Rainbow Diapers

i spend about $150 a month on my diapers but i try to get one baby diaper pack for stuffers then one medical  pack or 2 and 1 abdl case TO KEEP TRYING WHATS OUT THERE ?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     WWWWWWWWWWWWWW                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Thanks to @Bmoney31690for donating $10!

Book 2 – Chapter 12: Mature Enough   The chalk Porsche 911 Carrera 4S made it considerably more difficult for Sally to remain angry with her father. She sat snugly in the passenger seat as Adrian drove, interpreting speed limits and traffic laws in the slightly nuanced manner Sally had come to associate with him. “Dad.” Sally sighed as Adrian made a brief demonstration of what almost five hundred horsepower could accomplish. “That was three digits!” Adrian was already slowing considerably. “Not long enough to count,” he chuckled. “Seriously! You’re supposed to set some kind of example.” Adrian grinned and settled the Porsche back into something resembling respectable road behavior. “You were saying…?” “Uhm, yeah.” Sally remembered her grievance. “What’s this about a surprise test? Dad, that was totally unfair. If I’d studied, I would’ve done better than that.” She crossed her arms. Adrian glanced at her. “Better than ninety percent?” Sally shrugged. “Yeah? Probably.” “Tell me something. You agreed to take the test even after they told you it wasn’t going to count against you.” “Yeah.” Sally hesitated. “I was curious. I wanted to know.” “So it was profitable.” Sally gave him a reluctant little shrug, arms still crossed. Her father was behaving himself now, which somehow made his argument more irritating. After a moment, she nodded. “Tell me something else. Did you study before you stepped into that Arclight meeting?” Sally frowned. “Dad, that’s different. That wasn’t a test.” Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it?” “Not a real one. Not the kind that counts.” Adrian tilted his head slightly, one hand resting easily on the wheel. “Decisions were analyzed. Directions were suggested. Opinions were given. And some of what was discussed in that room will affect our assets, the company, people’s employment. Their lives. Our lives.” Sally was quiet. The Porsche rolled smoothly through traffic while she considered that. Slowly, her shoulders relaxed and her crossed arms came apart. She rested her right elbow against the door instead. There had been no score at the end of the Arclight meeting. Nobody had collected her paper. Nobody had even expected her to speak. But it had counted. “So what you’re saying is I have to be ready all the time.” “Sort of.” Sally looked at him. “Not because everything is a test,” Adrian continued. “Because eventually you have to use what you learn.” That was annoyingly reasonable. Sally watched the road for a few seconds. “So I can’t even be angry at you.” Adrian shook his head. “No.” Sally narrowed her eyes at him. “I think I’m still allowed.” “You can try.” She shook her head and looked out the window, but the smile had already betrayed her. -- It felt better arriving home with somebody who belonged there. Sally had managed perfectly well on her own, but the house felt different with family in it. Less like an enormous collection of beautifully furnished rooms she happened to be occupying and more like home. She wasn’t often alone with her father either—not for any particular reason, simply because their lives rarely arranged themselves that way—but she was comfortable around him. Adrian treated her like an adult most of the time. Mostly. “I stopped by after my flight to freshen up and get the car.” Adrian glanced toward her as he turned into the driveway. “I was surprised the house wasn’t a mess.” Sally stared at him. “Thanks for the confidence, Dad. Maybe next time I’ll organize some enormous party and leave pizza boxes and empty bottles everywhere, just so you learn to appreciate your daughter’s good behavior once in a while.” Adrian laughed as he brought the chalk Porsche to a stop beside the garage door. “You’re a good girl. I’ll give you that.” He reached across and touched her cheek affectionately. The gesture immediately took some of the bite out of Sally’s expression. She smiled. “Thanks, Dad.” Adrian switched off the engine and looked toward the garage. “Now, are you going to show me the orange beast? I barely got a glimpse of it earlier.” Sally brightened immediately. “Yeah.” She was already reaching for the door. “Let me get the keys.” -- Sally felt the familiar thrill as she pressed the starter and the V12 came alive behind her, sending its hard mechanical bark through the garage and making the air itself seem to vibrate. She glanced toward her father and caught Adrian’s appreciative nod. That made her smile. She reached up and pulled the door down, pressed the brake and went through the sequence Morgan had drilled into her the previous afternoon. First gear. Parking brake. Mirrors. Clear around her. Then she eased off the brake and allowed the Lamborghini to crawl out of the garage. Adrian stood aside and watched as the orange car emerged slowly into the sunlight. Sally brought it to a stop beside her Ford Fiesta, selected neutral, set the parking brake and shut down the engine before raising the door again. The silence afterward was almost as noticeable as the noise had been. For the next few minutes father and daughter simply explored the car together. Sally found herself enjoying the unexpected pleasure of actually knowing things Adrian didn’t know about this particular machine. She showed him details Morgan had taught her the previous day, pointed out controls and explained some of the peculiarities she had already discovered. Adrian listened without trying to take over, occasionally leaning closer to inspect something before eventually lowering himself into the driver’s seat. He settled against the seatback and adjusted his legs. “These are moments when I thank God I’m under six feet tall.” Sally laughed. “I guess I can’t complain about my five-five.” “Tall car lovers suffer.” Adrian experimented with the seat position. “I know people who genuinely couldn’t get comfortable in this car. A few who could barely get into one.” Sally climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door down. For a while they concentrated on the infotainment system, Adrian watching while Sally paired her phone and began setting up Bluetooth and her audio preferences. “I’m surprised you haven’t done this already,” he said. “I barely mastered driving this thing at twenty miles per hour and doing three-point turns. Morgan probably hopes I never discover something as dangerous as music.” Adrian chuckled. “That’s how you learn cars like this. Patience. Discipline.” He ran a hand lightly over the steering wheel. “I had to learn most of them on my own.” Sally looked at him. “Did you ever crash?” Adrian smiled slightly. “Not on public roads.” That qualification immediately caught her attention. “I’ve spun off a few times at Spa and the Nürburgring. Nothing particularly dramatic. Mostly wounded pride, and perhaps a guardrail or two that remembered me afterward.” Sally’s eyes widened. “You crashed?” “Of course.” The casual answer surprised her. Adrian glanced toward her. “Remember, Sally, a track is where you explore limits. Yours and the car’s. You train specifically so you don’t crash, but the environment is also designed around the possibility that somebody eventually will. Runoff areas, barriers, marshals, helmets, safety equipment. You prepare for things going wrong.” He rested his hands loosely on the wheel. “And sometimes you get it wrong. You learn from it.” Sally sat back and considered that. Videos of crashes on public roads made her uncomfortable because there was something senseless about them—cars losing control among traffic, pedestrians, trees and people who had never agreed to participate. A racetrack was different. Testing a limit meant approaching it closely enough to discover where it actually was. “So you learn to go faster,” she murmured. Adrian nodded. “And more carefully.” That sounded contradictory for about half a second. Then it didn’t. “But the street,” Adrian continued, “is where you parade the car. You don’t race it. You don’t need to show everyone what it can do.” He thought for a moment. “Imagine a Rottweiler at a dog show. Powerful animal. Everybody knows what it could do. It doesn’t need to bark at everyone or bite somebody to prove it.” Sally smiled at the comparison. “It simply behaves.” “Exactly.” Adrian tapped the steering wheel gently. “Same thing here. This is an exquisite piece of engineering. Display it. Enjoy it. Drive it. Let people look at it. But save its teeth for the appropriate place.” Sally looked through the windshield at the quiet Coral Gables street beyond the driveway. Yesterday she had been almost afraid of the Lamborghini. Today she was beginning to understand that controlling it meant more than learning what her hands and feet should do. Sometimes control meant deliberately choosing what not to ask the car to do. She nodded. “I will.” -- “I’ll leave you ladies to it.” Adrian nodded as Morgan finished settling Sally into the driver’s seat, making sure everything was where it belonged before they headed out. “Sorry there’s no jump seat, Dad,” Sally called through the raised door. Adrian waved away the apology. “I’ve got a couple of meetings. Come see me in my office when you’re done.” “Okay.” Sally watched him head back toward the house before Morgan climbed into the passenger seat and buckled herself in. She pulled the scissor door down, shutting them into the compact cabin, then turned toward Sally. “Right. Yesterday we learned the car. Today we drive it.” Sally rested her hands on the steering wheel. Morgan continued. “And when I say real driving, I mean exactly that. Nothing fundamentally different from what you’ve already done in the Fiesta or your parents’ cars. Streets, intersections, traffic, lane changes, traffic lights. We’re not going out there to find out how fast an Aventador is.” “Understood.” Morgan looked at her pointedly. “It’s a car, Sally. A very powerful, very expensive car, but still a car. Drive it properly and don’t let it intimidate you.” Sally nodded. “Understood.” “Good.” Morgan settled back into her seat. “Let’s hit the road.” Sally pressed her lips together, checked around her and selected first. She released the parking brake and gradually eased off the brake pedal until the Aventador began to move. The orange Lamborghini crawled down the driveway under her careful coaxing. At the street Sally stopped, looked both ways and took a moment longer than she probably needed. Then she turned out. Yesterday, simply reaching this point had felt like an accomplishment. Today, she kept going. -- Sally eased the Aventador down Solano Prado toward the guard house with considerably less apprehension than she had felt the afternoon before. Less did not mean none. The orange nose still disappeared somewhere beyond the bottom of the windshield, the car still seemed impossibly wide whenever another vehicle approached, and she remained conscious of the black wheels passing much closer to curbs than anything on her Fiesta ever did. But yesterday she had spent nearly an hour doing little more than turning around, stopping, reversing, making three-point turns and learning where the Lamborghini existed in relation to herself. This morning she could at least drive it without feeling as though she were guiding someone else’s yacht through a canal. She slowed at the guard house, smiled at the security officer and waited while the gate opened. The man had already seen the car the day before, but Sally caught him looking again anyway. She couldn’t blame him. Even from inside it, she was still getting used to the absurdity of the orange bodywork and black wheels. She checked both directions carefully before easing onto Old Cutler Road, accelerating gently enough that the V12 barely seemed interested. “Manual,” Morgan reminded her from the passenger seat. Sally glanced at the display and changed the transmission setting. She had driven the Aventador mostly in its automatic operation the previous afternoon because Morgan had wanted her attention on placement rather than gears. Today the paddles were hers. “Right.” Morgan settled back. That was apparently the entire lesson. Sally had expected more instruction. Instead, Morgan seemed content to let her drive. She pulled the right paddle as the revs rose. The ISR changed gear with a distinct interruption that Sally felt through the car, not violent at this throttle opening but nothing like the seamless automatics she had experienced elsewhere. The V12 dropped in pitch, settled, then began climbing again as she continued toward US-1. Another paddle. Another shift. Sally smiled faintly. There was something familiar about having responsibility for the gears again. Her left foot had nothing to do, which still seemed faintly dishonest after months in the Fiesta, but choosing when the engine changed ratio made the Lamborghini feel less like an elaborate machine carrying her and more like something she was actually driving. At US-1 the traffic thickened. Sally merged into it without difficulty, matching speed rather than waiting indefinitely for a perfect opening. Yesterday Morgan had corrected her for being too tentative when pulling away from stops, and Sally had understood the distinction almost immediately. Careful did not mean indecisive. She checked, chose her gap and went. The Aventador rewarded that decisiveness almost too enthusiastically. Sally gave it what felt like a perfectly ordinary amount of throttle and watched the traffic behind diminish much faster than expected. She lifted almost immediately and glanced at the speedometer. Morgan said nothing. Sally looked briefly toward her. “What?” “Nothing.” “I know that nothing.” Morgan’s mouth moved slightly. “You corrected yourself.” Sally returned her attention to the road. That was apparently enough. They continued south, Sally learning the paddles largely through feel. She discovered that she preferred changing up earlier than the car seemed to expect when driving normally. She discovered that a downshift approaching slower traffic could produce an astonishing bark from behind her shoulders despite her having no intention whatsoever of being dramatic. The first time it happened she looked instinctively toward the mirror. “Eyes forward,” Morgan said. “I know.” The engine settled into the lower gear with a faint burble behind them. Sally smiled despite herself. US-1 gave her enough time to become accustomed to the strange contradiction of the car. The Aventador was difficult at five miles per hour and ridiculously easy at fifty. Once moving, the width seemed to diminish. The steering settled naturally in her hands, the engine became smoother, and she began looking farther ahead rather than thinking constantly about where the front corners were. By the time Morgan directed her toward the Turnpike, Sally had stopped consciously thinking about every paddle movement. The entrance ramp opened ahead. Sally checked the traffic. There was a substantial gap, but the cars already on the highway were moving quickly. Morgan didn’t tell her what to do. Sally pressed the accelerator. The response made her eyes widen. She hadn’t floored it. She hadn’t even come close. But the V12 changed from civilized to purposeful in an instant, the sound hardening behind her as the numbers climbed with a speed completely foreign to her Fiesta-trained instincts. She pulled the paddle. The transmission punched into the next gear. Another squeeze. Sixty-five. Seventy-two. She merged neatly with traffic and eased off. “Eighty-six,” Morgan said. “I saw.” “Good.” Sally settled into the lane. For the next few miles she experienced perhaps the strangest discovery of the morning. Seventy-five felt slow. Not actually slow. Sally knew perfectly well how quickly the road was passing underneath them. But the Aventador seemed almost indifferent to it. There was none of the mild sense of effort she associated with the Fiesta at highway speed. The Lamborghini felt planted, the engine relaxed, the steering calm. Eighty appeared on the display for a moment when Sally changed lanes around slower traffic, and she backed down immediately. She frowned. “It’s very easy to do that.” Morgan nodded. That was all. A Camaro came alongside and remained there. Sally noticed the passenger holding a phone. She kept looking ahead. The Camaro dropped back, accelerated again, then appeared beside them once more. Its driver gave the engine a theatrical burst. Sally sighed. “Am I supposed to do something?” “No.” “I wasn’t planning to.” “Then you already know what to do.” The Camaro eventually disappeared ahead, apparently disappointed by the complete absence of participation from the orange Lamborghini. A few minutes later a pickup accelerated alongside them and stayed in Sally’s blind spot long enough to make her uncomfortable. She reduced speed slightly rather than trying to outrun it, let the truck move ahead, then restored her following distance. Morgan nodded once. Sally saw it. That tiny nod pleased her more than she expected. Her exit approached with an eighteen-wheeler occupying the lane she needed. Sally could have accelerated past it. There was room. The Aventador could have accomplished the maneuver almost instantaneously. Instead, she lifted. The V12 changed note behind her. A deep growl rolled through the cabin as speed began falling. Sally checked the mirror, signaled and allowed the truck to move ahead. She pulled the left paddle. The rev-matched downshift exploded behind her. BRAAAP. Sally’s eyebrows rose. Another reduction in speed. Another downshift, followed by a lower growl and a couple of muted crackles from the exhaust. She slipped comfortably behind the eighteen-wheeler with several car lengths to spare. “I swear I’m driving normally.” “You are.” “It doesn’t sound like it.” Morgan glanced toward the truck. “That’s not your problem.” Sally laughed. The ramp tightened and she slowed farther, the Lamborghini producing another completely unnecessary piece of V12 theater before settling behind the truck at a traffic light. It was only then that Sally became aware of another problem. She tugged the hem of her short white dress farther down her thighs. Morgan noticed. Sally gave her a look. “Don’t.” “I didn’t say anything.” “This seemed like a perfectly normal dress when I got dressed.” “It is.” “Not in this seat.” The Lamborghini’s low seating position and the way Sally had to extend her legs toward the pedals had taught her something no owner’s manual had thought worth mentioning. She adjusted the hem again and made a mental note that shorts or jeans were going to be substantially easier on training days. Morgan directed her through Kendall until the traffic gradually disappeared and broad commercial streets opened around them. The area was quiet, with long stretches of empty pavement, wide intersections and almost nobody around. “Pull over.” Sally did. Morgan looked ahead. “Now we’re going to learn your right foot.” Sally glanced down at it. “I thought I already knew how to use it.” “You know how to use it in a Fiesta.” That was fair. Morgan indicated the empty road ahead. “First run, I want almost nothing. Accelerate normally to forty.” Sally checked everything around them, pulled away and fed in the throttle gently. The Aventador moved smoothly, almost lazily by its own standards. “Again. A little more.” They returned and repeated it. This time Sally pressed farther. The V12 deepened, the acceleration immediately more insistent. “Again.” Morgan gradually increased what she asked from her. Not percentages, not numbers Sally might become fixated upon, but sensations. Gentle. Normal. Purposeful. Strong. Each time Sally learned how remarkably small the difference in pedal movement could be and how dramatically the result changed. On the stronger run the Lamborghini surged forward hard enough to press her noticeably into the seat. Sally instinctively tightened her hands on the steering wheel. “Relax your hands.” She did. “Look farther.” Sally raised her vision. “Hold it.” The engine climbed. The sound became magnificent. “Now lift.” Sally came off the throttle. The Aventador settled immediately, exhaust muttering behind her as she braked progressively back toward ordinary speed. Sally exhaled. Morgan looked at her. “Again.” Sally smiled. This time she tugged the hem of her white dress down first. “Tomorrow I’m wearing jeans.” Morgan nodded solemnly. “Excellent first lesson.” Sally laughed, selected first gear, looked down the long empty street and settled both hands lightly on the wheel. Then she went again. -- Sally could see her father through the open office door, tilted back in his chair with his feet resting comfortably on one corner of the desk. He was speaking softly, AirPods in his ears, his attention apparently divided between the call and something on the screen in front of him. “…you’d better set an appointment with Marcus so we can talk about this when I get back. I want to see it with my own eyes.” Adrian spotted Sally hovering in the doorway and waved her in. He listened for another moment, then nodded. “Sally’s here, so I’ll let you go.” He pointed to one of his AirPods and mouthed, Theresa. Sally immediately smiled. Say hi for me, she mouthed back. “Sally says hi. She misses you.” Sally’s eyebrows shot up. She shook her head vigorously. Adrian listened, an amused expression appearing on his face. “No, she said she says hi. I say she misses you.” Another pause. “Fine. Give her a call yourself.” He chuckled, tapped his phone and pulled the AirPods from his ears. “Theresa says hi back. Says she misses you.” Sally dropped into the chair across from his desk. “See? Now we’re even.” Adrian set his phone aside. “How did the drive go?” “I’m alive. The Lambo didn’t bite anybody, and it kept me safe.” Sally laughed, still feeling some of the lingering excitement from the afternoon. “So I’d call that successful.” “Good.” Adrian lowered his feet from the desk and sat forward. “Tomorrow you and I will go for a drive.” Sally narrowed her eyes at him. “You want to drive it?” There was enough teasing in her voice to make Adrian smile. “If you’ll let me.” Sally leaned back, considering the enormous privilege she apparently held. “I’ll think about it.” Adrian laughed. -- The sun was already sinking behind the trees, laying long bands of gold across the water, and Sally had decided that her period was sufficiently over. There was never an official moment when she could declare it finished anyway. Eventually she simply stopped worrying about it. She slipped into her bathing suit and went outside, where the evening heat still hung over the patio, and spent twenty minutes doing lazy laps rather than anything she could honestly call exercise. She had even convinced her father to join her, which was rare. Adrian contributed very little to the athletic nature of the activity. He swam a couple of lengths before settling into a comfortable float, drifting near the deeper end while Sally continued back and forth at an increasingly leisurely pace. Eventually he stood, ran both hands through his wet hair and looked critically down at himself. “I need to get back to exercising. I feel flabby.” Sally stopped beside him and looked him over with exaggerated consideration. “Am I supposed to comment on that?” “Maybe some encouragement.” “Try Pilates. Old people like it.” Adrian blinked. Then he laughed. “Are you calling me old?” Sally shrugged and swam toward the edge. She planted both hands on the coping and lifted herself out, turning around to sit with her legs dangling in the water. “Almost sixty. I’d say it’s worth paying attention.” She gave him an innocent little wink. “I’m not almost sixty.” “You’re closer to sixty than I am.” “That is a remarkably useless observation.” Sally grinned. Adrian drifted closer to the edge. “Maybe I will. It won’t do to have a newborn son and an overactive teenage daughter challenging me.” “An athlete daughter,” Sally corrected, raising an eyebrow. Adrian considered the claim. “Jogger, tennis player, race-car driver…” “Exactly.” “Artist.” “That’s not a sport.” “Athlete and artist, then.” Sally flicked one foot through the water, sending a carefully calculated spray in his direction. “Hey.” Adrian raised an arm against it. “Respect your elders.” “See? You admit it.” He chuckled and caught the edge beside her. “Your painting was admired today, by the way.” That took some of the mischief from Sally’s expression. Her city painting hung in Adrian’s Brickell office now—the dark, rain-soaked cityscape broken by the bright colors of umbrellas moving through it. Sally had agreed to let him hang it there only after extracting a promise that he wouldn’t turn it into some proud-father exhibit. “I pretended I didn’t hear.” “I didn’t tell them who the artist was,” Adrian said. “Because you told me to keep it to myself.” “It isn’t signed for a reason.” “It’s signed on the back.” Sally smiled. “That’s our little secret. You know, and that’s good enough for me.” “Theresa and Jana know too.” “Need to know.” Adrian shook his head, amused. “The office is slowly getting some character thanks to you.” Sally looked across the pool, pleased despite herself. She had been helping choose artwork for both the Pembroke-Weiss Foundation and Weiss Enterprises offices, with Erika guiding her whenever Sally wandered beyond what she actually knew. It had become an unexpectedly enjoyable responsibility—browsing artists, talking with dealers, comparing pieces against spaces she knew, gradually discovering that selecting art for an office involved more thought than simply deciding whether she liked something. Her own painting was different, though. That one belonged to her father. Adrian pushed himself out of the pool and stood dripping on the stone. “I think I’ll get some dinner started.” Sally looked up at him. “You? Dinner?” Adrian gave her a mildly offended look. “I can cook.” “I know you can. That’s different from actually doing it.” He picked up his towel and draped it over his shoulders. “Go get comfortable. I’ll make something, and maybe we can watch a movie.” Sally immediately swung her legs out of the water. “Deal.” -- After a warm shower, Sally slipped into something comfortable and headed downstairs. Lounge pants, a soft T-shirt, bare feet. It felt good to have somebody else in the house again. She hadn’t realized quite how much the silence of the previous evening had bothered her until she came down the stairs and heard movement from the kitchen. Her father was bent over the oven when she walked in, peering through the glass. He straightened and looked at her. “You look comfortable.” “I am.” Sally wandered closer and sniffed appreciatively. “What’s in the oven? It smells… meaty.” “Pork ribs. They were in the fridge, vacuum sealed and already seasoned. Twenty minutes and they’ll be ready.” Sally understood immediately. She smiled. “Practical.” “Very.” “Are we having them…” She glanced around the otherwise empty counter. “On their own?” Adrian looked at her. “Care to prepare a salad?” Sally chuckled. “That sounds like a healthy compromise.” She opened the refrigerator and discovered that whoever had stocked the house had done so properly. There was lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, peppers, carrots and enough other healthy-looking things to absolve them of whatever nutritional sins were presently caramelizing inside the oven. “Housekeeping did their homework.” “Good enough for now.” Adrian settled onto one of the stools at the counter while Sally pulled out a cutting board. “We’ll be in and out for a while. Probably won’t be here permanently for another couple of months.” Sally nodded as she began chopping lettuce. Zurich was still home for the moment, particularly with Bridget and Oskar there, but there was something comforting about seeing the Coral Gables house gradually return to life. Food in the refrigerator. Her father sitting at the counter. Cars in the garage. Someone actually using the kitchen. She glanced up at him. “You look thirsty. Care for something? Be my guest.” Adrian smiled at being offered hospitality in his own house. “There should be a Pinot in the cooler.” Sally crouched in front of the wine cooler and searched until she found the bottle. She took out a glass for him as well and inspected the closure with some relief. Twist cap. Excellent. She had not yet mastered the graceful business of removing a cork without either wrestling with it or looking as though the bottle had personally offended her. She twisted it open and slid the bottle and glass across the counter. Adrian picked up the bottle and examined the label. “Marlborough. Not bad.” Sally stopped him as he reached for the glass. “Let it breathe first.” Adrian looked from the open bottle to his daughter. Sally maintained a perfectly knowledgeable expression. “You heard somebody say that once, didn’t you?” “Several times,” she replied with dignity, returning to her tomatoes. “That practically makes me a sommelier.” -- Sally ended up having a glass after all. Her father insisted. “You’re old and mature enough,” Adrian said as he poured a modest amount into her glass. “Making foundation presentations, participating in business meetings, driving a Lamborghini Aventador… I would think that qualifies.” Sally regarded the wine for a moment before taking a cautious sip. Then she reached for one of the ribs and breathed in appreciatively. “These ribs qualify.” Adrian laughed. They settled at the marble counter rather than bothering with the dining room, the salad between them and the platter of ribs occupying considerably more of Sally’s attention than the vegetables. It felt strange having dinner together at home in Coral Gables without Bridget there. Not bad, exactly. Just incomplete. Sally was accustomed to her mother being part of the domestic rhythm of the house, and even with Adrian sitting across from her, she could feel the missing presence. Adrian seemed to sense something similar. Before touching his food, he looked across at her. “You can say grace.” Sally nodded and bowed her head. “Thank you, Lord, for today, for this food, for everything we have, and please take care of Mom and Oskar. In Jesus’ name, amen.” “Amen,” Adrian echoed. The Pinot turned out to be excellent, and Sally praised the ribs perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “They really are good.” She pulled another piece of meat from the bone. “And you heated them perfectly.” Adrian gave her a dry look. “I know enough about heating food. I used to heat beans right in the can.” Sally paused halfway through a bite. She genuinely couldn’t tell whether he was joking. “The army,” Adrian explained. “And hiking trips. Easier to put the can right on the fire and wait.” “Dad.” “What?” “That sounds terrible.” “Trust me. When you’re hungry enough, it’s delicious.” Sally shook her head and returned to the ribs, deciding that the man who now had staff maintaining several homes had apparently survived a surprisingly primitive culinary past. Dinner continued in easy fragments of conversation, the sort that didn’t require either of them to carry it. They talked about Bridget and Oskar, Sally’s morning at the foundation, Adrian’s meetings, Morgan and the Lamborghini, and eventually the practical question of when they were going home. “We return Friday,” Adrian summarized. “I have meetings tomorrow and Friday at the office. You can stay home tomorrow morning. I’ll come back in the afternoon, and we can go downtown for dinner. Somewhere special.” He took another sip of wine. “Friday, the plane leaves just before eight. PM.” Sally blinked. “Wow. That’s a late departure. Usually we’re in the air earlier than—” She stopped. Something clicked. “Wait.” She stared at him. “We’re flying… commercial?” The word came out with enough genuine alarm that Adrian immediately smiled. “I’m sorry. The crew is off on holiday, the G is undergoing major maintenance, and Theresa couldn’t arrange a last-minute charter home.” Sally caught herself and chuckled, suddenly aware of how appalled she had sounded at the prospect of traveling with the general population. “I guess I’ll survive,” she murmured. Adrian shrugged. “Swiss First is nothing to sniff at.” “I know.” Sally picked up her wine and took the last sip, fighting a grin. “The caviar is excellent.” Adrian stared at her for a second. That did it. Sally broke into a laugh. There was something deeply ridiculous about sitting barefoot at the kitchen counter eating reheated ribs while discussing the hardship of flying first class to Zurich. Adrian shook his head, amused, and pushed himself away from the counter. “I don’t know about you, but I know about me. I’m going to put on something comfortable. How about some television?” “Sounds good.” Sally began gathering the plates. “I’ll clear the dishes.” For once, there was nobody hovering nearby to do it for them. Sally found that she rather liked that. -- Sally woke to the sound of her early alarm and immediately resented it. For several seconds she lay perfectly still, staring into the darkness and wondering why the person she had been last night had been allowed to make decisions for the person she was this morning. Today was her day off. She had nowhere to be. Nobody expected a presentation from her, there were no meetings waiting, and she deserved to sleep for as long as she wanted. She rolled over with a groan and reached for her phone. The room was still dark, although she knew that wouldn’t last long. By the time she actually got outside and started jogging, the Miami sunrise would already be catching up with her. Her diaper was wet, but not soaked. Sally registered it with considerably less emotion than she once would have. The Pinot had probably contributed, even if she’d only had one small glass, but there was little point conducting an investigation. She had worn protection, it had done its job, and she was comfortable enough with that reality to leave it there. She procrastinated for several more minutes on principle before finally throwing back the covers. “All right.” The soft bedside light came on. Sally padded into the bathroom, washed her face, cleaned herself up and changed into her running clothes. By the time she pulled on her bright orange tank top and shorts, tied her hair back and headed downstairs in her socks, she had progressed from miserable to merely sleepy. She blinked when she saw lights already on below. Her father was up. “Morning, darling,” Adrian called softly from the kitchen. “Coffee?” Sally followed the smell toward him. “Just a sip.” Adrian poured a little into a cup for her. He was considerably farther along with his morning than she was, already dressed for work with his blazer on and his attention periodically dropping to his watch. Sally accepted the coffee and leaned against the counter. “Maybe you should come out with me. Get those bones moving.” Adrian surveyed his daughter—the running shorts, orange top, cotton socks and still-sleepy expression—and smiled. “Maybe we can plan something.” Sally narrowed her eyes over the cup. “Plan what?” “Something.” “That sounded suspiciously noncommittal.” “It was intended to.” Sally grinned and took another sip. “What time are you coming back?” “Lunch. Maybe a little after. I’ll keep you posted.” Adrian checked his watch again. “I’d have you come to the meetings, but this one is far enough along that you’d spend most of your time trying to reconstruct context everybody else already has. After the holidays, I’ll set aside some time and bring you into it properly.” “Sounds good.” Sally finished the small amount of coffee and left the cup by the sink. She sat on the foyer bench to pull on her running shoes, then began stretching while Adrian disappeared upstairs briefly and returned with his bag. They went outside together into the coolness of the early morning. Adrian headed for the garage and opened the M5. “We need to get these cars moving,” he said. “They’ve been sitting too much. We’ll take the others out for a short drive this afternoon.” Sally nodded. Between the BMW, the Porsche, Bridget’s Mercedes and everything else packed into the garage, simply keeping the cars exercised had apparently become another household responsibility. “Deal.” Adrian climbed into the M5 and backed out. Sally stood near the driveway and waved as he pulled away toward Solano Prado. The big BMW departed almost silently. Sally watched it for a moment, mildly offended by the sight. Electric mode. All that engine, and her father was leaving the neighborhood like a golf cart. She shook her head, stepped out toward the street and started at an easy jog. Her legs protested for the first few strides, still not entirely persuaded that getting out of bed had been the correct decision. Then her breathing found its rhythm. Ahead of her, the sky was beginning to brighten through the palms. Sally kept running. -- “Hey, kiddo.” Theresa’s voice came through the speaker, and Sally immediately smiled. “Hey, Theresa! How’s Zurich?” “Hot as hell. Literally.” Theresa almost seemed to apologize for the language. Swearing had never come naturally to her. Sally laughed. “That hot?” “The lake is practically steaming. I’m beginning to think Switzerland was falsely advertised to me as an alpine country.” “How’s Miami?” Sally asked. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” “Same temperature. But beautiful.” “That’s because Miami admits what it is.” Sally settled more comfortably, enjoying the familiar sound of Theresa’s voice. “I heard yesterday went well,” Theresa continued. “Both meetings. Elena briefed me on the first—unofficially, of course. Your father was delighted with the second. He said you played the heiress role excellently.” Sally frowned slightly. “I didn’t do anything. I just listened.” “And that was all you had to do. Pay attention. Get your feet wet. Learn who talks, who decides, who actually knows what they’re talking about.” Sally smiled. “Dad said something similar.” “He occasionally has useful insights.” “What are you up to?” “Coordinating meetings with your father when Jana lets me.” Theresa lowered her voice theatrically. “She watches constantly over my shoulder.” “Let her. She’s doing a great job.” “She is,” Theresa conceded. “Taking some of the workload and babysitting me through the hospital visits.” Sally’s tone softened. “How’s it going?” “Slow progress. It’ll continue for another month or so, then they evaluate everything again.” “I’m glad you’re doing it.” Sally hesitated. “I miss you when I go jogging.” There was a brief pause. “I’m slowly getting some jogging done.” Sally immediately brightened. “You are?” “Mostly walking at a quick pace and mixing in short jogging stretches. Taking my age into account, I can’t complain.” “Theresa, that’s wonderful! And you’re only thirty. Thirty is not old.” “Almost thirty-six,” Theresa corrected. “Still not old.” “No. I suppose not.” Sally could hear the smile in her voice. “But yeah. Progress.” “We should start doing it together.” “Yeah, right. I trot along at my dignified rehabilitation pace while you run circles around me like an eager puppy.” “I’m not a stray puppy.” “I didn’t say stray.” Sally rolled her eyes even though Theresa couldn’t see her. “We’ll find a way,” Theresa continued, her humor softening. “Just let me get used to myself again. Let my back stop nudging my subconscious every five minutes and threatening me with a wheelchair.” Sally’s smile disappeared. “Theresa, what do you mean?” “Nothing dramatic. Psychological stuff, mostly.” Theresa was quiet for a moment. “A broken back heals, but your head takes longer to believe it. I thought I might never walk again, kiddo. Now I’m trying to run, and part of my body seems offended by the idea. Like it had already negotiated early retirement and I changed the contract.” Sally pressed her lips together, wishing suddenly that this were a video call. “Well, good for you,” she said softly. “You’re my hero.” “Thanks, kiddo.” Theresa let the seriousness sit for only a moment before moving on. “Now tell me about Rachel. I heard you two met.” Sally chuckled. “My driver-slash-bodyguard-slash-chef-slash-sort-of-friend.” Theresa went silent. “Chef I don’t understand. Friend I do. It’s you, after all.” Sally laughed. “She drove past while I was jogging yesterday. When I came downstairs after my shower, she’d cooked me breakfast. Good breakfast, too.” “Really? She didn’t strike me as the proactively friendly type.” “You met her?” “We talked. Adrian arranged a meeting with the Miami team, and I helped give them some context. Very superficial, obviously, but enough to help them understand the assignment.” “Plus their own research,” Sally said. Theresa sighed. “Well, yes. If they intend to do their job properly, they’ll research you themselves.” “I think Rachel expected me to still be on crutches or something.” “She’s a sports physiotherapist. She’d probably notice your gait before she noticed what you were wearing.” Theresa paused. “Speaking of which, you should check out their gym. It’s an interesting place.” “I heard. Adam gave me an overview. You think I should go?” “Definitely. They do more than ordinary fitness programs. Personal training, conditioning, security training, self-defense.” Theresa paused just long enough for Sally to know something else was coming. “And they have a gun range.” Sally smiled. Theresa knew her too well. “Maybe I’ll have Dad take me. He could use some exercise himself.” “He could.” “Careful. I told him that this morning and practically called him old.” Theresa laughed. “Should I fit it into his schedule?” Sally laughed with her. “If you dare. But yeah. It would be cool to see him exercising for a change.” “I’ll see what I can do.” “Poor Dad.” “He’ll survive.” Theresa’s voice warmed again. “You have a good one there, kiddo. Behave yourself, and I’ll see you Saturday.” “Bye, Theresa.” Sally ended the call smiling. Saturday suddenly felt a little closer. -- After her conversation with Theresa, Sally had the day entirely to herself. She showered, pulled on cutoff jeans and a T-shirt, and decided that if she had nowhere to be, she might as well make herself a proper breakfast. Inspired by Rachel’s efforts the morning before, she fried two eggs and managed the delicate operation of flipping them over-easy without breaking either yolk. The toast came out perfectly on the second attempt. Sally guiltily discarded the first two slices, which had crossed the uncertain boundary between toasted and cremated, then watched the bacon sizzle while she sliced an avocado. Finally, curiosity overcame caution and she opened the jar of kimchi that had been sitting in the refrigerator door, alluring her every time she looked inside. She sniffed it. That was an experience. Sally tried a piece, considered it seriously, then took another. “Okay.” Apparently she liked kimchi. With a large mug of coffee beside her, she settled at the kitchen counter and dug into a breakfast that was considerably more elaborate than anything she had expected to prepare when she woke up. Eggs, bacon, avocado, toast and the surprisingly addictive kimchi disappeared steadily while morning sunlight filled the kitchen. By the time she finished, Sally could feel reasonably satisfied with how her day off had begun. She had gone jogging. She had eaten properly—Rachel would be proud of her, she imagined with a chuckle—and she had even squeezed in a video call with her mother and Oskar. That conversation had been slightly more investigative. Bridget was apparently in extra-motherly mode that morning, holding Oskar against her while tactfully extracting information from her daughter across the Atlantic. “Are you eating properly?” Sally had shown her breakfast. “Are you being organized?” Sally had turned the phone around and slowly panned across the clean kitchen as documentary evidence. Bridget had laughed at that, but eventually came the more careful question. “And how are your mornings?” Sally knew exactly what she meant. She had answered truthfully. Her mother had taken it well—not judgmental and certainly not alarmed, although Sally had caught the faint trace of concern in Bridget’s face as she listened with Oskar resting against her. It was enough to make Sally pull a face now as she stood at the sink finishing the dishes. Mothers. She rinsed the last plate and put it on the drying rack. Loading the dishwasher for a couple of plates, a pan and some silverware seemed ridiculous, and there was something satisfying about simply cleaning up after herself. She dried her hands and looked toward the garage. Now she had her cars to tend to. There was, admittedly, nothing that actually needed tending. They were spotless, maintained by people who knew considerably more about maintaining cars than Sally did, and she wouldn’t be back in Miami for at least a couple of weeks. Still, there was no reason she couldn’t inspect them. Particularly one of them. Sally smiled. Her enormous orange Aventador was sitting out there. She might go look at it. Just to make sure it was still orange, obviously. And afterward, perhaps she would head upstairs to the art studio above the garage. She hadn’t spent any real time there since coming back. Just for a look. With absolutely no intention of getting distracted for the rest of the morning. --

1. Don't leave your used nappies for too long before washing them. I wash every other day. 2. Take notice of oznl's recommendations - he generally knows what he's talking about. 3. The plastic in your plastic pants doesn't need much washing, as it doesn't absorb anything. The elastic does, so that needs a through rinse through daily. My regime is to have 2 pairs on the go, rinsing out in the sink each morning and hanging to dry until the next morning. 4. Avoid multi-layer nappies and soakers, unless you want to spend your life trying to get them dry again. I fold up terry baby nappies for soakers. 5. Line-drying is cheaper than using a spin-dryer, and is great for killing bacteria. It's not as discreet though, and doesn't work in the rain. 6. Snappis are great, but there are imitations around that probably aren't. I've not used the imitations but there are some poor reviews out there. True Snappis have the name on them and are made (I believe) in South Africa. Here in the UK they aren't currently on Amazon, but the Nappy Lady has got them. Get the larger size. 7. Make sure your nappy is closed up round the waist and each thigh so that you output has no free path to the outside world. It needs to have no other option but to soak into the fabric of your nappy. I use a Snappi at the waist and a pin at each thigh. 8. Make sure your nappy is always tucked into your plastic pants, so it can't wick into your clothes and onto the sofa or bedding. That means you've got to find pants that are wide enough in the crotch and rise, but with elastic that stays tight enough round your waist and thigh. That's a trial and error thing, so don't expect success straight off.  For what it's worth I wear Gary Euroflex pants from Llmedico - high waist and wide crotch. You'll be a different shape though. 9. Nine?  that's more than enough...  Good luck with it!

Happy birthday! I can barely remember my 60th, but it will have involved significant alcohol.