I have nothing to apologize for."
I sighed. "You drugged me?"
"No, it is a Cross family recipe passed down from my great-great-grandmother. Vodka and orange juice, no pills, just a generous helping of vodka."
"No wonder I liked that Orange Juice since I can't stand it. Your grandmother was a smart woman."
"Eh, it took her a few times. She went to vodka remedies after giving my great-great-grandfather many concussions. It took her a few times, but here we are. A recipe that doesn't concuss our partners. Perhaps the many concussions were the reason my grandfather died at sixty-nine. I suppose one would never know. Now come on let's get busy."
I looked at her, swallowing hard. "Lead the way, dear."