Prequel, sequel, Preacherman, love.

We put Sam in the middle of a group hug early this morning as he attempted to record a short message to be played instead of a podcast this morning. The podcast will be pointed at one of the global broadcasts from the church on a unfamiliar, formal level instead, if people are missing a sermon that badly.

Because we forgot to record it and put it up a few days ago in the rush.

He had to rerecord it three times, overcome with emotion over the support and the love he feels in this house.

Last night offhand I asked him if he wanted to use A Thousand Years Part II for their first (second) song and we both cried because the words are so beautiful so that's it, that's the song. Perfect since this is the sequel wedding. We've stuck little number 2s on everything that they haven't seen yet, including the cake topper, the gazebo and even all of the tiny sparklers for lighting after dark are shaped like 2s after Lochlan bent them gently with a pair of pliers, having figured out how to do it without losing all of the coating.

And we're ready. Sam prayed for all the wayward single souls on the point with a laugh and then got serious, asking God for some strength and courage to move forward and the bravery to be able to secure this island against the storms. His hands are shaking. He is afraid and he doesn't have to be. Love is a cloud. You jump and then you realize so much later that it's on fire or it's cold or it's not big enough for two. And he already jumps so he knows this is his cloud. He knows he is comfortable. He knows he is home. But still, when he takes my hand his trembles so slightly it makes me cry.

Don't cry, Bridget.

So happy for you, Sam. I choke it out and he sends me inside to make sure everything is ready because he can't. Because he is losing it. This gift. This second chance. Planned for summer, pinned on Easter, now falling somewhere in the middle. We'll get it done. Six o'clock tonight and he will be back where he belongs as Mrs. Matt.

It's one of those beautiful days on the point that I always want to remember. Every door to the outside is wide open. Everyone is here. Everyone is happy and excited. The air is electric. The tiny lights are on. The table is set and the rain can come or not, we don't really care.

Lochlan takes my hand and squeezes it and I burst into tears. I love this. I can't help it. As much as I always feared Sam would never recover from Matt breaking his heart, I know first hand how sweet it is when the one who broke it figures out how to come back and fix it for good.

A lighthouse.

Suits are ready. Daniel and I steamed them and ironed all of the shirts and ties and made sure there are nice socks, polished shoes and multiple freshly pressed hankerchiefs for the inevitable tears. When all that work was done (we've become heathens in old madras shorts and soft worn t-shirts or should I say they have) I went outside to sit on the patio and take a break and Sam was out there sitting by himself, looking over the ocean.

Do you think Jacob would have liked Matthew? He asks me with so much curiosity. It took me by surprise.

Jacob would have adored him. He would have been so happy that you both came back together after so long apart.

Do you think he would have felt the same about you and Lochlan?

I don't know, honestly. Sometimes I think he understood the closeness of the Collective and sometimes I think he was happier when we were removed from it. When it came crowding back in and he saw the depth of it he was overwhelmed.

Do you blame us for his absence, Bridget?

I don't blame anyone but Jacob, Sam. I say it fake-brightly now, determined to make this a happy weekend. They can deal with me later. He would have had great talks with Matt about life overseas and science versus religion. He would have considered him a very close friend very quickly, I think.

I think you're right.

Why would you look for confirmation from a ghost, Sam?

I just wonder why we spent the past four years apart if this is so right.

There's a conversation for Lochlan, not me.

Your circumstances were absolutely insurmountable, Bridget. There's no comparison there.

And yet, we overcame.

And it's incredible.

Is it? A lot of the world says this is unhealthy and doomed to end in an epic disaster.

I think it already did and we've been rebuilding it ever since.

I hope you're right.

Do you?

Yes, Sam, I do. We're coming out the other side.

Then can you do me a favor, Bridget?

Anything you need, you know that, Samuel.

Can you sober up? This is heartbreaking to watch.

I thought I was being sneaky.

I've been in the program a long time. You're visible from a hundred miles away, shining way too bright.

Well, fuck.

Better a day and a half drunk then a few years, trust me.

Or a few decades, like Ben.

Exactly. He and I talked yesterday morning about this.

That obvious?

I don't know why you think it wouldn't be.

I figured you were all distracted.

That's the beauty of this Collective. We don't get distracted to the point where we don't see that one of us needs the rest of us.

Then maybe y'all should have a chat with the Devil.

As we speak, Bridget. Don't you worry about a thing.

Calculator, decorator, tailor, slave.

Welcome to my cage little lover
Time to rearrange with you baby
Still don't know your name miss honey
Let's go up in flames pretty lady

Caleb continues to be unimpressed this morning. He was taken outside yesterday after breakfast by Lochlan while they hissed at each other and in that moment I decided that for the summer of 2020 I think I'll become a high-functioning alcoholic because it's easier than this stress and I'm sure I can hide it since they don't compare notes on my diet or alcoholic intake unless something is glaringly obvious, like I'm falling down drunk or way too enthusiastic about something I normally avoid, like...uh...shrimp or anal sex or sitting on an airplane for an extended period.

We ran up the mountain in silence this morning while I did budget stuff in my head and he made offhand comments about hurting me to the point where even if someone did touch me again I wouldn't feel it. When we got home and parted ways he said he loved me.

Is it Friday? Who cares? I've already squired away half a bottle of Mexican liqueur into my coffee over three cups and I swear they wouldn't notice if I poured it straight over my head. Or theirs. For lunch I have unearthed another case of champagne because I needed it out for the wedding anyway.

On the upside before I decided to spend this hallowed weekend loaded for bear I already collected all of my vintage black iron oil-fuel lanterns and put them on the steps and the rock path leading up to the gazebo. I pulled out all of my airy tulle teal curtains and went and bought out all of the blue fairy lights I could find (early this week, not driving drunk. PJ drove anyway) and have big plans to drape the openings and line the whole thing with the lights until we're positively blind from the beauty of it all.

For dinner (this is taking place on Sunday evening) after the short ceremony (I called Sam's comm. minister and nailed down the time and already sent him a huge stipend so I don't feel bad about not inviting him to stay for supper since it's a small group only) we're going to do a lobster boil and have potato salad, rolls and champagne/pellegrino besides. I'm baking the cake tomorrow. Angel food with buttercream icing and their original cake topper which simply says S&M and sends us all into fits of giggles so I still have it.

Their honeymoon will have to be in the boathouse but we have plans to add a bowsprit to it with a mermaid or a dragon or something to make it feel like they have bon-voyaged nonetheless because there's nowhere to go in these times anyway. Trust me. I tried.

It's going to be great.

Planning weddings, learning programming and escaping the grasp of the Devil. That's my Thursday.

Have I slept? No I haven't slept. Lochlan finally turned away and implored me to let him get at least some rest and we would deal with details tomorrow. The last wedding of Sam and Matt was a devastatingly poignant moment on the beach at night during the winter solstice. It started snowing. We had a devil of a time ferrying guests back and forth. Caleb ended up getting a plane. It made four stops. The work of dismantling the dinner on the beach took four days and I will never forget the beauty of that night or their words or the fact that I may not have cried so hard at any point since.

Sam says this one will be smaller. In-house with his community minister popping by to officiate in the foyer or maybe the front porch but otherwise no fuss, he says.

Oh, I'm making a fuss, I told him. A big fucking fuss.

Bridget, we're just undoing a mistake we made. Let's keep things light.

We will but it still has to be special. You need to mark this with-

Bridge-

Just let me whip up something beautiful. What's your limit on people? Who does Matt need? All I need is a guest list and I'm good-

Anyone who wants to be there. We'll need you and Lochlan and Ben but otherwise if anyone's free or not, it's fine. Short notice. I don't expect any bells this time. We're literally just re-legalizing.

Sam, don't you dare sell love short to someone like me.

Okay, uh...how's this? Make it beautiful but very small. Like you.

***

Google has done a thing to Blogger and I'm struggling, guys. I have no free time to figure it out so if my formatting gets weird it's not me. I am a Luddite, a basics girl. I don't know any HTML and they've smushed it all together with numbered lines and it's impossible so bear with me for a few years and just when I get it they'll change something else. I can't even figure out how to get my phone to stop taking live photos or how to turn on the television or the x-box anymore so yeah...sorry.

***

Caleb isn't too happy that I gave Matt and Sam a big old wedding gift of myself. No, he's not happy at all. He made an elaborate breakfast for us and just as I was about to take my first bite of eggs Benedict he asked me to detail what happened.

Um, what?

I want to know if Matt touched you.

Do you now? I return my fork to my plate and put my hands on the sides of the chair. I want to be ready to run when he flips this table. Or burns down my universe.

That's a yes if you're getting ready to bolt.

No, I'm just aware of your temper and how it translates to me.

Bridget, can't you just stay put?

Can't you just be happy they figured it out and are back together?

I just don't understand how you factor in.

I think for a moment. I could give him the slap in the face of the truth or I can blur the edges a little so that it doesn't cut quite so deep. It was probably just a impulsive decision to test their commitment. I don't know. I was home with Lochlan very early. I shrug for effect.

Caleb flips the table anyway with a reminder not to lie to his face. Not to break his heart. Not to Always. Put. Him. Last. Or at least that's what I think he yelled. I could hardly hear him for the thunderous sounds of footsteps running toward us.

Five days lead time? I can do this.

They tried to side me blind but I've been waiting for it all along. What I didn't expect was their delivery. No, I didn't expect that at all.

Someone brought my favourite gin to the table. I was the only one drinking it in the boathouse as the rain poured down on the skylights so hard that I briefly wondered, as I always do, if the glass will hold against the water. Then I wondered if the gin would hold against the night.

And then we went to bed.

(Spoiler alert. The glass held. The gin? It held too. Until it didn't but by then who needs alcohol escape when I can have figments instead?)

When I woke up Sam and Matt very gently told me they are getting married again. Victoria Day weekend. That it won't be big (first one wasn't) but they waited an entire holiday past what they set for themselves as a marker and they figured out how to navigate me (bring her over, touch her for a while and never say a fucking word about it again, every couple of...months or so) and here we go, boys. Time for another wedding.

Night birds and early owls.

I won't let it go
I'll stick to the plan
Deep in the throes

I won't let it go
I'll fight til' the end
And then you will know

When I took my coffee outside this morning, headphones, ipad and plans for half an hour of privacy in the pouring rain under protection of the glass-covered pergola, I was surprised to find Schuyler already there. He's ready for his day and waiting for me, clearly.

Where's Lochlan?

Sleeping. If you need him I can get-

No, I'll talk to him after.

Want coffee?

Oh, I want to talk to you as well.

With...coffee or without?

May as well stay here. Knowing you if I send you in for more coffee you'll go straight out the front door with your car keys because somehow over the past twenty years I have been 'scary'.

Not scary, just...foreboding? Maybe? I don't know.

All those pages and suddenly you don't have words?

Schuyblue-

No nicknames today, Bridget. We can't operate a Collective like this by force. We've learned that. So if I have some sort of vibe that's off I need to fix that.

Schuyler, I don't think I need anyone else trying to fix anything here.

You forget who you're talking to, Bridg-

THAT. That's what happens. Who am I talking to? Why do you stalk Jacob and know absolutely every single thing that's going on? I know you and Caleb somehow work together to keep an eye on everyone but at the same time you are far less but far more frightening for it.

We're all just trying to be strong for you. That's it. You know how it goes. We check each other now. So nothing goes too far.

So nothing goes too far.

Bridget-

I get it. Just far enough but not too far so that you can't live with yourselves.

He stares at me. It's six in the morning. It's too early for this and we're doing it anyway.

I am one with the wind and sky (if it's hot sing Frozen. At the top of one's lungs because they don't like it).

Schuyler and Daniel showed up very late last night with reminders that there are four strong men living next door, and they don't seem to have the mood swings of the ones in my house. I pointed out those four strong men don't have to live with me and Daniel laughed a little too hard and pointed out if I lived with them there would be nothing left of me and I half-expected Lochlan to go right through him at that point but Lochlan isn't going to fuck with Daniel because no one fucks with Daniel and besides, not like I went over there. They came to me. They brought an ice-cold bottle of wine and decided if I got just a little drunk I'd probably sleep and feel better.

What do you know? They were right. I was sent up after three glasses. Lochlan had already put on ceiling fans and opened all the windows and I was out like a light.

This morning the feelings aren't so sharp, the sunburn isn't very raw and he smiled at me when I woke up, instead of frowning. We've already got the laundry caught up, tackled the wasp nest on the porch and planted radishes. I need to water everything and hit the post office to send my parents masks and pick up some things at the drugstore and then the rest of the day will be slow-moving and cool-ish, as we don't attempt herculean outdoor chores on the hottest fucking weekend of the year.

Christ.

Lochlan still thinks he's sixteen or even twenty and can stay out all day in the sun, busting his ass and being clipped with everyone. He has a long history of yelling at me as I burn and whine and then feeling bad later. I HATE the heat. It makes me physically ill. I don't like the cold much either, but in-between is just fine. Rain is fine. Fog and wind is the BEST, but anything over about twenty-two degrees and I am NOT having it.

Sorry, Peanut.

It worked out. I'm still a little mad.

But not much.

Schuyler might be a better counsellor than anyone.

Only because we're all afraid of him.

True.

I picked a fight in my own defence and am ending this Mother's Day with broken fingernails (from helping to lift things like hard tops, lawn mowers and rocks), a terrible sunburn from the top of my head right through to the tops of my feet, a heathen attitude towards Jesus and a stomach ache that won't quit. I think I have heatstroke. I think I might be losing my mind. If you find it, don't even tell me, just kick it off a cliff into the sea and let it sink to the bottom like a stone.

Ben wants me to try harder. Lochlan keeps telling me to never be normal. Caleb just wants selfish hour after selfish hour and everyone else wants to watch.

Throw my brain overhand, please. Make it go far in hopes it will never be found.

Sunburned.

Kayak this morning, then gardening. We finished with the four-ish yards that remained. Ben came out and delegated the work and it was finished by one.

Good. In time so you don't burn. He smiles at me, pale and tired. Working in his studio he doesn't see the sun so this is good. Or at least he won't get rickets.

I'm already burning, I point out.

So I hear, he laughs. Rough night?

Who were you gossiping with?

Lochlan.

And?

He doesn't get it but he's trying to roll with it.

He's not trying and he doesn't have to like it. It's only like once a year or whatever now.

It's a cumulative problem, Bee.

Is it?

Maybe.

I don't think it is. I haven't gone anywhere except to Caleb's in a long time.

Lochlan's getting old.

Don't you think we all are?

I think he thought after a couple of years you might settle down.

Then how come he won't say that to my face. He flat-out encourages me, Benjamin-

He's trying so hard, Bumblebee.

To what?

To be everything you want. To bite his tongue. To be hands-off when you need him to be. If it helps he lets it slide. He'd do anything for you. I think it's time for you to return that favor.

I would die for him, Benny.

I don't know if he knows that, Bridge. Maybe he tells himself you would but when he goes to sleep, half the time you're not there.

At least he remembered my favorite flower without having to check his notes first.

Batman bites his top lip as he watches me take a sip. He's become the good-whiskey guy, always with the sparest inch in the bottom of my favorite stoneware cup, ice cube taking up the whole space, because he wouldn't want there to be any question as to whether or not I could think for myself if I stay later than allowed. He always makes sure we have a snack too, moreso because he thinks if he can circle my wrist with his finger and thumb that I must not eat and so he has a plate on the small table nearby with olives, crackers and cheese. He is in his favorite chair and I don't get a chair, because he pulled me into his lap the moment I was close enough and I didn't mind because a good pair of arms for a hug or a hold is better than oxygen to me.

How are the lilacs?

I pressed my face right into them. No smell yet. I frown and finish my glass. He sets it on the table far away and then sets down his too. Twenty bucks says it's still full. For a good-whiskey guy he hardly drinks. I've seen him tipsy twice in my life. He looked so happy, for a moment.

He pulls my face into his. Stay. Have a belated birthday visit. I have a gift for you. His eyes are bright.

I need to be back by sunrise.

I will have you back, he swears.

I let him kiss me and I return it. Do you need Lochlan here? He is gently rubbing at a bruise on my upper arm, suddenly all concern and consent.

It's from kayaking. And Lochlan knows I'm here.

He can join us-

It's fine. I return his kiss twofold just so he'll stop negotiating and figure it out. Dawn isn't all that far off. He's not into frenzied moments, he prefers to savour absolutely everything. That's why I'm still in his lap an hour into my visit.

Come up with me. He leaves the glasses but brings the bottle, taking my hand, leading me down the hall, through the kitchen and then up the main stairs. Down two more halls of a big empty, untouched house to his master suite. I prefer the garden guest bedroom for the big black iron and glass doors that look out onto a beautiful English garden path.

This way we won't see the sun coming.

I say his name and he looks dismayed. Just- Just let me pretend for the next few hours.

That's a hole of one's own.

Who says our demons are all named Jake?

I almost leave right then. I don't need to take on his pain too but I understand I'm the personification of it and I never minded giving him what he wants, as long as it doesn't make things too hard. Sometimes it does and then we have a long time apart, like now.

Let's just have this night, Bridget and in the morning we can go back to who we are.

I don't change for you. I stare at him while he avoids my eyes.

I'm grateful for that. He finally meets them and pulls my hand toward his, leaving a small box in my fingers, putting his hands in his pockets. Open it. A belated birthday present for my favorite person.

I open the box and inside is a fine gold bracelet. A thin chain with a tiny golden four-leaf clover attached on each side to the chain.

Tiffany? I asked.

He shakes his head. No. I had it made for you by a goldsmith.

It's beautiful.

Will you wear it for luck?

I nod as he puts it on me and I leave it on even when everything else is off. For luck, I remind him as he reacquaints himself with everything we've forgotten and will forget again. I arch my back against the dark as he pulls my hair back just hard enough to send a thrill up my backbone and press my teeth against his shoulder bones as he holds me close again. I can't even breathe by the time the night begins to fade and he pours us a drink to share finally, halfway full, no ice. I burn a swallow all the way down, maintaining my thirst and he finishes the whiskey without offering any more and then I get one final kiss as he moves to put his shirt back on.

Pumpkin-time, he says.

Would you like me to keep the bracelet here to wear?

If you do that you'll never get to enjoy it. Take it with you. It is yours. Thank you for staying, Bridget.

I nod. Thanks for having me. I laugh in spite of his sad expression. Under the circumstances it's a weird thing to say.

By the time I get back to the house before the sun blooms fully in the sky there's a transfer waiting for me to accept to my bank account with a note that says Like old times. I type in my password to accept it and then call him.

You can stop doing that. My life is different now.

You never would have given me the time of day without it, Bridget.

You don't know that.

I do know it. The girl I met was so desperate for Cole's focus she had to be coerced to go with dollar signs.

That was between you and Cole. Money or not, I never got a say.

It was between you and I. I asked you, remember? I wouldn't have touched you otherwise. I still won't.

May I send it back?

No, you may not. It isn't an insult either. Or a payment. It's just my way of making sure you always have a way out. I wanted you to feel like if you had to leave him you would have the means but you never went.

I loved him.

I know you did. But you should have left him long before you did and I wish I had stepped in sooner.

(He didn't step in at all.)