Figment/fragment.

Last night I sent Caleb an email with Henry's schedule for next week, figuring he would maybe read it on the plane today but he replied ten seconds later by message. The email detailed which days are strike days and he said I should have allowed him to put them in private school and they wouldn't be forced to be pawns in the public school system. Then he told me I was required to be present when he arrives tonight. Present means not out or otherwise engaged. Yes sir, I replied.

I refused to sleep in the camper last night on account of the fact that it was freezing cold out there (no heat) and I woke up this morning missing Ben like someone had cut off my leg. Loch got crappy right back and said he missed life before I came along, when he didn't worry constantly, when he had best friends instead of being the outsider, when he was the centre of attention. Then he sat back and said Yes, the centre of attention. I miss being that. You took it. 

Then go back to the show. I snapped it. I'm tired.

I would but I can't now. His voice was ragged, exhausted. We fight too much.

I snapped at Duncan, who won't put down his pitchfork on account of Caleb coming back and he asked what he was supposed to do here exactly? I don't know! I shouted in his face and he made a grab for me as I ducked and ran away.

Ben called and yelled at me to stay away from Caleb tonight when Caleb does come back.  PJ yelled at me for not eating my breakfast.  Ruth stomped out when I told her to take her backpack instead of trying to balance her phone/umbrella/textbooks/lunch/purse in the pouring rain. Caleb drives her when it rains. I don't.

I went out to the wall but Jacob wasn't there. I checked the garage but he wasn't there either. Just Cole and Joel, only Joel didn't know Cole was standing right behind him and I took one look and decided I didn't have the strength for either one of them today so I came back inside and climbed stepladders, taking down the curtains in the living room for their annual spring cleaning.

The curtains came out of the washing machine shredded and at least a full foot shorter than they were when they went in. I thought I had put them in on cold but someone used the washer overnight and left it on hot. They were custom sized draperies and now they're garbage and I have to start over.

The dog barfed on the kitchen floor.

And I am done for the day. I'm going to sack out on the couch with Sam (who is still sort-of speaking to me) and watch Ruby Sparks again and dream of a world where I can write the perfect boy the way they all want the perfect girl. Because I keep making bits and pieces but they won't stick to each other to make a whole one. That's probably exactly how they feel about me.

Ruby: Were you disappointed when you got to know me?

Calvin: How can you ask that?

Ruby: I'm such a mess.

Calvin: I love your mess.

Good old days.

Ben had to go to LA  yesterday until Friday so I sent him with Dalton and Corey. Matt has a conference in Toronto and Schuyler is back to New York for a few days. Daniel opted tag along with Schuy but Sam did not go with Matt because Sam has no more time off from work until the fall. Everyone nodded as if this was a good enough plan while I stomped and protested and got all bent out of shape.

I didn't go with Ben because I wasn't allowed. The same person who has my passport took my secret roll of money and the credit card too. He's better at this than I am and I should know better but I keep hoping one of these days they'll start treating me like an adult.

I asked him when that will be and he laughed and said never and he handed me back the roll of bills and asked if I wanted to do something special while everyone is away.

Like what? I asked, my hand shielding my eyes from the sun as I stare at Lochlan, pouting so hard I think I sprained my face.

Like having a sleepover in the camper for the next few nights? He grins. But don't bring that lip. I don't think it will fit in there with both of us. 

Aw, fine. I smiled back and the pout disappeared. His excitement is contagious. Any excuse to sleep in a shoebox we'll take. We tried to invite Ben once but he didn't fit at all so this is rare indeed.

Warm on the surface, cold underneath.

Walking with Batman this morning, sweaters and coffee pulled close as we tracked the receding tide. I'm struck by the fact that he is incredibly put out that I declined his breakfast invitation in favor of a walk on the beach. I'll decline absolutely everything in favor of a walk on the beach.

He doesn't know me. He likes the idea of me. He likes the way I look and the way I defer to men and the way I can be exactly what he wants at any given moment and that I put more value on integrity than wealth but at the same time he doesn't really know that I love the sea or that I worry for them all. He, like the others, doesn't seem to see that I am getting old and losing my nerve again and that I'm afraid of everything.

Or maybe he does and it's upsetting so he just stuffs it deep down inside and buries it with other things. Normal humans can do that. I'm not normal.

I'm not interested in gossip today. 

This isn't gossip, it's potential ammunition. 

Then you use it. He's away living life, which is what I asked him to do. Henry needs a father who is healthy and has a good life. I'm glad he went. 

Bridget-

Can we just drop it, please? Do you want to talk about him on such a beautiful day?

He stops and stands there smiling at me. I'm starting to feel like a mouse in a lab, as people study me for far too long waiting to see if I'll flinch when the shock comes or die in the throes of whatever they've done to me. Or maybe I'm an immortal mouse and I just won't die.

Cool.

Squeak squeak.

You're right. Instead let's talk about Jake. 

My blood freezes, flexes and thaws in the space it takes me to realize he means New Jake and not my Jake.

He's doing really well and I'm thinking of offering him something a little more formal than freelance thug. What do you think?

I think he tries to dumb himself down to be liked and isn't cut out for thug designation. 

Agreed. Then I'll give him the offer and see what happens. We seem to be quietly fading away, Bridget, making plans for the future, passing torches, trying to quietly extricate from a life of nonstop work. 

So you go from trying to weaken your enemies to identifying with them. 

Do you miss anything?

I miss everything. 

I don't think you do. 

That's because you don't know me very well. 

Maybe that can change. 

Or maybe things will just stay the way they are. 

We walk on, silent at last so I can listen to the sea as she tells me things only meant for me. She knows me better than anyone.

That odd little oddly jealous girl on a rainy Monday morning.

Caleb called this morning and didn't say anything much past my name, and after asking him a few questions I recognized that he just wanted to hear me so I told him all about how we've already appropriated the stable as an art studio in which I will paint horses instead of brush them, and I told him about Henry's friend's birthday party plans and Ruth's forties-style selfies and then I started to make guesses as to what he and his uh...friend were up to and how fun it must be to lie on the beach and not wash dishes and clean out fridges and hang curtains and brush little dogs and supervise perpetual homework and cook and he cut me off abruptly and said he missed me, that's all and he was just checking in.

He snaps this after listening to me chatter and ramble for close to fifteen full minutes. It's the most I've said this year.

He said he'll be home Thursday evening and yes, he's getting a bit of rest and enjoying the warmth. That it's been...interesting. The pause was odd.

I said that was good and then he said he loved me and he hung up. I stared at the screen for a few minutes. I didn't understand. Then I put the phone facedown on the mantle and let it there. I got halfway across the floor when it started buzzing again and I ran back thinking maybe he was messaging me back, realizing he hung up so abruptly but the message wasn't from Caleb, it was from Batman.

Did you know you're sharing your sugar daddy? I have some interesting information if you want to come over.

I put the phone facedown on the mantle again. I get it. It makes sense and it's not as if Caleb didn't make it obvious he was taking another woman with him. I don't need Batman cheerfully rubbing it in my face.

And now it's been christened! Oh my lord. Squee! hahaha.

I can leave the mess out now.

Up early again, surprises this time, as the boys are all dressed and coffeed and moving all of my stuff.

I don't have much stuff, I'm a bit of a minimalist actually but I hoard art supplies like you wouldn't believe. I have eleven sketchbooks waiting to be used. Never enough fine liners and I think there are seven dozen tubes of paint here between two easels just because art is a religion too.

So they put all of my art supplies in the stables, because it's a clean building with tons of light, locking doors and heat. It's fully wired in, protected by an alarm and a perfect place to set up because I complained that my little nook in the corner upstairs has tons of light but no actual space and more than once I leaned in to the left side of the canvas to work on detail and somehow manage to clutch my palette to my chest in the process, coming away with a lovingly mixed water-soluble oil rainbow on the front of my shirt.

(Lochlan says my palette is too big and awkward for me anyway and wants to buy me the beautiful Amish one at the art supply store but I've resisted so far. I asked him to cut mine down slightly but he won't. It's a standoff.)

All I have to do is turn away from my easel now and I can see across the orchard and right out to sea. 

 The reasoning behind this appropriation is that now, with my newly installed garden studio, Caleb will have no argument to try and push horses on me. I actually want the horses, but no one else does. They say they're too much work and they're right. It's one thing to board them elsewhere and drive out regularly, it's another thing to have them right here. No way would Caleb demand that a perfect space to work in be dismantle once he sees how truly perfect it is.

There's even a radio. And a thermostat. And windows everywhere. Also a bathroom. I may get someone to move my bed later too and then I can live out there. But It's temporary until the day one of the kids claims it as their apartment (they're fighting already about who gets the loft above the garage and who gets the gatehouse (because we told them not to call it a stable, it's a little too nice for that honestly) but for right now it's all mine.

Gold guns girls redux.

Today I am summoned rather early. Caleb's bags are packed and sitting just inside the door when I enter the boathouse and he kisses my forehead in greeting before pulling me by the hand down the hall into the office. The safe is open and inside are the breitling boxes, two envelopes full of money, Cole's monogrammed cufflinks (same initials, CXC, but Caleb has an identical pair and I wanted him to have these ones too), a small photo album and a big envelope full of insurance photos of Cole's artwork, five inches of legal papers, a bottle of Macallan and five DVDs. Family films? Naw. Future extortion. Don't ask,  I explained it here years ago.

He gestures as if the fact that the gun isn't there is supposed to end the argument. I roll my eyes and ask him if he's put it under the bed or maybe is he dumb enough to fly with it and oh, by the way, what's the trip?

He tells me he's taking a few days to recharge. In Tortola. May I punch him now? I ask if I can come too and he laughs and says if he thought that was an option we would have gone years ago and maybe never come back. But I am too late and he has a companion for the week, thanks.

My eyes widen almost involuntarily. Peyton?

But he shakes his head. No, not her. I'll be back Friday, you have the numbers. Everything can wait. I need some sun and a chance to do nothing. I already spoke with Henry (who said nothing to me, I wonder if he was coached) and I'll bring back treasures for the kids. Please try and stay out of trouble while I'm away.

I nod. Maybe this will be good. As facts and stories trickle down through the ranks here the only thing holding back the pitchforks and flaming torches (ha, that's separate from Loch's arsenal) is me, and I'm not very strong. He does need to clear out for a few days and let things settle again.

I'll hold down the fort. Joel will spy for you anyway. 

He isn't to do anything of the kind. If you need to talk to him, he's here. That's all. He might be busy. Check first. And I'll miss you. But instead of his rare tender stare I get another perfunctory kiss and a brief hug as Caleb practically shoves me out the door so he can finish packing his carry-on bag.

Fairprovingground.

Hi Baby. He smiled when he noticed me standing behind him. He was sitting on the grass in the sun trying to fix a seized engine part and when he started he had been in the shade. That was four hours ago and my stomach is growling. It's our clock since his watch broke. We don't have money to get it fixed yet so he tucked it into the drawer under some papers and said he'll get it done in the fall. In the meantime when we feel hungry, sleepy or the whistles blow it's easy enough to tell the time.

I heard that one. Give me five more minutes and then five to wash up and we'll go in town for hot hamburger sandwiches and fries, okay? He smiles when I nod and goes back to pulling on the wrench. He doesn't really have much in the way of muscles yet so I have my doubts it's going to be a fast job all of the sudden. But Loch says he's proud and that means stubborn. I told him I must be proud too and he laughed and said no, I was just stubborn and there's no pride in there at all. I frowned and he said it was better my way, that pride eventually makes men look foolish and keeps them from getting the help they need to get somewhere.

I snorted because he always calls himself a man. He's not a man, he's a teenager. I'm glad he's not a man. He's just my Lochlan. I'll be sad when he grows up and I don't recognize him anymore.

What? He asks when I laugh out loud.

The man part. 

My man parts? 

No! Ew! The part where you call yourself a man. 

Should I be a....horse?

No! 

A...tiger?

No. 

A monkey? 

Oh, probably. 

Monkey it is, then. Oo oo. Aa aa. That work for you?

No, Be a man after all.

I'm trying, Peanut, hard as I can. 

(OOh hat trick. Been a while. Three tiny posts, one day.)

To add awesomeness to awesomeness Loch waited until long after lunch and everyone was gone again and then he said, oh, by the way, I've got your passport. So he can't take it. 

Fools seldom differ.

Lochlan saw that we were alone. He pulls out his wallet and shows me the place where he's unstitched the leather and has a sheaf of big bills lining the actual bill compartment. Also in there are the numbers for an emergency line of credit he keeps, unused, just in case.

Carnies are weird about money. We plan for a rainy day to the extent that we'd rather die with hundred dollar bills wallpapering a one-room shack for warmth after the utilities cut the power than needlessly spend anything at all.

Where are we going? He asks with a twinkle in his eye.