(My apologies for brief drunken journalling. Pathetic is an easy, easy role for Bridget to slip into.)
We went to the beach Saturday. White sand and freshwater north of us on a pretty lake and that's where Jacob takes me when I want to see a lot of water. Like a fish or a mermaid in danger of perishing if she dries out. It's one of the places we run to now, having found it on an exploration drive one morning while we were staying at the cabin we used to borrow.
Jacob gave the kids some swimming lessons and then we ate lunch from the picnic basket and I turned onto my stomach to read and sunbath for ten minutes or so and the kids proceeded to bury Jacob in the sand. They squealed and howled with laughter as he kept pretending to sneeze and half come out of the pile they had made on him.
I turned onto my back and put the book down and closed my eyes for a minute.
There it was.
My imperfect perfect.
That was it. A belly full of potato chips and a cucumber sandwich, sand in my pop and a borrowed copy of The Husband to read. Pink toenails courtesy of Ruth and a flash of blue bikini as she ran past with a bucketful of water to throw on Jake, who is bronzed perfectly with a hint of pink, muscles etched like a Greek statue in his brown board shorts. The only time his beard looks uncomfortable or out of place is here but he keeps it because he knows I like it. Henry was busy beside me digging a Big Hole, he told me, and asked if there were any cookies left. Or maybe watermelon.
I heard Jake's cellphone ring and I picked it up and it was nothing more than a wrong number. A nice change on the weekend.
I sat up and decided a quick swim was in order and before I could step in the water Jacob ran over and scooped me up and ran straight out and dumped me in the surf. I felt warm skin and then ice cold water and I screamed into a laugh and he laughed too and pulled me back close to him.
A wet kiss and a huge smile.
Perfect.
We came home a bit early to seek shelter from the sun and make some supper and the kids were asleep before 8. Then Jacob made us an electric lemonade. The alcohol hit me rather quickly thanks to drinking it so fast and the large doses of drugs. My head spun and I flipped out. I figured he'd be mad. I didn't know what I thought. He made the damned drink for me.
I went outside to clear my head and stumbled into a chair. I drank water and tried to wait it out but I was upset and tired and not able to deal with it. After a few harsh words I decided I'd just go to bed, having ruined such a nice day. Jacob blamed himself and followed me, trying to get me to stop. I missed the top step and fell forward and he caught me and we collapsed in the upstairs hall in a clumsy embrace.
Where I realized I wasn't the only one who had too much sun and too much alcohol.
His hands were so rough. He flipped me over onto my stomach and pulled off my underwear and slid his hands down around my hips and I fought with him and wound up with my head pressed to the boards while he did what he wanted to do anyway. I didn't get into it until the bitter end and he gathered me up off the floor and managed to pull the quilt off the bed and we collapsed onto the sheets in a sober embrace, ruined and forgiven and exhausted, sunburned and spent. He fell asleep mid-apology, knowing I didn't fault him for his brief abrasiveness. He fell asleep with me locked in his arms the way he should and I didn't fault him for his possessiveness either.
Because I don't. I don't fault him for anything anymore.
Sunday morning began awfully early for the sunrise service in the park but Jacob was on a roll. I was right, he did miss sermonizing, but he says not enough to return except occasionally. I expect when he is older and retires from teaching he'll make a most spectacular return. Of course, thinking ahead he could also quickly turn his back on all kinds of conventional careers and become an adventure travel guide in China. Nothing would surprise me with Jake. Nothing. I've come to expect the unexpected.
We went out for breakfast and then returned to church for the late-morning smaller summer crowd and then the day was ours again and we headed out for our family climbing workshop. The kids had a blast this time, being a lot more familiar with their gear and the people.
I collected $120 in cash for my weight gain and endured all kinds of jokes about cake and running and taking money from friends. Ben made his exit until our neighborhood is snow-dusted and winter has us in an icy grip once again. PJ did indeed stay for supper and Jacob and I have spent a lot of time talking about boundaries and feelings and control and overrides and difficulties and pulling rank on each other and partnerships too.
He never would have let Caleb in the house save for him feeling as if I would think he was trying to control me and oh, what a lovely mess we have to sort out in therapy today. Being married to Jacob is like living with a control freak who makes a huge effort to not appear to be a control freak. He admits this freely.
It's one of the least of our worries but we persevere. We work on everything.
*(The title is nothing more than a charming set of directions I read this morning, in perusing the real estate listings. We're selling the cottage but not some of the land. I'll write more about it when I can do it in a less-homicidal fashion.)
