Trading Post

I do it every night 

As for staying asleep, I found an OTC sleep aid made by Unisom that helps keep me asleep for 8 or more hours, and sometimes lasts into the morning. I only take it if I don't have to get up early and function in the morning the next day...

From a final Costco run and cheap pizza with her mother to a Gulfstream G700 waiting at Opa-Locka, Sally’s journey to Bible camp feels less like summer camp and more like a strange, luxurious pilgrimage. With her father insisting on taking her all the way to the hills of West Virginia, the trip becomes a quiet adventure of contrasts—private aviation and warm croissants giving way to a rented black Toyota Corolla, Subway meatball subs, winding Appalachian backroads, and the slow realization that anonymity can be a gift. Between teasing her parents about their suspiciously convenient Zurich escape, hiding her own quiet anxieties about camp, and watching Adrian Weiss transform from billionaire executive into the surprisingly competent driver of an “authentic American road trip,” Sally finds herself crossing more than state lines. By the time the wooden sign for Lick Run Bible Camp appears through the trees, she knows she isn’t just arriving at camp—she’s stepping into something new.   Chapter 179 – Off to Camp At least Sally had one last drive to write down in her logbook before disappearing into the hills of West Virginia. Shopping with her mother had turned out to be far more productive than she had expected, and considerably more entertaining. Sally was driving, naturally. Bridget sat beside her in the Mercedes wagon like a queen conducting state affairs, sunglasses on, one hand resting over the gentle curve of her stomach, entirely at peace with letting her fifteen-year-old daughter chauffeur her around Miami. They had merged onto the Palmetto Expressway when Bridget casually reached into her bag and pulled out a membership card. Sally glanced sideways. Then looked again. Then fully turned her head for half a second before remembering she was operating a moving vehicle. “You have a Costco membership?” Her tone carried the kind of disbelief usually reserved for discovering royalty did their own laundry. Bridget, without a shred of shame, held the card up like evidence in court. “Yes.” Sally blinked. She tried to maintain a straight line on the road, though the revelation had clearly shaken her understanding of the family structure. Her mother, of all people. Costco. Bulk shopping. Industrial quantities of paper towels. It was almost too much. “Your Highness may say what she likes,” Bridget muttered with exaggerated offense, adjusting the card back into her purse, “but Costco is excellent value.” A pointed look. “And one buys in bulk.” “Socks? In bulk?” Sally raised an eyebrow. “And underwear,” Bridget replied without hesitation. That made Sally laugh. Then, with perfect maternal timing: “Now stop being smart and pay attention at the wheel.” “Yes, ma’am.” She had, however, been forced to admit defeat once they were actually inside. Costco was impressive. Terrifying. But impressive. Everything was enormous. Cereal for a small nation. Olive oil in biblical proportions. A level of toilet paper preparedness that suggested societal collapse was imminent. And somehow, it all made sense. Now they sat at the little food court table outside, plastic trays between them, cheap pizza and oversized sodas completing the strangely perfect suburban ritual. Sally stared down at the slice in her hand like it was a philosophical question. “$1.99 for this?” She took a bite. Chewed. Paused. Then nodded slowly toward her mother. “Pretty good.” Bridget, deeply pleased by this moral victory, sipped her Pepsi with the quiet satisfaction of a woman whose worldview had been validated. “I told you.” Sally shook her head. “I feel like I’ve been humbled by wholesale pricing.” “Growth is beautiful.” They ate for a moment in easy silence, watching carts roll past and families navigate bulk economics like it was an Olympic sport. Then Sally leaned back slightly, brushing a crumb from her jeans. “So.” She gave her mother a suspicious look. “What are you planning in my absence?” A pause. “More Key Lime Pie?” Bridget calmly wiped her lips with a serviette. “Your father is taking me to Zurich.” Sally nearly choked. “He what?” Her voice was sharp enough to turn a nearby head. Bridget laughed softly. “Zurich.” She said it with the calm of someone announcing a weather update. “I had my doctor’s visit. She was very pleased.” Her hand rested unconsciously over her stomach. “She said if I’m going to travel, now is the time. Before I’m too far along.” Sally stared. Still processing. “You’re just…” She gestured vaguely. “Leaving?” Bridget nodded serenely. “Your father insists.” Another small smile. “I, personally, plan to do absolutely nothing except rest.” Sally frowned harder. “So you take advantage of my absence and simply disappear to Switzerland?” A pause. “Just like that?” Bridget gave a small, elegant shrug. “Just like that.” Then, with the kind of smile only mothers could weaponize: “I’ll bring you a postcard.” Sally groaned dramatically. “Oh, I hope you bring a lot more than a postcard.” Bridget lifted one eyebrow. “Says the daughter who is about to embark on a spiritual pilgrimage to the hills of West Virginia.” She took another sip of Pepsi. Sally pointed her pizza slice like legal evidence. “That is completely different.” “How?” Sally opened her mouth. Paused. Closed it. Then sighed. “I don’t know. It just is.” That made Bridget laugh. Sally finished chewing, her mood softening. After a moment, quieter now, she admitted: “I miss Zurich.” Her voice surprised even herself. She looked down at the table. “I wouldn’t mind stopping by myself.” Bridget’s expression changed. Softer. Warmer. “We will.” She said it simply, like a promise already decided. “Maybe soon enough.” A small pause. “We’ll take Oskar.” Her smile deepened. “And introduce him to Switzerland properly.” That made Sally smile too. She could see it. Her baby brother. Snow. The lake. The old streets. Her father pretending not to be emotional. It felt right. She nodded once. “Deal.” -- In the end, her father took her all the way to camp. Not just to the airport. Not to the private terminal. All the way. West Virginia. Which, in Adrian Weiss language, meant he had decided something and informed everyone afterward. Sally stood in the garage with one hand on her suitcase and looked hopefully toward the Porsche. “Porsche?” Her tone carried just enough optimism to suggest she already knew the answer and was choosing denial anyway. Adrian, standing beside the dark blue BMW M5, shook his head once with immediate practicality. “You’ll destroy the rear seats with this suitcase.” Fair. Sally looked down at the suitcase and had to admit defeat. She had chosen the largest one she owned. Not because she was dramatic. Because Bible camp, apparently, required the packing strategy of a military relocation. Clothes. Hoodies. Jeans. Extra socks. Sleeping bag. Flashlight. Bible. And, packed discreetly inside a smaller duffel bag tucked carefully to one side— diapers. Enough for every night, plus extra. Because she had learned. Hope was lovely. Planning was better. She believed in contingencies. Adrian pressed the button and the electronic trunk of the M5 lifted smoothly. He reached for the large suitcase first, lifting it with the calm resignation of a father who had long ago accepted that women packed like they were preparing for border collapse. The suitcase slid in with surgical precision. Barely. The M5, for all its glorious horsepower and executive menace, was not built around luggage capacity. Adrian stepped back, studied the fit, and nodded once. “Acceptable.” Sally folded her arms. “The Porsche would have been a statement.” “The BMW is responsible.” “The Porsche is joyful.” “The Porsche is unavailable for your overpacking.” Before Sally could continue her legal argument for German sports car usage, Bridget appeared from the house. Soft linen dress. Elegant as always. Pregnancy now impossible to ignore, her movements slower, gentler, her whole presence somehow softer without losing any of its strength. Sally’s expression changed immediately. Some part of her still noticed it every time. Her mother looked like motherhood and power had somehow decided to occupy the same body. Bridget stepped forward and opened her arms. “Goodbye, baby.” The hug was careful now. Not fragile. Just different. There was a geometry to it. Awkward in the sweetest possible way. Sally hugged her gently, aware of the roundness between them, aware of the strange miracle of her little brother existing right there in the middle of the embrace. “Have fun,” Bridget murmured near her hair. Then, with that quiet certainty she always carried: “And God bless you.” A small pause. “Say hi to Charlie.” That made Sally pull back just enough to look at her suspiciously. “You know entirely too much.” Bridget smiled like a woman who had access to information networks beyond mortal understanding. “I’m your mother.” Which explained nothing and everything. Sally rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Bye, Mom.” Then, more pointedly than usual: “Have fun in Zurich.” Bridget caught the tone immediately and smiled with complete shamelessness. “I will.” Sally narrowed her eyes. “I noticed.” But then Bridget reached for her hand again, softer now. “I’ll miss you.” That quieted all the teasing. Sally opened the passenger door of the BMW, then turned back before getting in. She looked at her mother standing there in the warm Miami morning light. At her father by the trunk. At home. At all of it. And smiled. “Me too, Mom.” A smaller voice now. “Really.” -- Sally hadn’t been in the Gulfstream for ages. Not since everything had changed. Not since flights had stopped being simple and started carrying memory with them. Walking into the Opa-Locka FBO beside her father, oversized suitcase rolling behind her and duffel bag slung over one shoulder, she felt that strange mixture of familiarity and distance, like returning to a place that used to belong to another version of herself. Then she heard the voice. “Miss Weiss. A sight for sore eyes.” Captain Henderson stood waiting with that same calm, steady warmth he always carried, as if no amount of wealth or aviation could strip a man of basic decency. His silvering hair was perfectly in place, his uniform immaculate, and yet there was nothing stiff about him. Sally smiled instantly. She abandoned all formal intentions and simply stepped forward to hug him lightly. “Hi, Captain.” She stepped back, looking up at him. “Where are we headed to? Because I seriously doubt there’s an airport next to Bible camp.” Captain Henderson chuckled. “Pittsburgh.” He nodded once. “Close enough for you to drive the rest of the way.” Before Sally could reply, Adrian cleared his throat beside her. “There is an airport in Morgantown,” he said, in the tone of a man who had of course already researched every possible landing option within a hundred-mile radius. “But Pittsburgh has better facilities.” A pause. “We’ll rent a car there and drive.” That made Sally blink. She raised an eyebrow slowly. A rental car. Her father. She said nothing, but the thought alone was enough to entertain her for at least twenty minutes. She could hardly imagine Adrian Weiss standing at a rental counter discussing insurance waivers with a man named Brad. The thought nearly made her smile. At the base of the stairs to the gleaming G700, more familiar faces waited. First Officer Lars Gruber stood beside flight attendant Nitaya, both smiling in that genuine way that made Sally wonder if she was treated like royalty or simply like family. Maybe both. “Too many flights ferrying executives,” Lars said warmly as he shook her hand. “It’s a treat to have you on board.” His smile widened. “Much better than the legal team.” Sally laughed. “I was about to say the same thing.” Beside him, Nitaya stepped forward with all her usual elegant enthusiasm. “Miss Weiss, welcome on board.” Her voice always sounded like good hospitality should. “It will be a short flight, but we’ll make sure you enjoy it.” Sally smiled warmly. “Thanks, guys.” A softer note entered her voice. “I’ve missed flying with you.” That was true. More true than she expected. Her father placed a hand lightly against the middle of her back, steering her gently toward the stairs. “We need to get going,” he murmured quietly as they climbed. Sally glanced sideways at him, lowering her voice dramatically. “You’re just jealous they like me better.” Adrian, without missing a step, replied: “Maybe.” Then, dry as ever: “I think they’re simply bored to death flying our legal team around the world. They can be a spectacularly dull group of people.” That made her laugh under her breath all the way into the cabin. The G700 felt exactly the same. And completely different. Soft cream leather. Polished wood. Quiet luxury so familiar it no longer announced itself. The front captain chairs were waiting, and Sally slipped into hers automatically, that specific seat already hers in memory if not in ownership. It was too early for lunch, thankfully. She hadn’t really eaten breakfast at home. A quick bowl of cereal barely counted when emotional goodbyes and parental Porsche debates got involved. So when the smell of warm, baking croissants drifted from the galley, she nearly sighed out loud. Now that felt like civilization. Ahead, Captain Henderson and First Officer Lars moved through pre-flight checks with calm precision, their voices low and practiced as systems were verified and confirmations made. Sally, seated in her front chair, pretended not to be listening while absolutely listening. She loved it. The order. The ritual. The discipline of it. There was something deeply satisfying about professional competence performed well. Across from her, Adrian was already absorbed in his laptop, reading something that probably involved markets, acquisitions, or the collapse of lesser men. Nitaya appeared like divine intervention. Without interrupting anything, she placed a small tray beside Sally. Fresh croissants. Butter. Jam in a little glass jar. Coffee. Real coffee. Not survival coffee. Proper coffee. Sally looked up like someone being handed emotional support. “Thank you.” Nitaya smiled knowingly. “Fifteen minutes, Miss Weiss.” The warning was gentle but firm. Eat now or prepare for aviation disappointment. Sally obeyed immediately. She split the croissant open, spread the jam with unnecessary concentration, and took the first bite. She closed her eyes. Heaven. Across from her, Adrian had done exactly the same. Father and daughter, both mid-croissant, both fully aware of the sacredness of good pastry. They looked at each other. And smiled. No words needed. This, Sally thought as the engines prepared beneath them and the polished quiet of the cabin wrapped around her, did not feel like a Bible camp trip. This felt like the beginning of a diplomatic mission. Or an executive retreat. Or perhaps a suspiciously luxurious pilgrimage. Certainly not Bible camp. And that, she thought while taking another perfect bite of croissant, was a very weird feeling indeed. -- The flight was shorter than what Sally considered a proper Gulfstream flight. In her mind, a real G700 journey involved time. Time to settle. Time to eat far too much. Time to stretch out on the sofa with a blanket and pretend she was not technically crossing state lines in what amounted to a flying penthouse. Possibly even time for a nap. This one had none of that. No sooner had she finished her second croissant, her coffee, and a detailed cross-examination of her father regarding his suspiciously convenient Zurich trip with her mother, than Nitaya appeared with the quiet authority of someone who controlled both hospitality and federal aviation compliance. She lifted the empty coffee mugs and plates with graceful efficiency. Then she leaned slightly toward Sally. “Seat belt, Miss Weiss,” she whispered. The tone was gentle. The meaning was absolute. Sally sighed dramatically. “So this is how luxury ends.” Nitaya smiled. “With excellent landing procedures.” Fair enough. The descent into Pittsburgh was smooth, the kind of landing that made you forget you were moving at all until suddenly the runway was there and the world was solid again. By the time they stepped into the FBO terminal, Sally had already begun mentally preparing herself for the unpleasant theater of rental car counters. Bright lights. Tired people. A man named Greg explaining optional insurance. Her father trying not to look like a man who owned a private jet while waiting for a midsize SUV. Thankfully, they were spared. The concierge at the private terminal greeted Adrian with professional enthusiasm and the kind of posture that suggested he had been briefed thoroughly. “Mr. Weiss, your rental car has already been delivered.” Excellent. Then the man hesitated. Actually faltered. His confidence visibly wobbled. “I’m afraid there may have been some mistake, sir.” He lowered his voice slightly. “They dropped off a Toyota Corolla.” Sally looked down immediately to hide her face. Because if she made eye contact, she was going to laugh. Adrian, meanwhile, remained perfectly calm. He nodded once. “That is what I asked for.” The concierge blinked. Adrian continued, like this was the most rational thing in the world. “It will be all right.” The look the poor man gave him was so perfectly stunned that Sally felt it deserved preservation. A photograph. An oil painting. A place in family history. She bit the inside of her cheek heroically. Outside, parked modestly and with absolutely no emotional support from horsepower whatsoever, sat the black Toyota Corolla. Sally stood beside it with her backpack slung over one shoulder and stared. Then slowly turned to her father. “Fancy wheels.” Her voice was solemn. Adrian unlocked the car. “Would you prefer to waltz into Bible camp in an orange Lamborghini?” Sally shook her head so fast it was almost violent. “Absolutely not.” “Good.” He loaded the luggage into the trunk with the efficiency of a man who had planned every detail three weeks ago. As Sally climbed into the passenger seat, still trying to process Adrian Weiss voluntarily selecting a Corolla, she began to understand. This had all been intentional. Not laziness. Strategy. Discretion. The man was running a stealth operation. As Adrian started the engine, he spoke almost casually. “You know, there are already a number of people wondering what Adrian Weiss’s Gulfstream G700 is doing in Pittsburgh.” Sally felt that immediately. Of course. Even landing here created noise. She looked out the windshield, suddenly aware of how visible invisibility could be. Adrian pulled onto the road. “Now,” he continued, voice even, “imagine what would happen if it had landed in Morgantown, West Virginia.” He let the silence sit. No need to explain. Sally nodded slowly. She understood. The Gulfstream itself would have become an event. A story. A rumor. The girl arriving at Bible camp would no longer be a girl. She would be spectacle. Adrian finally said it aloud. “We would probably be the talk of the town.” Sally leaned back in her seat. “Yeah.” She didn’t want that. Not there. Not for this. For a few minutes, they drove in easy silence, Adrian following the GPS with the kind of concentration that suggested he trusted satellites only slightly more than he trusted strangers. Eventually they merged onto I-79. Long road. Open sky. American highway unfolding ahead like a promise. Adrian visibly relaxed. He set the cruise control exactly at the speed limit, hands easy on the wheel. Then, with complete seriousness, he announced: “There.” A pause. “This is an American road trip.” Sally turned toward him. He lifted one finger. “Rented car. Check.” Another finger. “Open roads. Check.” Another. “American trucks. Check.” He said it in such perfect imitation of her own voice that Sally burst into laughter. “That is rude.” “It is accurate.” She laughed harder. The road stretched ahead, wide and simple. Green hills. Long lanes. Trucks the size of small governments. It did, somehow, feel like a road trip now. She smiled and settled deeper into the seat. “We’re just missing music, Dad.” Adrian made a grand gesture toward the center console. “Be my guest.” -- Sally was, for once in her life, genuinely grateful for the invention of radio. Or, more specifically, satellite radio. The Toyota Corolla, humble little road warrior that it was, turned out to be surprisingly civilized. Between satellite radio and the fact that Adrian had already paired his phone to the Bluetooth system with the grim efficiency of a man who refused to be defeated by technology, they managed to have both music and GPS instructions functioning at the same time. This, Sally felt, was progress. She leaned forward over the center console with the seriousness of someone performing surgery, scrolling through stations while Adrian drove with the concentration of a man navigating both unfamiliar roads and his daughter’s judgment. “No. No. Absolutely not. No.” She skipped three stations in a row. Adrian kept his eyes on the road. “You are surprisingly hostile toward modern pop music.” “It sounds like sponsored anxiety.” “That is… oddly specific.” “Thank you.” Eventually, she landed on country. Of course. Soft enough to sit in the background, warm enough to belong to the landscape. Perfect. By the time they took the Morgantown exits, the music was low, almost part of the scenery itself, and the world around them had changed completely. Miami was gone. Pittsburgh was behind them. Now there were rivers winding beside the road, green hills folding into one another, and long stretches of trees that made Sally think of every American movie ever made involving coming of age, personal revelation, or suspiciously meaningful campfires. It looked like the kind of place where people either found God or learned to fish. Possibly both. She watched the hills roll past and smiled. “This looks like somebody filmed every Appalachian movie here.” Adrian nodded slightly. “Probably cheaper than filming in Switzerland.” They followed a narrow, snaking road alongside a massive cement plant that rose out of nowhere like some industrial fortress dropped into the wilderness. Towering silos. Steel. Smoke. Then suddenly it was gone, and the highway disappeared back into trees and winding back roads. Single lanes. Sharp turns. Deep green everywhere. Traffic existed just enough to reassure them civilization had not ended, but mostly it felt like they were being led somewhere by faith and GPS alone. Sally looked at the navigation screen. “Are we sure this isn’t how horror movies begin?” Adrian remained calm. “If we see children standing in cornfields, we turn around.” “Excellent. Good policy.” Eventually, after enough turns to make her lose all sense of direction, they reached a small town. Not picturesque. Not charming. Just… real. Industrial lots. Trucks. A place where people clearly worked for a living and did not spend much time discussing organic olive oil. Adrian glanced at the dashboard clock. “We should have lunch.” He slowed slightly as they drove through the main stretch of town. “I don’t think camp opens before two. They said check-in starts then.” Sally was already pulling out her phone like a field operative. “On it.” She scrolled with great seriousness. Anywhere. Anyplace. Something edible. Preferably something that would not become a story later. Outside the window passed a lot full of parked cars. Then a lot full of stacked industrial pipes. Then another place that appeared to exist exclusively for the purpose of moving gravel. Sally frowned. “This town believes deeply in concrete.” Adrian gave a quiet hum of agreement. She kept scrolling. Then— “Subway!” She pointed like she had discovered civilization. Adrian repeated it slowly, suspiciously. “Subway?” Sally nodded. “Sandwiches.” She gestured vaguely. “Sort of healthy. If you have imagination.” A beat. “They don’t taste bad.” Adrian frowned the way only a Swiss man raised on standards and structure could frown at the phrase sort of healthy. “Fast food,” he sentenced, as the green sign came into view. Sally kept scrolling dramatically. “It’s this or pizza.” She looked up. “Choose your fighter.” Adrian sighed like a man being cornered by democracy. “Subway it is.” Sally smiled victoriously. “American road trip, remember?” She pointed at him. “Rented car. Open roads. Questionable lunch decisions.” Her tone turned solemn. “This is cultural immersion, Dad.” Adrian chuckled under his breath as he pulled into the parking lot. “Okay.” He switched off the engine. “American road trip.” Then, glancing down at himself: “I am leaving the blazer in the car.” Sally nodded approvingly. “Excellent choice. You already look too trustworthy for Subway.” That made him laugh. And for some reason, standing in a random West Virginia parking lot outside a Subway with her father, Bible camp suddenly felt much closer. -- Sally coaxed Adrian toward the one unoccupied table near the window, tucked just far enough from the center of the restaurant to feel private. “Sit,” she instructed, pointing with the confidence of someone who had clearly decided she was in charge of this operation. “I’ll order for you.” Adrian looked at her with that expression that always sat somewhere between amusement and suspicion. “You’ll order for me.” It was not quite a question. Sally nodded solemnly. “Yes. Trust the process.” He pressed his lips together, fighting a smile, then gave a small nod and sat. “Very well.” As he lowered himself into the plastic chair of a West Virginia Subway, Adrian Weiss had the distinct feeling that no amount of boardrooms or acquisitions had prepared him for this moment. Sally headed for the counter, hoodie slightly damp at the shoulders from their quick run through the rain, dark hair loose, scanning the overhead menu with sharp concentration while waiting her turn. Adrian sat back and quietly took in the room. He could feel it immediately. Not staring. Not rude. Just the soft, instinctive acknowledgment people gave when they noticed someone clearly not local. He wasn’t dressed badly—quite the opposite—but there was something about him that didn’t belong to small-town West Virginia. Even without the blazer, there remained the posture, the watch, the quiet self-possession of a man who negotiated things larger than sandwich menus. A few people glanced. A few looked away. Perfectly normal. His phone became a useful shield. There were emails waiting. Three messages from Theresa. One from Elena. A short update from Bridget that simply read:   Do not let her arrive hungry.   Which, Adrian thought while glancing toward the counter where Sally was now debating bread choices with unreasonable seriousness, was a command already well underway. A few minutes later, she returned balancing a tray like a victorious hunter returning from the wild. “Voilà.” She set it down with satisfaction. Wrapped sandwiches. Chips. Two large drinks, one of which Adrian strongly suspected was Coke. She pushed one sandwich toward him. He looked at it. Then at her. Then slowly unwrapped it like a man defusing an unfamiliar device. His eyebrows rose. “Meatballs?” Sally was already opening hers. “Same as me.” She pointed at him with her sandwich. “Just watch.” Then, with absolutely no elegance whatsoever, she opened her mouth wide and took a determined bite. Adrian watched. Paused. Then followed suit. He bit into the sandwich with the careful dignity of a man trying not to be defeated by lunch. He chewed. Considered. Then nodded once. Appreciatively. Sally, already halfway through her first bite, smiled triumphantly after swallowing. “See?” She leaned back. “Not bad.” Adrian took another bite, more confident this time. “Not bad,” he admitted. Which, from him, was practically a Michelin star. At another table nearby, a girl around Sally’s age had clearly noticed the whole exchange. She smiled faintly, amused by the obvious father-daughter dynamic playing out over meatball subs. Sally caught it and smiled back with a small shrug that seemed to say yes, this is my life too. The moment passed easily. They ate mostly in silence after that. Comfortable silence. Sally let her eyes wander around the restaurant. A few local workers on lunch break. A mother with two daughters sharing fries. Two older women deep in conversation. Friends. Routine. Middle-class America unfolding around her without performance. She wondered, not for the first time, how much they stood out. Probably some. Her father certainly did. And she… maybe more than she liked. The Miami sun had changed her. She carried it now in her skin, a warm tan nobody had any right to display in rural West Virginia in early spring. Naturally pale, she had spent most of her life looking like someone designed for Connecticut winters. Now, there was color. Visible. Harder to hide. Unless she wore long sleeves. Thankfully, the cool weather helped. The rain too. Their black Corolla was respectably streaked with road grime now, which she found oddly reassuring. It looked less like an airport delivery and more like they had actually driven somewhere. Her hoodie was still damp from the short run through the parking lot. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the streets remained wet in that gray, in-between way. Not enough rain to wash anything clean. Just enough to loosen the dirt. The kind of weather that made everything look slightly more honest. By the time they finished, Adrian gathered the wrappers and empty cups without comment, stacking everything neatly onto the tray with the same precision he probably used to review contracts. Sally watched him. “You know,” she said, “you’re alarmingly good at being normal.” He placed the last cup down. “I contain multitudes.” She laughed softly. He stood, lifted the tray, and carried it to the holder with quiet efficiency. No drama. No billionaire aura. Just a father cleaning up after lunch. A quick stop at the bathroom. A hand wash. A final check that they had not forgotten phone, wallet, dignity. And soon enough, they were back in the Corolla, heading once more toward Bible camp. -- It took longer than Sally expected. At first, the drive had still felt like travel. Roads, exits, gas stations, the occasional truck stop that looked like it had existed since 1974 and refused to apologize for it. But the farther they drove into West Virginia, the more the world seemed to narrow. The highways became roads. The roads became winding roads. And eventually even those gave up the pretense of civilization and turned into narrow ribbons of asphalt carved through endless green hills. Traffic thinned. Then almost disappeared. The double yellow center lines faded away, until at some point Sally noticed they were simply… gone. Now it was just road. Trees. Sky. Curves. And faith in the GPS. She sat quietly in the passenger seat, watching the landscape change around them. This was not Miami. This was not Austin. This wasn’t even Connecticut. This was older somehow. Quieter. The kind of place where silence felt natural instead of expensive. The kind of place where people probably still knew their neighbors and remembered your grandmother. Adrian drove with the calm patience of a man who had accepted surrender to geography. “Still alive?” he asked after one particularly sharp turn. Sally blinked. “Debatable.” He nodded. “Good.” A few minutes later, the first wooden sign appeared. Lick Run Bible Camp White paint. Green letters. Slightly weathered. Simple. Real. Sally sat up straighter. There it was. No turning back now. Another sign followed farther ahead, confirming they were still on the right road, and finally the trees opened enough for the camp entrance to appear. Adrian turned in slowly. A wide parking lot stretched before them. Mostly empty. Only two other cars sat there, parked with the quiet confidence of people who had arrived before everyone else. Adrian glanced at his wristwatch. “Half past two.” Sally straightened unconsciously in her seat, suddenly aware of everything. Her hoodie. Her hair. Her suitcase. Her existence. She looked around carefully. The main building stood directly ahead, practical and welcoming, probably administration. Beside it stood a larger building with bigger windows and a broader porch—likely the common area, dining hall, or both. And beyond that, through the trees, she could make out several cabins tucked into the woods, connected by paved little pathways that disappeared between the pines. It looked exactly like Bible camp should. Almost suspiciously so. She half expected someone to emerge carrying a guitar and a life lesson. Adrian parked beside the other two cars and shut off the engine. Silence settled inside the Corolla. Neither of them moved immediately. Then the front door of the main building opened, and a man stepped out into the afternoon light, already waving. Sally exhaled slowly. “Showtime,” she muttered. Adrian stepped out first. Sally followed from her side, backpack over one shoulder, trying very hard to look like a normal girl arriving at camp and not like someone internally narrating her own social collapse. The man approached with the easy warmth of someone who had spent years making nervous teenagers feel less nervous. “Welcome,” he called. “I assume you’re here for camp?” “Yes,” Adrian said smoothly. “My daughter, Sally—” He turned slightly, hand motioning toward her. The man looked at her, thinking. Then recognition clicked. “Sally Weiss.” Not a question. A confirmation. Sally nodded. “Yes, sir.” Adrian extended his hand. “Adrian. I’m her father.” The man shook it firmly. “Pastor Ian.” Then immediately smiled and waved it off. “Actually, only Ian is fine. We’re not at church.” That helped. Immediately. His whole presence did. Friendly without being overly familiar. Warm without being invasive. The kind of person who made rules feel safe instead of threatening. “Why don’t you step inside?” They followed him through the front doors and into a simple but welcoming hall. Wood floors. A reception desk. Bulletin boards. The faint smell of coffee and industrial floor cleaner. Camp. Real camp. Not curated camp. Better. Ian led them into a small office just past reception, papers already waiting on the desk like proof that organization existed even in the wilderness. “Can I offer you some coffee?” He was already moving before either of them answered. “You’re actually the first to check in.” He smiled over his shoulder. “Renée’s already here—she’s our camp nurse. Oh, and Monica too, but she’s a veteran. She could probably run the place if I disappeared.” Sally smiled faintly. Ian kept talking as naturally as breathing. “It’s a small camp. Thirty campers total, plus staff.” He paused. Then corrected himself. “Well, volunteers, really. But if we call them volunteers, nobody takes instructions seriously, so we say staff.” That made Adrian smile. Ian leaned casually against the desk. “This is a soft opening year, so we’re doing something a little more intentional. Discipleship camp.” His tone softened. “Not the biggest. Not the flashiest. But personal.” A small smile. “Not the best, maybe. But the chosen.” He spread a hand. “So… welcome to camp.” And somehow, Sally believed him. She already felt less like she was arriving somewhere strange and more like she had been expected. Ian picked up his phone. “You might as well get the official part over with.” He glanced at Sally. “Renée interviews every camper. Short health check. Routine stuff. While your dad signs papers and pretends he enjoys paperwork.” Adrian gave a dry nod. “A lifelong passion.” Ian grinned. “You cool with that?” Sally nodded. “A little lost, but yes.” “Perfect. That means you’re doing it right.” There was a knock at the still-open door. A woman stood there with a clipboard in hand. Short. Stocky. Probably mid-thirties. Short black hair, sharp professional posture, and the kind of face that managed both kindness and competence at the same time. She looked at the clipboard first. Then at Sally. “Sally Weiss.” Her voice was calm, efficient. “Pleased to meet you.” She offered a small smile. “Shall we?” She gestured lightly toward the corridor. And just like that, the real beginning of camp had arrived.  

Metamucil x2 tablespoons and one tablespoon  whole ground psyllium husk 1 tsp ground flax seed.  Twice a day with as much water as you can handle and eat 3 meals per day.   You will be popping like a machine.  Do this daily for your health.  

I do not spend all that much on diapers although I wear 24/7. When at home and through the weekend I use cloth diapers my diaper of choice. When out and about I wear disposables attends they are about halfway decent. In general I use two disposables per day and one or two cloth diapers. I think I’ll spend some 50 euro’s per month on diapers, needless to say I have some washing to do and frankly I have no idea what it costs.