Okay so camp isn't so bad after all.

It turns out the camper has a few leaks, and we discovered this at three this morning when the heavens opened and rain began to pour in sheets from the sky all around us, but also down one wall indoors.

Lochlan saved his chargers. Um, yay?

We ran to the garage (holyyyyyy rainnnnnnn) and decided to crash with August (lights on, still up) and that is how all three of us got our sharing badges first. I may not be able to read a fucking map but I can read men.

(Besides, do someone a favour and they will return it so we'll have some help today waterproofing that one wall we somehow missed.)

Let her fail (Also lunch was grilled cheese on the barbecue! So good!)

Are you all packed?

I am.

Show me.

You first.

He gives me that half-smile, that one that makes me want to rip my clothes off and throw them to the floor. God. Kill me now so this is the last thing I see.

He picks up his backpack and unzips it. It contains a couple of neatly folded outfits, his chargers (which is funny but he never doesn't pack them first) and a blanket. He's got another big beach bag with towels, food for a few days and two huge water bottles, plus sunscreen and bug spray.

He picks up my bag, and opens it, next to his. Inside is a tub of sour soothers, my dogeared copy of Practical Magic and a flashlight, my favorite hoodie (Breaking Benjamin pullover, XL, from the Dark Before Dawn tour when I finally got to see them live and cried the whole time holy fuuuuuckk) and two cans of Margaritas. Because campfire drinks. Oh, and fifteen packets of Mystical Fire. Because I like my fire pretty like my boys.

Lochlan laughs. This is exactly what I expected.

Right?

You got the Devil in there somewhere?, he says quietly.

No. He doesn't fit and he's not an appropriate type of baggage for this trip.

I am rewarded with a wide smile. What are you going to wear?

I put my arms out. Bikini underneath, I confirm and he nods.

Yes. Nothing has changed since 1980. So here's your actual bag. He pulls out my backpack. Inside is three outfits (I get an extra to every two of his because I was traditionally, historically messier), my chargers and a hat.

He never ever forgot a hat, even if it meant I was stuck wearing his green baseball hat, ponytail pulled through the hole which would be on the smallest setting and still way too loose.

Nice.

You're welcome.

THANK YOU. Also what's for lunch?

You'll find out after the morning's activities.

Which are?

Orienteering. You have to find camp first.

It's at the camper. Right at the end of the-

No, it's a treasure hunt. There are more things along the way to make our time fun, and you have to find them all to make your way to camp.

Oh! Awesome! Will you help me?

Maybe.

Just say warmer or colder when necessary.

I can do that, Peanut.

I can't wait.

****

They placed bets. I did not pass orienteering on my first try. Or my second.I found nothing. On my third attempt, when tears of frustration threatened to ruin the entire summer before I even made it to camp, Ben stepped in and gave me the world's fastest lesson on map reading. HUH. He yelled things like TURN IT OVER. NOW PUT IT SO THE COMPASS IS IN THE TOP LEFT. JESUS BRIDGET. HAHAHAHAHA.

SHUT THE FUCK UP BEN-

AH! You don't get badges if you indulge in profanity, Bridge. Lochlan's laughing so I don't even know if he's serious.

I'm going to call my mom to pick me up. I threaten, trying to hold my ground. The one I don't know where it is.

 Your mom?

PJ!

No, I've gone to Europe for the summer. Sent my kid to sleepaway camp. No phones. She'll be fine. (PJ yells this from the pool deck where he is watching me with amusement, along with everyone else.)

For FUCKS SAKES-

How about we learn orienteering during free time?

Because free time is SUPPOSED to be FUN-

I'll make it fun.

Like this?

I didn't think you were still THIS bad at finding your way with a map, Peanut.

When would I have had a chance to get better? I point out. Can we have lunch now?

We can. And maybe over lunch we'll have that first lesson, then. I think I'll scale back some of this week.

You guys do everything for me, I complain. You're the worst offender! I remind him.

Christ, someone's hangry, PJ says under his breath.

Don't you have somewhere to be? I ask PJ. Rome? Paris? Warsaw?

Warsaw?

Whatever!

The Farewell For The Summer visit.

What are you thinking about? His voice startles me. I am watching the clouds. He has the best view. Same one as the children. Out over the endless sea. I'm jealous but I also love my bathtub. His ensuite is small and perfunctory. There is a huge walk-in shower made of fucking granite but no bathtub. A bathtub will always be a dealbreaker for me. I need one.

We had a tub that hung on the back of the camper and Lochlan could take half a night to fill it with water boiled on the fire but he did it at least once a week for me. And then when the water was cold I would finally leave. He would add another few pots of hot water and then take a bath too. Never with me, back then, sadly, because the tub was small. It was a tin trough with handles. He barely fit in it alone. The water would slosh up the sides if he exhaled and I would laugh and laugh. But we were clean on the road and not many people can say that.

(Mainly it was to check for ticks. Once a week. Because it was the eighties and we lived on the edge of what, I'll never know).

I think I earned my Bravery badge.

Caleb frowns. I don't want you to feel afraid with me.

Don't lie to my face, Diabhal. I cajole him mildly. You thrive on your power trips.

Correction: I thrive on attention from you.

The negative attention after you-

Neamhchiontach. Let me enjoy this rare Sunday morning. The sun is fighting to come out, I don't have to go listen to Sam's deep doublespeak and I have the most beautiful woman in the world in my arms.

Fine. If you put it that way.

What made you come back?

Same reason I hit the cookie jar.

I'm sorry?

Craving something that's bad for me.

He laughs gently. Happy to be lumped in with your beloved cookies.

I think you're way worse for me.

Probably. I'm stupidly happy I got a spot in summer day camp though.

Yeah, I don't know about that. You'll probably be with a different group.

Why's that?

It goes by experience.

Oh, it does?

Yes and those who camp by first driving to MEC in their Audi and dropping four k on gear they don't know how to use but it looks cool are in the first group.

He doesn't say anything but then after a moment in a very quiet voice says, I look cool though, right?

It was the best answer he could have given to my smartass comment.

Yeah, you look pretty fucking cool, I whisper. He pulls me underneath him again and that's the end of the talk about camp and Sam and cookies and I can't see the sun anymore but I don't care.

Camp is expanding for 2020. Stay at home, kids.

The three boys are back (it was too soon to travel and not a great-great experience but a nice change of scenery, apparently) and as they all look in on our preparations for summer camp they all want in. Camping under the stars! Themes? Carnival food? Crafts and activities and badges and campfires?

Who the fuck wouldn't-actually don't tell me, I don't want to know them.

I have a feeling there might be a nearby camp they can go to, though. It's not a sleepaway camp but it's a luxury resort with a sauna, pool and outdoor kitchen. There is salt or fresh to swim in and the fridge is stocked and you can watch the campers from your lounge chair but they'll be too far away to interrupt you with any noise or anything.

During mermaid week you can probably meet the campers as they have the pool booked for several dates and maybe others too. One of the badges is Sharing (DON'T LAUGH) and we always did well with that (STOP LAUGHING I SAID) so by the end of the summer I'm pretty sure camp is going to be crowded.

Caleb is packing. He has been found room for for day camping only. And we have room for Ben for night camping only but this also depends on the mosquito sitch because he does not fit in the camper at ALL which is a travesty because sometimes I want to stuff him in it and close and lock the door and then he'll always be right there and I like that.

Duncan said he's only interested in one week and we all said NO at the same time which was funny. I'll change my mind later on that probably though because campers get homesick and need familiar surroundings and my boys are my familiar surroundings but I'm still really excited.

Really really excited.

Also Gage is not weird now that he's back. Thank God.

Forgot to wear rainproof eyeliner. Didn't forget to pick up some wine.

Packing for camp. Only the warmer but not the too-warm nights will be spent at the camper, or as we see fit. Lochlan said to bring that green bikini and little else. I feel like he might have his theme weeks mixed up but then again, I think I could start a fire in that bikini.

I'm also bringing a huge bottle of Advil because I have a killer headache. No sleep. Too hot. Stuff on my mind. Excitement about camp. The usual. You know. The Devil asked if he could come to sleepaway camp.

No, I said. Your mom should have preregistered you like...last spring. It's too late now.

Oh, he said, looking dejected. What if I didn't know about it?

Maybe next year, I offer helpfully. If there's room.

Holy fuck (burning for two).

Wearing cut off denim shorts and a t-shirt that reads I WISH YOU HAD SUBTITLES today, green bikini underneath. It's sunny and it will be warm though I will spend half of today ferrying my kids to their jobs hopefully with little overlap. Then I'll cook dinner and crash because I think if I got even five minutes of sleep last night I would be profoundly surprised.

Caleb walks into the kitchen, reads my t-shirt and laughs out loud, uproariously.

That's a good shirt.

It is.

Where did you find it?

John bought it somewhere online for me.

It's great. Honestly.

I smile at him. He's stopped being weird and is either resigned now or has opted to continue to ignore his fate. I think he's ignoring it, personally but as the day goes on we'll find out for sure. For now I am busy reading the white board. One side is chores, doubled down because three of us are away and so the chores are divided up, as they sadly don't take vacations, and the other side is (in Lochlan's handwriting)...

Theme weeks for summer camp.

Eight of them.

This is great:

1. Camping camp (skills for the woods)
   
2. Animal camp
   
3. Mermaid camp
4. Space camp
   
5. Circus camp
6. Circus camp2 (extended to a second week by popular demand)
7. Sexy camp (adults only XXX)
8. Extended longplay camp
   

ALL WEEKS ARE MANDATORY FOR BADGE COLLECTION SEPT 1st.

There are badges?!

I'm in!

Midway (between spring and fall).

Ooh. Lochlan put up the post last night, in the rain. It's a telescoping flagpole with a magnificently sharp edge in order to be able to drive it deep into the ground and it expands from three feet to twelve. It's got an eye hook at the top and a line in order to fly a flag but he always used to it to string up the tiny flickering bulbs from our camper door to the post and then to the back of the camper where he would attach them to the ladder so we would have a triangle of front yard on nice evenings.

Oh, how I love him.

I say flickering because they were finky. He ran them off an old car battery that he would charge while we drove, piggybacking on the trucks electric, hoping for the best. Those lights flickered like his dreams, he always said, and it made me sad.

We have power out by the camper now, but just for those lights. Actually for all the lights and if you need to run the lawn tools out by the fence, since I love corded lawnmowers (I don't but it's been at least 10000 days since I ran over a cord). PJ and Ben dropped a shielded cable all the way to the fence gates so that I would have lights going down the stairs and also for power to the boathouse but that was years ago.

When the grass dries Lochlan will spread out the three huge tapestries that we use as outdoor flooring. Yes, he still has them, though the camper is seven generations new, at least.

I really, really love this man.

I'm so excited. When I told him it was due to be the quietest summer ever he immediately made plans. A rotation of corn dogs, funnel cakes, cotton candy and caramel apples, lemonade and snow cones (we have a cotton candy machine and a snoopy sno-cone maker). The lights lining the house and grounds are not to be turned off from here on out, until Labour Day, and he said I can be chucked off the cliff at least twice a day for 'rides' as we still can't get a permit to add a Ferris Wheel or a Carousel to the backyard (because West Vancouver is a snobby bitch of a district to live in, okay and we're not going to talk about that) or he can push me reallllly high on the swing (which I actually don't like, can you believe it?)  and we'll walk the slack line (but only with spotters because it's higher off the ground than I am tall) and we'll have our own all-summer-long fair.

Did I mention how cool he is? You don't have to do that, Locket.

He laughs. Let's be honest, Peanut. We do it anyway each year.

Yup, I love him so much it's positively gross.

A summer without fairs.

Let me just stand here in the rain and let the gravity of the very first summer of my life without a single fair, amusement park visit or carnival wash over me and dilute my blood into tears.

Sure, it's a first-world problem. It's also a way of life for ex-carnies like me. I've never passed up a fair, a ride or the food stands in my damn LIFE and now there will be nothing for at least one year.

I don't know if I hope it changes, but because I'm selfish, secretly I do. There is nothing better. You leave your worries (and your wallet) at the gates and scream the rest into the void, run the sugar in your blood up to hit the bell, win a prize, consider going on the run with the show (do it, you'll never regret it) and leave late into the night when the lights start to spin just a little.

Nothing else says summer like that, and so I'm allowed to grieve for it. Just for a minute here.

I have plans.

It's a beautiful day today. My boys are still sleeping in the cool breeze, and the devil followed me as I took my coffee and my thick stack of tech outside to the patio to do a little early work before I get inundated with attention. I'm sure he's just here in case the bears show up, or that bunny, or the dragonflies that have made their appearance at last. We also have a roster of small birds and an OWL if you can believe it, though I have only heard him in the woods in front of the house and not gone looking for him yet.

Caleb sips his own coffee and pretends to read the paper on his ipad. He's watching me without looking and it's a comfortable feeling for me. Lochlan and I continued our talk last evening. It's not that Lochlan is trying to sabotage me, hell, he'd be thrilled if I gave up Caleb for good, but he's concerned that if I do anything as a moment-of-clarity action or a knee-jerk reaction it usually is short-lived because it's made via my rare and legendary temper. Once the temper subsides, so does the resolve and he would rather these decisions be made rationally and by the light of day. He's also weirdly concerned with Caleb's outlier status.

Which Caleb bestowed upon himself so I have no sympathy for that. But then again I don't have the perspective of the boys on this at all to understand how I've changed their behaviour (I haven't, that's on them) or clouded their judgment. Bridget the drug. Bridget the brass ring. Yeah yeah. I've heard it all before. Still doesn't mean he should ever be a monster to me. Not in MY house.

Gage has been completely absent. He, Duncan and Dalton are embarking on a short road trip and will be back probably at the end of the week since travel within the province is semi-feasible now. He gave me a perfunctory hug goodbye and said to take care and that he'd be back and that was that. It's weird, I know and honestly having three less giant men in the house means there's a little space here this week so it's a bonus. And Duncan continues to text me every eight seconds so not like I have time to miss them.

I move my legs out of the sun and Caleb's head snaps up. He fell asleep. Hahahaha. I bark at him to go back to bed and he said he's fine so I go back to ignoring him. I'm going to milk every moment of this summer, eating outside, hanging in the garden, painting pictures of my flowers, soaking up the peace and quiet. It's going to be so lovely. No one's going to fuck with it. I have no travel plans, no huge plans involving building anything or needing to celebrate anything enormous, so this will be a good summer because it has to be, and he's not allowed to ruin it.

I feel like a cat burglar every time I leave the house now AKA Bridget went to church.

We went to church this morning. Lochlan and I wore masks. We let the kids sleep in. Matt scooted way down on the bench and Lochlan took off his blazer and let me sit on it to make a buffer from the cold wood, not caring if I wrinkle it terribly, he just won't put it back on. He looks like a teenage boy forced to go to Sunday school (I guess that's true) in a white shirt, plain black tie, hair tied back in a simple low ponytail with one of my black elastics. Brown pants because he looks better in brown but grabbed a tie last minute that is actually Ben's and would be the only thing of Ben's that would fit Lochlan. We mistakenly dressed for summer in a fall weather pattern, as it's rainy and dark today but I wore a sundress with straps and big yellow sunflowers all over it. It's a long dress, a mid-calf if you're tall so it's down to my ankles and I have a dark blue cardigan too to cover my scandalous tattoos in church but not really since they go across my chest and down to my knuckles anyway. Once we are settled and have established that there are hymnbooks at our places (Sam usually forgets if I don't come early with him but I guess he has a routine down now as I haven't been here in months. I can tell I haven't because the sconces on the wall have long freeform cobwebs on them because no one ever cleans the sanctuary unless I remind them) I settle back against Lochlan's arm and make sure my phone is set on silent.

Lochlan never takes his off silent. He has pockets, always. I'm going to start dressing like a boy.

Caleb appears and sits down beside me on my left. He nods to Lochlan and then to Matt and finally to Sam and then he loosens his tie slightly while I stare at him, checks his watch and then settles back, taking my hand from my lap to hold in his. Lochlan turns his head ever so slightly to see this and then squeezes my shoulder. He's going to let me figure it out.

I snatch my hand back.

Caleb simply takes it again. I go to pull it away but he's holding it tightly now. I have two choices. Make a scene or put up with it until he lets go to pass something.

And since it's church I let it go and put up with him. He relaxes his hold after a minute. Is it a test? Do I have my chance? I don't know but I leave it. It's warm. I'll use him for that. Eventually when we stand to sing a hymn he lets go and it's as if nothing is wrong. Maybe he's going to ignore my attempt to break up with him. Maybe he's going to try to fight it somehow. I don't know. I don't care. I came here to support Sam and I'll deal with Caleb at home.

When church ends Caleb stands, lands a light kiss on my cheek, nods again at Lochlan and ducks out of church, not waiting in the endless line to greet Sam and shoot the shit as if we don't live on the same property. I tell him a dirty joke and he blushes and laughs, shooing me out, hoping none of the olds heard me, and Lochlan laughs gently as he shakes Sam's hand.

On the way home we play music and we don't really talk but when we pull in the driveway Lochlan turns off the truck but doesn't move.

What is it?

Don't fight with him. Just leave him be for a bit.

What do you mean?

You don't have to cut ties. Just force him to be civil.

It doesn't work-

It will if you hold this over his head.

Strange, coming from you.

Let's just see what happens. I have a feeling things will be better. He seems rocked.

He should be!

Then let's wait and see.

***

Y'all want to know the joke. Fine:

How is God just like a regular man?

If you're not on your knees,  he ain't interested.

I don't care if you're offended. My minister laughed so hard he snorted.

Lies painted in the fairydust with a fingertip.

Moments of clarity are big hunks of driftwood, floating in this ocean of tears and as I cling to one this morning I understand things I'd rather not confront when the fog rolls in, wood sinking back to the bottom of the sea.

I sip my coffee in the rain, under the glass, the cloying humidity keeping me weighed down and I wonder if the devil fears the wood the way I fear that fog. I think I know my answer. I think the devil foreshadowed this, again, many days ago when he just knew if I crashed out of my drugged stupor back through the light of day that I would see him for what he is and not what I need to make him in the dark to get through it.

What he is is a beautiful man who hides a monster on the inside but that's how I make him. He is himself with everyone else and a hungry animal with me. I don't know what I did to cause that to come out in him but it's there and once I saw it he couldn't put it back so I'm putting it back for him while I can.

So what happens now? My little-girl brain asks, anxious to get back before dark, back to Lochlan who keeps the monsters away even on this, the longest day of the year when there's very little dark to crowd in around her.

Be very brave, I tell her and she nods as if this is very serious, knowing full well in a moment she's going to turn and run back to the lights because nothing bad can happen in a place where people go to have fun.

Put her in a box (broke up with my boyfriend).

Choose your words
Choose them wise
For they will lead to your demise
Take my life
Take my faith
To stop the tears that run down your face

If there was any doubt about who runs the world here, I can put that to rest today, having campaigned for (and won) Gage's return.

Gage who has a very stable, quiet life here on Point Perdition and made a terrible mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. He was sober, he was vindicated by the security camera happily charging away on the kitchen counter (aimed squarely at the table where he clearly asks me several questions), he wasn't setting out to take anything, to exact payback or to quell some uncontrollable urge and he has no history of violence in his life. Even as kids when he and Schuyler fought, Schuyler would swing for the rafters and Gage would block but never return the favor. Ever. This much we knew before. This was one of the reasons he was an easy fit, always. He's passive.

(He's not fucking crazy like the rest of us.)

He gets no fault for being awkward either. His apology, made to the entire point two days ago sans children, and the fact that he is blood, coupled with his incredible and swift horror at what happened when I turned around all gave me enough data points to present a convincing argument to not banish him.

And it worked. We're going to stay together as a family because we are a family, and if there was any doubt that he is part of the Collective it's been answered now. Answered by the concerted pool of tears that began as a pond and grew to an ocean until we were all treading water, loathe to let each other go.

But of course I'll be avoiding him for the time being. I am angry and surprised, still. Shock takes a while to wear off. I am disappointed he didn't try to make it about us, leaving it about him, and I'm horribly stunned at the thought that I was fine with it, because I thought it was Caleb being angry and I know that's the worst part of all. Caleb's bottomless, misdirected and unpredictable rage, his treatment of me, both physically and emotionally becoming accepted practice in our relationship, in our lives, while Lochlan has fought it every step of the way, hating our relationship but leaving it in deference to my naive, selfish wishes and blinded wiles.

I should listen to him but as an adult I always feel like I should use my newfound power to defy him constantly, because I can.

Lochlan is crushed but he forgave Gage. He did not, however, forgive Caleb. I doubt he ever will.

Oh my GOD.

I'm FINE.

STOP IT

Pots, kettles.

You know Ben used to have this under control. I was always standing within reach of him and no one got near me without his approval or supervision. He had it nailed down and then he got busy and he got tired and Lochlan's always been protective but maybe not as concerned as long as we're both home or around or whatever and between Caleb giving me medicine to help me sleep and Gage's error I think if you need me I'll be behind Ben somewhere, hiding for the rest of my days.

I'm not entertaining any yelling or threats or attempts to educate me on what happened. I know what happened. I was there. So fuck off with your emails, thanks.

He tried calling me. Seventeen times or so in the past couple of days. He sent a very long apology over text and then a completely different one to my private email. He finally called Schuyler and asked if we could do a facetime, with Schuyler present and Schuy refused. Schuy is barely speaking to him. Caleb is threatening all sorts of things. He thinks Gage lied and never said a word, just snuck up on me but Gage wouldn't do that. I think Caleb is also super angry because I automatically thought it was him. The worst part for him is that he rarely turns me away for it any more. He wants to see my face.

I sat in the empty spare room this morning for a bit. Gage was quiet, under the radar. Respectful. Helpful. A night owl though, for certain. We rarely saw him before early afternoon and during the night things like dishes would spontaneously move from the sink or the counter into the dishwasher seemingly as if by magic and I think Schuyler loved having family here, as Ben certainly does. I'm worried that he'll disappear or worse. I would have given him anything he asked for in a heartbeat so I know in my heart he was flirting and took it way too far but I hope he knows I don't blame him.  For god's sake we discussed it once. This is the house of free-wheeling mixed signals and open bleeding hearts. It's easy to screw up here but it's also the most forgiving place you'll ever find.

You know, if they ever let him come back.

Nietzsche's true man.

I was so thirsty I couldn't stand it anymore. My throat is raw and aching. Advil didn't cut the pain, and water did nothing. By two in the morning I was frantic and resigned at the same time so I ducked out from underneath Lochlan's arm, pushed away the extra elbow and knee Ben had thrown towards us as he sleeps soundly on his back on my other side, pull on Ben's long t-shirt, discarded on the couch an hour previous (it's still warm) and head downstairs in search of my beloved witching-hour orange juice.

There isn't any left in the kitchen so I venture into the butler's pantry. It's down the hall just before you reach the bathroom and then head down the steps to the side door. The row of windows in the hall is uncovered. Rain drives in sheets down the glass. It's so loud.

I check the other fridge and am rewarded with a new jug. I pour myself a glass and put the jug back and then take a long drink in the dark. My throat instantly feels soothed and the sugar flooding into my blood feels right. I decide to take my glass upstairs with me and pick it up to turn when I am pressed into the counter, arms sliding around my shoulders, taking the glass, putting it down so I don't drop it.

A kiss lands against the back of my neck and I smell clean soap as his hand clamps over my mouth (and nose) resulting in a struggle that I lose, as I am lifted up and bent forward, facedown against the counter, my head on the cool granite. My t-shirt is lifted up and then he is inside me, piercing me and I can't breathe and I keep fighting until I am unable to move at all. Everything hurts.

His elbow hits the glass and it falls over, spilling the juice out in a wide circle as it rolls across the counter to the edge and smashes on the floor. No one's going to hear it. We're in a whole separate wing. He bears down harder still and I feel tears leaking from the corners of my eyes down over his hand. I am sad that he just takes what he needs. I would have gone to him had I known. I don't know why he has to follow me into the dark and then leave me behind in it all the time. I don't know why his default state is monster. I don't know why it works so much better between us when it hurts-

I don't know why he won't let me breathe. He hikes me up higher, harder against the counter and as he comes I whimper involuntarily and he slows, pulling away, sliding me back down painfully, turning me around. I fight him. I close my eyes. I don't want to look at him. Don't want to know this is what he still is. I'm so tired of his evil-

Bridget. Are you okay? I said if you walked into the pantry like that, just wearing a shirt that I would follow you. I just came down for a snack and then I saw you and started talking to you-I thought you were vexing me when you didn't resp...Oh my God. Oh my God.

I didn't hear a word. Didn't hear a thing. The rain was drowning out every warning sign and I didn't even know Gage was there.

***

Gage is gone already. He didn't say goodbye. As far as I can see he didn't take any of his things either, though for all I know most of this belongs to the others, like the acoustic guitar and at least two of these flannels folded neatly on the back of the chair. Schuyler tells me they'll get the rest of his things together and simply refuses to answer when I ask where Gage went, telling me only that he doesn't live here anymore. He rolls up his shirt-sleeves as he stands in the guest room, sets a grim expression and tries to be patient with me.

Right, he was only back in the main house due to the quarantine-

He doesn't live on the point, anymore, Bridget.

This isn't his fault-

Silence isn't consent. Jesus Christ, Bridget-

It wasn't malicious, Sky. Tell him I'm sorry-

That doesn't matter. My stupid half brother propositioned a deaf women in the dark when she was alone and didn't hear him and then took advantage. HE fucked up. Not you. He'd be lucky if he didn't get jail time but we'll see how generous the rest of them are about this.

They would go to jail first. I remind him. I was twelve years old. 

You were eleven, and that still doesn't mean he can stay here, does it?

The ninety-day Jesus diet.

That's what I called it as Sam met me at the door this morning, looking for some of that bad coffee I described so mouthwateringly yesterday and seeing if I wanted to tag along with him to church.

Me, wearing Lochlan's Journey t-shirt, one thigh-high sock with Chococat on it, no less, bedhead even Jesus might be ashamed of this morning and bite marks Sam simply can't see, mostly because they're on the insides of my legs but also because they are light.

Baby-heathen.

Baby-preacher. Don't want your Jesus-germs.

I can pray for your soul?

Double-down on that, would you? Where's Matt?

In the car.

Have fun.

Love you. He kisses my horrible morning-breath mouth. And for the record, Jesus is the perfect diet. He fills you up and keeps you content for a lifetime and then some.

Then I'm on the Lochlan diet. He does all that and more.

Idols, Bridget.

You know how I roll, Sam.

He smiles softly and the rain starts to drum on his head as I close the door in his face. Sorry, Jesus. I'm going back to bed.

In the palm of your hand.

Last night I took my crown, polished it all up nice so that it would sparkle in the firelight, put Wings on the stereo and did the mother of all stripteases for Lochlan, who hasn't seen those kinds of moves for twenty years and probably wouldn't appreciate it if you asked him straight up but what do you know? He joined me in the fun, bringing the bottle of wine with him.

Let Me Roll It, indeed. It was appreciated and I did that thing where I woke up sideways in bed, my hair so tangled in his fingers that I may still have to cut it. I bit into his chest in two separate places hard enough to leave little morning-teeth marks and he looks deliriously content on this rainy Saturday morning while he sips his coffee. We took Ruth to work early and got some coffee on the way home and I'm still practicing being good at this, this carrying around a  big paper cup with a plastic lid and I keep forgetting it's there.

This isn't a thing that I do, I complain when I wonder for the fifth time where I left the damn thing.

Me neither, he laughs. On the show we were used to tiny styrofoam cups full of watery coffee-type liquid and it made me have to pee all the time (still does) and it tasted so good I'll never be able to replicate it but I try, which involves not trying. Use shit ground fine coffee, not quite enough of it and a regular coffee maker and it comes pretty close and it's a big heaping serving of nostalgia in a cup is what it is. As was Let Me Roll It in the dark and we're at the point in the week where we can lean our heads together, clink those crowns lightly so that they sound like bells and smile at each other stupidly because sober is best or something like that.

Though we split the wine so not even that, honestly. 

He always likes the parts of life best that don't involve the devil. Who can blame him? I can't.

(Joel calls it 'avoidant-coping' and says it keeps me right here when I should be way up front by now.)

I'm not avoiding Caleb per se, I'm just putting in a little distance in order to foster a little understanding, as sometimes old history shades new lines and we need to not do that at every waking moment.

Bridget. My name as I come out the door and make a hard right to head downstairs. I turn and he's there, looking half like a hungry devil, one-quarter deer in the headlights and one-quarter the only teenage boy with a driver's license at the lake.

Are you feeling better? I want you to know I'm sorry for the mix-up. I had these left over from when I wasn't sleeping and when you said that you were tired I thought these would help-

I'm a little better. This fucking...trembling is taking a while.

I didn't mean to hurt you. He looks into my eyes, ducking his head sideways so that we are almost on common ground.

I know.

They don't.

They'll understand when the moment wears off. I reassure him.

I don't want you to leave me. It's so quiet I think I misheard.

What?

I know what the experts say. I know it's supposed to be damaging to be in a relationship with me but we've come so far and I feel like you've accepted me and that maybe I have helped you to overcome some of the fear.

(Some of the fear. Okay, true. Some.)

But I also know it's a big hill to climb and I'm going to be here helping. I'm not going to make things hard. I really thought I was helping you.

Okay. I'm tired. Tired of listening. Tired of standing here. Tired of fighting back. Tired of dealing with him and I want a break from his endless pressure, his neverending demands for confirmation of importance. He is me only I'm sweet about it but I need the reassurance just the same so again, he's completely off the hook and I continue to love my monster just Not Right Now and he's noticed this. He knows he's in the doghouse, he fucking KNOWS IT.)

Okay?

Yeah. I have to go pick up Henry.

I can do it.

It's fine. I don't want to be late though.

Hey.

Yes?

I love you, Bridget and you know I will do anything to make this up to you and we'll do it together.

Okay, I say it again like a robot. So pleased with himself he hardly notices the black tarnish he has levelled on my crown.

BUSTED.

Kelly Clarkson is getting divorced.

I asked August if he knew and he said he already got the Google alert.

The what?

Oh, nothing. Yes, I read it this morning.

Oh.

(For the record, Kelly, he is cute, single with absolutely ZERO baggage and is a realllllllly good catch and he's been in love with you for like fifteen years so I can vouch for his authenticity.)

(Also I can never thank August enough. She sings in my range and I've been using Because of You and Already Gone to warm up my vocal cords to sing on Ben's projects for at least a decade now.)

Sheltering in place.

It's the simplest thing. A list. Make a list of everything you love, Peanut. It's a suggestion he's been taught to make, and he knows exactly when it's going to work and when the time isn't right.

I smile weakly. I love these. They remind me I am just as important as everyone else, even as I founder in the surf, treading water while everyone else swims easy laps, closing the gap between their physical form and their legacy, and I'm busy looking for an unreachable star to hitch my wagon to, to quietly ride out my life in the quiet of the dark.

You. I love you.

He smiles back. I trace his mouth in the dark. Halfway through he parts his lips, taking a breath in. It's profound and he's rocked by how incredibly deep we run. Uncharted ocean floor. Sky isn't even the limit. How we found our way back to each other I'll never know, when it seemed like fate was determined to cleave our futures in half cleanly.

I get caught up on loving this one thing, looking at his face in the dark, needing nothing else right at this moment. This moment that reminds me of when we were so much younger and we didn't know life was coming at us like a freight train and we wouldn't have time to get out of its way.

I love This Beautiful Life and Falling Slowly. I love House of Leaves. I love the color green and I love Vietnamese food. I love my children and my boys and my garden and my pencils and I love these mornings when we don't have to rush. Lilacs. Eating vegetables straight from the garden without washing them first. I love paddling on the ocean and the dog and music-

You love coffee too?

Yes. Of course.

I supposed you'd like to have one.

I would, but only if you'll have one with me.

I'll be right back.

Bi(valve).

I cut my foot this morning, waking in the wake at the edge of my life where experience threatens to flood the sea because it knows bettter, but the sea laughs and covers it anyway, choking off its air. I slipped on a rock in my tiredness and jammed my toes into a crack that was chock-ful of mussels. I flung my arms up for balance and recovered, not falling in the water, sacrificing my flesh instead, making for a deep cut underneath the edge of the three biggest toes.

I guess my sober-her-up beach walk is over.

Ben hoisted me up for a piggyback ride back up to the house, where blood dripped off the ends of my toes all the way home, a scary ride as I turned around at one point on the stairs to look behind us and there was nothing but sky. I turned my head back around and held tighter to his neck. We stopped at the patio and he went inside to get the first aid kit but then I realized it had to be washed so I followed him,  limping and went straight to the kitchen. He lifted me up onto the counter so I could stick my foot in the sink and wash it with soap and warm water. Of course it's full of dishes. He puts them all in the dishwasher and then gives the sink a quick spray and scrub with bleach and then very tenderly cleans the cut and my foot and sings a little under his breath so that I am quiet, listening.

He's good at this. Lochlan would have hollered indignantly at me the whole way home to be more careful. Lochlan hasn't had the benefits of having his moods eroded with substances like the rest of us. Especially those of us who didn't realize she was actually fucked up on Klonopin and not easy-predictable Xanax and is still fucking high as a kite. I think I'll give the rest of them to Lochlan so he too can walk in slow motion through this burning building of our lives, not worrying about a fucking thing. 

Because it's glorious.

Ben dries my foot and holds the paper towel tightly over the cut to try and stop the bleeding. I bet it's small. They bleed the most, I point out helpfully. Like paper cuts or needle punctures.

Ben shakes his head. I think I may have to get a second opinion because this is going to split right open the moment you put weight on it.

What is? What's wrong? There's Lochlan. He used to be so calm and assertive. He could quiet my nerves and he knew how to fix everything. But that was then. Maybe we should give him the klonopin for lunch.

Just a nick from the shells, I tell him.

She's fine. Ben assures him.

Lochlan leans way down and kisses the bottom of my foot. He plays off Ben. Ben sets the tone, everyone tries to play it cool around him. It works well and so I'm sticking by him.

That cut seems pretty effective. And it's raining now so maybe we should have a movie afternoon upstairs.

Only if it's naked-pizza-movies!

Lochlan looks at Ben and cracks up. I'm in if you're in.

Man, I love seeing you naked, Ben says to Lochlan before he laughs and rolls his eyes. It's been three hours since the last time.

A lifetime, Lochlan says wistfully.

Should I find something else to do? I remind them I'm there.

No you can continue your detox with us but if we get frisky just stay out of the way.

Too far, Lochlan says to Ben.

Yeah, I know. Ben laughs easily. Worth a shot. He winks at Lochlan but Lochlan misses it entirely. His concern drowns all the jokes and the impending flood moves overland.

Self-awareness? Check, for once.

The sound of the rain tells me our sins are being washed away even as I sleep, heavy in dreams and drugs, content to waste the precious minutes of the day which stretch into hours, unchecked by sunlight or consistency. Lochlan left others in charge and they pawned off the chore and split it into thirds and that left the little monster to her own devices and her own charms. Give me the responsibility for myself and I do marginally better than if I have no input. Take it all away and see the fireworks.

For the eighth time in as many years Lochlan gave the entire point a lecture, a comeuppance and a dressing-down that would make a grown man cry (and has) and stepped back up as a full-time caretaker for someone who should be perfectly capable of looking after herself (but isn't) and the leader of a pack who should know how to work together by now (but don't).

(Caleb already got the most incredible rebuke, a reprimand that apparently was felt around the globe, as Lochlan has decided he is finished being Mr. Nice Guy.)

But YAY!  Loch's off until Christmas. A full six month plus leave which is all I ever want in a day as it is, and now it's here and I don't know what to do first.

Except he's incredibly angry and unbelievably pissed off that I'm looking at it like he got a long-awaited vacation.

Well, you did.

You're more work than work.

Well I know other people who would gladly take this on if you don't want the stress. We are bickering. Off to a great start.

The first thing we're going to do is have Joel come over and then you're going to get all of this stuff out of your system.

Hey, you're the one who gave me the drugs.

To sleep. You needed sleep. Instead you went and got more drugs from Caleb and then had a few drinks and Peanut, you're a mean drunk. Now I'm going to go make you some breakfast, and today we're going to hydrate, rest and talk with Joel and then after you've apologized to me and to PJ who tried to head you off early into your fucking destruction yesterday, we'll plan out a fun summer. But it's going to be dry and it's going to be ghost-free, so help me God.

What do we have to talk to Joel about then?

We need to do this without drugs, Bridgie. It's a shortcut and it's too dangerous.

Drugs are always the last resort though.

What if they aren't?

I stare at him. He doesn't get it. Doesn't seem to understand if you can't turn my brain off it will burn itself right out. It will plow right through the memory thief, through the walls, through the concrete tunnels and probably straight into the ground. It'll keep going until it finds a way to shut itself down forever and Joel knows this, at least, so maybe he is a good idea after all.

Can you have him here for eleven then? I need to get ready for the day. I smile weakly at Lochlan, who kisses my forehead, so content in his pragmatic, seemingly-logical solutions, treading water in a bottomless sea. He's so hopeful sometimes I wish I had never married him so that I could cut him loose and he could find happiness instead of this.

Hit a wall, here's a song. Sorry, maybe tomorrow.

Well I go to water to find innocence
Breathe deep the air to fill my lungs
And beauty sings his songs to me
Every note I follow to find out where
The voice is coming from

All that I know
Al that I see
All that I feel
Inside of me
All that I've done
All that I've tried
There must be more
To this beautiful life

Ethanol Jesus.

Church has reconvened and I'm...HA, I'm home getting drunk because Sam isn't watching right now and it's Sunday and for once I don't have to bow to anyone's schedule but my own. I've been dragging my iPad around the point all morning trying to find a good place to chill and it's probably going to be the stables for the duration because at least my studio has a fridge and in that fridge is a 24-case of hard lemonade because it's nice to have cold beverages when you're doing heavy yard work and there was no room in the house fridge and you can't put cans in the freezer so that rules out leaving them in the garage.

It's not a big fridge, it's one of the little retro Magic Chef ones but it's green. Also this is the place where the kids can have sleepovers or movie night. There's a back projection wall painted with silver screen paint, a couch and that fridge, since all of my art supplies and my easel pack up neatly and stow away. The children get privacy here, too. But they're only allowed one can of hard lemonade each and not if they're driving and their friends aren't if they're driving either and I check, because it's important.

So today I am sacked out in my studio day-drinking and drawing and listening to Oceans of Slumber and enjoying a whole two hour stretch with nothing to account to. My stomach growls. It doesn't want alcohol this early, it wants another cup of coffee, maybe a blueberry muffin and a long slow-painful stretch in the sun beside Lochlan.

But Lochlan is sleeping, it's about to rain, I don't want to go all the way back to the main house for coffee (on the other side of the driveway and down the hill) and besides, PJ ate the last of the blueberry muffins last night.

Why am I not in church? Lochlan is sleeping, I said. He woke up long enough to tell me he didn't want me to go at all and to wait another week or two and as much as I didn't want to miss Sam's in-person announcements about his and Matt's wedding, Lochlan is right and sitting in a room with a bunch of other people, even if it's far apart, even if it's a shortened service is kind of the last thing I want to do.

And for the first time in a long while my knee-jerk impulse isn't to throw myself from the cliff into a fire until you can't tell I was ever there, it's extreme self-preservation. This is probably the 'perspective' everyone is always talking about, or the Xanax is giving me tons of unusual clarity instead of the usual opposite.

Either way, I'm sure Jesus misses me. He told me this morning when he waved from the orchard as I was on my way up the hill. He called out something about not mixing alcohol and pills but I couldn't really hear him. I think he forgets I'm deaf. Everyone does.

Life in Larghissimo, as always.

If there is one thing I have learned in my life (besides don't use bleach regularly on things with gaskets), it's that funnel cakes and Xanax letdowns cause nightmares. Oh, and that Lochlan will tell me anything in the dark, anything to make a nightmare go away, anything just to make it so I stop shaking and go back to sleep.

Jacob rang the doorbell last night. He rang it and he waited on the front porch for someone to answer, sleeves rolled up, hair in his eyes, full beard and no shoes. He was a dream, a mirage but he was as real as I've ever seen him. I haven't forgotten a line on his face, the white of his teeth or the way the part in his hair always gave up early on, leaving a zig-zag of straight waves that was hard to control. Henry has the same hair. Same beard. But not the same fake charm.

Blind, like a fool, I went to answer the door when no one else did. Someone probably buzzed the mail truck in through the gate and then promptly forgot to go to the door.. Someone really needs something and doesn't have clean hands or shoes. One of the children forgot their key.

I open the door and he's there.

And I woke up screaming. Not because I miss him so much (I do. Jesus, I do) but because it's a better place if I hate him instead of love him. It's a better place if I condemn his memory to ashes instead of missing him. It's a better place if I spent all my time thinking about him calling him soft-hard names and listings his shortcomings and flaws as a human being instead of acknowledging that when he flew, my heart was with him and it shattered all over the pavement and it was never right again, much as I lie and say it's fixed.

Lochlan gets an earful between the screams and the justifications. And then he does what he always does except last night I was more awake than usual.

I told him to come back tomorrow and we'll talk, Lochlan mumbles. It's a panacea. It's a verbal benzodiazepine. It's an unhealthy crutch and a shortcut and a curse. It's dangerous, is what it is, but it works really well and we're all about getting it done here on Perdition point.

I lay there silently exploring the dark after that. Eyes open, pupils wide. Waiting. Waiting for Jacob. Waiting for light so I could get up. Waiting for the sugar in my blood to burn off and be replaced by exhilaration. Waiting for something that would never come, as it was a lie told in the dark to soothe a small child.

As always.

Today is a profoundly sad aftermath. I even went out and looked at the porch and tried to picture Jake standing there. I wondered if he would like it. If he would appreciate our point and the four houses here and the army that never stands down. I wonder if he would like that fact that the biggest gifts Caleb ever gave me besides suspicion, distrust and complete ruin were a beach and a commune of my very own because it is quite literally the least he could do. I wonder if they would still try to kill each other on the spot. I wonder if Jake would tell me I've changed. I wonder what he would think to learn he was a father after all. That's probably the biggest one right there. The irony above ironies. The straw that broke my heart over again. The thing he wanted most.

But now he is a prisoner inside my dreams and Lochlan's lies and there are no windows or doors so he can never get out and I'm making a weird peace with that, even if it's only moment by moment, instead of year over year. The tempo runs slowly. Too slowly for my liking but also way too fast, always.

Jesus hot rocks.

I had a rare date planned with Sam this morning and almost flaked on him wholly. He suggested we have an early sauna talk and then a quick swim. It's been eight degrees and threatening rain for days so of course I said sure. 

Then this morning I stalled until I knew he would be there and have already fired the sauna up until it's so warm I want to throw up. Getting there, however, was still difficult because I put on my bikini and the usual routine is to just stroll over but I'm not strolling in a bikini when it's eight degrees so I grabbed a wrap from the hooks by the patio doors. It's a mess of random life jackets, pool noodles, flannel shirts, someone's hoodie who doesn't live here (probably one of Henry's friends) and gardening tools. Plus a very expensive pashmina from Italy for chilly nights on the patio.

I frown at it. It's beautiful but it's not a pool wrap and unless I can put it on over my whole body forget it. I briefly contemplate making it into a pair of footie pajamas, which would be far more practical-

But there's no time. Sam is waiting for me.

My next thought is I will wear the inflatable T-Rex costume. Those are super-hot inside. But what a pain. (Though it would have been so funny to run across the lawn and jump into the sauna door in that, let me tell you. Always good for a laugh.)

So I trudged back upstairs and put on all of my clothes. Two sweaters. Lined jeans. Socks. Fuck it. Going in warm. Lochlan looks at me with half an eye open.

Cancelled? He mumbles. Comebacktobedmmm.

What? I say. At least that's what I think I heard. But he doesn't answer, he's out and I head back downstairs, throw on sneakers and head across the wet grass. Now my feet are wet and my hands are freezing. I get to the sauna and Sam is sitting inside like a vertical lobster, broiling himself silly. He looks so happy.

Purging evil? I laugh as I strip outside the door, leaving clothes all over the wet grass.

It's seeping out through every pore. He grins. Going snowshoeing after this?

If this cold brings snow then yes. I join him on the bench and we have a de facto therapy session, which involves him asking pointed questions, me telling lies and then finally changing the subject before he can call me out on them to being newlyweds and how everything is going.

Great, if you consider the fact that I got up at the crack of dawn to make some time to minister to you, pulling myself out of a warm bed containing my sexy husband to sit in a suffocatingly hot room and listen to you spin your yarns at me like I just fell out of the sky yesterday and don't even know you at all. Insulted is what I am right now.

I get up. About to slam some doors and break some hearts but the heat has sucked all the snot out of me. Fine. I am defeated. Let's go swim so you can at least be insulted from the deep end of the pool. And just so you know, Jesus would have let me off the hook minutes ago.

He bursts out laughing. Not in that bathing suit. Jesus would have burst into flames.

See all the people.

How can love survive in such a graceless age
The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness
They're the very things we kill, I guess
Pride and competition cannot fill these empty arms
And the work I put between us,
You know it doesn't keep me warm

 You know when you wake up cold, nightmares and ghosts clawing you back to the dark with them, and you fight to get to the light, to get away from them? That was my morning, five or so, up with the birds, ghosts and 'mares, brushing the cobwebs of sleep away and then Lochlan pulled me in against his chest and I couldn't breathe there so he settled on his back, one arm around my neck, making tiny steeple-flames with his index fingers while I watched through bleary, teary eyes and sniffled constantly. Eventually he got too tired again and dozed and I slipped out of his arms and got ready for the day, ducking under a hot shower, then into clean warn clothes to head downstairs.

My phone is on the desk beside my laptop, lined up perfectly and the Devil sits at the kitchen island, sipping coffee, reading the market news. A second cup of coffee sits ready beside him at the next stool.

PJ up?

That's for you. He nods toward the cup. So what did you end up ordering?

An 11 pro max. Gold even. 512. Every bell and whistle I could get.

He laughs loudly. I would have expected no less.

You can't dole out pills. You're not in charge of them.

Maybe your husband gave it to me to give to you. You don't think we coordinate our efforts?

Of course I don't. Unless it's an emergency and it's not. Not right now anyway.

His eyes bore a hole into the side of my head while I climb up on the stool and get comfortable, taking a sip of the coffee. It's still hot. I'm still cold. Even without looking at him I can see how sad he looks.

Ironies and wine.

Sorry. Somehow I was assigned my own personal demon at a frighteningly early age and he's been here every since. It's hard to get around him to say things and so today's post is late. I also drew the 'mow the lawn' card which takes like five hours so take what you get, okay? Mowing consists of some brilliant idea I had to clean the mower first so it was shiny, then to wrestle it around. Then to get a rhythm only to have it broken by doubt when I look up to see six sets of eyes 'checking in', a trip out to me by Henry who offered to take over, a refusal to let him take over and then the finishing, which takes longer than the mowing, in which I hose down the whole point because it makes it look pretty.

I have a new rule, in case you noticed: Any time Caleb puts drugs in my food in the present tense, I will tell one of his past-tense awful stories. And the night before last I stopped in to see him, to return a book, his sweater and bring up his glasses, which were still on the table in the front hall. He offered a drink, red wine, as it was supposedly what he had on hand, in two different glasses, which should have been a red flag, and then Bridget got red wine + xanax and a quick trip to snoresville.

I drank the wine fast, because I had somewhere to be and then I wasn't anywhere, I was so dopey I asked if I could take a quick nap and when I woke up far too early in the morning with shaking hands I knew instantly what he pulled and we had a sunrise shouting match followed by a whole lot of threats, I went off and wrote about one of our Vegas trips, then we had a mid-afternoon shouting match followed by an evening of threats and I went to bed in tears and woke up to find all of my devices missing this morning.

So after mowing I had to go find them. I found my ipad, my laptop and my headphones. I did not find my phone yet. Ben can get it back for me later if it doesn't turn up. In return I left Caleb's bed full of grass clippings and have resolved to tell more stories louder if he doesn't fuck off with doing dangerous things like putting benzos in my alcohol and then not telling me. He insists my fighting weight means I won't make it off the bed let alone out of the house and it's perfectly safe and then in the next breath threatens to end it all just to make a point. I hand him off to the thug-boys (those who do my dirty work) and go cry while I look for my phone a little more and then I give up and go next door to wait out the day with Daniel.

Then I get madder so I come back, demand my phone, we reach an agreement about unwarranted drugs and unwarranted stories that don't need to be told (don't worry, I lied about agreeing to anything. Caleb probably did too) and it's been a long day so I'm probably just going to go take a xanax, have a glass of wine and go to sleep early.

Right.

Maybe if I do that I'll reverse time and my phone will appear back in the pocket of my dress. If not I'll just take the credit card he gave me and order a new, better one. And maybe a better demon, if I can find one.

When it's Love by Van Halen was playing on the radio when I woke up, that's why. Deja-fucking-vu. NOT TAKING IT DOWN. SORRY CALE.

Caleb's day at the tables proved to be lucrative. It put him in a good mood. We went up in the elevator to have room service. He had more champagne then food delivered and I mostly ignored my glass until he took my hand as I got up to go and get ready for the evening out. Fun time. My choice and I always choose dancing. It's the only time he ever loosens up. He pulls me in and picks up my glass, holding it to me.

Finish your drink.

I'm good.

Drink it, Neamhchiontach.

He's not being generous or sweet here. It's an order. I drink it. It takes me a couple of minutes to get it all down. Then he tenderly wraps his hand around the back of my head, gives me a kiss and then grips it hard with his hand. He's pulling my hair. I'm almost off my stilettos. He swings me in against his chest, locked in his arm and forces his hand up under my nose while he twists my hair harder still.

Breathe in, he growls at me and I sniff hard as he shoves his knuckle hard upward. Euphoria floods my bloodstream within minutes and I'm ready to go. But instead of taking me out he takes off my clothes and puts me up against the wall of glass, where he holds me up by the throat long enough to get off, and then tells me to get dressed.

That we have VIP at some club and we're late.

Do I care? I don't know if I do. He's thirty, he cares about his image. I'm nineteen and high as a fucking cloud right now. I don't think I care about anything other than being able to walk in these heels after that onslaught without looking like a limping colt.

And he's smeared my mascara in the process. I want to fix it but he says to leave it. That I look helpless and perfect. He holds out my silver slip dress and I put it back on. I grab my tiny purse and we head out. The only thing in it is a lip gloss and my lucky $100 chip.

We dance for hours and do two more bumps in the lounge between deliveries of more bottles of champagne. I feel like I could go for days. When we come back from the club he puts me up against the glass wall again but he's coked out and tired. We crash on the bed, enough energy to strip but nothing else. I fall asleep in a snow angel of discarded clothing. A cufflink imprints a pattern into my cheek while I sleep. A squared-off cylinder shape and a bruise.

When I open my eyes I hear him thanking someone. I roll to one side and he appears in the bedroom door.

Breakfast is here-Oh my God. Look at you.

That bad? I croak. My blood is racing. My head aches.

No. On the contrary. You look so small. As if the bed has eaten you alive.

I wish it would swallow me whole.

Don't wish for that, Neamhchiontach.

***

Almost thirty years later I watch him sleep and I still wish for the same damn thing and with all his money he still can't (or won't) give it to me. Sucks.

Communal efforts.

I picked up a new planner while we were out running errands on the weekend. I like to have a physical Calendar, a physical list and be organized and cute so I found a beautiful one from Recollections that says Shine Like Stars on the front and has a laminated cover FILLED with glitter. It comes with stickers and is good from July 2020 to December 2021 and it's all blues and greens and purples but pastel.

The best part is that I can't find the leak but every time anyone even looks at it it spills glitter everywhere.

Kind of like me.

We do share a Google calendar for important things and I have a big wall calendar that also holds important things but I am lo-fi, analog and always happier to use my pastel fruit-scented gel pens to record things in my own printing in an actual book that I can carry if I need.

I keep petting it and it releases more glitter into the room. This is great. I bet when the last spark of glitter is gone from the cover is when the book is finished.

***

We rented The Lodge last night. I had a mad crush on Thorin Oakenshield in The Hobbit so I figured a movie with Richard Armitage might be good. Also Alicia Silverstone is in it! She's great!

But no.

It wasn't great.

Well, it was great in an icky-feeling of dread kind of hey Hereditary and The Shining had a baby and it's The Lodge kind of way but I know one thing for sure. I'm never going to a remote cabin for Christmas. Ever. I also will never use laminate flooring on the walls, ceilings and doors because that was very fucking weird, dark and distracting during the movie. You know, WHAT WE COULD SEE OF IT because it was dark.

A solid 3/5 for rushing the predictable second-half plus Alicia was in it for two whole agonizing moments.

Definitely not a feel-good movie, but then again, I'm not a feel-good princess.

***

Bear poop in the driveway this morning. We think they came through the orchard. Caleb has turned the electric fence back on for the season and I am now forbidden to do gardening on the whole east side of the property alone which always makes me feel claustrophobic and childish.

I'll wear the bell, I plead. No one wants to go.

I'll go, he says. But wear the bell anyway. The look on his face says he is a bear, and that it's spring and he's hungry.

***

We ordered a new bed today! A new California king. Okay, three of them that get pushed together. But it was overdue, there are very obvious valleys and hills in ours because the springs are popped and the support is gone (HA). They should make heavy-duty mattresses for poly-sleepers. I need a bed that can hold up to five people on the reg, but at least three or four every night and that's a combined 450-550 or even more in pounds but after speaking with a bunch of salesman apparently all we can do is replace our mattresses more often than 'normal', which is 8-10 years.

So every four or five years? I ask

They were too red in the face to venture a guess. Lord! Some people are so uptight.