Jesus made me start from scratch and other wordless complaints.

 I've lost everything. 

You've got everything to gain now, this is a beautiful thing.

I gave her away and now I'll never be able to live up to whatever it is she expected me to be to her-

Benjamin, you haven't lost anything.

The only thing I had was being sober, Sam and I'm not even that anymore. 

Ben, let me make a call. I'd like to lock these doors and talk for a while if you'll allow me the privilege.

Sam comes out of the library with his phone in hand. He locks eyes with me and shakes his head once but doesn't break his gaze as he asks Siri to call his second. He tells him that he needs to do services today, that Sam has a bit of a family emergency and is counselling and can't keep the schedule right this second. 

Everyone always understands. They are firemen, they just run around putting out all these fires we keep setting. Fucking pyros. We should drown ourselves in the sea.

But we wouldn't dare. 

He thanks Ryan (guys! Meet Ryan. You won't, though, he is a minor player in a major work and is completely horrified by me but most likely half in love with Sam (or all like the rest of us).) and hangs up. 

Keep them away, Bridge. Doing a little triage this morning.

Can I bring you coffee?

That would be great. Just knock and leave it outside.

It's an order, not a suggestion. Sam is in fireman mode and doesn't have a moment to waste, lest we burn this place to the ground. 

(SAVE BEN FIRST)

I turn and head to the kitchen. I won't get to hear any more. I don't want to hear anymore. Confirming Ben's regret and matching that up against his absolute deferral to Lochlan doesn't work and I throw the pair out and try again but I can't make it work. 

The coffee is ready but I don't put it on a tray or anything. I just walk through the house and when it gets too loud I start calling names at the top of my lungs as I go. Right through the great room, out the doors and down the steps. Across the lawn. I'm still calling for help and the house is quiet and still. Still calling, though I have stopped shouting and started asking outer space for someone to anchor to, someone to hold the rope and not let me strangle myself with it before I can be reborn, hopefully as someone else this time. 

I break into a run. 

Off the cliff I go. I don't scream the whole way down. That's a rarity. The rush of wind is replaced by the muffled thrum of my own heartbeat as I hit the cold waves and plunge five meters down. When I hit that hard limit I push back for the light when a set of hands grabs my arms and pulls me up. I try to help but no help is needed and when my head breaks the surface, smacked hard with the cold air I open my eyes and Lochlan is filling up my view.

Jesus, how fast are you?

I was right behind you from the kitchen. I thought you were making us coffee.

It's for Ben and Sam. Ben-

I know, Peanut. I was in the library with them. 

Oh wow. 

I want to take whatever blame he's shouldering. But I can't have you drowning yourself every time I turn my back. 

I wasn't-

How many times can one person baptize themselves? 

It wasn't-

I don't care anymore. It's gotta stop. You can't take this on, this isn't your fault. We feel how we feel. You're here and it's a joyful moment when you turn your gaze on one of us and a crushing one when you look away. That's on us to repair, not you. 

If I was gone what would you do?

We would simply die. 

No pressure. 

You going to run away again? I told you the last time it was a bad idea.

Jake wasn't a bad idea-

He wasn't a good one, either.

Today is quiet. Cold and rainy. Twelve degrees up by the house and less than ten by the water. We are by the fire, naturally. Lochlan, who I am wedged up against, is replying to emails on his iPad. Ben is asleep, napping soundly, his head in my lap, the rest of him stretched for miles around right to the end of the built-in couch in the great room, as I call it, the big open section off the kitchen that has the retractable doors that open the whole way across the back of the house to blend it seamlessly with the patio. We tore out the shelves and pretty window seats when we moved in and made a huge comfortable couch the length of the whole wall and brought in the edges so it wraps around the woodstove. There are windows above and behind us and underneath us loads of storage. So comfortable. The firewood basket is always fully stocked and there is never a time this couch isn't holding one or five people, truth be told. 

So today there is only room for three. 

Ben has been up since eight or so. He made eggs and toast with me, drank two cups of coffee and gave me a bass lesson. Lochlan was up by eight-thirty to have coffee and we did some chores around the house but now it's the quiet part of the day where people go off to do their things, and here we are. 

I put my head back and close my eyes and a hand brushes my (too long again) bangs to one side, tucking my hair behind my ears. A Lochlan move, then a Cole one, followed by Caleb, and then Jake. Back to Lochlan, only he's index-finger typing and hasn't stopped. My eyes snap open but there's no one else here and the light tapping noises continue. 

You fall asleep there? Lochlan laughs quietly. 

Maybe, I tell him. Did I? It didn't feel like a dream but maybe it was.

Monsters, miracles.

It's not the wind that cracked your shoulder
And threw you to the ground
Who's there that makes you so afraid?
You're shaken to the bone
And no, I don't understand
You deserve so much more than this

 

I'm trying not to take the words. I push them away as they as are pushed against my breastbone. It isn't personal. It's an injury. He's going to be like this and it's not his fault but it's not mine either and I don't know how much of this I can take. 

 

A hand rests against my back, keeping me up against the onslaught. I take a deep breath out, relaxing all of my muscles, digging down deep into the stubbornness. 

 

Good luck with that, I say suddenly. 

 

With what? He's not following my mental conversation. Good. 

 

With trying to drive me away because you don't want me to see you weakened?

 

You call this 'weakened'? Bee, I'm ruined. I can't fucking tie my fucking shoes. 

 

We'll get you some pull-on ones. I'm dead serious. He thinks I'm trying to dismiss his middle-of-the-night cry-out-for-anyone deeply-seated fears. He knows damn well I'm the last person who would ever do that, seeing as how he and I have always shared this and we don't ever take it lightly. He's offended and I'm offended at his assumption that I've somehow changed and I can feel myself wading in to the deep dark waters where he waits for me, a monster I'm not supposed to argue with, blithely, strongly, somehow ignoring his outbursts and his words. 

You don't want to fight with Ben. He's fierce and cutting and frightening and that was exactly what led Caleb to throw a punch when he ran out of reasonable. When he became afraid and needed to fall back on his size and strength just to make a point.

 

Right.

It'll come back. 

Or it won't. You don't know. I don't know. They don't know if it will.

Hey, Ben? There's Lochlan. Ready to take over. Jacob moves his hand from my back. The reinforcements are here and now the ghosts can run and hide again. She doesn't have the answers you're looking for.

Doesn't she? Isn't she supposed to be the patron saint of the Collective? Isn't she my Jesus? If she doesn't read my future are you going to do it? Come on. Grab your fucking crystal balls and tell us all how this ends. The only thing I had going for me I've lost. Now what, Lochlan? I fade into obscurity. She turns away. What the fuck is left here, you want to tell me?

Everything, Benny. Everything is right here for you and for all of us.

I don't have any leverage. 

You don't need any. 

Don't fucking patronize me, Locket. (Oh, he called him Locket. My heart.)

I'M NOT. Oh, Loch's getting mad now. He doesn't suffer self-pity any more than anything else. Well, unless he's drunk but it's seven on a Friday morning. Also he doesn't do that the way I do. Someone has to bring the acumen. It's always on Lochlan, an easy choice for alpha-everything, something Ben suddenly can't stand. 

I try and play the peacemaker. It's not you, Ben. It's just the pills talking, remember how they make you irritabl-

Great. My little shadow is my enabler.

What would you have me do?

Tell me to fuck off, Bridge. To go away until I have my shit together and come back to you whole.

You're not going anywhere, and I always liked you more when I was stronger.

Well, that's good to know isn't it? Guess you got your wish.

The sort of thoughts in my head, at any given moment (cut the cord and kill the lights).

This is not about Ben. He's doing well and no I don't want to talk about the pills. No one does but there they are. Goddammit.

***

When is 10 Years' song Unknown going to be the theme for the most epic adventure movie ever made? How long? Minutes? Is it already licensed? I'll be waiting for it. But then the next track is Waiting and it's so catchy and also Without You is really good too and wow, this new album (Violent Allies) has surprised me. It's one of those ones where I almost regret buying it on first listen and by the fourth listen it's my favourite and I draw my sword, ready to die defending it. They're so underrated. Like, criminally.

Right, that good.

I don't have a sword though. The closest one is uh, I think it's Bilbo's sword that the Elves gave him. Right. It's hanging at the bottom of the steps to the theatre. We are not nerds, what gave you that idea? 

(I've been corrected, it's a dagger. But it's HUGE.

To you it is. 

Right.)

***

I should go out and get a few groceries. Eh. No. Maybe PJ will drive. PJ is still in pajama pants. The storm is supposed to get worse. We had thunder on the water this morning and it was incredible to listen to, something I indulged in from the front of Lochlan's flannel shirt, the top button between my eyes as always. The cool crunchy clean flannel coupled with the rumbling, the warmth and the swift breeze. It was wonderful. I wish I could bottle that. I'd call it Storm From The Safety Of A Hug or something.

***

I am four hours and forty-five minutes into the Twilight saga on Netflix and it's SO GOOD. I watched it twelve years ago when Ruth was nine and I'm pretty sure I spent the whole thing wondering if it was too scary for her and definitely too scary for Henry, who was seven when it began and I probably dismissed it out of hand though the books were amazing but since Midnight Sun is so good we're watching the movies too and they have aged exceeding well and I'm really enjoying them to bits. At the beginning I think it was Gage who made some comment about how Bella could possibly be so sure she found her soulmate so immediately and surely and I threw a glance at Lochlan, who glanced back as if he is a vampire and I am a hapless high school student. 

It does happen like that, only he isn't a vampire but emotionally I am definitely and forever will be a hapless high school student. 

(OMGOSH. Can you imagine if Edward was a carny? I mean the risks wouldn't transfer but the hotness would TRIPLE.)

I also got called out for snorting every time they mention Jasper, as that was the name of Batman's former assistant and he and I did NOT get along and eventually I won though now Batman is five times lonelier and I can't help that but Jasper tried to blackmail me thinking I would go away and he was the one who was sent, instead. I don't know why people fuck with me so much. It's not a good idea.

***

I had a great laugh this morning about a thing in the foreign papers detailing a Russian Jesus presiding over a commune in the woods of Siberia. Except they called it a cult and they swooped in with helicopters and armed swat teams to break it up, calling it an illegal religious organization. They said he was brainwashing the members and taking money from them. 

That can't be the whole story but it's not like we'll get any followup information. Russia's a weird world, to be honest. Trust me. I know this.

If the helicopters landed here on the point to take away me, a tiny blonde Jesus, to whom everyone here has pledged their lives, all that they have, all that they are, worshipping at my knees I would be surprised because colour me wrong, I don't think any of this is illeg-

PJ is laughing*.

Am I wrong?

Oh, I have no idea. I wasn't laughing about that.

What are you laughing about?

How into Twilight you are suddenly. 

It's really good, PJ. Stop resisting.

Oh, I haven't even started yet.

 *(The inevitable footnote here is that he is damn near thrilled that the relentless haunting of Bridget isn't currently dragging the whole point into the sea, clutched up in her white-knuckle grip, pulling with all her might to get the ghost to step off the fabric of her life. He won't, of course and so the Twilight distraction is the stalemate while I wait for something to change. The day is young though, right?)

***

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.