It's not about fair, it's about love.

A rare invitation to breakfast saw me splash my way over to Schuyler's in the rain, as Christian and Andrew have also decided I am burning the candle at both ends again, losing my own shit as we slide into winter here since the seasons are racing by like horses in the sand on Sable Island, and wanted me to have a treat. 

A very fancy breakfast with the good silver and champagne in very tall flutes and at one point I almost asked for a phone book to sit on before realizing they don't make them anymore so I went and got a throw pillow out of their tv room and then I can sit at the table, an equal instead of a child with the table hitting me in the collarbone when I lean forward. 

They wanted to show me the trailer for Supernova. Yes, of course I cried. This will now be the baseline for deciding if one is human or monster.

(Except later that theory was blown to smithereens because Caleb cried when I showed him.) 

They wanted to apologize for shutting me out in the cold since nearly December, as they had settled in to a long hibernation over the winter that turned into quarantine spring and lockdown summer. They've been over for quiet dinners but otherwise I have hardly seen them in 2020 and it's not for a lack of trying on my part. 

Unlike you, I told Andrew, I don't get so caught up in my relationships that I forget about my friends. 

Christian leans into view, blocking Andrew's face. Your relationships are with your friends, though, honey. He bursts out laughing and I take the gentle roast. I know what they're avoiding.

Where does that leave you two then? 

To our own devices, Andrew says, sending a look to Christian that made my knees waver just a little. Their second wedding anniversary is coming up and they're throwing a Christmas eve dinner on the beach to celebrate and again I feel like that's the greatest Christmas present ever, having them be so blissfully content and wanting to share that with us so sparingly as they spend all of their time together mostly alone. It makes us all feel special in a weird way, as if we are permitted glimpses into their fairytale romance as a favour or as a gift. Either way I'll take whatever I can get because it's so lovely.

***

I came back intending to tell Lochlan all about it but he pulled me up into his lap and then pushed me back so my head and shoulders were on the bed and my legs were on either side of his hips, knees in the middle for both of us. He stripped me down and pulled me in hard and then abruptly he pulls me up by the shoulders against him, lifting me up, letting me drop, over and over again. It would have been so nice except that I can't forget the vision of Andrew and Christian doing the same, laughing gently about getting Bridget nice and early-morning-toasted and then sending her away. It's a move few would bother with, that's for sure but as they reminded me they are only into each other and that's the way it is (and will be) for the foreseeable future.

But the vision. In my half-drunk, rain-soaked condition it's the best thing I've seen in a while and it'll have to do as I won't be seeing it in person any time soon. Lochlan drops me back against the quilts with a grin and then I realize I don't need to see them in person. I'm just happy they're happy.

How about a hot bath? He asks out of the blue. That's how I know it's fall. All I want is to soak in the bubbles and turn into a prune, muscles turning to liquid, brain turning to mashed potatoes.

Yeah, I nod and he smiles. Did you have fun at breakfast?

I did. 

They coming up for air anytime ever?

Nope, I laugh. Not any time soon.

Fixed.

 Headphones keep my legs from stumbling this morning, keeping me strung up, a puppet controlled by the lyrics being fed into my brain to keep it from imploding like my heart only yesterday and still recent enough that the misery-blood hasn't even dried on the hard floor. I walked through it, tracks going to the end of the line and back, from heaven to hell, from the bottom of the hole in the concrete room to the roof of the treehouse behind Schuyler's house, a place I keep ending up, even though I'm not supposed to go. 

That and whatever else they gave me is keeping me from falling on my face even though I deserve to be nowhere else right now. God, this is one glorious high. I can feel all of this, I just don't care.

I learned yesterday I might be too small to balance this. Ben on one hand, struggling mightily but doing great. Every time he conquers something stupid, something ridiculously benign I have to fight not to crow, not to clap, not to exclaim lest I pander to him, something he can't stand suddenly. 

And he's not even as stubborn as me. 

Caleb on the edge of my shoulder, weighing me down, asking all the time for me, for my attention, for my absolution, for my soul back in his hands. Wanting to know his place, his station, where he fits, what I need, reminding me what he needs and I swat him away without touching on it. I only have two hands. Pleaca de langa mine!

Jacob in that other hand, only too big/too heavy/too profound and so instead of balancing him on my straightened fingers I have the back of his shirt in my fist, balled-up fabric straining against my attempts to not cling to him like a raft in a storm. 

Not with Lochlan right behind me, anyway. 

A wave crashes over my head and I am left gasping and choking. 

Huh. I still don't care though. Amazing.

Lochlan rolls his eyes and wades in, pulling me off the raft, into his arms. We're on dry land suddenly and I can't focus on his face, just his curls. Just the emergency-red, the built-in security blanket I've clung to for the better part of my life, since the water is always over my head.

Christ, Peanut. Stay put. 

What if he drowns?

Who?

I look around. Not sure which answer to give him. They all need me, this is an emergency and he doesn't even notice, can't see it, doesn't care. 

Sure I care. That's why I'm here.The physical barrier between you and fire and you and water. You and the Devil, you and your ghosts, you and the things you don't have to carry alone.

Boring.

Right? It is and it's exactly what you need right now and I may not be as thrilling as...as chasing ghosts or devils or hoping Ben will be who Ben was last summer but AT LEAST YOU'RE BETTER WHEN YOU'RE WITH ME!

Oh it's a deafening roar and I cover my ears but he wrenches my fingers away from my head in order to replace them with his own, pulling my face right up into his until I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut against his sudden outburst. He finally stands back, letting go of me, picking up the headphone cord which is miles long all of the sudden and he wraps it around me until my limbs are pinned and then he ties the end around his wrist in a neat bow.

You're better and better off, he says, and he gives a sharp tug on the line. I stumble and follow him as quickly as I can keep up, like I always did before. 

After is now, he turns and says quietly and I know he's right.

The very last day of the summer that wasn't (without you).

I am brand new now without you
Everything I can do now without you
I was right all along now the pain feels like it's gone
I am brand new now without you
Everything I can do now without you
Now without you
Now without you 

(13/50. That's this year, the number of trips around the sun without you, and the age you would have been had you stepped back down instead of off.

13 fucking fifty, Pooh.)

That's what fall means, swirling in and around the velvet and crunchy leaves, the rattle of acorns kicked across the front-porch boards as the ghost stares expressionless through the glass. I didn't give him an emotion today. Today he is a placeholder, a large obstacle, a statute out there in the lush green grass, something I'm going to run into at full speed any minute now, bouncing off his cold marble skin and falling into the wet leaves, stunned to silence, again. 

My brain's been bumping up against him all week already. I tried to distract myself with Cole but let's face it, Trey was never any match for the mighty Preacher, not even close. I keep making contact with him, my hands outstretched in pitch black and I recoil in surprise and try a different way but there he is again, the soft worn cotton of his best pale blue Denver Hayes button-down so familiar against my fingers.

As long he doesn't say anything I'll be fi-

Hullo, Princess. 

And I freeze in place, ice crystals on my eyelashes, blood turned to slush in my veins. My heart thuds painfully against its alabaster cage once or twice before shattering in the cold again, flooding the inside of my body with still-warm viscous misery as I go crashing to the ground.

Jesus witness.

May I see it?

No. 

But why, Neamhchiontach?

Because then it will smell like you and I need it to smell like him. 

You miss him. 

I don't miss him. I still love him though. Part of me always will.

Which part is that?

I'm sorry?

It's a question you would ask. Which part of you misses him?

My stupid brain. 

Ah. But it drives the bus. 

The bus went off a cliff years ago. You know this.

And now?

I run on heart and soul. 

The song?

If required. 

He smiles now, amused to have one of my odd conversations, and be on the inside, as it were. 

I can show you the sweater, since you don't believe me, but I don't want you to touch it.

What if I want to smell it?

Then you should have kept the things of his that I gave you.

What makes you think I haven't?

You're a minimalist. 

Am I?

Definitely. 

Even though I have a small case full of his things on the top shelf of my closet? Two of his shirts, his leather bracelet and his daybook? 

Should I believe you, Diabhal?

You show me the sweater, I will show you the case.

Fine. I pick up my mug. Didn't think I was going to spend Sunday testifying but in a way it fulfills Sam's request too as we still have not returned to church and may not for a while yet.

Cold rain, warm hands.

Finally, the part of summer I like. 

The end. 

That doesn't make much sense, seeing as how I crave the super late-night sunsets and ridiculously early sunrises, how much I hate doing my morning chores in the pitch-black and how going out at four in the afternoon and needing headlights makes me cry. I'm famous for my daily announcements of the days getting longer at the end of each winter and I wish that part didn't exist, but this. 

This. 

Hot endless coffee, ochre-colored velvet dresses and red leaves that swirl down the storm drains in the driveway from the relentless rain. The sound of the rain on the windows while we are warm and cozy inside. Baking potatoes and roasts for hours in the oven. Piles of boys on the big couch by the woodstove or the fireplace or in front of the movie screen. Flannel shirts, back after a four-month absence and the end of worry as the motorcycles are heavily seasoned (inside joke for winterizing) and put away until the spring again, much to the ire of both John and (new) Jake. 

Batman emerges from his air-conditioned cave to herald the cool slow slide right into Halloween. Caleb stops being angry all the time (he also hates the heat. I think very wealthy people are just allergic or something), and all the tempers seemingly disappear. Everyone is up for endless cuddles and pumpkin pie from the market up the highway and we're painting watercolour bridges and lighting candles and plugging in the fairy lights all day every day.

I can decorate for Christmas and no one even complains. 

I can take down the fair bunting flags that I had strung from the gazebo to the poolhouse. They bleached white in the sun and now I can dye them teal blue and put them down on the docks for the winter. 

I can bake cinnamon rolls without getting heatstroke in the process. 

I can wear Cole's big grey sweater which inexplicably still smells like him and has never ever been washed since he died, which was fourteen and a half years ago now but seems like yesterday. Will I wash it? Never. I only put it on in the closet, give myself a long hug and then take it off, shoving it back under the pile of sweaters so no one can see it. Then I go give my devil a long hug and he'll tell me I remind him of his brother and then I feel awful, as if I am a living reminder of Cole's temper, as he took Caleb's pet project and all but finished her off, only to return her to the original sinner to continue on. 

Then I'll borrow one of Lochlan's sweaters instead, for this one is tan and looks nice with my dress, and when I come out of the closet he says There you are and I get a long hug of a different sort, a living one, a loving one that claims no ownership even though he has it all, his name stamped across my fingers just so there's no mistake because I always touch first.

Half tempo.

A knock on the door of the library where I sit waiting for the rain, sketchbook in hand. I haven't been drawing, I can't get out of my own way long enough, but I had been planning to do a little. 

The knock startles me and I cry out. SHIT! 

Sorry, Bee. I'm wondering if I can borrow you.

I jump up. Right. Ben doesn't have to ask. Where's Caleb?

I set him free for a bit. He doesn't need to hover.

He's just trying to make things up to y-

I know he is. I do like the fact that this gives you and Loch a chance to rest so let's leave it as it is for now. 

Okay. 

Come with me. Ben takes my hand and we leave the library and head downstairs and then turn right and go straight down another hall and then he turns and winks at me and opens his studio door. 

Can you stick around while I tune my guitar?

Are you going back to work?

No, I'm going to play a song for the love of my life, if she'll have it. 

I might have jumped up and down and done a little happy dance. He thought it was funny anyway but I got a song and it's the best Friday afternoon I've seen in a while. I texted Loch at the end and he came down and got a song too and this is now the best day we've had since Before.

For the love of God, please show me your heart.

 This morning when I came down the steps, I managed to arrive just in time to catch Caleb turning Ben's mug around so that he could easily pick it up by the handle, after setting down the cup in front of him at the table. We don't sit at the island anymore for coffee. Ben doesn't trust the tall heavy stools to hold his weight. They will and then some, but he doesn't trust them and that's okay, the table works perfectly too. 

(I trust them because I once climbed up Ben's back and right over him to dance on the island. PJ thought it looked like fun and followed me up, climbing over Ben and we laughed and laughed. So they hold at least four hundred pounds.)

It was a tender gesture and things are evolving again and suddenly Ben and Caleb are new best friends and I swear to God Caleb was put on this earth to torture (his former best friend) Lochlan and nothing more sometimes. 

Caleb has pledged that he will take Ben on, be his primary caregiver, look after whatever he needs help with and completely facilitate Ben's physical and emotional therapy until he is one hundred percent Ben or as close to it as he can get. Financially and time-committed. His very own version of restitution for what he has done. I'll maybe forgive him someday, like I have for everything else but for now I watch Ben lift the cup to take a sip, the barest of shakes making him slow his movements ever so slightly and I know I won't forget, like I haven't forgotten anything else he's done, permanently altering who we are with his own actions, thinking he can fix it all with money and attention to detail. 

Ben and I and Lochlan are just closer than ever now, further cemented together as Caleb's favourite triad of targets. He's left jagged, hideous scars on all of us now and we'll never be the same. 

He sees me (he knew I was there) and smiles.

Good morning, Neamhchiontach. 

Morning, Diabhal.

Be right back. Playing with iOS 14. Was serious underwhelmed until Lochlan showed me how to put the widgets on any screen, not just the home screen. Jesus. No one's talking about THAT. 

(Update: we cannot make this happen with the iPad OS. WTF Apple?!)

Update: You can change YOUR ICONS NOW.

Push.

Caleb met me on the steps last night just as I was heading up. The new routine is Ben says his goodnights and now usually Lochlan will go up with him and settle in to read by the fireplace. Lochlan is a huge reader and can finish a book in a day or two while it takes me weeks. I usually come up by ten or so and we cuddle down into the quilts and eventually go to sleep but sometimes I get up again and go read until my head starts to nod forward or Ben wakes up and wants big snuggles and sometimes we're all awake, sometimes no one is and we actually get sleep. Right now the routine is kind of blown up, a little bit rosy around the edges and positively brimming with light. 

But then the Devil comes along and smacks the illusion with a closed fist and it changes everything.

He pulls me in, kissing my forehead, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as he rests his chin on my head for a long minute. Too long. I finally make a move to go but he doesn't set me free. 

Neamhchiontach. Come up with me. 

I'm going to Ben and Loch.

Just a quick drink and then I'll walk you home. 

I laugh in spite of myself. He's funny like that. A desperate charm but it works, like squeezing a worry doll really hard hoping your worries will fill it up and leave you the hell alone.

A laugh is a good sign, he rocks me back and forth gently. 

I'm taking my cues from Ben. 

Ben has made no moves to acknowledge my role in what happened. 

Then once he does, I'll be back to visit and we'll go from there.

What do you mean, 'go from there'?

I don't know what more I can say right now. I'm sorry. 

Bridget, you go on how you feel. Ben goes on how he feels. This is carved in stone. Even Loch-

Is it? Right now I'm going on how I feel and I'm not putting his feelings aside right now either. He is my priority. Not you right now. When you needed me I didn't leave your side and right now it's his turn. He needs me. Can you understand that?

I feel his chin sharp against my head as he nods once and I pull back to look at him. 

Goodnight, Diabhal. 

Goodnight, Neamhchiontach. I miss you. 

Me too. Still going on how I feel. Damaged and brainwashed as always. Soon, I promise but it feels empty. 

***

This morning Caleb wants to take Ben out for a drive, maybe for an ice cream for lunch if they can hit a drive thru at Dairy Queen or something. Ben is surprisingly game for this. 

Lochlan? Not as sure. 

Caleb promises that he will look after Ben and they are off. 

Lochlan turns to me. Thoughts?

I don't know yet. 

He nods. Me neither.

Sam wants a barometer but this is all I got.

The phone is dead and one of today's gift baskets featured a shirt with a handwritten note that said:

For Bridget- Saw this and burst out laughing thinking of you. Look after him for us. XO

It's a white t-shirt, girl cut even and in big pink letters it says:

WORLD'S MOST AVERAGE ASTRONAUT

And I love it. 

It's from a super famous guy that was super arrogant until sitting with me in the kitchen for half an hour realizing I wasn't about to be charmed by him and that it was okay, and yet he remembered how much I like outer space and how unimpressed I was by him (and his friends) because music is a fluke. You produce a thing and if it hits at the right time in the right way you're a mega star. Then you have a formula and you milk it like a cow until it dies. Then you have to find a new cash cow to milk again and hope it's a heavy producer too.

Or at least, that's how it was back in the day. There is no plane of existence that suddenly places you above other humans, the only difference is we heard your name because of the thing. So get off your high horse.

I guess he didn't forget our talk. Huh. And I love it and Ben gave me his number, getting it from one of his producers and I called and left a voice mail thanking him for thinking of me. He also sent Nintendo Switches (I think? The long ones..these are yellow and turquoise!) for the kids, in case they didn't have one. He sent three. So he's not perfect, unless Ben counts as a kid, if I recall I made that joke too while he was here. 

Better than flowers, in any case. 

Today is a sleepy Monday. I went out early, watered all the plants outside, chucked some grass seed around, as is tradition each fall and we have some worn spots where it disappears sometimes and watered that too. It's supposed to rain by the end of the week and I cannot wait for that. I'll do a little more gardening to get rid of some of the things that are done for the season but I find it backbreaking these days and I don't know why. 

I don't sleep again. That's probably why. I had a really great week there during the summer and now the wakefulness is back, fear creeps back in, LIFE creeps back in and my brain is in space and I don't know how to handle earth at all anymore. 

He texts me back and I roll my eyes. Great. Now he has my number. Whoops.