Burying hatchets (in the sand)/The Four-hour Jesus lunch.

Today was Baptism Day, which means early, early morning church on the beach. Which means men in suits with rolled up pant legs and bare feet being all god-like and Sam pulling out his scuba gear under his robe and neck stole since he has to go all-in.

I didn't know most of the people being baptized personally but I handed them each their goodie bag (containing a bookmark ribbon with one of several of Sam's favorite bible quotes, a small towel with an embroidered cross in one corner, a monogrammed leather bible cover with each candidate's initials and a bunch of treats inside to fully welcome them), after Sam gave them a brand new bible once on land, before walking the next person out to be dipped in the sea.

The final candidate (and the only one I do know) is Jay. New-Jake. Jacob. He came out of the water arm-in-arm with Sam, a look on his face I've never seen before and when I passed him the bag and towel he grabbed me in a big wet hug and then proceeded to hug absolutely everyone. It was beautiful.

We came home and threw a party for him, after everyone had cleaned up. Sam had written a note on the inside cover of each bible for the candidates. Jay passed it around with pride, with tears in his eyes and everyone read it and the weepies were contagious and touching as we brought lunch outside to the patio to enjoy.

What changed? I asked Jake.

I've been given this amazing family, and I want to honor that and be the best person I can, and part of that involves letting go a bit. 

And letting God?

Yeah. It's hard to be as earnest about it. 

You can resist if you want. Look at Lochlan. 

He carries so much anger. 

He's had a hard life, Jay. 

Is it easier now? 

Yes, but he's scarred nonetheless. 

We all are. 

True. 

I want to help make this a beautiful life. 

It is already because you're here. With us. 

Thank you, Bridget. 

I didn't do it. 

Going to give God the credit? 

No, Lochlan. He's the one who brought you back even when you didn't deserve it. 

He nods. I've got to thank him. How do I do that?

Keep being a good person. 

I'll try. 

No, Jay, you have to go all in. There is no 'try'. 

You sound like Yoda. 

He was a smart little green dude. 

Does this mean you're coming to the dark side with the other nerds?

No, I'm never going to be a big Star Trek fan. Sorry.

Living on the edge.

I feel like I reached a milestone today.

We had to drive into Vancouver for an errand and on the way out of it Lochlan stopped and got me a coffee. He was in a rush and forgot to get a lid, and so he handed me an open, full paper cup of coffee when he got back to where I waited. Then he drove the whole way home with me in the passenger seat, sipping my open, super-hot coffee. I'm not sure if it was my confidence that I could manage or his trust but I didn't spill it, didn't get burned and finished it just as we got home. In spite of the short stops, potholes and distracted highway usual Vancouver shit. In spite of the fact that I can't walk and breathe at the same time and have never gotten a coffee on the go.

Because to Lochlan I will always be eight years old and needing to be taken care of, protected from hot coffees, protected from myself maybe.

So I guess I'm an adult today? Finally?

Hurrah. Coffee for everyone. No lids though, fuck it, we're grownups here.

I feel like myself when it rains.

(My list, if you're wondering, in no particular order: Parlee/Rissers/Brackley/Chapin/Queensland and more recently Chesterman/Cannon/South Edison. Google each one with beach tacked on and you'll see where I grew my soul, and to this day I still love them more in the rain.)

Before the boys, before the midway, before the circus, before Jake, before even Lochlan and Caleb and Christian and Cole there was just me.

I was always small for my age. Always running to catch up, always teetering on my tiptoes to see everything that everyone else could squarely gaze at, always jumping up to catch the ball/get in the bed of the truck/hit the pinata/reach the box of cookies on the third shelf from the top in the pantry.

Always playing alone. I didn't like Bailey's friends. I had already moved away from Andrew and everyone else teased me because I was so small, because I couldn't read things in English, because I called things by funny names, I foundered for words constantly and because when I don't smile I look perpetually like I'm going to cry, people tended to approach me with concern and then melt away when they realized everything was fine.

Was it fine? I don't know. I was too young to decide.

When it rained I would put on my red rubber boots and my red raincoat with the plastic snaps and the giant hood and I would go out into the brook where the backyards met and I would watch the water so intently. It was never a beach day when it rained. My family only went when they could bake themselves golden and me, always red and then and only then would we come home. I craved the beach when it rained, empty and barren, the drops leaving strange patterns in the sand, seagulls muted, canteen boarded up, parking lot empty. Something I saw only on the weeks where we would move to the beach to live on vacations.

The big beaches are the best ones, with miles of sand to walk on, room for everyone, and full facilities. Outdoor showers. Fast food. Ice cream. Boardwalks and cutting sea grass, dunes to lose yourself in and sandbars for days. As a child I have walked out into the part of the world where it curves and then turned only to see tiny people on the beach and not know which ones were my sister or my dad. I didn't understand why no one came calling for me, if I was out too far, if anyone even noticed I was gone.

Where are you going? Bailey smirked when I had pointed to the empty horizon.

That's France so I'm going there. Tell them I won't be home for dinner.

I scratch my shoulder, now tender and beginning to blister and turn and keep walking. I walk until the water is up to my neck and swirling strongly around my ankles far underneath, until I begin to see darker parts where seaweed grows in plants anchored into the ocean floor, not floating randomly in where the surf meets the shore and only then do I turn back and walk a straight line back to where I started. Sometimes the water is up to my knees. Sometimes it's almost dry. Seven sandbars. Eight. Nine. Eleven. Finally I'm back to the crowds and I scan the blankets and sandcastles and sunshades and then I see my grandmother's oldest quilt, my mom stretched out reading a book, my dad maybe gone off to find food, Bailey at eleven broiling herself in dark tanning oil, the older sister doing it right. I stand there and look at them and then I ask,

What happens to the ocean when it rains?

It gets more dangerous. That's why we only come here when it's sunny. 

I take off my red rubber boots and step into the brook. I've cleared the rocks and leaves and branches to make the bottom bare but it's still muddy. It squishes up between my toes and I close my ears. The wind rustles through the trees but I can barely hear it for the burbling noise of the water as it flows down through the neighborhood to come out of the big pipe by the highway, or so I imagine because I'm not old enough to follow it to the end.

No, it's not the same.

That night at dinner my dad tells us we're moving, that he's bough a house for us in a really nice neighborhood in a different town, closer to a big city, that the street we'll be living on has lots of kids, and has a path at the end that goes through the woods to a baseball field and a park, that it's really nice.

I never stepped into the brook again.

Is it closer to the beach?

Yes. But a different beach.

I never thought to ask if the kids in the neighborhood would be nicer. Or if my family would pay attention to me if I went to far just because we lived in a new house in a new neighborhood. I never asked if we could find all the plastic fish from the little fishing rod set I had for the brook that swallowed all the pieces the first day I tried it out before we leave, just in case.

I just thought to myself, when we live in the new town, I'm going to the beach when it rains. 

Instead I met the boys and everything was vastly different after that.

Light makers, light wasters.

This morning I waited out the wind, pale blue sky tinged with dark grey, chipped white paint on the fence, a cold blustery wake to begin the time of summer, now, oddly the coldest day this week.

But also the longest.

The days get shorter now-

Don't say it. 

It's a fact. 

Well, it's wrong. I remember endless summer as a child. The days grew longer and longer and only heading into back-to-school did the stars come out while kick the can and bonfires on the path in the woods were still in force. But they didn't get longer as school was ending in June. They just didn't. Summer was celebrated properly and not like this, already on a downhill slide.

You didn't have a good grasp of time when you were little. 

I don't now.

It's fine. 

No it isn't. Now I feel like I've squandered all of this...light. 

He bursts out laughing. You did have a good grasp of the dramatic. 

I wonder why. 

Summer's just beginning, Bridge. This is the first day. You haven't wasted it. It's just arriving now. It's waiting for you. It's yours to spend. 

What should I do?

Anything you want. 

Let's stay up all night. 

Seriously?

No. Remember when you would tell me we were going to and then you'd tell me it was three and then five and then six and I did it so I should go to sleep now or I'd miss everything later in the day and I believed you and it was only ten-thirty?

You knew?

Of course I knew. I could always tell when you said something to protect me. Your expression would be different. 

I was just trying to keep you safe-

Like right now. There it is. That face.

Too hot.

Thirty degrees in the shade this afternoon and Caleb is standing in my parking spot in a suit, minus the jacket but with the vest and a white shirt with french cuffs he keeps shooting which makes my knees buckle just a little still, checking his watch as if I am late or something. I leave the car in the middle of the driveway. Fuck it.

Am I? Did we have plans? 

Neamhchiontach. 

Did I forget something?

Your future plans, your manners, our agreement, I can go on but suffice it to say, yes, you forgot something. 

Can we do this tomorrow maybe? 

What's the matter?

I'm hot. 

Oh, please do another naked stroll past all three houses. Those stunts are mighty impressive. 

I was covered. 

Only by your tattoos. 

Counts. 

Doesn't. 

Does. 

Bridget. 

WHAT!?

Rock and Roll Jeopardy remains the greatest quiz show of all time to me.

Got into it with August this afternoon while floating on glitter floaties, slathered in contraband sunblock and blasting acoustic gems from the playlist I made just for him.

Operator came on and he swore up and down that it was Elton John. Swore. Tried to bet me money but I wouldn't take it. Told me I was fucking with him. Listened intently and said I was totally messing with him and finally he sat back, content in my deception even as I floated and insisted that it was Jim Croce, and he needed to do his research.

Lochlan came out and August hailed him. Who's the singer?

Lochlan stopped in his tracks and listened. Jim Croce. 

For fucks sakes. 

See? I crowed from my air mattress. I don't mess around-

With Jim?

No, with music. Ever. 

How did you get such a vast knowledge of it?

Only stuff from the seventies and eighties-

Yeah, but how?

Lochlan grins. Easy. We had some really long drives from one site to the next and the radio was always on. I quizzed her constantly. Eventually she outlearned me and now I work to keep up. 

Serious?

Very. 

It's the only thing I'm good at, I venture from the middle of the pool.

Lochlan shakes his head. I beg to differ, Bridge.

Eyes wide.

I sent out a big group message shortly before one today, warning everyone to vacate the driveway/backyard/patio and pool area at three-thirty, that I was coming home and planned to head for a swim to cool off before doing anything else, that I didn't bring my suit and wasn't planning to go all the way upstairs to change first, that they could do me this favour, since Ruth was at work and Henry stays late at school on Mondays for math help since exams are coming, and coming fast.

I got back the right number of affirmatives. They're cool with it. It's only fifteen minutes, right? (That's how long it takes me to get bored in the pool alone anyway, and Lochlan said he would bring out a book so I had actual supervision.

When I got home I parked the car and took off my shoes, kicking them toward the side door. Tights were next. Jesus Christ, who invented these things? I stepped through the gate and untied my apron that I forgot to take off before I left work, and flung it on the steps going up to the patio doors. Then I put my bag down on the chair closest to me and my name tag I unpinned and put beside it. Then I headed across to the pool, unzipping my dress, pulling it off as I went. I let it fall to the grass and by the time I reached the pool deck my camisole and underwear were fifty yards behind me. I sank into the shallow end and walked until only my nose and eyes were above the surface. Then I closed my eyes and exhaled.

So much cooler in here. They turned the heater off. I may not come out for dinner.

Also, fuckers told me they'd all be gone but I encountered every last one of them on my walk of fame. Every. last. one.

Jesus hostage.

Lochlan and I are lying in bed this morning, sun beaming in, windows wide, the sounds of distant lawn mowers and closer birds filling our ears. Lochlan stretches laugidly, like a cat.

What if we skipped church?

Then Sam would be lonely. 

What if we kidnapped him and kept him here too?

Then who would do the service? 

His co-rev. 

On short notice?

He suddenly got very sick.

Hmm. Better check with him. 

Go find him. Lochlan smiles a wicked, wicked smile.

You'd do anything to get out of church. (I said the same thing on the midway when Sunday prayers came around under the mess tent and it was mandatory if you wanted your paycheque that week and still he bristled.)

Go on. 

I head down the hall, down the steps and to the right into Sam's part of the house, knocking softly.

Come in. I step inside and Sam is in his den tying his tie. Help? He lifts his chin and puts his hands down.

I take the tie and slide it off him from around his neck. Then I tie it around his hands, making him my captive.

What are you doing? 

Making you our prisoner. You'll have to call your office. 

He grins. Grab my phone, Bridge.

Amends.

One of the hammocks is now officially a double-wide, and I went out this morning with my blanket, coffee in a travel mug and a book hoping to snooze in the shade for an hour or so, before the world gets noisy, busy and fast.

Sam was already there, a slim stainless mug of tea with a lid in one hand, Jacob's bible and a notebook in his lap.

Oh, sorry. I see I have to take a number?

It's a double, Bridge. I'll move over.

No, it's fine.

How long do you plan on avoiding me for? We've talked about this but you're still giving me the cold shoulder.

Sorry. I'm just trying to figure things out.

Let me help you.

Oh, that was a Jake remark. My heart caves in and I step closer to the hammock. His face lights up and he moves to make room. I climb on and he drops the bible and notebook and mug to the grass and puts his arm around my shoulder. I use his chest as a pillow, listening for the mild heartbeat, the open spirituality coursing through his thin frame and I remember that he isn't the enemy, he's the protege, and Jake wanted us to support each other.

We're walking conflicts of interest, objects of desire and forbidden fruit to each other, though. I don't think Jacob meant for that to happen, surely but I enjoy the thumps of Sam's heart and the righteousness of his soul nonetheless. As much as he has kept me in a certain place emotionally, he's also...well, kept me in a certain place emotionally so instead of being stunted by grief I can live almost around it. Even as I keep sliding backwards and he throws himself into the hole to catch me. If I'm not going to get very far with it he'll keep me company there.

I close my eyes and forget my coffee, my book, my Jake. I take a deep breath and I'm asleep. I guess that's the opposite of a cold shoulder, a warm heart. I know I have one, things just get hard sometimes.

White is lime, believe it or not.

The difference between me and everyone else? They'll offer you their forgiveness and I'll give you my grace.

That difference is bigger than just you or me. It's how things are.

PJ put on the new Orange Goblin album and came over to where I stood at the sink, daydreaming, looking out over the ocean while I mindlessly scrubbed water bottles. He put his chin down on my shoulder and asked if he could take over.

It's fine. I'm almost finished. 

What can I do to make this week up to you? 

He already failed to notice he doesn't even need forgiveness. It's already done, we've all moved on.

Have some ice cream with me, with a catch. 

I have to be naked?

You wish. No, the catch is that we don't actually have any ice cream so you'll need to go buy some.

I can fix that. Ever the hero, he grabs his keys and wallet from his room and heads out. I hear his jeep disappear and he is replaced with Duncan, who also wants to help with the dishes and feels awful that their laugh was at my expense.

He, too, chooses to hope for grace but doesn't expect it.

It must be earned, then. Or maybe bought. Coerced?

I'm finished here in a moment and PJ is off buying ice cream. Maybe you can scrub the bathrooms on this floor for me so we can get outside faster? 

Done. He disappears.

I take my time on the last few bits of dishes and one by one they come to lie prone at my feet to repent for their sins. I assign each one a chore that I had on my list and they're off and running.

All of them. By the end of the list I was inventing chores I had no intention of doing this year.

Dust the fishing rods for me?

Can you reorganize the books by color in the library? I just want to see what it looks like.

I don't want the red tictacs mixed with the white and blue ones. Can you make them into layers in the container?

Seriously, Bridge? Gage has his suspicions on the final, most ridiculous request and I'm almost made.

It's on the list. I implore with wide eyes.

And off he goes. To rearrange my fucking ice pop tictacs. I swear to God they would do anything for me. And they obviously do. That's why this grace is easy.

That's why grace is dangerous.

Eventually, with everything done for the day I take my grace and drown it in a fresh cup of coffee that I take outside to enjoy the sun. It's been a while since I've seen her and I needed a day off anyway.

Perfect.

That isn't grace, Bridget. Sam has me. The jig is up.

Yes, I know it isn't. Just let me have this payback. It's fun.