*****002:

Rafe did not stretch out on a lounge chair as might have been expected after a 10K practice run. He perched precariously on the end of a metal straight backed chair and indicated with a pat of his lap that he wanted me perched with him. Ben now ignored us in favor of whatever was in his envelope.

"This might be disturbing." He said with an air of mystery and theatrical flare that I found amusing and Rafe just grunted. "It's from the US copyright office."

Rafe sat forward, resting his chin hard against my spine. "Why do you have it? Is it a DMCA notice?"

"What's a DMCA notice?" I asked easily, not having any clue what it might mean.

Rafe stroked my hair to the side and found an interesting spot on my neck he hadn't kissed lately. Very like him--- especially to distract me when it was something important.

"I have it because Roger left a copy of it in the office next door and I happened to go in there looking for something else, and saw it in a pile, Rafe-- a pile! We need to hire a secretary over there, and it can't be the new sound tech that I just broke up with."

I bounced off Rafe's lap like a firecracker, okay, a slow burning smoke bomb, the kind that wriggle and stretch all over the place, but mostly curl around themselves. That's me, my stretching these days tends to look like I'm curling around myself. The point is I was shocked.

"What the freak are you talking about?" I shrieked with far too much emotion for the event. He hadn't really dated Antonia that long, maybe a few weeks. But she'd been perfect! What could have gone wrong? I'd arranged for her to join us in Montana a month ago. She was a sound tech—a good one! Rafe had hired her after I'd failed miserably at match-making with the LDS girl band (now broken up), Victorine Alissa.

I cupped Ben's cheeks with my palms, looking into his eyes for confirmation. Contrary to popular belief-- at least from the mega-green monster sitting behind me, I didn't care all that much about Rafe's jealousy-- I was absolutely secure in our marriage, and I knew deep down he was too.

Ben flinched away from me.

"Ben? What happened?"

"Another one bites the dust?" Quoting a Queen song. His eyes rose to meet mine and I let go of his face.

"Did she give a reason? Did she quit her job?" We'd just hired her, she'd gone on the gig with Axis just a few days ago. A few really trying poignant days, I might add. Did Ben, in his pain and sorrow, and whatever else was going through his pea picking scatter-brain-- did he somehow screw it up? Drive her away? What?

"She did give a reason, and it's rather private, and I'm not going to tell you, except to ask you to please quit match-making for me, and for you not to worry so much about me. I had a life before you guys, and I will have a life again. No, she didn't quit." He waved the envelope in the air reminding us of the important thing inside it that he was about to reveal in all its splendid glory.

I sat back down on Rafe's less than comfortable knees, trying to support my increased weight. He squished me back against him and burrowed his face in my neck and hair. I could hear him growl for good measure. If I looked I'd have seen slitted eyes assessing Ben's reaction to my concern.

"Yes, it is a DMCA notice and you'll never guess what else..." He waggled another envelope he'd opened and perused without us, probably something he'd found in a dreaded pile in the dreaded secretary-less office next door in their dreaded studio.

Rafe shook his head. "From who?"

"Victorine Alissa. Rowanne to be exact, and another from Chyma, and another from Victorine herself." He eyed Rafe's surprised expression with satisfaction. He liked to be the bearer of bad news at the moment. "She's suing for plagiarism and copyright infringement on four songs;  two we worked on in Montana, and two she says we lifted from her personal catalog."

"Her who?" Rafe hunched into my straight back, his hands now rubbing the baby belly fondly. "What songs did I supposedly lift from?"

"Songs of a Stranger-- five lines, and two chord sequences without permission, used from one of their songs I can't even pronounce. Gamble of Nothing-- ten lines, the whole chorus and the entire chorus melody line-- used without permission or collaborative license. Sleep in His Own Way-- the whole song, she claims was hers, and Justine lifted it before she could record it herself. Search For My Own-- four lines, the main chord sequence, and all the bridge work. She's claiming none of our works are sufficiently original to withstand copyright infringements. She claims she's got copyrights on all four songs, and they were stolen from her, and plagiarized."

He waved the papers for verification.

"I'm assuming that the papers you now hold are some kind of notification from a lawyer?" I said dryly, having not heard of any Act.

"It's the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, internationally accepted as the template for all copyright and plagiarism infractions," Rafe said low, by way of explanation-- I felt like Bones on Star Trek-- I'm a doctor Jim, not a Musician.

And I am a doctor, a darn good one too, just not practicing at the moment.

"Which she are we talking about here?" Rafe asked matter-of-factly.

"She who is Victorine. The others are riding her coat tails."

"Is this directed at Justine?" Our band bassist Jeff Knight had been married to Rhonda, the mother of his three children when I'd met him. I don't really know how happy they were or if there had been problems before I came on the scene. I rather thought so as Jeff spent an awful lot of time with Rafe and the guys, and maybe not enough time with Rhonda and the kids. And then he'd started investigating the church, my church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The Mormon church. Which by the way he was already a member of-- a childhood, child of record member. As were Rafe and Ben. He'd wanted her to join, she'd refused, and unfortunately they'd split up. Not good. And he'd met Justine (a former member of Victorine Alissa), and they'd fallen madly, deeply, in love. Now, they were actually engaged.

"I don't know. Justine quit the band—a band that was failing—to be with Jeff. So maybe." Ben seemed skeptical.

I don't blame him. It was more likely she'd seen the bucks these guys make and found a way to get in on the action. Just a few weeks ago—all right a couple of months ago—we'd had a money grubbing tassel of former beauty from a past life show up trying to foist her illegitimate son on Rafe. It turned out to be a false accusation we discovered after meeting with them. And the son, for a few heart-wrenching moments, had actually looked enough like Rafe to pull it off. Before finding out Besarion Darajan wasn't Rafe's son, we discovered the mother needed money. A lot of the crap leveled against these guys stemmed from money.

Rafe was shaking his head. "Well, we better get a good copyright litigator. Oh, we have one!"

I don't know the names of every person that works for and with Axis, Rafe's band. There is still a lot I don't know about the inner machinations of the music industry. However, I do know that Rafe is completely aware of all these proceedings.

Ben grunted. "I talked to Jen Athens, and she's assembling a team to look into it."

Rafe chin jerked to acknowledge he'd heard, and then nuzzled my neck. Was he reassuring me? Didn't want to trigger a blood pressure rise? I turned to him.

"What will the team do?"

He sighed, and I knew then, he didn't want to get into it, for whatever reason, probably sparing me-- maybe not just sparing me, but sparing himself. Rafe got bored with certain subjects really easily. His ADHD kicking in. I could feel his legs tightening under me. That meant his brain was already moving on to the next morning step. I felt him turn his attention toward the yoga rooms before he ever suggested it.

He valued my support, though, and would definitely answer my question. "The team will go online and check out the similarities, and the dates and they'll get copies of all the contracts and collaborator licensing. It'll all get checked and then they'll advise us, and then if necessary, they'll go to court."

I nodded, listening, but his breath on my neck had elicited other responses and caused my mind to be divided between his calm, reassuring, and very mechanically instructional voice, and his shivery, sexy administrations.

Ben considered this. I saw his eyes lose focus as they wandered out over the sunrise horizon. One good thing about living at the beach was the diverse sunrise colors and the salty smell of something other than LA pollution.

Our backs were to the Pacific, but I closed my eyes as Rafe softly cuddled me against the morning breeze, and listened to the waves crashing on the shore not fifty yards away. Both of us loved the ocean. Both of us were avid users. It soothed us, excited us and caused a deep spiritual relief as we connected to it. We'd discussed moving inland-- there were ranch style houses (meaning single story sprawling vista style) for sale in Malibu Canyon, or Carbon Canyon, which is closer to where we currently reside, but the thought of leaving the surf caused both of us undue anxiety, so yeah-- no.

I loved the ocean, I would never leave it intentionally or permanently, even with our burgeoning family on the way-- which by the way I am about to introduce you to the monsters. Here they come with their fearless nanny in tow.

Rafe was spared any more unnecessary instructional data imparting by the advent of our three adopted children. I got up and opened my arms to first Virgil, then Felicity and then Rein.

I am not allowed to lift any of them, even three-year-old Rein, newly potty trained and newly speaking English and Spanish coherently. That was hard for me, but the older two respected that I was on special doctor's orders and understood why. If they needed cuddling, we all had to lay on the bed.

Rafe lifted our littlest guy, raspberrying his tummy, and working up those hard-won smiles of his. Virgil, all business, at six, expected us to hurry up and dispense with the casual greetings and head down to yoga. Abbie stood with her hands on her slim hips watching the scene fondly, but with that exact same expression. It was clear that Virgil got some of his OCD-like tendencies from her. Ha-ha! Schedules must be made and kept. Period.

Poor Virgil. It sucked to live in a household where the parents thrived on easy going lack of scheduling at the moment. That all changed as soon as the day got going. A source of real confusion for the kiddos.

Felicity had her screw top straw cup containing her own smoothie in hand and sat in her own Princess lounge chair with her flip flop clad feet up as she drank. She'd allowed me to give her a gentle kiss and hug, but she too had her morning routine, and you didn't mess with Lissie too much before about nine. If we were a coffee drinking family, Lissie would be a two cup a morning gal. Her eyes took in the scene, Rein getting smashed against Rafe's mouth, the squeals, the farty sounds, the presence of Ben.

Virgil cleared his throat importantly mimicking something Rafe had started doing to get everybody's attention, and we all turned respectfully to see what he wanted. The unofficial administrator of the family. He'd taken to leadership instantly upon arrival, and spiritual leadership above all. I think the idea of the gospel in his life was stabilizing to him after the trauma he and Rein had gone through before their adoption.

He ran a hand through his now short very thick, very dark hair, and his eyes were the color of brown that reminded me of bitter dark chocolate, like a Dove Chocolate Mini—they even glittered in reflected light. They could harden with distrust that had been his heartbreakingly abusive early childhood or soften with the slightest bit of warmth melting love and longing. Now they rose expectantly, his need for routine overwhelming.

Rafe put Rein on his shoulders and Abbie took this as the sign that we were going to have morning prayer. It was time for Rafe to take the leadership reins back from little man now standing with his arms folded peremptorily across his chest, this mimicking a known Rafe stance that Virgil had adopted.

"I'd like to welcome everyone out to our morning devotional. Who wants to say the prayer?"

All three kids raised their hands, it being a race to see whose hand could be up first, and who could get chosen. They hadn't yet caught on that Rafe's choices were not arbitrary, but sequential. We simply went in order from oldest to youngest around and around in a circle. I knew today would be Rein's day. Rafe curled the little dude around his shoulders and settled him in his arms. They both folded crossed arms over their chests and bowed their heads, and then since it was Spanish day as well Rafe helped Rein say the prayer in Spanish, his native tongue.

"Dear Heavenly Father, we thank thee for this day, we thank thee for our family, and our friends, and Uncle Ben. We thank thee for our house....." You'd have to have heard this prayer. It went more like this:

Rafe: We thank thee for this______."

Rein: "Day."

Rafe: "We thank thee for our ______."

Rein. "Family."

Rafe: "And our__________."

Rein: "Friends." Eyes opened and peeked at Virgil who was standing, legs spread like Rafe's, arms crossed like Rafe's. He seemed a little impatient, but very precise.

Rafe: "And our__________." The eyes remained open and he looked around for inspiration. I'd heard big long lists of things in view; the sun, the couch, the TV, blankets, the bed, etc.

Rein: "Uncle Ben."

I saw Ben's eyes crinkle in amusement. 

Rafe: "Help us to_________________."

Rein: "Eat food."

Rafe: "Help us to feel_________________." Rafe was fishing for the right words, words like feel the spirit which we'd been trying to teach the kids.

Rein: "Happy."

Rafe: "And help us to feel the_________________."

Rein thought about it, realizing Rafe was looking for something in particular. His eyes searched Felicity's who was still drinking her smoothie unashamedly, having not grasped the whole concept of being respectful during a prayer, however she was the one who would exchange places with Rein and demand absolute perfect obedience when it was her turn.

No help there.

Rein: "Puppy."

Even Rafe cracked a smile behind Rein's dark little messy head. We hadn't had the guts or desire to cut his pretty little curls yet. And we didn't have and weren't getting a puppy!

Rafe: "In the name of_______________."

"Amen!" Rein pronounced triumphantly, and Rafe didn't quite let him go, even though everyone looked up expectantly.

"In the name of Jesus Christ, __________________."

"Amen!" Rein proclaimed again with a wide grin as he wiggled to get down and race back into the house and down the stairs for his favorite yoga time. It was a tremendous achievement to us that in the three and a half months we'd had him he'd gone from a barely toddling, barely speaking, red-rashed, bow-legged, cry-baby to this race around flash of frenetic energy completely responding to the love and care in our home.

Virgil reversed step smartly and stalked to the sliding doors, past Abbie who ruffled his hair to keep him a kid longer than he seemed capable of. He smoothed it without looking at her as he made it to the stairs. He was one extreme little kid.

And then there was our spoiled rotten little diva. Her black as night raven's wing brows arched up expectantly, challenging either one of us to cut her sipping short.

Rafe is not a big one for delay, nor for explaining the obvious. It was time for yoga, she'd dilly-dallied long enough, and she obviously knew it. She pulled her gold spandex covered little legs up and crossed them at the ankles, looking like she was digging in her heels for the fight. Some mornings it was a fight, but today, Rafe acted like he was going to go in without her-- when in actuality, he scooped her up, crossed legs and all, the drink went flying, which was what he intended, and he raspberried her tummy too, as she shrieked and squealed in mock surrender. She was far too feisty of a child to let it be with that and put out her arms to brace herself against the doors on their way inside.

I watched as Rafe turned sideways, and maneuvered them both down the stairs, her kicking and screaming in a halfhearted attempt at a whine. 

I allowed Ben to pick up the broken sippy cup, shaking his head, and we followed them back inside.

*****