On Weston's left cheek was a kiss, blood red, and it was so much more then that.

It was the first time Weston had been invited behind the solid wood doors of Granpappy's study; that heavy barrier that separated the Covanger boys from the men. It wasn't age that opened those doors, he had older relatives that'd never been past them, if they were striving to? They smoked outside - hoping their wives could accomplish in the Kitchen what they couldn't on their own.

Weston leaned back in his plush leather chair where he sat just behind his father, the outer edge of the room. He sniffed his glass of bourbon, sat his smoldering cigar down in the crystal bowl to his right - felt the silk of his smoking jacket against his neck, a reminder of their wealth, the opulence hanging in the room as heavy as the smoke.

Of course when they were done the jackets would come off and just the man remained, the source of that wealth:

Covangers.

And if you could also peel away the man as easy as the jacket, if you could look beneath and see the secrets of generations of success, what made it all work, you'd see a code. Granpappy's Words. A list of edicts the Covanger's lived by. And there was one rule - one word - above all the rest.

Family.

"Fast thinking, Weston." His Uncle, Mayor Covanger praised him again as an aside, sharing a summary of the events, what else he'd learned - to give Weston a nod, a toast - and Weston raised the glass to his lips to disguise the grin that pulled, a toast in return to his uncle's ability to take the information and use it.

"They are working to uncover the cause - we don't have a total number of fountains but there appears to be thousands within the US alone. There hasn't been any damages or deaths, though a few people remain trapped in the light that hasn't become a fountain yet. Until they can figure out why they can't be photographed, they're attempting x-ray and other measures to determine..."

That Weston was still dazed from the events - the President. The President. Had apparently received a briefing of the events Weston had outlined, that his family had been able to take Weston's unique position during the event and capitalize on it - it'd opened doors for them, for him, put them right in the center of the most important matter gripping the world.

'They see emergency. We see opportunity.'

If only Hickory hadn't failed...just plain water at theirs, an anomaly. No hallucinations from those who'd drank, nothing remarkable, which was probably fortunate for his sake.

Mayor Covanger continued, "Currently there is an 'investigate, but wait and see' mindset amongst leadership. They are cautious of the overall religious undertones, and top scientists believe it is tech based but far beyond our current capabilities. Most State Governors have activated the Guard with plans to quarantine, though how they legally plan on doing so, and rather there will be religious push-back remains to be seen, Oklahoma plans to install cautionary signs but leave no permanent guard and..."

Weston had left school almost immediately after Hickory ran off, headed straight here where the rest of the family was already gathering and working to understand what was going on - not realizing what dinner would hold -

A Covanger dinner wasn't just food - of course the food was important, everything was. But there was so much more to it, that he'd been training for this his entire life and still felt unprepared.

His family had rewarded him. Bourbon. Tobacco. His pick of steer from the family stocks, a parcel of land for him, a house, a full herd and two trusted hands to work it - his stomach was full from steak and his ears still buzzing from all the praise. And all that was just window dressing...

Once more Weston felt the desire to feel his cheek because his true reward? He kept reliving that moment, there at the family dining table - him sitting next to his mother for the last time, though expecting to for years still - when his Grandmother's shadow fell across his plate - her hands on his shoulders, her voice jubilant and vibrant and warbling in excitement, loud enough for nearly seventy people to hear:

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"And with the whole school, the whole town - like a bunch of headless chickens, Weston is just there - talking to the Mayor, the Governor, all these people - don't ask me to name them, I'm a Woman, there's only one important man in my life, but Weston," Grandmother bent down, and Weston felt the wetness stamp his cheek - that mark, and before if he'd thought he was rung out? - couldn't feel any more emotion - for days, weeks. But that bright red symbol of his elevation? It was like experiencing every accomplishment of his life, again, all at the same time, "Our Weston proved he was a Man."

Weston nearly blushed, remembering, a Man, already - and on his cheek was proof. But he forced his attention back to the Study -

"Martial law will freeze prices," Weston's father, a lawyer, offered his legal advice, "We'll want to use our reserves to pursue the military contracts when the Guard gets activated, the civilian sector is going to be nothing but problems, we should get ahead of it now or the margins will be crushed between."

Food and Oil. That was Covanger Coin. And his family members lounged and shared their various expertise and opinions, their seats and positions only seemed to be random, seemed to be causal - if you weren't paying attention. But if he wasn't paying attention he wouldn't be in here now -

A Grand Uncle added, and more voices shared their purpose, their plans:

"Rents will probably be locked any day as well, we'll raise them now, nobody will be moving with the uncertainty - cut whatever fat we can, then put another incentive up for our people so we can expand our operations and lock in the labor rate."

"This is our chance for mineral rights, we'll have the redskins over a barrel," A cousin said, "They've over leveraged themselves with that casino, they'll be panicking and nobody will be gambling for months."

"Tell me what you think, Weston." Grandfather said and every voice in the room was snuffed out, all the attention turned as that scoped gaze sighted Weston in. The bourbon rippled in Weston's hand as he felt all the wet joy suddenly desert his mouth, every eye turned, some sharp and dangerous, others mocking or hopeful, his father's hard and full of expectation -

"I don't know, Sir." Weston said quickly.

Grandfather didn't say anything but Weston could feel the rattle, the venomous rebuke as though he'd stepped in the entirely wrong place and realized - quick, quick, Not know, what do I think? Not business - he wouldn't ask me, he knows I'm not experienced - I think, I think - this shit is fucking crazy! We're possibly talking about Angels or Aliens or Something, here - and nobodies saying anything - nobodies addressing the elephant in the room.

"But...I think we need to know exactly what happened to Cory Schaffer." Hickory. Weston said it with a cracking voice, and like the moisture in his mouth, the very air of the room seemed to be sucked out by the spring of Grandfather's chair as he slowly leaned back, staring at the ceiling, that iron groan -

"Yes." Grandfather nodded - and Weston saw his father raise his own glass quickly to his mouth, to cover a smile?

"Yes." Grandfather repeated, the springs now relaxing as he leaned forward and allowed the room to breath again, soft murmuring, echoed assent -

"Go drink, Weston." His Grandfather said followed by the sound of a glass shattering on the stone floor, his father reaching for an expletive instead of a towel.

Grandfather hadn't meant bourbon.

"Yes, Sir." Weston nodded, standing up he took in the rooms expressions, from smug to his father's barely disguised fury. Weston raised up his glass of bourbon and knocked it back without a grimace, turning to the wall, he finally allowed his face to flash a perplexed expression - the voices rumbled behind him as he unbuttoned his smoking jacket.

Crunching glass, his father's hands on his shoulder, the smallest squeeze - as the jacket was slipped off and he walked out the thick double doors without looking back.

They thudded behind him.

Not locked. Because once opened...

From the Kitchen he could hear laughter, the sound of wine glasses clinking on granite, the light jazz where the women were having their own caucus, though one far more nuanced, far more complicated - Dangerous?

If the men handled the Business?

Weston saw his reflection in the window on his way out the door, saw again, the Kiss. He'd been careful not to touch it ,less it smudge the lipstick, it was his permission to enter the Study. It was more than approval, more than respect, more than wealth...it was also a reminder.

Weston needed a wife. And if he was going to go anywhere in this family, he needed a good one. And if he wanted to be more than a Covanger? If he wanted to be the Covanger?

Weston needed the best...he needed May.

She was brilliant - sophisticated, subtle and talented to the point her beauty was almost an afterthought. The entire town knew her, loved her - the entire congregation worshipped to her music. Weston felt he needed May before the event. Knew she wanted to wear his ring - knew she was worthy of the name -

Covanger -

The problem was - to 'Go drink' meant so much more...