Best Defense

Mr. & Mrs. Cleverts

...Sean Danial Warner POV's....

This morning the weather was quite clear as I piled my bike across the Winton village highway. After making sure Franda is safe with Mia, Sam, Taylor, and Jason... Maggie and Matthew are back in town to buy some groceries. Visiting extreme couples Mr. and Mrs. Clevert is the answer.

Under the bright sun, the fields that stretch out and the villages like paintings that soar along the roads are wonderfully beautiful. I've taken the route to Longreach several times since Matthew first persuaded me to join their cycling activities. We were fourteen at the time. He, Taylor, and Jason have been crazy about bicycles since childhood, grabbing every chance of conquering the increasingly challenging wild terrain.

This challenge, I finally gave up and ended up spending a very pleasant day shopping for bicycles with Ashley and her sister, we were in and out of the shop to shop for endless bikes. Although I still have to learn to love the fun of cycling in the woods, I have fallen in love with cycling on the road, especially on days like this when I need time for myself. Plus, this route has one big advantage: it definitely involves bountiful cake dishes with two people whom I admire quite a bit in the world.

While crossing the beautiful village of Riverside, a thought swirled in my mind: Franda decided to accept the idea of a psychiatrist. Another reason that made me take this trip was because I wanted her to really focus on the 'counseling' session with Sam. I have to give him a chance to open up his problems to Sam. Anyway, I think he'd be a little embarrassed if I stayed close to him.

From a long time ago, I was the kind of person who believed all that was possible before I chased after him, so helping Franda to heal, didn't look like a huge leap in confidence like that would probably happen to anyone else. In that case, I'm very similar to Bradley, aka Mr. Cleverts. He's the most positive person I know, always eager to face the opportunities life presents him with and never afraid of challenges. I sometimes wonder if I should be his son, not my father's son, whose idea of risk is something that is supported by many careful calculations.

Mr Philosophy. Clevert to life is everything will be fine in the end. Because his health condition was not good, he and his wife had to face a series of harsh life problems, and it seemed like they were never enough money to be able to truly relax in their retirement, but no doubt, they are the happiest couple I know.

Approaching my destination, I crossed a small curved bridge that stretched over the canal. Once I got to the other side, I left the main road and turned to the boat's towing track to the permanent harbor. The sharp smell of wood fireplace smoke tickled my nostrils as it came down from the bike and pushed it through long boats with names I still remember. The Royal Cabs, The Queen, Mamacita, Speedom, Lacosta.

At the end of a row of brightly colored boats, stands My love, a 20-meter-long maroon boat decorated with jugs and traditionally painted enamel basins as well as pots filled with autumn marigolds.

A cheerful whistle from inside made me smile. Knock the cabin door three times. "There's passengers?"

The whistling instantly stopped and the door swung open as Mr. Clevert appeared, a yellow hat perched with a cool corner and his face was smiling widely. "Hello!" He lowered his head back inside for a moment. "Debs, love! There's a red-faced cyclist here who needs a cup of tea!"

"Let's light the kettle!" voice without Mrs. Cleverts.

"Hi, Brad," my smile. "I hope you don't mind me dropping by without telling you first after some time of disappearing?"

"Of course not, Kid! We've been waiting to see you. Dump your bike up and get in."

Bradley has been in love with long boats for a long time. Matt's father said his younger brother's favorite toy as a child was a small wooden canal boat that he always insisted on carrying to accompany every trip or family vacation. Mr. has always been an ambition. Clevert is in possession of a long boat, and when he decides to retire early, he finally embodies his dream and buys My Love from Father Matt's brother, whom he presents to his wife, Debora Clevert.

The other greatest love of his life, Mrs. Clevert, arguably not too enamored with the whole idea, but because it was her husband's dream. And keep following her every weekend and holiday or whenever Bradley's tickled to check on 'the old girl'. Mrs. Clevert thought spending time in My Love was more frustrating than she would admit to her husband, but it came out in a subtle way, most noticeable from the grill. As a simple guideline, the level of stress experienced is proportional to the number of grills it produces from the small wood-fired oven in the kitchen of the long boat.

Viewed from carefully balanced cookie tins on each flat surface of the interior of My Love, Mrs. Clevert is having a bad day.

"While grilling, Deb?" ask me when I enter the warmth of the cabin.

Mrs. Clevert grimacing. "Just a little. Come here and give your poor seasick foster mom a hug!"

I have always loved this woman's embrace. She has a strong but also gentle kind of hug that makes things seem better. Not like Mommy. For my mother the hug was a chipiki with little body contact. Reduces wrinkles on people's clothes and there is no need to show affection in front of embarrassing crowds. Not that I'm a very 'hugs' person, but a hug from Mrs. Clevert can be categorized as a pleasant exception, a generous treatment that needs to be tasted and enjoyed like the results of the grill.

There was a groan and a petite figure shaking Presley, the poodle the couple saved, appeared near our feet. Presley doesn't even like to be on the water than Mrs. Clevert and every time she was on top of My Love her condition was never more than a bundle of curly grey feathers trembling in fear.

Letting go of the hug, I extended a hand to pat her poor frightened body. "Hey, Presley, how are you?" The dog licked my hand hesitantly, then he escaped to his safe and comfortable faded-box bed near the stove.

Mrs. Clevert grabbed my shoulder and held me as far away. "Well, now look at you" her eyes squinted. "Hmmm. Oh gosh. There's something serious in your mind. There's only one thing I can recommend."

He dodged into a mound of Roses cans stacked just like that on a bench and a folding table in what Mr. Clevert as the 'Big Dining Room', then start looking around between them, lifting the lid and getting rid of the cans until it finds what it's looking for.

"Ah, here we go!" Poking up the can, he thrusts it under my nose. "Coffee and walnuts. That's what you need."

And, as always I don't know how many times, he's right.

Maybe it was because he roasted so often, or maybe he actually had some sort of culinary-based mystical sixth sense, but Mrs ability. Clevert to prescribe the right sweet snack for your needs is arguably legendary. Broken heart? "Lemon drizzle, it's easy." A gun or something? "Bakewell tarts. It's the only thing that's gonna help." Tired up? "Three-layer cappucino cake, it'll get you back excited, boy!"

"You're a genius, Deb," I smiled, while Mr. Clevert poured tea and Mr. Clevert cut a large slice of cake with an old-fashioned butter knife clutched with yellow ivory which seemed to be the result of one of Mr. Clevert to the market in shock.

"Omong empty. Everyone knows that coffee and walnut cakes are a must when making important decisions. Don't you think, Brad?"

Mr. Clevert nodded wisely. "Of course."

"I didn't tell you everything" said Mrs. Clevert while swinging the butter knife at me. "Give us enlightenment, dear foster child."

I pretended to protest, but in my heart I was glad he asked. In reality, I needed their advice, and this couple was probably the only people I knew with the ability to understand fully.

They listened to me seriously while I retold the events that took place in my marriage, stopping me from asking questions every now and then.

"Why did you marry her?"

"Cause I love her."

They exchanged glances accompanied by raised eyebrows. "Oh."

"But that's not the case. The point is my wife is going through something pretty confusing."

"The past?"

"Yes. Since childhood she had an anxiety disorder, but.." I stopped, somewhat unsure if this was the proper territory for an adopted child to share complaints with this couple. But the twin expressions of those waiting urged me to continue. "It's gotten worse since I've been with me."

Mr. Clevert patted his wife's hands excitedly. "Debs! Just like you and me, baby!"

Twist the eyeballs, Mrs. Clevert grumbling loudly. "Don't mind him, boy, he's delusional. Continue."

"That's it, anyway. I know I shouldn't complain, but watching him like that worries me a little. I don't care if I have to accompany him until he recovers. But I kept thinking..."

"Your presence makes it even more difficult?" Mr. Clevert. "No matter how small, you can't get rid of the thought that might come up."

My heart rate jumped. "That's what it is!"

"And you want to help her deal with her problems" Mrs. Clevert nodded. "But you're confused how to."

"Absolutely. I love you both. So what am I supposed to do?"

Mr. Clevert got up to recharge the kettle. "I think you should be a good listener for him. What's the worst thing that could happen, huh?"

"A fight, a disappointment, and a reputation not needed as a husband?" I was swept full of cookies and stared at Mrs. Cleverts.

"Well, it's nothing" said Mr. Cleverts. "I've experienced worse than that in my life and I can still smile, right?"

"You've been called an unneeded man?"

"He? Oh, that's right too. Our foster kid's brain is as sharp as a needle, huh, Debsie?"

"Shut up, Bradley, I'm thinking." Mrs. Clevert puts the elbow to the table, folds the hand then rests the chin on it.

Mr. Clevert clapped his hands in excitement. "Uuh, I know that look, kid. You're really prioritized now that 'your mother' puts on a look like that."

We waited in silence, the only sound of the canal on the side of the boat and the long boat slowly approaching, until the shrill whistle getting louder from the kettle broke it.

"If you're going to do this, you need to tell people that you're helping her overcome something" Mrs said. Clevert in the end. "The more people who know about your problems, the greater your chances of helping them."

Mr. Clevert clapped. "Brillian, our Debs!"

"Then, that's what I'm gonna do. But how do I start?"

"Well, don't worry about that, kid. Leave it to this 'Your father."