More ice please.

This morning Ben and Duncan went off to a meeting and I went to church, where I sat and listened to Sam, wedged in like icing between cake layers. The layers being Caleb, who has a lovely tender jaw and six stitches heading right into his eyebrow (a handsome future scar) and Lochlan, who now has a beautiful purple-blue nebula of a black eye beginning and the remnants of a bloody nose. I keep passing him new tissues and he keeps shoving them up there. Caleb smirks every time he does it.

Sam let them have at each other in the yard behind the church. What a sweetheart. So Godly and pure, that one.

I give up.

I told them to cool it. That this isn't the way we settle things, that we're adults now. Lochlan yelled No, we're not! at the same time Caleb yelled Yes it is!

Alrighty then.

I could lean back in the crook of his elbow, as he swings me around slightly off my feet, arms up around my neck, kissing me brusquely in the cold. I hang my head back very far and gaze at him through half-opened eyes and he smiles and that's when I see the blood.

That's when I hear the shouting.

I'm not sorry, Lochlan tells me, smiling, shaking his head as he is pulled away from me so they can find out what happened. Apparently Caleb staggered up the front walk and they found him sitting on the steps bleeding from his nose and mouth and a good cut over his eye. There's only one person here who fights dirty like that.

Loch doesn't have a scratch on him. I don't think he gave Caleb time to fight back or even defend. Ben gave Loch a look and then drove Caleb to the clinic to get fixed up. That cut wasn't something we could deal with at home.

Caleb refused to press charges or finger Lochlan at all. He said it was worth it. He smiled at me as he got out of the truck when they came back, ice pack held against his eye.

I wanted to punch him myself.

Out by the woodpile.

He was giving orders by five this morning and I followed every last one, slipping into amusement tour mode, doing what we do best. It's only when I make up my own mind that it gets me into so much trouble, if I just let him keep running this show we'll do better than ever.

I was ordered to put on jeans and a flannel shirt and a jacket and to grab gloves. At least Loch asked if I would make the coffee. He could have just told me to do it. And then out in the dark because the big woodpile has got to be moved, divided and restacked at the foot of the driveway. The rest will go beside the garage. None of it remains here at the end of the orchard. If it does it will never dry.

He pours the coffee into two thermal mugs and off we go, hand in hand in gloves. Once down by the orchard I realize this is the mother of invention, not necessity. The wood is fine here. He just wants to talk and so we're going to move it anyway.

So we talk. About his fears and shortcomings. About my needs and grand plans. About us. About Ben. About Henry. About Sam. About how Caleb is going to keep me under his thumb right up until the day Henry moves out and then Caleb won't have any way to keep me here anymore. How he understands now that Caleb is going to do just that and anything I try to do in return is going to come back on me tenfold. That's why it was so easy for Caleb to remind everyone that I came to him, that I asked him for his time, that I asked him for his brother. That he's making me look worse than bad. That my integrity is so questionable right now it's a wonder no one has switched allegiance against me. That Loch knows what I feel, he knows the lengths I'll go to and he knows how my brain betrays me even as my heart digs in. That he isn't mad, he just feels so helpless.

But eventually we ran out of coffee and then words too but not wood and so we kept working until almost nine, when it was time for the kids to go to school and then after we saw them off we kept on working until the rumblings of my stomach told me it was almost lunchtime and Lochlan started throwing around the idea of me making my world-famous grilled cheese sandwiches because he could really use one and he stopped finally and smiled at me somewhat desperately and downright adorably and asked me if I could just, well, if I wouldn't mind just sticking close again. Like I used to. Because as old as we've grown and as much as we've been through together one thing hasn't changed, and that's the stark fact that I need to stay inside this pool of lightness, with him. It's safer that way. That I can just ask him for anything I need and he'll do his best but I'm not to set foot in the dark again.

Tsunami.

I know that I am good for something
So let's go give it a try
We got our backs against the ocean
It's just us against the world
Looking at all or nothing
Babe it's you and I

Caleb stands with his bare feet in the water by a few inches. Jeans rolled up. Shirt hem sticking out under a cashmere sweater. Fresh shave and haircut. He looks like the men in the L.L. Bean catalog. I wonder if they are sexual deviants too.

You came to me. You called me by his name. I took it as permission, as guidance that you wanted something more. I let my ego find honor in the fact that I am the only living soul capable of providing any semblance of Cole's memory to you. I'm sorry, Bridget. I thought it was what you were looking for. 

He puts his forehead down against mine. I wish I could have a conversation without this. My toes are freezing. His eyes are glassy but so are mine, snot dripping off the end of my nose and he frowns and chooses to ignore it.

I'm not capable of refusing any of your needs, Bridget. If you want something, I've made it my priority to provide it for you, not because you're an object but because you are what my heart and mind is focused on. I've been in love with you since I was a teenager. Everything I have done in my life is a means to an end. To please you or provide for you, and now for my son too. Whether or not you were aware of it, it's what keeps me going. Even if it will be met with derision from others. Even if it isn't good for you. But please understand you have value far beyond what any of us are worth. Far beyond. Unquantifiable. Here.

He finally offers his sleeve and I wipe my nose on his lovely sweater but say nothing. Cashmere tissues. Nothing but the best for our princess. I'm sorry I hurt you, he repeats softly.

I nod. It was really harsh. My voice comes out in a squeak. The tears start stinging behind my eyes again and he closes his.

I'm so sorry. Next time it will be good. I promise you, Baby.

I give him forgiveness only because it's easier than dragging this out. It's easier than trying to hold onto a grudge that's bigger than my body weight. Besides, every last man on this point has already had a crack at him and by now he has perfected his words for me, using the others as his working model. If their reactions were too far afield he would rearrange. Don't they realize this?

There might not be a next time, Diabhal.

For all the ways I exist as Cole to you, Neamhchiontach,  please remember that you alone are all I have left of him too. Don't deny me memories of my brother. Don't fuck with this. I got rough. I said I was sorry. 

And just like that he's the Devil again as he turns and walks away, leaving me up to my ankles in low tide. Leaving me to drown in the present because he didn't succeed in drowning me in the past.

Extra small.

You crawled away from me.
Slipped away from me.
I tried to keep ahold,
but there was nothing I could say.

He's not Cole, Baby. Don't you give him that. Ben's words wash down the drain with the soap as he scrubs me all over gently. I came home in the middle of the night so fucked over I had to bite my own tongue to get up the stairs without screaming. I snuck into my bedroom and it was pitch black and then I heard Loch swear at me before he and Ben turned all the lights on.

He asked me what the fuck I had done and I asked him if it even mattered. That I'm not a person, I'm a thing. That I have no value so what fucking difference would it make at the end of the day as long as I stay on the point. As long as it's one of them. As long as I need the ones who are dead. As long as I don't care about myself at all. Then he realized I wasn't moving easily and he swore again and gingerly peeled everything off me, noticing all the things missing, jewelry, underclothes, self-respect. He told Ben he was going to kill Caleb and Ben didn't even take his eyes off me, he just took my hand and brought me into a hot shower where I stood and cried while he scrubbed me clean of my sins while Lochlan stood outside the door nervously talking to himself and to us, still trying to figure out how I got the idea that I was worthless based on their attempts to keep me precious, to continue to take care of me.

One of these times he's going to kill you. Bridget, you need to stay away from him. I don't know how many times I have to tell you.

I put my hands up. Cole loves me. 

Jesus Christ, Ben, what did we do?

Ben put up his hand and it was shaking. Let's just get her dried off and she can get some sleep. 

Suddenly I'm being talked about in the third person AGAIN and I don't know what I have to do to make them see that it's THAT that makes me feel so disposable. I push away from Ben and stumble into the bedroom and crawl under the quilts. I'm shivering. I realize I'm not cold at all, I'm just shaking and everything hurts so bad and Cole feels so close I just want to reassure myself that life for the past eight years has been nothing but a dream and he's here and he's going to wrap his arms around me and pull me close and I will fall asleep with the smell of varnish and developer in my nose, even though I know better. I know I left him in the dark and came home because he wasn't nice and he wasn't kind and that's how I know it's him for sure but at the same time I don't know where I am and I don't know why I can't seem to listen to myself or why things have to be so hard. I don't know why Jake isn't here to keep him from hurting me and I don't know why I can't stop crying but I hate it. I hate that I can't get past this. I hate that I'm hurting everything that's good in my life. I hate her. Bridget. The stupid idiot with all the words to make her excuses but none of the brains to pull herself up and move the fuck on.

After eights.

Hold your light, Eleven
Lead me through each gentle step by step
By inch by loaded memory
I'll move to heal as soon as pain allows
So we can reunite
And both move on together

He put his legs up on the desk and I slid right down his thighs and into his arms. He made a sound like a grateful laugh as I grabbed October and swung myself inside. One of the darker months in which I am excused to feel fall slide over me like an icy hand to come to rest clenched around my throat like a vise.

His hands dig in hard around my hips and I cry out. No play, no hesitation, no risk wasting time on anything less than what he wants. He forces his way into October too, against me and I dip my head down against his shoulder. He slows for a mere heartbeat at the surprise affection but I bite my lip and duck through the center of my own soul, a new unfamiliar place that seems colder than it should be.

Caleb reaches in and pulls me back by the hand. Turn, he orders and he pulls my hips up and pushes me facedown against the surface of his desk. His hand slides over my mouth and the other travels down my ribcage and then I see lights and stars but not the pretty ones at the fair. These are holes poked in the night, pinpricks of admission that show the dark for what it is and what it shouldn't be. He is on his feet behind me as stinging tears take over my vision.

(Can't say the word if you can't even speak, is the going joke here. Only this isn't funny or fair or kind and the tears spill over and make his hand slip and he stops and stands me up, turning me back to face him.

He orders me to tell him what's wrong and I lie and tell him I feel like I should be ashamed and I don't know why. He puts his hands up to my face and lifts it up to his. He tells me I should feel proud that he wants me so badly he can't even wait. As if not waiting is something new for him.

But I'm not ashamed, I'm just angry at myself because I'm unable to shut down and disappear anymore. He keeps me here, present in this moment of violence because he can and that is what I hate most about him now. This is Cole's legacy. Cole always kept me here too.

He uses his thumbs to gently wipe away the tears under my eyes, finishes undressing me and leads me down the hall. I just want it done. I want it over so I can go home and buy another few weeks or months or hours of peace until he is hungry for me again.

Project girl.

We love our tragedies
We're both broken in our own little ways
We're broken, but we fit together just right
You know I saw the black inside your eyes
I saw they were eclipsed by mine and they looked just right.

I went to breakfast this morning with the boys. I ate a huge plate full of omelet and hash browns and then I drank fifteen little teeny cups of coffee. It was glorious. The restaurant played music I could swallow easily with my breakfast. That's rare. I sat by the window so I could look out and watch the storm clouds sweep away the rain. I was not too warm and not too cold but just right. I was wearing leggings, ballet flats and a long dark green sweater. I felt like Peter Pan. It kept making me laugh. My hair flips up in little waves all over the place like Sam's now. It's bordering on cute. It makes me look kind of goofy though too. I haven't decided if that's good or bad so I'll go with a-okay.

Caleb kept kicking me under the table and after a good twenty minutes Loch hauled off and booted right back. I guess Caleb didn't notice my legs were tucked under my chair, and I was sitting in the crook of Lochlan's arm, leaning on him, so we were both getting knocked.

Lochlan smiled afterward and sat up straight to pour more coffee.

And we talked about my guardianship. I broached the subject because the time has come for it to be removed, I think and half the time I look after them, when they think they're looking after me. There's no pressing emergency here. I don't think I require representation any longer and I'd like to begin dismantling some of the needless monitoring, time wasting and general distrust, or fear, as it were.

But they said no.

Too soon.

You're not ready. 

Let's just wait a little longer. 

It's not hurting anything. 

Just because things are good today doesn't mean it's always like this. 

Just let us take care of you. 

I tried very hard to hold on to the good things about the morning but all it did was serve to remind me that I will never be taken seriously, never be one of them, my coveted boys, and never be considered capable enough of taking care of myself. Sam said I should find comfort in being looked after but I just sat there and looked at him because he knows so much better than this.

Bought back.

I can see why nothing has happened
Promises strain
I'm writing this down as I run
Take all the examples and what have I learned?
Nothing can heal you and everything burns

I woke up facedown in a straight jacket made of Lochlan's shirt. That's it. No covers, shirt jacked up to my elbows. In the Boathouse, no less.

And where is everyone? Oh, I don't know. Gone? And it's Monday and I don't know where my phone is or what time it is and it's long past sunrise which means the kids have gone to school and I wonder what story PJ told them this morning over breakfast and the rush to grab lunches/homework/gym strip/umbrellas because they never get their stuff out the night before, like I always suggest.

And here I lie, the sudden Queen of the Unprepared.

I start to struggle out of my flannel cage and abruptly Lochlan walks in, still in his t-shirt and jeans from last night.

Where is he?

Meetings in town.

Did you do this or did he?

I did.

Then take it off and run before I fucking catch you.

Ha. OKAY. Look, when I left I wanted to make sure you'd still be here when I came back.

TAKE IT OFF ME!

I swear to God, I fell asleep last night in Lochlan's arms, his face an inch from mine while he whispered the same things he would tell me when I would get homesick or scared, far from home.

So little changes, ever. And all the Devil did was sit in the corner and stare at me all night and not move a muscle, burning my image to memory, plastering the walls of his brain with my movements, my tattoos and my sounds. Gave him every sense but one. He can't talk a game to save his life against the two of us together and so he lost and he lost hard.

Sold out.

Without a hand to hold I followed the worn path in the floor until it grew too dark to see and then I stepped wrong and fell swiftly through the cracks. I threw my arms out looking for purchase but the sides were smooth and no one saw me fall anyway.

Or so I thought.

Somewhere in the last few feet, as the heaviness of bottom rushed up to meet me, that feeling of hurtling toward solid ground he grasped my hood in one fist, snapping me to a stop, dangling mere inches above death. A whispered oath and he began to pull me back until he could grab the sleeves of my sweater and let go of the hood and I could breath again.

Once on safe footing again he asked if I thought they had let me fall through the cracks.

I squinted my eyes shut because I don't like it when they read my mind but he threw his arms around my head and did it anyway.

We're not about to leave you behind, Peanut.

I nod from my place buried in a teenage hug.

You have to stick close, though, remember?

I nod again and tap out. I can't breathe.

He lets go and stands back, wild waves looking to explode into curls but not long enough yet. Eyes tired. Body wrecked. Healing slowly, mentally fucked like we all are but trying to be above it somehow while forcing honestly and transparency throughout the house, which is sort of exactly like me trying to boil the ocean, now, isn't it?

He stares at me. I'm being evaluated to make sure I'm okay and then he turns back to the Devil, the one who thrust his hands in deep, spreading those cracks wide, leaving a trail of sugar for me to follow until I dropped right in without a shriek, without a sound at all. Dead silent, just like my world when I choose to be invisible or choose to be bright.

I don't have to say a word. They'll do it for me, just as they do everything else. Speak for me, fend for me, provide for me, lie for me. Kill for me. Die for me. Fall for me.

Does it matter? What's the takeaway here, Peanut. What did you learn today?

I would stand with my hands clasped behind my back and try to force my ten-year-old brain to pay attention but she was in the clouds, soaring into space, exploding into glitter and rainbows and not paying attention enough. Not paying attention at all.

I stare at blue eyes and then at green (brown nowhere to be found). I hear the words as if I am underwater. There is sound but it's cloaked, murky and indistinguishable.  I see their expressions. I feel their hearts and yet I can't juggle them at the same time because I am terrified I might drop one.

The words become clearer as they get louder and I am abruptly yanked back close to Lochlan, who isn't as gentle as he could have been and the look on Caleb's face floors me as it generally does, because he talks one life and lives another and he looks alarmed but it's quick and I almost let it escape through my little fingers but I grab the tail and it squeals nonetheless and it's mine to keep and kill later.

The words grow quiet again, fading fast and I head off to find the lights and the music while they straddle the cracks in my world, balancing easily, one on skill, one on power, both on possession, both on love.

From my vantage point I feel the ire ebbing now, as the words become soft. Desperate. Conciliatory. Resigned. All the things they shouldn't have to be but are. I trade my safety for danger, my peace for war and my soul for more time. Keep it broken and it holds. Fix it and everything is going to blow apart. Keep her held there in midair and we won't have to change a thing. The show can go on.

I'm trying to boil the ocean here. Help or get out of the way.

I saved a place for you
I saved a place for all of you

Like I said, a whole lot of shouting and a nice shoving match in the driveway and everything is alright again. Lochlan erupted like a volcano somewhere after keeping himself contained all through dinner and homework supervision and sending the kids off to play games or read and then he went after Ben like a rocket. He can be a little cold to Ben's charms most of the time. If it's about him he caves, if it's about me he loses his shit. He was followed out by most of the others, who weren't interested in seeing this on a Friday night after a long week.

They held him back and let him yell himself hoarse until he had it all out of his system. All of it. Then when he was spent Ben walked over to him and put him into a bearhug and they didn't move forever. Dalton lingered on the front porch in case there were any further points Loch wanted to make but he was subtle about it. Busy with his phone. I sat on the rock wall and watched as Ben whispered to Lochlan, not using charm but instead weakness. He'll lay himself bare, leaving nothing left open to misinterpretation. Loch finally put his arms up around Ben's back and held on so hard, sagging against him, worn the fuck out. Disarmed, as it were.

When I looked up Caleb and Joel were standing just in the shadows between the garage and the stable. Hands in pockets. Watching. Faces expressionless. Caleb meets my eyes and tries to hold them but I refuse to acknowledge him and hop down from the wall. I follow Dalton inside and Duncan comes to take his place on the porch until Ben and Lochlan are ready to come inside.

***

When I get to the brightly lit kitchen it's empty save for Preacher 2.0 sitting on a stool at the island, Ben's guitar in his arms, head down, eyes closed, strumming quietly. I can't hear what he's playing and I turn and try to head upstairs instead but he calls my name.

I go back in and dutifully sit up beside him, legs swinging, staring at his handsome face even though he's still there with his eyes closed, trying to get the chord just right.

I almost flinch when he speaks again after sitting there watching him for so long in silence.

Thanks for the magnificent show of drama to distract me from missing Matt.

I roll my eyes and he catches me, opening one eye, squinting at me, smiling quietly. I think I had less to do with this than you all seem to understand.

I know. It's nice to be part of the weirdness.

That's what living here is all about, Sam.

How do you feel about all this?

I was just worried Ben would start drinking. I don't think I could stand it if he had to go away again.

I know that, Fidget. I didn't mean about Ben.

You mean...about you. 

Yes. 

I need to go see how Ben is doing. 

***

But I didn't go back out front. Instead I went through the side door and back to the boathouse where Caleb had returned alone and was still standing just outside his front door, on the water side where there is a long wooden balcony from the steps to the end of the kitchen outside with a glass rail overlooking the cliff. The first fifty times I walked it I was terrified but now I just consider it a part of my show.

He was leaning on the rail, hands outstretched, looking over my surrogate sea.

Bridget, this isn't going over well with anyone.

What isn't? I ask him. And for the record, I'm still not speaking to you! So there!

So why are you here?

I don't know where I'm supposed to be! 

He let go of the rail and turned to me, looking amused for the first time all day. You have two husbands and a dozen friends. All up there split between two houses and you don't know where you're supposed to be so you come...here.