I'm back! Did you miss me last week? I did miss you, and I wanna thank you for your patience because I know I can be a slow writer sometimes 😅

'I wanna do the right thing now

I know it's up to me somehow

I've lost my way'

"Push! Come on, harder!" Spencer's instructions were unwavering, like his gaze, focused on each millimeter of moving progress, and they only stopped when he took deep breaths. "Push hard–"

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing?! Eating pancakes?!" Blade snapped, he too breathing deeply, though it was through clenched teeth, the thin stream of air almost wheezing as Spencer retorted,

"Maybe, because it isn't moving much."

From my angle down, I had a great view of the small progress he was talking about and the long remaining meters the iron-heavy wood burner needed to be pushed through, but also of Spencer's bulging vein near his temple and Blade's tight jaw, both ready to pop at any second, and I took it as a sign to intervene.

"I can help if you want?"

I hadn't even lifted a finger when their wide eyes snapped to me. "No!"

It was incredible how each time they were becoming more and more in sync, and also louder. It was a good thing we didn't have neighbors, even though I still expected a family of woodchucks or an old hibernating bear to complain at our door one day.

However, at the moment, I was the only one grunting as I crossed my arms over my stomach, not needing to hear their usual arguments, since their stares at my baby bump were already saying it all. "Fine."

Yes, I had a baby bump now, and we were still in Grandpa's cabin in the woods. The few days we'd been supposed to stay here had turned into weeks, and then, months. Four months exactly, and my baby bump was barely showing behind my too-tight cardigan. But apparently, it was enough to not approach anything too heavy, according to Blade and Spencer. For this, they were agreeing at least... and I feared what it would be when I would be about to deliver. Well, by then, we would have to be out of those woods.

We'd agreed we couldn't stay here forever, and during those months, we'd even thought about something to solve this mess and make sure this baby was welcomed in a safe environment.

Knowing very well we could never tell the truth and what the possible sentences for murder and evasion from the police were in our state, the only possibility was pretending I hadn't killed Douglas, and since they had proof that I'd been in that courtyard that night, I would have to claim to be a simple witness of the murder. Then, I could say that the 'real murderer' had threatened us to keep silent. It sounded plausible, and the baby could even help our alibi for running away, as we could say I'd just found out I was pregnant when the police had come to arrest me, and we'd panicked.

It was a possible solution to prove ourselves innocent, yet it couldn't be called a plan because there were too many 'buts'.

But we would have to find a 'murderer' no taller than 5'2, who had no alibi for that night, and with a motive to kill Douglas. We would have to sacrifice an innocent person, which wasn't really sitting well with me, even if Blade kept repeating me 'no one was innocent', and we could find a criminal.

But Kenneth wouldn't be that easy to convince, anyway. He wouldn't settle for anything less than revenge, and his eyes, like his dead brother's, were on me.

But, even if we miraculously managed to pull off that version, we would still be held accountable for running away and obstruction of justice. These might not lead to the electric chair or never seeing the sky again, but they could still result in prison term, and we didn't want the baby's first instants to be in a prison hospital. I wanted to be there for her or him. The more I was feeling this little being growing inside me, the less I was ready to let them go.

That was the reason why we hadn't done anything yet. A part of me felt like we were missing something important, that there was a safer option, while another part, or more exactly a faint whisper becoming louder and louder, was telling me we were just stalling to avoid the obvious: we would never go back to Subrose.

After all, wasn't it what it had been supposed to be when we'd decided to run away through that window? When we'd crossed the Subrose sign? Through the rush of adrenaline, we'd all been aware there was no turning back. However, now that it had settled in, it was hard to not look through the rearview mirror to contemplate what we'd left behind apart from the police.

We'd abandoned our families and friends – or 'non-family' and 'non-friends' – school, work, all these opportunities that were already long-expired by now, and yes, I was even regretting not hearing my mom's sermons and advice. 'Getting pregnant before wedding, and without knowing the father, is not lady-like, so at least, make sure this baby is healthy.'

I wondered what she would 'suggest' me to do and not do because all the guidebooks in the world couldn't replace the experience of a real mom. It was in moments like these that you realized all the love you had from your family and friends – at least if they didn't hate us by now.

I wouldn't have said I was homesick though, because home was right here, not the dusty attic, not even the precious refuge from my memories, but here... Home was where the heart was.

I smiled at Blade and Spencer, who were back to quarreling and also technically, moving the wood burner, Spencer resuming with his 'push' instructions, and Blade hissing a 'less talking, more action'. Yes, that was home. They could make a home even in the gloomiest, coldest, farthest places.

Actually, that was what we'd done all together. They'd fixed all the things that had fallen into disrepair, Blade even adding a few pieces of wood here and there to make it cozier, while Spencer and I had made a garden in the late Summer, welcoming two stolen hens, and a goat. So it looked like a real home, and even better, we managed to be self-sufficient for our needs, along with a few thefts here and there.

In short, we formed a great team, each bringing their strengths and talents, except for now, where my fingers were fiddling uselessly together, like my thoughts. Well, I was already making sure they weren't trying to kill each other, and it was a complicated mission, even if I wouldn't complain.

They were interesting to watch, and my eyes would never get tired of catching all these little details about them... Blade's nostrils flaring with every breath he took, Spencer's eyes narrowing at the distance that remained to be crossed, Blade's front strand that kept falling from his quiff, no matter how much grease he used, because his hair had quite grown in the four months – I had offered to cut it, but if he'd never flinched when I'd pointed guns at him, I had seen pure terror cross his eyes when I'd grabbed the scissors. Spencer, he, had let me trim his curls, but it was his stubble he was trying to grow, the faint shadow currently accentuated by the red of his cheeks.

They were putting so much effort and determination into this task. I'd actually had no idea the wood burner could be moved until today, as I'd always seen it in this attic, yet Blade had noticed the flue opening in my bedroom, which could fit it, and we'd deduced that people – several people, seeing how heavy it was – had carried it here before Grandpa had bought the place. Since he would only come here for Summer getaways, he'd never needed it.

But we were at the beginning of November, and the Winters were cold in Montana. We already had the fireplace in the living room, which warmed the whole first floor with constantly fueled flames, yet they were worrying that I would catch a cold at night. 

Just that sweet attention was warming my chest, though, as I watched them wearing themselves out for this, I couldn't erase the freezing thought that they were also doing it in anticipation of the colder months coming.

I could see it in the deep crease between Spencer's eyebrows that rarely seemed to ease and in Blade's sarcasm sharpening more and more each day. They too were feeling powerless, and they were channeling that into trying to do something useful. From the way the wood burner was slowly but surely pushed forward, they had a lot bottled up, their muscles on the verge of tetanizing, bulging, tensing, glistening, yet they didn't stop.

For me, they already looked powerful, every inch of them was... the drops of sweat sliding along mounds of tensed muscles and crossing protruding veins and dark inks from the tips of their fingers to the vigorous wrists, biceps – Okay, I had to stop the wandering trail of my gaze and thoughts before I caught fire.

We could say this wood burner was working already, as the flames were spreading from my core to my cheeks – unless it was just the hormones. I'd read that in one of the pregnancy books. But anyway, it wasn't the moment. They were exerting themselves for me, and here I was, ogling them shamelessly.

So I decided to get up, trying to shake off the restlessness starting to build in my core and also hide my warm cheeks as I took mindless steps around the room. There wasn't much space, especially with the many boxes remaining there, most of them filled with... anyone who had known Grandpa could have guessed it: books, newspapers, and more books.

In a few seconds, I had walked around the whole free space, and it seemed impossible to distract myself from their tense voices, heavy breaths, and the intoxicating scents filling more and more the room.

However, somehow, through my many sideway glances at the boys, a box caught my attention in a small nook. It was exactly the same as the other cardboard ones around, light brown and rectangular, except there was no trace of my mom's regular handwriting on this one. I looked on every side, but no.

It could have been a simple oversight, of course, yet it didn't resemble her; even if she'd been upset at the time she'd closed those boxes, it would only mean she would have been more fastidious. Thus, the only other possibility was that it had been Grandpa, himself, who had put it here before, and that would have explained why I was kneeling there, hypnotized by that simple box in the darkest corner, which not even the light bulb, nor the skylight could illuminate.

'The most beautiful things are always the most hidden... and the most dangerous too.'

"Shooting star!"

"DD!"

I wasn't sure what dangerous or beautiful things crossed my mind at the simple calls of my nicknames, but my heart was hammering too fast under my palm when my wide eyes landed on Blade and Spencer's careful frowns.

"Don't worry, I'm not carrying anything," I reassured them, although the high jump they'd just made me do was surely a greater effort than what was worrying them so much.

That box had definitely distracted me, and I only noticed at this instant that they were already at the door, more than half of the way done. Yet I didn't move more than my fingers as they continued with their task on the other side.

The spark of curiosity in my stomach was replacing other sinful ones lower, and I was tugging at the cardboard flaps with as much determination as Spencer and Blade were pushing on the wood burner. Obviously, the effort was nothing like theirs, but my thoughts and fingers weren't twisting uselessly. I had my own mission: finding what beautiful thing was hidden, and the thuds of my heart were beating with power when I lifted the lids and uncovered... various pieces of fabric and... a book.

That, I could have expected, yet it was the title that pulled a disheartened sigh out of my lips, my heart falling back in the knots of my stomach. 'The good housewife's guidebook', what beautiful or dangerous thing could it be containing? And why would Grandpa have hidden it there?

I tried to not jump to conclusions too quickly once again and observe the faded brownish cover like Grandpa would have, searching for a clue somewhere along the picture of a typical housewife, wearing an apron, potholders, a discreet smile, and a pink dress from the 1900s fashion, and I found it, just below the tagline, two words in an unknown handwriting: 'Irene Quinn'. It was his late wife's, like surely the doilies and silk scarfs.

'Love is the most beautiful thing in this world.' I had never known Grandma, but I'd heard they'd been complete opposites, my mom having inherited only the green of Grandpa's eyes, and this book was proof of it. 

I shook my head as I read the description: 'All the secrets, tips, and recipes to please your husband'. My mom probably didn't know about this guidebook; otherwise, she would have taken it and made me learn it by heart. I'd dodged a bullet for this, especially seeing the size of it. Could there even be as many housewife tips as there were words in a dictionary?

Well, I had no idea, as I was already clueless about the 'girlfriend's guidebook' and its basic rules: trust your boyfriend's words over tattletales and sneaky cousins, don't sleep with another man, don't scream 'I love you' to another, don't fall pregnant before wedding, don't drag your boyfriend – normally, you were supposed to have only one – into your police getaways after killing someone...

Did they talk about things like that somewhere in those? My fingers were already flipping the pages in search of an answer. After all, there was a reason why Grandpa had kept it here, and I had nothing to lose anyway...

'Chapter one: From sunrise, make sure his needs are fulfilled and his day starts gloriously.'

My eyes widened at the many instructions, and even detailed pictures, and they grew bigger with the few words they caught along the page: 'working hard to provide for you and the family', 'vigorous muscles', 'fuel', 'desire to please him', 'thank him'...

It was far from the answers I was looking for, but as my gaze traveled a few times between those pages and the open door, where Blade and Spencer had disappeared through, pushing the wood-burner – my men, working hard to provide for me and the baby with their vigorous muscles – I concluded that this book could be useful finally, even if not in the way I'd imagined.

Getting ready to do some reading and decipher those pictures, I wriggled around for a comfortable position. But on the cold wooden floor, in the narrow space of the nook, with a few more pounds in my belly, and twice as much with the 'dictionary' in my hands, it was almost impossible, and I was far from the discreet and graceful housewife. Well, I'd managed to sit cross-legged when I accidentally knocked the empty box over, the thud making me rise up on my knees, along with all my hair.

I was getting way too jumpy these days, and I had trouble focusing on the book again as my heart kept echoing the sound again and again. Thump... Thump... Thump... it was too loud to concentrate... It was too loud for an empty box, only filled with doilies, and I jumped again at this realization.

I surely should have just ignored it and have gone back to my reading like a lady trying to become a good housewife. But I'd never managed to be lady-like, and my hands were already reaching for the box, my hair standing on end again. It hadn't come down actually, and it wouldn't as I put the box back up with the same thud, the thud of something heavier than doilies, and also a thud resonating in my guts, surely my heart leaping with curiosity, or from the baby, if she or he loved mysteries as much as their great grandpa – unless it was just my instincts...

I was sure there was something more hidden. I felt it; I'd heard it, and I saw it as I sent the pieces of embroidery flying, and my eyes caught a tiny slit of space on the bottom, just enough to slip a nail.

A false bottom, that resembled more Grandpa, and I could picture him putting it carefully, his wrinkled green eyes twinkling with knowledge like every time he'd been about to share secret tips, and he would have said something like 'if you want to hide something, put it where no one would ever think of looking'.

Whatever he'd covered here, it was the real secret, and that was why I was holding my breath like a pirate about to discover an unknown treasure when my finger slid into the tiny slit.

Of course, I tried not to imagine anything, and thus, avoid getting disappointed again. I even kept one hand over my stomach to slow down my movements and keep myself grounded. Yet it only made me more aware of the strong beats of my heart, pumping curiosity and adrenaline in my veins, all these tiny but powerful zings climbing up from the tip of my fingers, and they soared like a spark on powder with a bang when I took off the false bottom.

There, I really felt like a pirate, my fingers grazing the khaki case of an old binder like diamonds. Yes, it was strange, but for me, it was more prized, more beautiful, maybe even more dangerous, and more hidden than Blackbeard's treasure – Blackbeard being Grandpa, and the treasure the binder I recognized immediately, the one he'd spent hours on, filled with his mystery of the time.

No matter how many puppy eyes I'd tried, he'd never allowed me even a glimpse inside, nor to anyone actually. He'd used to say it was because 'people in the secrecy of his journalistic investigations would be put in danger', but thinking about it, I believed it was mostly writers' paranoia to be stolen of his words and the surprise effect of his articles.

I'd searched for this binder many times when I'd been younger...

"And finally, I've found it!" I whispered in the empty attic like he could hear me. I was sure he could. Who else would have led me to this box, to his treasure?

With shaky hands, I grabbed the binder, which weighed as much as the housewife guidebook, papers spilling out on every side: pictures, police reports, testimonies, and pieces of evidence... the usual, although in greater numbers, as it had been one of his biggest affairs.

I still remembered my mom lecturing that he should have taken some rest and that most people of his age were retired, playing bridge. But he would always reply that he would rest after this investigation. It was 'too important', and it could have 'changed lives'. It had only taken his, in the end. Without this affair, he would have had time to treat himself.

As I stared at the khaki binder, my eyes and my thoughts blurring, a consuming surge to burn it was itching my fingers. Yet it wouldn't bring him back, on the contrary. That file contained parts of him, his last written words.

That thought, along with the tears behind my eyes, was enough to put out any fiery surge, and I was left with just a shiver as my fingers danced along the worn corners, knowing behind, was my last chance to hear his words and have him there with me in some way.

Maybe I could find one more life lesson in between the lines of a mystery, as it had been his specialty, and I could see for what, for whom he'd sacrificed his life...

"Shooting star?"

Of course, I jumped again, the binder case that I'd been lifting, falling back with a thud, and I blinked the blurriness and memories away to return to the present and the tall silhouette appearing at the door.

"We're finished. Do– fuck, you okay?"

"Yes, yes... just lost in some memories..." More lost than I'd imagined apparently, as I needed a few seconds to process his words, and Blade was already kneeling in front of me, his clear eyes searching over my face when I asked, "You're already finished?"

"Yeah, wanna see?" He cocked an eyebrow, but it wasn't to question the reason behind my messy eyes and mind, as the bad intention in his gaze was shining with the silent offer to make me forget, his hand already held out for me. "We're gonna test it, and I thought you'd like to light the first spark?"

"Is that even a question?" My fingers hovered over his palm, not accepting it yet, although my smile was probably giving it away, and we both knew I'd never refused one of his bad intentions.

In the blink of an eye, he'd used one of his genie tricks to grab my hand and the binder on my lap.

"Oh no, I can carry it! You've already done so much, and you're probably tired..." My protest and my attempts to take back the binder were falling through as he stood up, pulling me and the binder with him.

"It's nothing. I've got muscles, and I'm not tired – but I can't say the same of Spencer..."

Typical men... their competitive spirit, their egos, and their vigorous muscles, which he was showing off as I giggled.

"Oh, it makes me think... We'll take this one too!" I added the housewife guidebook on top of the file, making his smug grin and vigorous biceps waver.

"How's that so heavy?" He squinted his eyes between the cover and my enigmatic smile.

"Because it contains some useful secrets..." At least, one of those would hopefully...

***

"Are you sure? You know you don't have to do anything to thank us." Spencer peered at me from under the crease of his eyebrows, the nervous look in his brown eyes making me wonder if the drop pearling down his temple was from the shower he'd just taken or if I was making him break into a cold sweat.

"I know, but I want to, and don't worry, I'll follow the instructions. It's all explained here," I assured with my most confident smile and my finger pointing at the guidebook on the table to convince him.

Yet the pictures only deepened his frown as he tilted his head to take a closer look. "I don't think it's a good idea with the baby."

"Spencer." I slowly blinked at him, and the hand he was running through his wet curls. "My mom finished her roast before giving birth to me, so I'm pretty sure I can cook eggs at four months pregnant, and no, I won't burn down the kitchen, don't worry."

"I've never said that, but maybe I can stay here, just in case you need help..."

"Thanks for the great trust!" I gasped, a hand over my heart, while he offered me a sheepish smile. Yet when you were in front of someone who knew you so well, it was like staring in the mirror, and we both burst out laughing at our bad acting.

"No, but seriously, let me do this for you," I told him as our laughter calmed, not trying for puppy eyes, fake offense, or any argument, just the words from my heart. "You're always making me surprises, and you're doing so much for me. After everything... I just want to make a little something for you."

It was so little in comparison with what they'd done, of course, but my heart still skipped an excited beat when he took a deep breath and surrendered with a smile.

"Okay, but you call if there's anything. I'll be just next door like–"

"Yes, yes." I almost pushed him to the living room. "Go get some rest, read, enjoy for once, and me, I'll take care of the meal." Like a good housewife.

I was starting to resemble one as I tied an apron over my small belly, focusing on the many instructions on the page. My mom would have had proud tears brimming in her eyes if she'd seen me.

First, 'prepare all the ingredients': eggs, fresh milk – thanks to Saturn, Jupiter, and Moonlight: our hens and goat – salt, pepper, homemade bread – baked by Spencer. Okay, I was still far from the good housewife, and my mom would have surely cried for other reasons if she'd seen me cooking breakfast at 6 in the afternoon. But it was the easiest with what I had – ingredients and talents – and it was the thought that counted.

After all the efforts they'd made to carry the wood burner, it would be the energy their vigorous muscles needed and a little surprise to make them smile. That was the reason why I did my utmost to follow the instructions and detailed pictures as I put the water to boil for Spencer's soft-boiled eggs and broke the eggs for Blade's scrambled ones, trying not to let myself get distracted by the flutters in my stomach. However, for once, it wasn't the pregnancy sickness, as it was slowly fading over the weeks, and I'd even drank ginger tea to be safe.

Tonight, I was taking care of Blade and Spencer, and not the other way around.

The agitation in my insides re-sparked stronger upon that thought, especially as I tried to imagine their reactions in front of their favorite eggs – hopefully, a good one. Spencer would have to admit that I hadn't burned the kitchen, and maybe he would offer me words of praise while Blade would curse and moan if it tasted good.

These images motivated me through each step of the recipes, preventing me from giving up when I had to fish for shell pieces in the mixed eggs, and the other eggs kept cracking in the boiling water. It was a struggle, but I did it with care and love.

After all, they said 'the way you cooked was the way you loved' – at least, my mom and Daisy repeated it, and now, this book was also saying it. I was starting to believe it too as I set the table, arranging the mugs, egg cups, plates, cutlery, along with the trivet Blade had carved, and a basket full of sliced bread, all while watching the eggs cooking perfectly on the stove.

In about one minute, it would be ready. Blade must have been out of the shower by now, and Spencer was probably relaxed that there was no smoke coming out of the kitchen. So everything was aligning, even the strong beats of my heart, to show my thankfulness and love, and the meal would be perf–

"Where's the fuck did you get that?!"

My plans for a nice meal shook at the sound of rising voices coming from the living room, and soon, my heart teetered with it.

"Wait, is that–"

"Keep your sneaky nose out of that! It's none of your fucking business!"

Of course, I was getting used to Spencer and Blade's quarrels. Most of the time, I didn't even mind, and I saw it as practice, knowing a crying baby couldn't be louder. 

Yet it wasn't their usual bickering, where in between their attacks, I could hear the fondness they were slowly getting for each other. Here, there was only a loud thud and a sharp edge in Blade's voice that I could recognize among the infinite of all his contrasts. It was the tone that cut through my chest, tearing it open for my heart to jump in two directions; it was his killer tone. 

Dun... Dun... Dun... 👀😬 What has brought back Blade's killer tone? Any ideas? 🤔

Also, 4 months that they're in the cabin, time flies, isn't it? Did you expect this? I know I might have misled you at the beginning 😅 Did you imagine something else? And for the 'thank you gift' she's making them, did you think of something else too? 😏 (I know my dirty mind has)

Tell me all your thoughts in the comments! And don't forget to vote ⭐ if you liked it!

Finally, just wanted to talk about this 'Housewife guidebook', yes, yes, this kind of advice existed at the beginning of the 20th century, and still in the 1960s, revolting, isn't it? My feminist side was searing writing this (like a lot of sexist info in this book), and sadly, those beliefs are still anchored too much in nowadays society. 😔

I leave you to think about this, and see you next week! Love you, my little Shooting stars 😘💕🌠