A little laugh, a little scream.

Today I got home, kicked off my shoes, dropped my purse by the door, my nametag (still says BABY) on the table in the center of the foyer and walked straight through the house, out the back patio doors, across the back lawn on the lovely new flagstone path and climbed straight into the hot tub. The pool is empty now (sadly) but the hot tub will stay since we can cover it and empty and fill it with ease. Caleb laughed, as he was the one who followed me out, watching as I climbed in dress and all.

I sat there refusing to speak, as I reached that point in my week where I feel too beaten down by life to respond without committing murder and I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

That bad?

No, just tired. Where's Loch?

Helping August, I think. 

With?

A wifi issue, I believe, unless that was a ruse.

I go to get out of the tub, suddenly panicked and Caleb shakes his head. I sent Ben with him. Everything's fine. 

Okay. I settle back warily. I'm still leery of Lochlan going off on August if he even breathes the wrong way. Not that he will, but that he might.

Besides, he knows you're going to be busy. I don't think he'll make any extra work. 

Busy with what?

You're going to have to help Andrew pick out his dress. 

I don't know why it was funny but it was and I laughed and then I let my head go below the surface in defeat of the day and Caleb got scared and pulled me right out of the hot tub by one arm.

The bad arm.

The sound I make. Holy. It scares even me. 

"As he read I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once." -John Green

Okay it's official now that they've told extended family far away, so now I can talk about it all I want.

Christian proposed and Andrew said YES. What started as a hey what the hell early-spring fling in the ebbing winter of 2017 grew into a strong and quiet love that doesn't show any signs of doing anything but steadily deepening, between two young men who spent twenty years getting along great to two fully-grown men who've spent the last two years getting along even better. Then late on Thanksgiving night they went for a walk around the water together and as the story goes, Christian turned to Andrew and asked him if he was happy.

Andrew smiled at him hugely and said he was, and suddenly worried that maybe Christian wasn't happy. He didn't have to worry long, as Christian reassured him that he was the happiest he'd ever been, and that happiness was because of Andrew.

Then Christian got down on one knee and brought a small box out of his pocket that contained a silver ring that used to belong to his grandfather. He had the inside engraved with their initials and a teeny tiny hollow heart and Andrew is now wearing that ring and it will become his wedding ring this spring.

And I am so happy for them I could burst.

If you can't handle me at my worst...

..then you probably don't live in my house.

(or as Sam told me later this afternoon, I seem to go from ridiculously silly to devastatingly profound in the blink of an eye and it's one of his Very Favorite Things about me.)

I got all worked up about my speech for Thanksgiving dinner last night and then after I had two glasses of wine and a huge piece of apple pie with ice cream Sam gave our closing grace, which takes awhile because...of Sam. He likes to preach a little extra when given the chance, as most of the boys are total heathens, wayward souls who don't go to church enough and need to be saved. So I leaned my head against Ben's shoulder and rudely fell fast asleep, sitting up like a horse, no less, and missed my turn, which came around and was sweetly ignored by all, and no one protested, as apparently they had a little Bridget-free family meeting and Sam read the pertinent parts out to them from yesterday's post and they had already decided to let me off the hook.

Sam insists I will go to heaven, that God doesn't want me to mourn anymore and that my reward will be the end of this pain I'm in. While he was talking the tears started rolling down my face, a race to the bottom like no other and he shook his head. Apparently most people are rapturous when he talks like this but for me it just confirms my misery as if once it's validated it is real and then I'm really in trouble.

No, no, no, Bridget. Don't cry. These are beautiful times. Your words, God's plan. the love and patience of this entire extended family that holds us in the palm of their hands-

I wish they-

What do you wish, tell me. 

I wish they could understand how much I love them all. 

See? That's what I said, flighty to devastating in the blink of an eye. That's what makes you worthy, Bridget, and that's what makes this whole argument pointless.
 

Revenants and rogues.

Deep breath. Step outside in the rain. Pull my coat a little tighter around my bones as I wait for Lochlan to pull the truck up to the front walkway. One month remains and Jacob would have been forty-eight had he not chosen to fly instead. It's been eleven years, almost, since that time and it's only barely dulled, still agony, still aching in my soul, and I'd happily give it back to the Devil if it meant it wouldn't hurt this much.

But today is our Thanksgiving. We're going to church, we're going to cook turkey and stuffing later for dinner and we're going to go around the table and list what we are thankful for out loud, taking the time to give those items their due, gravely as such, solemnly.

I am thankful for so many things, I think as Lochlan comes around to open my door for me, waiting until I am in safely in and belted, coat gathered up under my legs so it doesn't get caught, before closing the door and coming back around the front of the truck to get in his side.

I'm thankful for my stubbornness in getting and keeping my job (even though I hate the job), the almost five thousand dollars I've earned in the six months time I've been a waitress, and for the boys' reluctance to insist that I quit, even as I come home in pain and in tears, more often than not.

I'm thankful to Jacob. He taught me how to let go, how to hold on. How to deal with the loss of Cole. How to love outside of the Collective and how to pray. How to open my heart to Lochlan again after so long. His absence renewed something bigger than myself, bigger than my heart. His death brought us all back together in a way I thought I'd never see again in my lifetime but the space he occupied will forever remain empty in remembrance of who he was to me.

That's not beautiful or eloquent. I don't know how I will word it at dinner tonight or how I can even make Lochlan see that he isn't up against an adversary he can't fight, he's here because of that adversary and I wouldn't change anything that's happened since Jacob left because it's been all better than good. I just wish I didn't have to trade one for another, I wish I didn't have to choose, didn't have to miss, didn't have to love from down here knowing that I'll probably not end up in heaven, in spite of Sam's insistence, told to me directly in the sermon today as I sat, damp and miserable, my rain-soaked coat wrapped tightly around my broken heart, ineffective safety mechanism as it was underneath Lochlan's arm around my neck, tighter as the words hit their targets, loosened when the words stopped altogether.

It was a hell of a morning and will probably be a hell of a night. Wish me some luck, I'm trying to turn it around a little here. 

Save me from myself.

He burned it all. Down through the layers, through potential. Through the present and into the future and then he made his way across the scorched and blackened earth and he came for the past. He came to burn down the past without him and renew the past with him, searing it into my brain, into my flesh, into my very soul even as he was singed in the process, scalded and smoked, a victim of his own efforts to fix this.

It can't be fixed but he pushes it back, bringing the flames and the light to the dark, his side of a losing war fought with heart, with earnest, with the blazing glow of a love that won't quit.

This was his battle speech, told to me in fragments and with lengthy delays, over his shoulder as he waged that fight against the dark. Against the past. Against Jake. 

Jacob is the black hole that has ruined everything. I would have done okay after Caleb. After Cole. After all of that already until Jacob happened. Lochlan doesn't see it that way. He thinks eventually if you burn enough of Jake away, the remnants of everything and everyone will eventually stop coming back.

It's the complete opposite of what Sam is doing (as the memory thief he's trying to bring closure to my time with Jacob, locking all of the memories away as they are finished and solved, turning hurtful moments into teaching ones, negatives into positives, and using the power of Bridget's Oversized, Expansive Imagination to finish off the ones that remain incomplete).

(Lochlan burned those down too but we're not going to talk about that today).

It's the complete opposite of what August is doing too (as the surrogate-Jacob he's telling me I need to move on before and distract myself from memories of his best friend before shape-shifting INTO his best friend for a little affection without strings (as if there aren't strings!). And it helps. And we're not blaming him, it's my fault even though if the truth is to be believed I'm not in a position to control much of anything. Too fragile. Too splintered. Too Fucked Up with a capital F U.).

(Lochlan hates it. Oh, how he hates it and yet he bites his tongue until he tastes ash and regret. And still he says nothing.)

He pulls me into the flames with him, baptized by fire. I'll win, Lochlan says, the firelight flickering in his green eyes, which look almost black in the dark.

I know you will, I tell him. Because ten-year-old Bridget believes him. Believes what he says and believes in his capabilities without question and without doubt, one hundred percent forever infinity.

Whoops.

My poor PJ is absolutely aghast that the previous post was not about Behemoth's new album I Loved You At Your Darkest, which also came out today. I figured he was doing enough squealing about it to cover all of us and didn't mention it. My bad. It won't happen again, sir.

*flashes horns*

My jumpsuit is on steady.

East is up, I'm fearless when I hear this on the low
East is up, I'm careless when I wear my rebel clothes

So much excitement last evening and this morning as the whirlwind that is Ruth spooled right up with the release of Trench, the new Twenty One Pilots album. Ruth is a hardcore early-adopter of this band. I didn't love them until I heard Trees. Then I was ruined. But I love the new album for certain, just not as much as Ruth. Ruth is losing her shit. It's so amazing. She cried, she danced, she squealed and it's good to know that our enthusiastic love of music is genetic. She is now plotting to get tickets to the show in Vancouver this coming spring, having seen them four years ago at a tiny venue here when she was barely fifteen. She cried then, she's still crying over them. She's exactly like I was with Bon Jovi from the age of fifteen through my early twenties. And I still squeal when Living on a Prayer or Runaway comes on the radio, honestly. She just has the luxury of a deeper, more profound, faith-based subject matter (oh, in spades) for these songs.

Sam is also squealing. He's a huge fan now. It's all Trees fault. That song is incredible lyrically and kind of sets us all on our asses.

But yeah, this is fun to watch.

***

Lochlan continues to categorically deny that he and Caleb were spooning, leaving no room for me in my own bed, which means Detective Bridget is now on the case, and she's going to get to the bottom of this.

She went to Caleb, boldly confronting him last evening as he came in from a brief run. He is somewhat breathless and handsome, finding it amusing that she is demanding answers and readily admits his guilt with a grin.

I figured if you went looking for comfort in the arms of someone you shouldn't be with, I could too, especially seeing as how Lochlan must have felt so alone when you failed to reappear. 

First the kiss, then the spoon! What's next? Stay tuned to find out.

Jesus. I don't think we want to find out. It's a slippery slope and soon they'll just be sleeping with each other and they won't need me at all.

Oh fuck you too.

With every settled score
I thought that fighting with meant fighting for
But you turned it around
But you turned it around

So.

Last evening I went to see August, who, in a rare and wonderful turn didn't even bother with the preamble of a talk or a barometer or fuck-all, he just reached around me when I came in and locked the door.

Three hours later he wasn't even August anymore, he was Jacob and I was ruined physically and emotionally. That's when August always likes to level that fatal blow and I don't know if he's angry at me or at himself. Maybe both.

Get out, Bridge. Please. Go.

It would have been less jarring had he shoved me right out of bed, only to hit the floor and have the bed swing back and knock right into my head.

I watched his face as he struggled to find an expression. He settled on protective, closed and I got up and dressed slowly in the dark. I don't have to, I shouldn't have to apologize for my actions. He got up and opened the door for me when I left, kissing the top of my head, lingering there against my skull for an eternity, and then he watched me cross the driveway, until I opened the side door of the house and then he closed his door and I was blind in the dark.

I went upstairs. It's three in the morning, no one is awake. No lights underneath doors, no sounds, no nothing. I go up into my room and one single lantern is lit. Just enough to show me that Caleb was lying on my bed fully clothed but fast asleep, one arm flung around Lochlan, who slept hard in the center, still in his flannel shirt and jeans, like he stretched out to wait for me and couldn't do it. Rounding out the party is Ben, who is hard asleep facing them, sleeping on his side, one hand around Lochlan's head. These protective expressions have spread around the point, I guess. I stand there for what feels like forever, and then reach up and turn off the lantern, plunging the room into total darkness.

I leave and head back downstairs, quietly going outside to head back to August's loft.

He left the door unlocked so I go in and he's sitting up at the counter, a cup of tea untouched in front of him.

There's no room for me there, I gesture. I'm losing it. I feel like no one wants me suddenly, too tainted by the memory of their friend to forge any meaningful future for themselves, for me. We're all ruined by Jacob in some way. Ruined by Cole. Ruined by Caleb. Ruined by Bridget.

He gets up, goes and locks the door again and goes back to bed. I follow him, climbing in fully clothed but turning away. He wraps himself around me, so familiar suddenly that I start to sob. His arms tighten, holding fast until I stop. I don't know when I stopped crying and fell asleep but it must have been ages as I woke up so tired. Drained. Wrecked.

He didn't leave though, still there, still holding tight when I woke up as I startled up, afraid that Lochlan would wonder where I was.

August already has that covered, as they back each other up even as they leave me to twist in the wind. Every now and then someone comes along and holds me tightly so that someone else can stab me right in the heart. That's how it works here.

He knows you're here. He's pissed though. Said he stayed awake all night waiting for you and if you're not coming home you need to tell him. 

A little moment, since that's all I've got today (busy with my muffin, leave me alone).

I got my medal (a blueberry muffin with ice-cold real butter, just the way I like it, thank you PJ) for not crying at work today. I also remembered my sweater, and somehow the lunch crowd trickled in with nary an issue and I was off and flying out the door at three pm sharp to Lochlan's truck, noting that it is indeed flannel shirts, jeans, and workboot season and I'm happy because everyone looks so cozy and hugs are better in flannel than in t-shirts and I don't even care that the calendar is beginning to lift up along the top edge, sliding me down into Halloween like an errant leaf floating down from the tree branch to the grass.

I do note with annoyance upon returning home that Bo Horvat has banned the Canucks from playing video games when they're on the road. Because the boys should be out socializing or drinking or being energy vampires to each other, which shows not only ridiculous the NHL is becoming, but how ridiculous the Canucks still are, and maybe they need a slightly older captain with an idea of how some folks don't necessarily want to fraternize the whole time and maybe want to spend their downtime how they see fit. But I'm pretty sure that Patrick Laine from the Jets said it best, saying that if the Jets start playing as bad as the Canucks, maybe they'll ban games too.

Christ LOL. Best burn.

Wrapping paper (help me).

I'm having a week where it's too warm for a sweater at work and so people each day so far have tried to touch my tattoos. Some of them ask, most of them just reach for my skin and I shrink back and tell them they can't touch them, that they can look but I get tired of the comments here where I am captive to a crowd as I refill cup after cup and wonder if I can keep the smile plastered on and the banter fresh long enough to earn my tip and then they can get the fuck out of my restaurant.

So I had a particularly difficult customer today and I asked him to wait a moment and then turned and fled out back, shoving my coffee pot at one of the kitchen help, asking them to take over just for a moment so that I could catch my breath.

And then I cried because he wasn't even looking at my tattoos. He just wasn't happy and it was the last straw of a Tuesday held together with very little in the first place.

And then I dried my eyes and went the fuck back to work, red-faced and defeated to finish out my shift and I clocked out the same time I always do and I refused to stay a second longer even though they were shorthanded and busy.

(My mind was also shorthanded and busy so in the interest of self-preservation I declined.)

I won't forget the sweater tomorrow. I'll deflect the calls to quit tonight too, as the boys are always soundly horrified when someone takes too much of an interest in my tattoos and ventures far outside of normal curiosity. Some will say I need to be tougher, that if I'm going to be covered I have to be prepared for the inevitable interest but I've always maintained I don't have to do anything, that they're not for anyone else, they're for me and thank you to those who at least asked first.

Tattoos don't require toughness. People require manners, however.

I need to come up with a few choice easy comments to politely make it known that they're not up for discussion. Also I need to turn up the A/C so not only will people have something else to complain about (HA) but I can wear my sweater without dying.

It's far more efficient and also less frightening to head down the hall at the end of a movie and some dinner with Caleb instead of out into the night, fraught with darkness and bears, and God knows what else. It's even good for those who wait for me, as they can wander down the hall and loiter about those few steps, waiting for me quietly, so that when I step into the hall and close the door softly behind me, as Caleb had already fallen asleep and I didn't want to disturb him when I left, I scream as loud as anyone in any horror movie ever because I wasn't expecting anyone to be standing in the darkened hallway waiting for me.

So Caleb woke up and everyone else came running and the new rule is if you're going to wait for someone, it has to be in bright light.

Hard reign.

I was pulled out of my dreams this morning, up into Ben's lap, arms around his neck, his hands pulling me into him over and over, driving like the rain in the darkness as I bit down against his shoulder just hard enough to leave tiny teeth prints in his tattooed skin that lasted through the morning and into lunchtime before fading back to nothing.

I was pulled out of my warm house this morning, into the driving rain with memories of Ben's arms soaking through my church clothes, thoughts that lasted through the morning and into lunchtime before fading back into nothing, teeth clenched against the word of God, intrusive guilt taking the place of pleasure in the darkness.

I was pulled out of the truck roughly this morning, when we returned home, into Caleb's arms, his hands pulling me close against his chest, gritting his teeth against the betrayal of a promise broken, to spend the darkened rainy Sunday with him instead of with his ever-intrusive God, just enough to soak through the relaxation before fading back to tension and upheaval, back to fear. Back to memories of the way I would grit my teeth when he touched me.

God didn't have much to say today. Sometimes the rhetoric brings the sleep and I tune Sam out and let my mind wander right out the front door of the church and disappear into the morning rain, thoughts that touch on Lochlan, not here right now with me, and then Ben in turn, with me but head bowed as he works hard to do right by himself first and then all of us around him and then Caleb, also not here and I remember I promised him I would be over before getting swept along in the Sunday routine and here I am, here instead of there.

I remember.

Oh, I remember.

I should have stayed in bed with Ben, but then again, he was the one who wanted to attend services so here we are and now I'm headed inside to spend the afternoon with Caleb, maybe watching a movie, in his private den with a good whiskey and some lunch. He bought a large wooden tray in order to cook in the kitchen but have some lovely private meals in his 'quarters' as he calls his little warren of rooms. It works. I don't know if the tray works yet, this will be the first time I've joined him at all.

Bring me the storm and let me feast on it.

No calendar. I won't be ruled by the dark changing into the light. I won't be mindful of the numbered days, labeled with the season, forcing me into a timeline not of my own choosing. Instead I will be ruled by my heart, fierce protective queen that she is, stumbling through the hours, reigning over minutes at a time as best she can.

That's what I'll be ruled by.

Fine, Sam says and washes his hands of it all, dirt running in rivulets, streams passing through his fingers, an attempt at salvation made and at once rejected.

Fine, Caleb says, licking the grievous wounds of his ego, bluster and swagger drowned in his own blood, running dark red like wine over my tongue.

Fine, Lochlan smiles, bobbing to the surface of the blood of his enemy, buoyed with the hope of his faith in me, in us.

The day is dark, rain washing away the blood, the dirt, the hurt feelings of the past two days, replacing it with new beginnings.

Today is the first day of the rest of your li-

Yeah yeah. I know.

Reluctant polyamorous therapy for three people who hate each others' guts but refuse to give up or in as directed by a completely unimpartial and thoroughly overwhelmed third party, told by a tightrope walker who hasn't walked a wire since 1996.

(Alternate title: The Gentlemen's Collective.)

Do we censor? Do we flow?
Are we drunk on the chemicals?
Every feeling in my bones tells me to lash out
Tell you to fuck off
You got my heart and I’ve got your soul
But are we better off alone?
With every battle we lose a little more
Remember everything that we die for
You are everything that I die for

I had to run some errands last evening and take Henry to work and when I came back Caleb has Lochlan facedown on the front walk, arms pinned behind his back, leaning on him hard, shouting at him I'm not going to take her from you over and over until Lochlan stopped struggling and gave up. Which is about the time I walked up. Caleb leans down and kisses Lochlan's cheek and Lochlan hollers his protest before Caleb lets him go and Ben hauls them both to their feet.

The hard part here is no one wants to give anything up. Caleb's got a foot in the door, so he thinks that means he's entitled to whatever he wants, and Lochlan just got back to the place he's supposed to be and he's not going to give up a moment, whether he's busy or not, whether we're getting along or not.

Not to Caleb, anyway.

This is going to be hard.

Sam thinks he can help us find common ground. Apparently it's the front yard and Lochlan's going to eat it or something. I sit near Sam, away from the rest, arms crossed over my chest, bottom lip out in silent protest.

Sam proposes a calendar. For fairness.

Seriously?

Do we feel safe
Do we feel safe
Do we feel safe
Do you feel safe

Sooner or later it came to an end.

(Don't worry about the title, for it's a lyric, guys.)

It was never my intention to get you
Wrapped up in a hot sun beach haze
When you made me crazy
We were not afraid
Just star-crossed runaways
No looking back now

Last evening Caleb broke the cardinal rule and I don't know if he did on purpose (he says he didn't) but then again he was smiling when he said it, albeit a mea culpa kind of unabashed embarrassed smile, so I can't tell you if he was lying or not. Eventually he will tell us. Or maybe he just won't.

(Also the whole house is sick to death of my endless KJ Wallen playlist and I DON'T CARE.)

The cardinal rule?

(Don't turn off my KJ Wallen playli-)

I mean, it's not even carved in stone but the real rule is if Lochlan is around and actually wants to spend time with me (heh. Do we get along? Depends) no one infringes on that. No one. Not saying it's rare because it isn't but Lochlan likes projects and he likes to be useful and when he stops moving for ten minutes or an hour and comes looking for me and you actively try to get in the way of that? Expect a problem.

Caleb? Sometimes a big problem. What did they last before coming to blows?

Four days.

Only this time due to my sheer brilliance there was no way to send them off to their respective corners to cool off and so the moment they were no longer blocked from getting to each other they went back at it.

Put that fist fight to the soundtrack of Summer Sunday and I pretty much have the opening credits of the movie of my life. Even though I didn't get to see it because while PJ and Duncan went back in to save them from each other, Dalton had to physically carry me out because I wanted to break them up too.

So I didn't get to write yesterday. Mainly because my laptop was in the way when they went into each other and it went crashing off the countertop and then it just wouldn't light up but Lochlan said he could fix it. I pointed out what happens if I stop lighting up and he just looked at me and then kept taking screws out of the back of it and placing them methodically onto the table in a little pile.

We'll get you a new one, Caleb reassures me from the other side of the kitchen where he sits with an ice pack against his eye. He's bigger and stronger but Lord, is Lochlan ever fast and also committed. In the time most people take to think about whether on not they really want to get into it Lochlan already has you on your back and you find yourself losing.

I can fix it. Lochlan growls at him.

JESUS SORRY I TRIED TO MOVE IN ON YOUR PLANS. If I want to buy her a replacement for her ten-year-old laptop I will and you don't get to weigh in.

Lochlan stops talking altogether, but so does Caleb so I'm going to call it a win.

Also Lochlan did fix the laptop, though it's got a dent now. It's okay. So do we.

Duh.

The poet is in the hammock this afternoon when I come out with my lemonade and he won't budge. He won't vacate it or slide over, telling me I'm too small and he wants to relax, not remain tense that he might inadvertently crush me or somehow squish me. He tells me to find a different space and so I head inside and go straight downstairs to his room. I place my lemonade on his nightstand and crawl into his bed, asleep in seconds, maybe less.

An hour later he arrives and offers to trade places and he laughs because waking up seems insurmountable right now for me as I struggle to respond when I just want to sleep. He gives up quickly enough and when I wake up next, my throat exceedingly sore again, nose running, and feverish from what I thought was a cold but is probably the first flu of the season, Duncan is gone and Caleb is in his place, leaning over me in concern.

That's why I'm here, Neamhchiontach. To make sure you're okay. And let's face it, you're far from okay right now. 

I'm fine. 

The ghosts are back. 

Think they ever left? I roll away from him and burrow into Duncan's blankets. After a minute or two, Caleb leaves. Not like he can't find me later.

What's wrong with my head.

I went out to the garage this morning to get a big bag of hash browns and the pot roast to thaw for tomorrow night's dinner and Jacob was already there, leaning up against the steps, arms crossed. His face was grim but determined, that facial expression that said everything he didn't need to say, the one that showed me I was fucking up and fucking up hard.

What have you done, Princess? 

I step around him, open the freezer and reach in to collect what I need. When my arms are full I stand up, close the top and head back around him, stopping directly in front of him and looking up at him. The sun beaming in through the top of the garage doors goes right through him, as do the dust motes I have disturbed .

What a beautiful face. I miss it so much.

Turn the lights out when you leave, Jake.

This post feels really fourth-wall in explanations but I'm leaving it the way it is.

Did I mention one of the pros of this Collective is if you need some heavy furniture moved it can be done exceedingly quickly and without complaint? Such was most of yesterday afternoon as all of Sam's bedroom and den furniture made the trip down the driveway and most of Caleb's things came this way, save for his kitchen barstools and the huge white leather couch.

Now Sam's old rooms looks strangely modern and cool and the boathouse looks very cozy and rustic. It works perfectly. I even switched their bedroom window coverings, as Sam is up with the sun and sleeps early and doesn't like to cover the windows at all while Caleb loves his blackout curtains.

Caleb's only request was that we furnish this house with a Breville as he had one and left it for Sam to enjoy and August has one and really we should have one here as well. I shrugged and said as long as someone puts a lock on the thing so I can't make myself an afternoon espresso and be up all night it's fine so he made a call and one is on the way tomorrow.

Caleb even had a cleaning company come in and scrub the whole boathouse before the furniture was put into place. He wanted Sam to have the best of everything. He even said he may make use of Sam's repeated, ardent offers of a talk, if ever Caleb wanted to make use of Sam's services.

Maybe just now if I look up, instead of geese, pigs are flying again.

Henry is also weirdly thrilled to have Caleb in-house. They're still close and will always be so for him it's extra comfort. His face was pure joy as he helped carry records and boxes across with the boys. He's bigger than some of them so he does his share of the heavy lifting now and Caleb noted his enthusiasm and was deeply touched by it. When I came downstairs this morning they were having breakfast together. It wasn't early or late but I didn't hear Sam getting ready to leave for church so I missed waking up on time, since the alarm didn't chime as the door was opened as it usually does.

Which means only Sam went to church. I will go over and see him later but I suspect he will be here somewhere reading, still spending his solitary time close by. Frankly he can spend all his time here and only head across the drive to sleep, or even not, as far as I'm concerned but I will wait and let it play out without my influence.

(Or I'll try, anyway.)

Last night wasn't weird but I had a headache and Lochlan was exhausted. Ben was holed up back in his studio after emerging long enough to hoist a bedframe up the steps singlehandedly and so after struggling through the latest episode of American Horror Story: Apocalypse (honestly I can't tell if I love it or hate it yet) we gave up and went to bed and actually slept hard last night. Which was so needed, let me tell you.

So today is the first day of the rest of our lives, as it is every day, I suppose, and I can't wait to see if this works or if the whole thing finally implodes.

I have a feeling it's going to work perfectly and I didn't expect that.

"Sometimes the Devil is a gentleman."-Percy Bysshe Shelley.

When I woke up this morning, Lochlan had started without me, hands around my hips, head above my shoulder, mouth against my temple, driving against me hard enough to pull me straight from sound sleep to fear, albeit briefly and then I pulled my legs up so I could hold on properly and turned my face into his.

Good morning to you too. 

But he doesn't say anything. He's on a mission to make as much love as he can in this moment to back up our infinite stores. In case we need them. In case we lose some? I don't know but he's the only one unhappy this morning and if my body can fix it, well then he can have it.

Last night's family meeting was kind of fucked up in that instead of running hot, erupting into violence and ending with hurt feelings it flowed smooth like a river around and under us.

And it's done.

It's a three or six month trial (depending on who you ask). Caleb will be moving into Sam's suite here, on the top floor of the house, just down the hall from our rooms and down a few steps. It's a beautiful cozy suite of rooms. A den, ensuite bathroom, walk-in closet and large bedroom overlooking the woods. Most of the bedrooms in the house have a den and bathroom and big closet so it's not like he's losing a lot of space overall. He cooks here half the time anyway and loves the company of anyone who is around, mostly especially the kids.

Sam is moving again (I swear at this point he's lived in every room of this house sometimes), and is still ever grateful to be a part of this collective to the point where we could put him in a cage in the basement and he would thank us, pray for us but this gives him a little more room and as such he can hold his counseling meetings at the boathouse and have his men's groups there and bible study and he won't always have to be on the highway driving to church which isn't all that close to us, frankly. So he is thrilled. Absolutely thrilled.

The way things have been lately no one really objected. If we have a plan we make sure everyone is informed and baring any glaring issues we haven't addressed or maybe thought of, the best way to run a group of this size is to keep things open and transparent. And to be so mindful of everyone's feelings. So mindful.

No glaring issues, huh. Lochlan remains the lone dissenter.

It'll be easier for you to keep tabs on him here. 

You mean it'll be easier for me to keep tabs on you here. 

He says the only reason he's doing this is for Sam. You see what he means, right?

Sam will have more space to spread out his ministry-

And it removes Sam from our immediate vicinity. 

It doesn't though. 

Lochlan looks at me. It doesn't, does it?

Nope. 

Maybe Caleb finds it too isolating there. And it is perfect for Sam. 

I think Caleb is still capable of doing good. He's always had the best interests of the Collective at heart. 

What if you're wrong about that, Bridge? 

Then we won't have to go too far to ask him. 

He finally lets go of me this morning, finishing his silent onslaught against his own fears and lies beside me, pulling me tight against him. Sorry I woke you. 

Don't be, I'm not. 

I don't know if I want him here, Bridge. I don't know if I'm ready for this. 

We'll take it slow. 

But we're not. They're switching the bedroom furniture as soon as the rain lets up a little.

Contingency (Confession).

I think we need to make a sea change, and I've been considering the options for a while now. The Devil walks a slow circle around the night, pausing here and there to push back the shapes in the dark, the ones I can't see clearly, the ones that see me, clear as day.

What kind of change. I am still slow with sleep, thick with dreams and exhaustion, so unwilling to climb out of this bed and go home right this moment, instead ready to fall back asleep under the skylights and their canopy of rain-drenched hemlocks. Options for? 

I think Sam should take this space and I can take over his rooms. 

And be just down the hall. 

Yes. 

In the big house. 

Yes. Then I'm closer to you and the children and Sam gets the breathing room he needs to work plus it legitimizes his tenancy here in the eyes of the church. He could even entertain without questions. 

I'm awake now, his pejorative tone keeping me from dozing. What brought this on, besides the obvious? 

Time. We've talked about this. I'd like to be closer. For both your and my own benefit.

Your end game is the problem-

He sighs for what feels like an eternity. Talk to them. 

You should have called a family meeti-

They'll only consider it if it comes from you, Bridget. 

So I have to take this to them?

Depends. Do you want me in the house?

I freeze, a deer in the lights. He sits down, pulling me into his lap until we are eye to eye and he holds my head so I can't look away.

Neamhchiontach. Do you?

I'm willing to do a trial. But there's no privacy like there is here. 

There's enough. So will you take it to the house? If it comes from you it will work. They will understand. 

The sun comes up in tandem with his hopes and my throat goes dry as I wonder how in the hell I'm supposed to make this sound as if it was my idea all along.

But. Pajamas. Yeah. Those pajamas.

I woke up in my traditional, habitual position. Holding on to Lochlan for dear life, arms tight around his neck, foreheads pressed together, breathless from the lack of oxygen as he runs hot in perpetuity, such as he is, the fire eater, thrower, juggler, maker.

The moment I breathe weird he is awake, jolted out of his dream-filled sleep into whatever moment he thinks he needs to save.

Hey. Hey. It's okay. He's calming me down, I'm just trying to catch up on air here so I don't say much and then he decides I'm hyperventilating and we're sitting up now, waking up Ben, being overly concerned about nothing. It takes a few minutes, I've been sick, after all, and then I'm good.

You'd be gasping for air too if you had your face in someone's mouth all night. Ben doesn't like to be woken up by Lochlan's wolf cries. Ben has had probably two hours sleep.

I didn't-aw, for fucks sake. Lochlan doesn't argue. We've been told this before. We sleep like sea otters. Hamsters. Kittens. We curl up together as close as we can get and we don't move. At all. Ever. It comes from summers sleeping in the camper in the tiny cot, without heat, without any sort of comforts at all save for each other and the radio.

We head downstairs for breakfast, Loch in his old pajama pants that now border on indecent but also I can't look away, and me in yesterday's leggings and Ben's super-huge Goatwhore (heh) hoodie because it's roughly in the same condition of worn-ness as Lochlan's pants. Softer is better when it comes to clothes. And who doesn't like comfort?

Ah yes, here he comes now.

Caleb whisks into the kitchen, looking at us with mild disdain as though we're supposed to be ready or something. It's six in the morning. Why the hell is he up and bright? Did I forget something?

I just came to borrow some eggs until I can get out and replace them.

Just put them on the list-

And give you more to do? Speaking of which, we need to have a discussion.

Lochlan rolls his eyes. His voice is scratchy. Can I please have my coffee first?

It doesn't include you so sure, go ahead. Caleb has little patience for Lochlan's little patience. They'll forever be posturing greasers. He turns back to me. We need to talk about a little break for you.

I just got home and I don't want to go anywhere.

Yes and you also didn't have the rest and relaxation you desperately needed before and now you're so far overdue for it you've given up on it and I'm here to fix that.

Not going to hap-

SHUT UP LOCH. Caleb turns on him finally, going from annoyed to angry.

Loch puts his mug down and steps in front of me. Oh shit. She's staying put.

She decides.

She wants me to decide.

Caleb looks around Lochlan at me. You want him to decide you can suffer here for all eternity or do you want to get on a plane and go rest somewhere warm?

 I am warm. And I've had rest.

You're waking up holding your breath again. That's not the trait of someone who is relaxed. Bridget-

Not now, Diabhal. Please.

Good job, Dóiteáin. Make her suffer for your rules. Good job. Bridget, I want you at the boathouse at eight sharp tonight. If he isn't going to spoil you, I will look after it. 

He does! You just can't-

That's the point. I can.

I always loved my shadow (it was bigger than me).

Joel came over tonight. We fed him McDonalds (fries and Big Macs for everyone because Bridget is fucking tired, okay?) and then he and I settled in to watch the Leafs trounce the Sens 4-1. I don't care if it's preseason, I'm ready with my bets and I'm already winning along with my team.

After the game we took our tea outside in the back yard, settling into the big hammock, our feet in each other's faces, side by side but heads at opposite ends, tea mugs set on the stones below. The sun set a little while ago. Half the lights on the point are on. It's beautiful tonight. The calm before the storm.

Think they'll keep Nylander? Joel asks. I note the exhaustion in his voice.

Yes, I nod. I'm sure of it. He's a jewel in the NHL. The Leaf crown needs a full set this year and Ennis is a wildcard. 

(Wait. Do you even care what I think about hockey? Well, too bad.)

True. Joel settles back and tucks his hands under his arms, closing his eyes.

You should go. 

Talk a little first. 

About? 

You and your work situation. 

What about it?

It's great. 

Oh, is it? 

Yes. It wears you out, keeps your brain busy. You don't have to time to slide into a depressive episode-

You mean I don't have time to think about Jake and then later I'm too tired to think about him.

Yes. 

How healthy is it to not address my emotions? Or allow myself to feel these things? 

That's not what I- 

I know what you mean. Everyone's so happy now. It's been almost six months since I got the job and look how fucking functional.  It's a house of cards, Joely. 

What if it's not?

Explain it to me. But fast. It's time to go. We climb out of the hammock awkwardly but without embarrassment and pick up our teacups, bringing them in through the patio into the kitchen and then I walk Joel to the front hall to collect his things. I walk him out to his car. He turns after opening the door, bends in to kiss my temple like that's normal for him (Jesus, it's not) and then smiled in the dark.

What if it's a sea change of sorts? 

Oh it isn't. Jacob is larger than this life. He casts a shadow on the sun. 

How do you know it's his? 

What do you mean?

Did you ever stop to consider the fact that maybe you're seeing your shadow and not his? Maybe Bridget is larger than life. Maybe you're investing in the wrong central character here, of your story. Think about it. He smiles kindly, sweetly. The Joel I remember before things went to hell and he closes the door and drives away. I stand there for so long staring at the point where the driveway is swallowed by the woods thinking about his words that I don't notice PJ come out and when he speaks I jump out of my skin.

I thought you left with him. 

I turn and stare at him. Why would I do that?

You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost. 

I did. It looked just like me. 

And I turn and head inside, leaving PJ wondering what I meant, looking up toward the woods curiously. 
 

One foot in the past, and one in the now.

What do you want to do today, Princess?

Drink hot chocolate. Build a fire. Maybe go for a long walk. Have a nap. 

I meant after I finish up my work. 

How much time we talkin', here, Jake?

Maybe enough for building the fire after dinner. 

If you have to work all day why did you ask me what I wanted to do?

I'm curious. 

But we can't make plans. 

Sure we can. I won't be all day. 

See, I think you will. 

Why?

You hole up in the study with your bible and your books and forget the time. 

Can you blame me? I'm just trying to come up with things that people-

-People haven't heard before. Sam and I repeat the same sentence as he explains why he won't be present for supper tonight.

I understand, I tell him. I'll leave a plate in the fridge for you. 

You're patient. 

I did this before. Knock them over with a feather on Sunday, Sam. 

I plan to try, anyway. 

If only kevlar were see-through, I'd be almost there.

I'm having a hard time keeping my chin up today but I'm doing it anyway. Lochlan always said I need to learn toughness, need to work harder to control my environment, not let things get to me and not let it show that it has, if it does anyway.

So I didn't cry at work today.

Though, I wanted to.

And I didn't cry at home (yet).

Though, I'd like to.

But we're making a chicken and potato casserole and running the washer endless and trying to keep up because it's Monday and that's what one does, right?

On the bright side (is there one today? On a Monday? Truly?), my paycheck seems to be straightening out, it isn't pouring rain and did I mention? There's a chicken and potato casserole in the oven right now which means no one can complain about being hungry for the next twelve hours or so.

Also? Be nice to the people who pour your coffee. Seriously. Motherfuckers.

Pink & Blue.

When you don't give me love (You gave me pale shelter)
You don't give me love (you give me cold hands)
And I can't operate on this failure
When all I want to be is
Completely in command

Lochlan looks at me quizzically. What's that you're singing?

A new Tears for Fears song that just came out on the radio.

Oh. Sounds sad.

Oh, it is!

Do you understand it? He asks me that a lot. As if a twelve year old can't grasp life, or the simple concept of an anti-love song.

Yes. I get it. It's an accusatory song about someone who doesn't support someone else enough for their liking.

I'll have to hear it.

You just did.

I mean the recording. On the radio.

Next time it comes on I'll point it out. It sounds different from when I was just singing it. More clashy... more guitars.

He laughs. Time to get ready.

For?

Dinner. Wash up and lets go. 

Over dinner Lochlan stares at me while I eat my fries with gravy on the side. The gravy is a special treat. It costs extra at thirty cents but he's gotten a raise just for coming back to the Midway for the second year. So I get gravy and he gets pickles and sauerkraut on his sandwich as we are celebrating. Usually we have just malt vinegar, just cheese. Those are free.

So it's a special night.

On the way home in the truck that song comes on the radio.

I asked for more and more
How can I be sure
I've been here before
There is no why, no need to try
I thought you had it all
I'm calling you, I'm calling you
I ask for more and more
How can I be sure

Lochlan looks at me. It's not accusatory. 

It's not?

No, he feels helpless watching his own relationship slip through his fingers. 

Oh it's even sadder than I thought. 

He nods. That's what radio is based on though. 

What do you mean? 

Songwriters are fueled by heartbreak. 

I wouldn't want to be one then. 

Bridget, heartbreak is a fact of life. 

I hope it never happens to me. 

It will. 

I just stare at him with wide eyes. Not by me. I mean if you don't get a job you want someday or your dog dies. 

My dog died last year. 

Right so that's heartbreak too. 

Oh, I thought you just meant romantic heartbreak. 

It comes in degrees, so romantic is the worst, most painful kind. 

That's the kind I hope I never have. 

Me, too. 

Well then if either one of us feels like the other has cold hands we have to speak up and stop it. 

I don't think it works like that. 

Well then how do we prevent it?

We stick together. Like we do now. I told you I wouldn't leave you behind and so you're on your second tour too now. Here's your raise. He pulls an envelope out of his pocket heavy with change.

Oh YES! 

What are you going to spend it on. 

Cotton candy every single day.

You already have that. 

Yes but now I can have it in both colors!

Also Pallbearer covered Run like Hell and Lochlan squealed when I played it for him. LOL

A checkup this morning (gotta love surprise house calls on a Saturday morning, thank you Caleb for setting that up) leaves me with the all-clear. My lungs sound good finally. My post-nasal drip is gone and the lingering shortness of breath is easily remedied for a few hours at a time with my inhaler.

So....yay me, I think. Progress is good. Healing is wonderful.

Not a plug or a sponsored anything, I hate that shit but I lay in bed this morning playing on the #selfcare app. It's soothing visually and audibly but in a weird way it distracts me from my emotions because it's glitchy. Like I end up picking up the clothes over and over again and have to restart multiple times and then stop touching the clothes for it to work but I like it.

And I'm not into apps as means to fix what ails my broken head and heart. I rely on talking, drugs and mindless repetitive forced rethinking. Joel had a name for it. Changing how I deal with things. I don't remember what it was called but I still do it because if I can grab something out of the ether I can do okay. When I stop moving and turn inward I fall in those holes. Life is a minefield already tripped and I twist my ankles as I go.

For my reward Caleb took me out for eggs Benedict and hash browns and then asked if he could stick around for the day. He worries something fierce but not as much as Lochlan, who collected me on the way back into the house and said no. We have plans. We're taking Ruth to finish getting her supplies and textbooks for her school year and then we're hopefully going to finish Ozark because I'm anxious to see how it ends before it gets spoiled for me somehow. We started American Horror Story: Apocalypse last night and it's SO GOOD. So I could happily spend the rest of this rainy Saturday watching TV and continuing to get better. I'll never finish picking up my laundry in #selfcare though. Please email me if you've tried it and tell me what I'm doing wrong.

(A dreamer of pictures, I run in the night.)

Good morning, Peanut.

He's bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wide-awake and ready to roll. Coffee is on a tray in front of him. Two cups. I smell Baileys. Also on the tray are two of the cinnamon rolls I made a couple of days ago. I thought they were all gone.

They are, I hid these ones beforehand.

You've been planning breakfast in bed?

I don't know. I've been doing something though. While you've been slinging mud, half-asleep.

I'm sorry, Locket.

If I don't give you something that helps you sleep you won't sleep at all and then it's like you're a tennis ball, bouncing all over the place, smacking into the hard walls all around you and you wind up bruised and demoralized and I'm just trying to stop that beforehard. Trying to get you better from this stupid infection that I practically gave you myself taking you to a place you never should have be-

Ping-pong ball.

How's that?

The description is always a ping-pong ball.

Right. Does it matter, Bridge?

No.

Eat. He points at my plate. You could use something decent.

My own baking?

Better than what PJ said you were eating yesterday while you were out in the yard.

I was just feeling lazy. He's making it into a big deal. 

You sitting in the dark barely interacting with life or even the basics is a big deal and you know it. 

I'm okay.

I'd like you to be more than that. He smiles.

Then move this tray. 

His smile went away and then came back bigger than ever as he understood what I meant.

I was wrong. PJ is my spirit animal.

I was eating when PJ came home from his appointment and he found me sitting on the couch (we're not allowed to eat on the couch) in the great room off the kitchen by a cold woodstove. Alone.

What are those? He looks horrified.

Chicken strips.

How did you cook them?

Microwave.

Bridget, what the fuck? You're supposed to bake those.

I didn't want to wait.

This is like the good old days when you lived on Special K and packaged ramen. 

(What do you know? I still do. Now I just put truffle oil on it and wash it all down with champagne.)

(No, I don't.

I don't know what truffle oil tastes like if I've had it and we ran out of champagne so I added water to a half gatorade I found in the fridge. I'm calling it 'electrolytes with a hint of orange'.)

So? I'm in a Seroquel haze and every mere mention or hint of autumn has me thinking of Jake. I'm cranky and fragile and not in the mood for anyone to critique my delicious, if a wee bit soggy chicken fingers.

He smiles gently. Kind of obvious I'm not having an in-charge kind of day. It's one-thirty and I'm still in my pajamas too. Want me to make you something?

This is fine. I'm almost done. 

Where's Lochlan? 

Probably went to visit his dealer. I'm a little angry. I guess he figured I'd sleep all day. Nope. I just have the mild shakes. He keeps giving me sleeping pills. 

You've been a zomb-

I'm fine. 

It's melatonin. 

What?

He goes to the cupboard and gets out a bottle I've never seen before. Melatonin. Harmless here and there. Works a little bit but definitely not to the sinister level you're picturing. And he didn't skip out hoping you'd sleep all day. He's out in the garden with Ben helping to winterize your plants and put in the pathway markers. 

Oh. 

Oh? Geez, Bridge. Maybe you should go back to bed. Or look out the window or something.

I don't want to. The leaves are changing and it's windy and dark and all the Halloween shit is coming out and I just-

Want to sit in the dark in your pajamas eating crap food and staring off into space?

Yeah.

Okay. You can have today. But tomorrow you're going to do something else. Clear?

You sound like Loch.

I'll take that as a compliment.

Guess I'm getting a new phone. Maybe a 512GB model so I can stop curating my music.

Compromise. We all (Ben, Lochlan, Caleb and I) had some chowder. Then Caleb sent them packing and we watched a movie. I drank too much wine and woke up to credits and Lochlan standing in the doorway saying my name softly. Caleb is dozy-light beside me but startles when Lochlan speaks. He sits up and looks down at me.

Let her sleep, Dóiteán.

I was planning on it. In her own bed though.

Caleb nods, defeated but politely-so and I sleepily stand and sway.

G'night, Diabhal. Thank you.

He kisses my forehead. No, thank you. It was nice to just relax for a bit. Then he kisses my lips. Sleep well, Neamhchiontach.

I nod and Lochlan pulls me out the door. I trip and stumble, half-awake, across to our house and then we are home and the lights are dim and the house is quiet.

I wasn't-

Just keeping the peace, he says.

Your peace of mind, I remind him.

I didn't specify.

Trickery.

Common sense, Bridge!

I know. I smile at him and my eyes close.

Narcohaptic.

Yes. That's what it can be!

Sleep, Peanut.

Been trying to.

(But it comes out Buntrwintoo! and this morning there was one simple message on my phone. I love you. Lochlan picks up my phone and whips it at the door where it hits and then lands on the floor.

I stare at him.

Whoops, he says. It must have slipped out of my hand. Sorry.

Forever's going to start...another day, I guess.

I was having a blast, singing along with Bonnie Tyler. Alone with sixty-seven minutes with which to do a load of laundry (work clothes), print out everything Henry needs for his new job, organize the house, make some lunches and wonder where the heck everyone is and how my chores became compressed into a puck the size of an hour when he appeared behind me and my heart stopped.

(Turn around)
But every now and then
I know you'll always be the only boy
Who wanted me the way that I am

(Turn around)
Every now and then
I know there's no one in the universe
As magical and wondrous as yo-FUCK!

Have I interrupted something?

My song, for one. Now I have to start it over!

Don't let me stop you.

What do you need, Diabhal?

I was wondering if I could have you for dinner.

They said I'd be all gristle and sugar-

Bridget.

What?

You know what I mean.

Whatcha making?

Maybe some clam chowder and fresh bread?

Oh, hellllll yes. Lochlan loves chowder-

He's...not invited this time.

Oh. You should tell him that.

I figured he wouldn't mind. So nothing has truly changed here, has it?

Depends on who you ask.

Too. Tired. to. move.

Sorry.

Run for your life with me.

Last night we made the trip downtown to see the Foo Fighters. It was so good! Even better then the last one we caught, which when I looked was over a decade ago. I jumped up and down the whole time, wore myself to smithereens and drank expensive drinks until Lochlan caught up and cut me off. I had a ball. I would do that every night, closing my eyes, feeling the music thundering right through me, except that I am not operating at one hundred percent and am really tired today.

Only four of us went and PJ kept leaving to rat out people smoking drugs to security which I love him for but is also part and parcel of a rock show and somehow I equate it with coming home and lighting incense. Besides, the smoke only bothers me if it's really heavy and this wasn't so bad, honestly.

(PJ is PJ. He used to be that guy. Now he's that guy's dad.)

They figured I should be a little more concerned as I currently have a lung infection but I reminded them that tweaking my antibiotics and adding steroids have helped so much and I felt good enough to go.


But today is tough. Today I'm maybe a little more than just tired and I can see they're biting back the I-told-you-so's and god bless them for it. We skipped church again but Sam did not. He said a prayer against my head on the way out the door then one against Lochlan's and Ben's too.

Caleb came over and made lunch for us. We ate inside. The heat is on. The tiny lights are on. The house is cozy in the rain, and suddenly, just like that, it's fall.

Small things.

I took Ben a hot chocolate last evening. He's escaped back into his studio at last, back to work, back to creating beautiful things, back to being all but absent, mostly thundering through the house to make sure I'm happy and check in, check in with the kids and with the other boys and then he's gone again.

Just what I wanted, he smiles at me.

A hot drink?

A hot wife. He grabs me and pulls me into his lap and that's it. For the next two hours we remember our own brand of love and when he finally lets go and I can put back on every piece of clothing he had removed, he takes a sip of his now-tepid hot chocolate and proclaims it perfect.

Like you, I tell him.

Far from it, Bee. 

Not to me. I don't bring treats to people who don't deserve it. 

True. True. 

Come upstairs. 

I will in a bit. 

But he won't. He'll work all night and if that happens I'll bring down eggs and toast for him in the morning and then convince him to go nap for a little while, at least.

The most welcome distractions.

How are you feeling? Lochlan wanders past the door every fifteen minutes or less. I can set my watch by it this morning. I'm lying on my back on the floor of the front porch just on the other side of the door. If someone rushes out without looking they're going to crush me but everyone's mostly out today anyway.

I'm kind of worried. 

He drops what he's doing and pushes the screen door open, stepping over me and sitting down on the other side. What's wrong? 

Preseason begins in a week and Bieksa is still a free agent. 

Lochlan laughs out loud. That's the day's tragedy? 

Well...YEAH. It's just like in elementary school when everyone picked their teams for Red Rover and I'd always be the last person left that neither team wanted. I know how he must feel.

It's because your size made you a liability. No one wanted to be the criminal who knocked you down and made you cry. 

Imagine how he must feel then. He's so much bigger. There's no excuse for this travesty. 

I'm sure he's happily kicking back at his house in California, halfway into a welcome early retirement.

If that's what he wants. 

Call him and ask. 

Do you think..WAIT. I wonder if Caleb can pull some strings. 

And find his number? 

No, get him signed! 

To whom?

The Canucks! Jesus, they need all the help they can get this year. 

It'll probably happen. 

Oh. Did you already ask Caleb to do it?

So nothing's actually wrong, then? Because I've got some work to do. 

Your sensitivity is noted. 

He isn't even your favorite player anymore! 

He might be again if he had the right team! 
 

Love you to Death.

You know when you find out that one of your favorite bands are fans of one of your other favorite bands? Right. So Starset just covered Type O Negative and I think I'm so done. It's so AWESOME. Kill me, please.

Prednisone princess.

Sorry I've been away. I got a lot sicker, to the point that more than one boy is sleeping fully-clothed and within arm's reach ready to whisk me off to Emergency as I attempt to breathe at all. The smoke is back in the air and my so-called sinus infection is morphing down into my lungs. Caleb actually yelled at the doctor today to try and make him magically fix me and I had to turn and stare quietly at him, my disapproval all over my face until he tried to justify it as worry, stress and fear.

I'm not going to die. I sound about eight degrees lower than normal, and instantly started coughing.

He ignored my promise and instead wondered out loud if he should fly in someone better.

Give this a few days to work and if it doesn't kick in soon we'll maybe admit her.

No! I croak. No way. No more hospitals. Jesus. It's been a long summer already. Then I cough some more.

I did survive the birthday party for Lochlan, though my speech is on hold until I do feel better and Caleb's been bunking with us two nights straight out of sheer worry. I think Ben is kind of annoyed but Lochlan seems fine with it. He and Caleb are getting along so well I'm in wonderment instead of misery as it is so let's just keep this rolling. If I feel better in a few days and they go back to being at war with each other then I'll have it all figured out. In the meantime I wish I felt well enough to enjoy the extra attention.

I'll try to post more though. I've mostly been sleeping.

Bee's knees (no, literally).

I went back to work today. After being off for almost a month, a couple of trips, a lot of auxiliary landscaping and a round trip to Vegas and Burning Man and now that's over and reality hits.

Hard. It hits like a suckerpunch from out of nowhere, knocking you halfway down into a stagger, as blood drips from your teeth.

Gone are the heavy black platform loafers, changed for light slipproof sneakers that are safety shoes, waterproof and super cushiony because I cried at the thought of running plates and coffee pots after such a break and wondered how much my legs would hurt.

My customers were all different. My boss already fucked up my paycheck and by my lunchbreak I was ready to cash in all the bets and quit but by the time I left I had it under control.

Because that's what adults do, or so Lochlan reminded me with a grim expression today, loathe to force me to be an adult any more than I already force myself.

I won the day, in the end. I also hated to have to do any of it, as it was Ruth's nineteenth birthday, but we celebrated last night so today was almost the bonus-birthday, in that we went out for dinner tonight and she ordered a drink with her meal. An alcoholic drink.  They asked her for her identification while my head nodded into my plate during this most important rite of passage but I'm hoping no one noticed.

She said later she noticed but she understands.

Here's hoping for Wednesday night's party (Lochlan's birthday) I can stay awake.

What an exciting week. So much happening. Back to school. Birthdays. More birthdays. Caleb and the rest should be home in the morning.  Lochlan's weirdly calm, relieved in a way that tells me he really didn't want to take me to Nevada and is really freaking happy we are home none the worse for wear. Or maybe he's just really happy I said no when he asked if I was missing Caleb.

It's not like I've had time to, yet.

Handoff.

One of the joys of the Collective is the ability to move seamlessly from one boy to another, without losing focus.

I'm kidding. Of course I lose focus. I realize abruptly that the red curls are gone and they've been replaced by caramel or brown or blonde ones, and that the hands are softer/larger/less rough. The voice is deeper or the hold is less fierce, more relaxed or more hesitant. Or even tighter, if that were possible.

Yeah.

Sigh.

We didn't go to church this morning, Sam included, though I sat up and threw a pillow at his head as he snoozed on into the daylight insolently. Think he missed us? Hell, yes he missed us. And I am so happy to be home I never want to leave the point again. I'm already looking at having groceries delivered, and maybe we can have a biweekly champagne one as well.

I'm sure there's a minimum, Caleb says as I talk to him on the phone this morning. They're heading home tomorrow morning, barring any unforseen issues. Direct charter flight. Maybe a stop in Oregon. I don't know. I'll see them when they get here. I'm just happy he and August are still getting along or he and Batman, for that matter, or even he and Schuyler. Daniel gets along with everyone, so I don't have to worry about him.

We'll figure it out, I agree. If we can, we will. If we don't, we don't.

You're agreeable today. Good sleep? 

The best. 

They let you rest?

No, I laugh. Sam was exceedingly lonely when we got home. 

He'll live, Caleb promises, hoping I left Sam be.

Of course. Still agreeable, as ever. Still unapologetic, as always.
 

Wear the heart.

Home. I'm always surprised by that word, which still feels so new when talking about the point. Back to my fur blankets and my Maple Leafs one too (the season is a month away!), back to PJ and Sam and Duncan and Dalton too. Back to my children who didn't even miss me, trash-talking me for missing the burn itself, which takes place in five hours.

Sigh.

But onward.

(Onward and upward, Princess. Jacob's voice still narrates every internal peptalk I give myself.)

Lochlan, Ben and I were plucked out of the sky by Sam, who may have missed us badly and lead a surprisingly moving group hug and gratitude prayer over my head once we made it inside the front hall. He was choking up more than I expected and I've come to find out all of the encouragement and excitement before we left, from everyone, including Lochlan and Ben, was manufactured.

Forced.

Faked. 

And that no one wanted me to go.

Somehow they knew up front that this wasn't the place for me and my own hesitations were mirrored and magnified ten fold in themselves and the relief and joyfulness is something I can poke and it leaves a dent when I remove my finger.
 
They found a way to pull it off in a way that let them sleep at night, bless them all.  Caleb and the rest went back to finish what they started because now that I'm gone then can actually relax and have fun.

Oh.

Geez.

But things are different here too. Ruth is suddenly a peer with firm opinions about where I should be and who I should be with. PJ is a hand-wringing parent who knew better. Lochlan isn't saying much past his pledge to let me venture out to the ends of his fingertips but no further and he'll never be further away from that. Ben is adaptable as always but underneath it his relief is the biggest of all for reasons that stretch into his recovery, that isn't ever as strong as August's and to that end he is happy to be home as well.

I'm about to have a long hot bath (head above the surface, don't worry) and then PJ is making a pork roast and potatoes, carrots and asparagus for dinner. Henry said all they ate all week was pizza and chicken and he doesn't want asparagus on his plate if that's okay. 

Pizza and chicken? I look at PJ.

And peas and beans and cantaloupe and pineapple. And milk and eggs. Yeesh. Love how he conveniently forgets that he tried to pay me off so I would let him not have to eat the peas. Christ, kid. 

Henry laughs.

I'm so happy to be home. Did I mention that?
 

The only reason I came here is actually to tell you my husband bought me sweatpants and a sweatshirt and they don't even match and I'm so comfy right now it's SICK.

Stay out of the pool and hot tub, the doctor warns me, as if I feel like visiting either. And same when you get home, until at least Halloween, but better if you waited until Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is before Halloween..so which?

Oh, right. Canada. Okay, at least twelve weeks for your ears to heal. Otherwise you could cause further damage.

I just smiled at him, for I didn't know what to say. Damaged doesn't begin to cover me, and twelve weeks puts us firmly into space just on the other side of Jacob's birthday and I don't even want to think of that time of year, when the mornings and afternoons are equally dim while the night is black, just like my heart brain soul.

Sure thing. Lochlan speaks for me, holding out his hand to shake the doctor's. Great. Yeah thanks. Thanks a bunch.

I don't feel better yet but I can breathe today. I can't hear anything at all. We're heading out tomorrow on a flight home (decongestants are ready, but am I?) and I remain terribly disappointed in myself.

Leave it all there. Leave all that behind, Peanut. 

I take a huge hitching breath and nod. Trying. 

That's my girl. 

Only five of us are going home. The rest returned for the end. God bless them for coming out with us and God protect as they go back.

The world's most disorganized parade (I mean us, not Burning Man).

(Here it is, the final time I will talk about this event.)

Greetings from...Lake Tahoe this time.

I wish I could plan a real trip here. It always seems like an afterthought. A safe haven. A woodsy mountain daydream through filtered sunlight and cool early autumn breezes.

I lasted four days at Burning Man.

Four. Geez.

In those four days I've ridden in/on two planes, one helicopter, two jeeps, an SUV limo, one art car, a rickshaw, a motorcycle, three bicycles (one of which I think I stole), my rollerblades (not a great idea) and piggybacking on Ben.

(And a stretcher but shhhhhhh.)

I would like to stop moving but I can't stay here. This is just a well-appointed pit stop on the way home. I mean, until I'm cleared to fly. If that doesn't happen soon we're driving.

I'm okay. Everyone is okay. No one stayed behind at Burning Man or was all that disappointed, frankly. I was not prepared for the conditions (in spite of all of my efforts) and had a four-day nosebleed which has morphed into a double-ear and sinus infection and I'm having some really great frightening shortness of breath moments on top of it all now. It's lovely.

Panic attacks. Caleb corrects me with his theories, of which there are more. He thinks I orchestrated this so I could leave. Yay. Yes, please. If I can spontaneously bleed then I'm the second-fucking-coming and you'd better get on your knees right the fuck now.

(We're not speaking. He is concerned, however.)

The theory that works here is that everyone is beautiful when you're fucked up, but so is everything, and that holds true for life and for Burning Man. If you're straight then not so much, I'm afraid. It was interesting in a people-watching sort of way, which I did a lot of the first couple of days. I then tried to take it easy when the stigmata started and I called Sam with my nose stuffed full of cotton and made some jokes about converting to Catholicism because if I thought I was popular before just wait until they get a load of this and he was also concerned.

It was the most giant make-work project of my life. I'm only glad I didn't deal with the stocking of the RV and cooking like previous years when I didn't even get to go but now that I've seen it with my own eyes I can check it off my list.

And honestly, no, it's absolutely nothing like the circus. Nothing at all. No, the people aren't the same. No, the whole vibe wasn't even good. Just no.

If you love it and it's your reason for living, then it's yours. Take it. Here, I freed up some space. We gave everything away that we brought, including my rollerblades. We got a lot of hugs. A lot of people were genuinely concerned for me.

I didn't see anyone I knew. I didn't see the same person twice. We got invited to a lot of private parties which aren't supposed to be a thing but I tested that theory too and it's all true.

I'll be happy to get home. Take your I-told-you-so's and stuff 'em. My body couldn't handle the conditions, the dust, the dryness or the heat. Everyone is kicking themselves because my track record for split fingers and nosebleeds all winter long when it's dry is near-legendary at this point so they all think they should have somehow been able to connect the dots.

I don't even care at this point. I'm just looking forward to my own bed, and a big joint birthday party at home that was rescheduled and now doesn't have to be.

Hateful eight.

Guess who isn't at Burning Man right now? Right. Apparently there were some logistical issues so the RV is being set up onsite now, finally and we're flying in tonight, so in the meantime I get to lie upside down on a huge bed in a clean 5-star hotel room in Vegas (not even Reno) and indulge in their gold-plated wifi.

I was a little horrified, as I didn't bring clothes for Vegas but Caleb smiled just a little and told me I didn't need any and he's already riling up everyone by taking over everything even though this is Batman's operation.

Right.

They're both here.

We have a block of rooms in the hotel and because they all technically hate each other but we're creatures of habit we figured out how to unlock the doors between the rooms so it's like being at home save for the fact that here a man in a morning coat shows up to pour me champagne four or five times a day, call me Mrs. C____, draw me a bath and turn the bed down, leaving chocolates and flowers on the pillows.

Which Ben eats all of. Yes, the flowers too.

Not sure I really need to go anywhere else but also I feel like I might already be missing things at Burning Man.

To pass the time August has suggested we figure out our playa names. His is...August.

Oh, I get it. Mine is...wait for it. Bridget. 

No, it has to be something anonymous. 

Neamhchiontach. Caleb says it softly. He'd rather I not bond with August over this. We have enough that we've bonded over and he's trying to make this event all his.

Too long. Hard to say. August rolls his eyes.

You have to choose one too, Diabhal. 

How about asshole? August is poking the bunny now. Jesus, boys. Keep it together. Don't you dare wreck this for me.

I hear that's taken. Caleb winks at me. I need to borrow you. 

More champagne?

No, some clothes. 

He's had a few outfits delivered, shoes included. God. He probably should have been a stylist. Everything's perfect. Nothing is scratchy. Everything's flowery-fall and cute. Except the shoes. He insists on stilettos. I insist I'm not wearing them ever again so I opt for barefoot shenanigans and he relents finally and my boots (still clean so far to my dismay) make the outfits more Tank Girl, less Pretty Woman.

Fine by me.

We're going to go for a very early dinner and then the plane is leaving. If I post again this week please kill me. He says we'll have wifi but I don't think I want it. He says he'll make sure I want for nothing but I don't want that either.

Burner chicks and disco sticks.

Rainier Fog has indeed turned out to be a masterpiece of an album and I promptly tossed all my other music out the window of my suitcase because I think I'll just listen to this for the next ten days or a thousand or however long it takes to learn the words without being able to read the lyrics.

I was told to leave my hearing aids at home, so I'm going to be operating from a place of wind and muted sound. I don't know if I can post from the road but or from Black Rock City for that matter, since I didn't ask if we would have wifi. I know I'll have music because I pack it first but if I can't look up the words and I can't hear them well I'll have to brute-force it. Even if my phone is unable to reach much of anything there's so much more it can do, right? Mostly play music to soothe the feral beast that is my brain, unpacked only far enough to reach ever, and not a moment further.

Does this make sense? It might not, and I refuse to edit, as someone (I don't even know who) dropped a sleeping pill into my head last night and I didn't know until I opened my mouth to say goodnight to Lochlan and couldn't figure out how, sounding drunk but also SO relaxed and then the next thing I knew it was seven this morning and we were up and at 'em because plans. Because BUSY suddenly though I hate to be busy and would rather be slow. Someone helped me out by splitting the difference so currently I am busy but also slow and a little glad I don't have to drive.

I wouldn't have let you, Lochlan says.

Did you drug me?

Actually, no. So don't thank me. And he laughs because he authorized it so what's the difference?

We're packed and about to get on a plane and it will be the second longest I've ever been away from my children but also it's open-ended so if I hate Burning Man I don't have to stick it out but something tells me they're going to have to drag me home. I don't know. Wish me luck. I'm so excited. If you don't hear from me until September 4th, it's because we didn't have wifi and if it turns out we do, well, you may not hear from me until then anyway.

See you on the other side!

On what would have been Layne Staley's birthday, no less.

So worn out. According the air quality index I've been smoking on average nine cigarettes a day so I sound like Tom Waits right now. The smoke is clearing finally and it might be safe to breathe by tomorrow. I'm done like dinner.

But!

We went to see Alice In Chains last night! What a show. What amazing sound and what a gracious, humble bunch, as we were the warm-up inaugural show of the second leg of their tour for Rainier Fog, the new album that comes! out! tonight!

I seem to be the outlier in that I love the new stuff (post-Layne) more than the old stuff, which the boys tell me is sacrilegious. They don't play ballads live (this was the second time we've seen them, first time being with Deftones and Mastodon), though every song is a slow drudge-chug into the oblivion of our brains, so I don't mind THAT much though they played Heaven Beside You on the first leg of the tour, but of course, not last night.

It was really really good though. The best songs to me were the live debuts of both So Far Under (dear God, it was incredible) and Never Fade.

The opener, The Starbenders, were a strange choice but a weirdly good band. I could picture them playing a coffee house on a cold winter day somehow. They were quirky but totally fierce and their drummer was unbelievable. The genres of the night didn't match, however so that made it weirder still but the set was short and sweet so we didn't have to wait long.

Next up, Foo Fighters!

If I come back alive, that is.

You're just salty because I'm about to go 10 days without posting.

I wasn't going to bore you all with Burning Man posts but the questions/comments keep coming and I'd like to address them. Mostly because I don't take criticism all that well and also because the more the merrier, so if something clears up your curiosity and it means you go next year then..awesome?

1. The "1%" comments, due to an RV that sleeps 8 (I know, I didn't believe it either until I watched a video walk through where someone who was 6'3" laid down in every bunk. It has to be big enough for Ben and then it will be big enough for all of us, was my caveat) and the fact that we're not so much self-reliant as we are glamping. Let me just..well, I've been wanting to go for over twenty years. I finally have my chance. I don't care how I go, frankly and this is the group that's taking me. They've done tarps, tents and sexual favours for sleeping accommodations at Burning Man to the point that if they were to go back, it must now be effortless and so here we are. I can't blame them. I've heard the stories, I've seen the condition they return in so honestly if we do Burning Man as 1%'ers then we're still there so haters please, go on and hate from your armchairs. I'm just excited as fuck!

2. The orgy dome/camp/tents. Will I? Won't I? I don't know. Probably not as I am close to mythic status in my dislike of being touched by someone outside the collective but I will also watch anything and I'm also known for being impulsive and unabashed and sexually free so I'll tell those stories upon return. I also am an unchecked, unrepentant sex addict. Did I mention the RV sleeps 8? Yes, I did. Will there be 7 boys with me? Of course!

2(b). Will I bring home additions to the collective? Not with Caleb going. He wouldn't allow it. And I have no interest, barely keeping up with my boys as it is. Unless someone really, really deeply clicks with us because we've said no before only to cave in and have rarely been wrong but as it stands now no. The Collective is complete the way it is, and as I said they have code words to swoop in if I meet any kindred spirits. I can't see doing it on that level. Lochlan is pretty much the sun in my universe. And he's freaky but he's also a lot more possessive than he even was a couple years ago.

3. Nudity and children. I don't undress in front of my kids, except that they've seen me in a swimsuit. We don't expose them to things that will mean years of therapy, they're actually raised somewhat strictly, with religion and values and integrity because it's important to me to do so. They aren't exposed to any of this. They know mom has a couple boyfriends and that we're poly and they support it and they don't get any outside flack for it. They haven't seen and most-likely won't see my outfits. I also wouldn't take them to something like this, honestly. Even at their ages (currently 18 and 17). I don't believe they would enjoy it and they have zero interest in attending at this time. You know me, I don't like to talk about my children because this journal is not about them. Their privacy is paramount.

4. How we got tickets. I have no idea. Ask August. He gets them. He knows everyone. He goes every year and then comes home and swears he'll never go again. Then he goes again. He's hilarious. He is the logistics guy this time.

5. What I plan to accomplish by attending: gold star for this question. It's objective and thoughtful, thank you. Sadly I can't return the favour. I'm going to satisfy my curiosity. That's it. Sorry. No grand plans to schmooze with other one-percenters or piss off my lovers with new lovers or learn to be self-sufficient or anything. I've already learned at too young of an age that I can charm just about anyone out of anything so who needs to be self-sufficient. I'm still at an age where I can pull it off, and I don't want to restock my boy supply or anything. I just want to see the freaks, be the freaks, see the fire, make the fire, dance my face off and hopefully not die inhaling playa dust or starve or freeze to death.

That's the plan. Again, sorry. It isn't lofty. It's just an environment I'm comfortable in so I need to go live it for a few days when I can, if I can. And finally I can. You can take the girl out of the circus but you can't take the circus out of the girl.

I promise I won't say another word about it until I'm home and when I do I'll keep it to one entry.

Give me an audience, I'll give you a show.

Caleb showed me pictures of the RV on his phone. We meet up with it on Saturday just outside of Reno, transfer our luggage and drive to Black Rock City. The food and drinks will be loaded before we arrive. I already signed off on the list and he had it stocked.

So today he asked me to model my outfits for him and I refused. It's a surprise, I grin. A big, nervous goofy grin because I'm the outlier here. I've never been to Burning Man, I've never travelled with this group to something like this event and it's intimidating but at the same time I grew up in the circus so this seems like just the place for me. Maybe just with more performers.

They have bets placed on how badly I'll hate it. They have bets placed on when I will ask to leave and bets placed on how quickly I will make friends.

They have rules, plans and code words for that moment. None of which they have shared with me but I'm sure of it because that's what they do.

I modeled my outfits for August instead. He's the seasoned burner, he knows what works and what won't. He knows what will be incredible and what's going to hurt. He knows me well enough to know what I can actually manage and what's a dream.

Oh my God, he laughed when I came out in the first outfit. That's perfect. Let me look. He twirls me around, my hand high up to reach his. Tiny Dancer, indeed. He nods. You've done your research. 

(Every single outfit features tall platform sealed boots and thigh-high socks. And a filter mask. But they're decorated to match. Every outfit also features LED lights and pompoms because I plan to go big, then go home and burn everything anyway.)

So, they're good? 

They're great. I think we need to up ours now. 

Add pom-poms! 

Okay, he laughs. Then he stops. Caleb see these? 

No, I told him he has to wait. 

He's going to die when he sees you. 

This was his idea. 

I recall you gave him an ultimatum. 

Okay, it was my idea. 

Right. See? 

We go over our packing lists. August forgot his beloved tea and I have to add more baby wipes, because he said I'll go through thousands of them.

Do you think I'll make it to the end?

I hope you do. It's the best part.

That's my plan. 

If you don't, it's okay too. 

I'm pretty sure this is a once in a lifetime thing, so I'd like to finish it proper. 

I'll do everything I can to see that you do that, Bridge. You've worked hard to get ready and I know how badly you want this. Knowing what I know of your early adult years I imagine you'll fit in so well. 

Hope you're right. 

I don't think I could be wrong about this. You're exactly the type of person who makes Burning Man what it is. 

I don't have the self-reliance part down, at all. We're going in the nicest RV I've ever seen. 

You've got the nudity down though. 

Well, yeah. You should always overcompensate any way you can, right?