Some men just want to watch the world burn.

How long till you're gone
From every troubled thought?
Cause you're still here to heal what's wrong

And it was only my fault
Such a beautiful view
With a long way to fall
I was afraid how it could hurt
To leave the safety up above
But if it doesn't, it's not love

Batman arrived as promised, just twelve hours later than expected. He buzzed the gate right after breakfast yesterday morning and I greeted him without even unlocking the screen door.

Hi.

Hi, Bridget. I brought you something. He holds out a small, soft package wrapped in pretty paper. The Mermaid Parade t-shirt.

I unlock the door to step outside and I take the shirt. I'll have to pay you for this. I can't take gifts from you anymore.

Don't be ridiculous. Nothing has to change.

Yes. It does. It's time.

Let's go for a drive and talk. Can we do that?

You need to go. I'm sorry. Jake is already relocated. I told you I wasn't going to change my mind. You asked me to choose and I chose family. This is the way it's supposed to be.

What happens when something goes wrong?

It already did. Look. You push too hard and you cease to be a part of my life. You'll be the third permanent absence. Only you get to keep your life. Be thankful for that, I guess.

Don't lump me in with your ghosts, Bridget.

I can't help it. That's where you are now. The past.

Maybe I should speak with Ben.

This isn't Ben's decision, it's mine.

What about the rest?

Again, nothing to do with them. I speak for myself. Don't come around anymore. It's not like I'll leave some gaping hole in your life. Hell, you called once a year for over a decade. You don't need me.

See, that's the thing. I might. You got under my skin.

Then peel it off and I'll escape and you can keep going. It only hurts for the first hundred years or so. But I'm forever grateful to you for everything.

Bridget-

I shake my head. My plate is full. I whisper it.

He puts his hands in his pockets. He's going to make it easy. I know it is, baby. I know. He fishes out a business card and takes his pen from his breast pocket. He scribbles a phone number on the back and a word. He moves in very close until we are kissing distance and he takes my hand and presses the card into it. If you ever need anything, you simply call this number, and say this word. Can you do that for me? Bridget? Promise me.

I shake my head and press the card against his chest. No, I can't. I have what I need.

Then put it in a drawer and when you turn one hundred years old, burn it.

I close my fingers around the card and nod. We're getting to that point and he's going to leave and that will be that and it's over and maybe this is a bad idea.

I'm going to return to the previous schedule and we'll go from there. I can respect your wishes but at the same time, you are woefully irresponsible and unprepared so I'll call on New Year's Day. Like I used to. May I?

I nod again. Yes, out of words. My brain is reverting to stunned purposeful silence. I did this and I don't like it when they're not within reach, no I don't. Only he isn't part of "they" and I am doing okay now. I don't need a safety net under the safety net, I've walked this line so many times I can do it in my sleep. Built-in redundancies are wasteful and complicated and unfair to everyone involved. That's why I gave outs. I gave chances and I gave tries and I gave excuses and I gave in. I gave a little curtsy and a tiny almost-bow when the lights went up and I swore I'd never climb the ladder again but then I did, addicted to the lights, and the gasps of amazement and the cheers. Addicted to all the eyes on me. Sated on pure adoration and drunk on near-misses but presently sober and right on target again.

Holding steady.

The lights are no longer trained on me. I have abandoned my mask of makeup and my costume and I've abandoned the appreciative stares and the held-breath and the compliments and smiles at the end of the evening. I've abandoned the fireflies and dirt roads and burned-out bulbs and unnamed towns. I've abandoned stacking the boys like armies against the night, against each other, against everything and I stepped back in front quite abruptly. I am so small from here, but it's not nearly as scary as it once was.

You may. I'd like that. My voice comes out strained, formal and weirdly strangled and he understands perfectly. He steps forward even further and kisses my cheek slowly, with purpose before stepping back. He hesitates and then reaches forward and squeezes my fingers even tighter around the card and he searches my eyes for confirmation that I know what I'm doing. I nod and try for a small smile but it fails and he picks it up anyways and returns it to me. Then he turns and leaves.

Not a backward glance.

Not another word.

Stop writing on my open windows, sweetheart.

When you look you see right through me
Cut the rope, I fell to my knees
Born and broken every single time

Always keep me under finger
That's the spot where you run to me
Might see some type of pleasure in my mind
cause I'm super awesome and Bridget loves me.

from: Ben.

(He does this every time I leave my computer.)

With. Drawn.

(Boys have left the collective before. Dylan first. Then he came back. Then Corey left. But he also came back. Ben. Look where he is now. Maybe my luck will hold. Though, we all know what kind of luck I've had in life so far.)

My sundress ruffles in the ocean breeze as I stand down at the end of the yard where the best view of wide-open Pacific can be had. I cross my arms in the most closed posture I can come up with, rubbing at the goosebumps on my upper arms. Keith stands beside me drinking a beer I don't recognize. He must have brought it back with him from the states, for after they were finished loading PJ's truck for New Jake's move to Andrew's old house.

I'm going to need flowcharts shortly to keep track of everyone, though losing two will make things easier and keep the even numbers I like so much.

What about you? Do you work for Batman too?

I work for myself.

Like a boss, too, I bet.

Like a boss, Bridget.

I would ask you to prove it, but you're not around enough to be a spy for Batman.

Come on, Bridge. Jake needed the money. He's not good with that sort of thing. And it was never his intention to wind up on your bad side. Truth be told, I think he had quite a crush on you.

Entirely mutual. Selling out isn't good though. We were helping him.

He didn't want to become a charity case.

So he became a snitch?

Ouch. Bridget, maybe you should rethink this.

Keith, if you think it's easy to excommunicate someone from my life then you don't know me at all.

I thread the church key opener from his case of beer into my hair, making a big messy knot at the back of my neck (I can pin it up with anything) and I frown at him. He pushes a kiss against my cheek and tells me he'll see me tomorrow.

I hope so, I tell him, ignoring the kiss in favor of a big crushing hug. Batman comes back to the city tonight and I'm not looking forward to it at all. So if I'm still around tomorrow that will be a good thing, right?

The Gingerbread Men.

Run, run, as fast as you can.

This morning Ben put the whipped cream on the table (leftover from strawberry shortcake) and the chocolate sprinkles too. He drank his coffee in one go, filled his mouth with whipped cream and motioned for me to pour the sprinkles in on top. I stood on a chair and did just that.

That beats Fourbucks, he said.

He offered me some but I declined. I like my coffee black and slow and plain and old and awful. I can't deal with all the variations when I walk into a coffee shop so I make it at home every day. The old castle was within walking distance of a great coffee shop and it was always so cold living in that city so we could justify it, now I have to drive to find a nearby shop and it would be a special trip and I don't do special trips for things I can make myself, I don't care how many sprinkles they offer. Especially when gas is 1.62/litre and coffee six dollars a cup.

Now if they could put edible glitter on my coffee I might change my mind.

I put edible glitter on Ben once. It was as successful as you can imagine (shhh my mom reads, so I can't tell you how successful). Then he put it on me. Sometimes I'm surprised I still have all my original body parts when it comes to Benjamin but I do, luckily enough.

And not to worry about Batman. The threats were not to our personal safety or anything, they were more of the warning as to how miserable our future will be without him there as a safety net sort of threats. He will also still own and run the parent companies of the various outfits that employ some of the boys. Their employment is not on the line, nor will it be in the future.

So for once we're civilized and organized and yes, this will be difficult but at the same time Batman has hardly made an effort to let me in or let his guard down. Add to that the half-dozen or so other 'project' girls scattered around the globe (that I found out about yesterday) and really it was not a difficult decision.

Oh but I'm his favorite, I was told.

I guess I'm a sucker for a man in a cape. An attention-paying, fast-talking, world-saving, sure-of-himself-at-all-costs superhero but at the end of the day I'll still wedge myself in quite firmly between the rockstar, the fire thrower and the devil because that's where I belong. With the freaks, not the luminaries. With the known, the understood, not the mystery. With the exciting coffee, circus shows on the lawn every night at dusk and homemade evil too.

And the x-rated glitter parties because those are just the best.

Brave.

I want to hear your voice call me, call out loud
When you talk to me I'll hear you out
I want to space it out, too close, move on out
It's all around for you to see
Yeah, it's all I want to see
But there's such a lot of baggage

If you are playing along at home in picking sides, you'll want to switch sides at this point. Things are going to shift a little. Just a little. Last July Batman asked me to abandon my loyalties to Caleb and I refused. He asked again this morning and again, I refused. He began to threaten both of us and so I went one step further and abandoned any loyalties I have to Batman.

I've now forced to ask New Jake to move on (and move out) as well.

No worries, he won't actually be out in the cold, Andrew is going to arrange to sell Jake his place, and Andrew is moving here to the point, to live in the...other house next door (we haven't come up with a good enough name for it yet).

Batman thinks I am overtired and projecting and posturing, and that when he returns late Friday/early Saturday he will be able to smooth things over and all will be well. Only it won't and I've already told him that. He forced me into a corner and instead of surrendering I came out swinging. And it makes me sad as hell that they can't coexist in my presence but at the same time I have a duty to ensure that my son has unrestricted access to his father and I have a bond with Caleb that not even Caleb can break, and he's tried. Very very hard.

Everyone backs me up. There wasn't a moment's hesitation. No debate, no protest from Loch even, I think he/they shared that fear of the unknown in a way that was a million times scarier than whatever Caleb can bring. At the end of the day Caleb makes mistakes but he's human. He loves Henry, Ruth, me and almost everyone else in the house in some way or another. He's a fixture, not a whim like I was to Batman. A fixer-upper, damsel-in-distress, project-girl for the ages. Fuck his promises to Cole. Cole is gone. Cole NO LONGER CARES.

Me neither.

Painproof girl.

Jake finds me and passes me his phone. He mouths a name at me. Batman.

Hello?

Why did I not see how quickly he would spill the beans when confronted with your big watery eyes and ridiculous cuteness?

He's a good guy. Telling the truth is always the best plan. Wouldn't you agree?

Depends. Sometimes things are done for your benefit that you don't necessarily need to be aware of.

Does this mean you're plotting Caleb's removal from my existence again?

Oh, Bridget. You have no idea.

So does this also mean you aren't coming for a late afternoon snack of crow and admissions?

No, sorry, but as I reminded you last week, I'm in New York until Saturday. Friday night is the earliest I can get out if need be.

I can't keep track of where everyone is.

Where is August?

St. John's.

Where is Christian?

Portland.

And where is Ben?

Sleeping.

Well, I've fallen rather far down the list then, haven't I? He laughs.

No, I don't have your schedule.

I'll have it sent to you. Now just please don't leave the house for the next three days and I'll be there as soon as I can.

Are you serious?

I wish. It seems like the only way to keep you out of trouble is to lock you up and so much is clearer to me now. I have to go, just stick close to Ben, okay, Bridget?

He sides with the devil, you know.

Not for long, he doesn't.

Will you stop at Coney Island and get me something?

I already did.

Cool things I find in my Instagram feed (Part 1):

Har.

(Actual post to follow later. We've run out of strawberries and whiskey, so I need to go shopping first.)

Une espion (ici dans mon coeur).

Mike stopped by this morning, on his way back from taking Caleb to a meeting. Not sure why Caleb couldn't drive himself today but I know that the literal handful of sleeping hours we amassed over the weekend collectively have made for a lot of slow starting on this rainy cold Monday morning.

He wanted to check in and see how I was. I told him he could call but he said he was in the neighborhood.

Yeah, right.

This was a visual inspection, not all that different from the one Lochlan gave me, or Mike would have simply called. I told him I was fine, that I would probably see him again in a couple of weeks. I gave him my five-hundred-watt smile to seal the deal so that he would see that I am eager, that I am okay. I kept my bruised wrists behind my back and I talked really fucking fast, too, but that's neither here nor there.

It was after he turned to leave that things got interesting.

He walked away down the steps but veered down the path to the driveway, ostensibly to say hello to New Jake, who is in the driveway keeping the Sunbeam motorcycle on life support every chance he gets. (Today was a day off from working with Sam, since Sam is on a little long-weekend vacation with Matt so they can sort out their hearts together in private). I am keeping one eye on Jake today and one eye on the clock because he is my next victim for giant rustic sandwiches. Today I'm plotting sprouts and swiss on rye, toasted with a side salad of tomatoes and oh fuck, nevermind. You really don't care what we're going to have for lunch, do you?

I went up to my balcony to water plants instead of watching the men. My balcony is off the master wing, the wrong side of the property. Instead of the water, it overlooks part of the driveway and the side yard. Brilliant design, really, but good for sun for my potted flowers. I'm done watering when I realize Mike is still here and that he and Jake have taken up some interesting posturing. I get as close as I can to the railing without being seen and I hear the defensiveness in Mike's voice.

No one's looking out for her here so I try and do what I can.

You don't know anything about any of us, so don't assume.

Actually you're the only one I haven't really been briefed on, Jake. Want to tell me how long you've been a hired gun?

Let's cut to the chase then. Jake smiles. I was hired to keep an eye on Bridget. Your boss knows that. He probably didn't tell you because he's so surprised I wound up living sixty feet away and he doesn't quite know what to do about that so he feigns ignorance and pretends that the story I give them holds. But in the interest of Bridget's safety, I think she should continue to think of me the way she does now.

How do you protect her when you can't shadow her moves?

That isn't required. I only keep my employer informed.

Mike is nodding, possibly deciding that Jake is not an imminent threat. He checks the clouds and then asks Jake if anything ever happens to give him a call, he can be here in minutes. Jake thinks for a minute and then nods and shakes Mike's hand. There's a brotherhood of a different sort, right there. Hired goonage.

I crawl off my balcony and in through the double doors.

Goonage indeed. I count to one hundred and then go downstairs. When I get outside the driveway is empty. The bike is locked away in the garage so I head back into the house and after a brief peek into the kitchenI find no one and so I head down the hall.

The door is closed. New Jake is in his room. I knock and he tells me Come in. I barely hear him. He is standing at the bureau testing his blood sugar. He holds up his numbers and I nod. I've learned more about managing diabetes in the past year than I ever knew growing up.

His room is so cozy. Stacked with books. Tidy, unlike most of the other boys. His messenger bag contents are laid out neatly on the desk, a clear and questionable departure from you would expect to find on an apprentice carpenter should you find one and ask him to empty his pockets. It's an everyday carry kit for urban survival, and I'm not as dumb as I look.

Jake had huge holes in his story and I didn't ask him to shine lights into them. I did my own investigations and I had my suspicions before today but I waited for him and I can't wait anymore.

Jake works for Batman. He is a spy, plain and simple. A plant, here to keep an eye on me as I exist under the dark wings of the brothers Grimm, one living, one dead, because Batman made a promise and a promise is a promise, after all.

Which explains why Caleb balked when new Jake arrived and won me over.

I just knew that new Jake, with his coincidental name and terrible habit of going days without eating properly, did not fall into my care by accident. Accidents like this don't happen. Everything's coming out, we're laying it all on the table at last. Every last secret, every swallowed feeling, every lie told in an effort to live transparently, pure. There's no other way we're going to make it. And besides, he's a lousy carpenter. Sam wouldn't have much use for that and so Sam obviously has chosen sides as well. I'll have to deal with him later.

Time to call in the beginnings of Jacob's truth.

How often does Batman pay you?

He whirls around, looking alarmed. Too late to check the expression but he tries, nontheless.

I work for Sam...A weak defense, maintaining position. This doesn't give me any reason to trust him if he's going to stand there and deny the truth. I tell him this and he smiles.

You know, he really wasn't kidding when he said you were addictive.

I roll my eyes. I need answers, not charm. I won't have strangers in my house, Jake.

I'm the safest man here, Bridget, I can guarantee you that.

I let that inalienable truth hit the floor and remain, a fixture.

What exactly are you doing, then?

Information management.

You report my activities.

Yes, mostly. And the others, as necessary.

Caleb's movements as well?

Yes, if necessary.

What does Batman do with the information you give him? Is he plotting something?

You'll have to talk to him about that. I just provide the intel.

The intel. There's that word again. The last time I heard it I went on a wild goose chase to the other side of the country and set myself back a thousand years if a day.

Give him a call. Tell him you need him to stop by.

Bridget, I-

Just do it. Please. And come and find me when he arrives. I guess you'll know where I am.

Red haven.

I am freshly showered, scrubbed and scalded, having spent close to an hour under the stinging spray and I climb under the covers to reach the redheaded dreamer, still sleeping into the late morning. Only he isn't sleeping.

Locket.

He gives me a gentle shove. Get the fuck away from me.

I hold fast. No. My voice is pleading.

He reaches out and pulls me tightly against him, putting his hand up to press my head against his heart. He squeezes me so hard, not letting go and I can't breathe but I'm more concerned that my head will burst and that will be the end of me. I endure it even though it hurts worse than anything the dark lords can come up with.

You're killing me, peanut. I can't breathe when you're with him.

I took Ben with me, and you could breathe enough to fall asleep.

I fell asleep at 5:15 this morning, which was right after Ben messaged me to let me know you would be leaving soon. He groans and sits up, pulling me up with him. He lifts my head up and inspects every inch of me that he can see. His eyes look haunted, ruined and relieved.

How did we get so fucked up that this is routine?

I need to do this.

You don't owe him anything.

I owe him everything. It's a warning voice. I wanted everyone here. He made that happen.

Lochlan meets it head-on. We don't need to be here. We can live in the camper. I can get some land. Maybe back in the Maritimes.

We can't afford it.

We could at least try! Jesus. Selling your soul to the monster wasn't an answer to anything. I should have never brought you back. We should have just taken the offer to give up our names and run.

We would have gotten caught.

Yeah, well, I tried to do the right thing and look where it got me.

At least you're here. With me. That's all I want.

No it isn't. Or you wouldn't have gone last night.

Between the verbal circles we run in and the lack of sleep and proper food I feel dizzy and I disentangle myself to lie down again. When my head hits the pillow I smell Irish Spring soap and sunscreen and heat. I close my eyes and it's 1982 again and as long as I can still pull that off then the rest isn't important. His arms close around me and I'm safe at last.

Perfidia

Mike picks me up at my front door and takes me to the harbor. He walks me down the dock to the yacht. The lights are all on, it looks so beautiful at night and the rain has ceased for the moment. It's supposed to be such a beautiful sunrise in the morning. I don't want to stay up too late and then miss it.

Caleb is waiting on deck, staring into a glass of red wine, looking up in a perfectly timed, practiced look of pleasure and surprise. He comes out to meet me at the end of the ramp and then shakes hands with Mike quickly and wishes him a good night. Mike says Same to you, sir, and then nods to me and says Have a lovely night. He calls me Mrs. C____. I frown at the name but remember my manners long enough to smile in return. The very last thing Caleb is going to do is acknowledge my other life when he is alone with me. He'll just conveniently turn back time and forget everything new. The devil can do all sorts of things like that. That's his job.

He can't make me forget. I shouldn't be here at all, except that when the going gets tough, the tough runs screaming to old familiar. Some habits don't seem to break as easily as one hopes they will. Some faces serve to be a comfort even as they cause you pain.

He has gone all out tonight. Or maybe that's all in? Lobster. Steak. Roast potatoes. Oysters on the half shell and caviar with my favorite crackers. He pours me a glass of wine. Bolgheri. Candles are lit on the table while Glenn Miller tunes play softly over the sound system.

He takes my hand and lifts it up over my head. I spin dutifully and he smiles.

You look beautiful.

I dressed deliberately, carefully for him. The highest heels I can manage. The sparest, palest pink slip dress and a few hundred dollars worth of bespoke lingerie he commissioned to be made for me back in the day when I cared about such things more than I do now. No jewelry. He is pleased and that's better than disappointed, I have learned.

The voice changes to Frank Sinatra and I smile and take a sip of my wine. He takes several moments to establish the whereabouts of the entire household. He asks about both children, never just one, and he steadfastly refuses to talk about anything business-related because he's a gentleman. By this time I have answered all questions placed before me in as much detail as possible, he has led me to the table and pulled out my chair. I sit. I am starving, my shaking fingers giving me away as I fumble with the butter knife. He takes the knife from me and butters the whole roll for me, breaking off a piece and holding it up to my lips. I take a small bite. His blue eyes twinkle in the candle flames.

Flames.

I stand up abruptly.

What's the matter?

I should be home.

You're exactly where you should be, Bridget. He leans down and kisses me. Softly at first and then harder as he backs me against the wall. He stops, pressing his forehead against mine, eyes closed, lips slack, hands clenched around my hair. I think we can wait to eat until later. He takes my hand and turns to walk away, pulling me with him. I assume we're going to the master stateroom but he has other plans. We go straight to the bridge.

Are we leaving? I ask. I wasn't under the impression we would be taking the boat out tonight.

He smiles. I'll be back in a moment. He leaves me there and I spend the wait staring out at the lights. He is back soon enough with two glasses and a new bottle of the Bolgheri wine I said I loved so much once. His memory is frightening in the way it manifests itself in his attention to detail. He pours one glass and lifts it to my lips. I move to take it but he holds my hand down while he tips the glass against my mouth.

Then he collects my other hand and produces a ribbon from out of nowhere. He ties my hands to the railing on the desk. Oh. Shit.

Caleb-

Don't you worry about a thing. He lifts my head with his hand on my chin and then uses his thumb to smooth along my forehead. Not a thing. Everything is okay, Bridget. He resumes his kisses, all over my face and throat and then he abruptly lifts me up and forces me to the floor. I am on my knees now, arms tied above my head. I can turn but that's it. I can't stand up again on my own, not with these shoes. I'm helpless. And he is thrilled. He smooths my hair back away from my face, off my shoulders. I close my eyes and when I open them I see a second pair of shoes.

He smiles. I'm so glad you both agreed to see me tonight. You really have no idea.

***

When my eyes open early in the morning it takes several moments for me to extricate my limbs and my hair from Ben's hands. He is clutching me in his sleep. I give up and shake his shoulder gently. His eyes open and close again and he turns onto his back, releasing me. His hand trails across my thigh and then falls to the bed.

I bend down and pick up a dress shirt off the floor, shrugging into it, buttoning all the buttons save for the top two. I don't know if it's Ben's or Caleb's shirt. They wear the same size. I swim in it so I roll the cuffs up seven or eight times until I see my hands. It's almost to my knees. Good enough for a short walk to the kitchen to bring back some orange juice and croissants and then get Ben awake and up so we can take our drive of shame, slipping home and upstairs to get ready before we are caught.

When I reach the kitchen Caleb is already there, making coffee. He's in a tight blue t-shirt and jeans. He looks rested and pulled-together even though he's had maybe two hours sleep if any at all.

Morning doll. I'll pour our coffee if you want to go out on deck and see the sun come up.

I nod. Morning is the only time he doesn't have an opinion on my appearance. Morning is the only time I am allowed to appear with the wrong clothes and tangled hair with scratches on my throat and my legs, skin still red from the rough ride of the darkest hours between the devil and the melody. I stumble outside into the bright morning and am greeted with a watercolor representation of my favorite sky against the water. All oranges, pinks and soft blues. Greys mixed with shame mixed with defiance. He had said to come alone and Ben followed in the truck, precisely five minutes behind, since that's precisely how long I was on my knees before Ben walked in and untied my hands, admonishing Caleb for needing to resort to total barbarism when charm would achieve better results. Ben is like a panacea to Caleb, and so instead of being angry, Caleb was pleased to see him and pleased to have unspoken permission to do unspeakable things.

Caleb appears with my coffee and I take it gratefully, burning my tongue as I try and gulp it down to clear my head.

The most beautiful sunrises follow the worst storms, Bridget.

I nod. I know it's a metaphor for my life only this isn't beautiful and the storm hasn't passed yet. It's just starting.

Ben's home so I'm signing off.

I'm at the point in my overtiredness where I'm not sure if I want to cry, throw up or just put my head down and close my eyes until everything goes away. Music didn't work, a long walk or three didn't work. Cooking dinner for the first round of boys plus children didn't work and still I put some wine in the fridge and expressed my excitement for late-night Horror Movie Friday, which is a tradition we have resurrected that I didn't realize I missed so much until we started it up again and said huh. Cool.

It has rained here for five days straight. Not just rain but torrential, heavy deluges that make the tree limbs and roses bend very far down and the dog grow moldy for he never gets dry in between walks. Being so cooped up makes me crave donairs and my bed and my boys and my words. I'm craving rest. Last weekend was so busy, this weekend has nothing scheduled except family time. Time to discuss things and fix broken things and point out that the honest Mr. Evil is beginning to repeat his own themes and wonder if we can change the path just a little so that we don't have to go in circles all the time.

I'm going to paint my nails with Revlon #430 Whimsical and dream about the fair and try and make some preliminary plans toward Henry's birthday in July and maybe a graduation party for Ruth in June, since she's leaving Elementary school behind. Here, in grade eight, you go straight to high school and I'm still wrapping my tiny brain around that.

And I'm getting strange and wonderful beauty advice from Instagram, of all places, daring to try a lipstick suggestion that was the most successful color choice in the history of the known universe (says the girl with nine hundred different colors) and I'm listening to new bands and wondering how out of the loop I really am now as I never seem to have enough time to keep up with everything or even anything. I'm behind in emails, I don't understand Google Plus and I'm still lamenting how the heck I'm supposed to transition to an iphone when I can't get itunes to work the way I want it and I don't have the patience to fix that

And maybe we'll go see Battleship since we still haven't seen it or Snow White because we really want to see it even though we're just killing theater time until Prometheus next week and maybe we'll sleep in a little and shore up our defenses a lot and watch the sea through the rain and dream of warmer days ahead.

Or maybe we'll just sleep.

Yeah. That.

Still raining.

Screaming our screenplay, off the cuff
We were both stuck pretending our dreams were enough
I awoke in the morning wanting the day
I thought I could have you,
Miles away from falling in love
To find stalling sweet enough

Please don’t call it love

Neutral territory for lunch. The kitchen island. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches on raisin cheese bread. Hot chocolate. Caleb sits down and frowns at his plate briefly before deciding to make the best of it.

If he were truly honest, as he says he is now, he would have pointed out his desire for something a little less rustic and note the fact that he probably hasn't had hot chocolate since 1976, but he humors me with my own brand of Spyri-influenced menu choices for a rainforest deluge at the base of a mountain where the waves lick the brae smooth, a treacherous combination for sheep and people alike.

We don't have any sheep. Or any horses either, sadly. I go and visit some new ones in the valley sometimes now, cursing the devil every chance I get.

I do that over a lot of things, but at the same time here we are, having lunch because he asked if we could talk and I pointed out I was hungry so he may as well come and eat something that isn't a fusion of four-star nonsense from one of his ridiculous haunts downtown. He obliged without even asking what was on the menu. I knew I should have made Kraft Dinner just to horrify him as much as humanly possible.

You like making him squirm. I say it in between choking back the thick peanut butter on heavy bread.

My words have nothing to do with him. There are certain truths in life, Bridget. This is just one of them.

'They're going to kill you' is another.

He laughs nervously. I'll probably choke on lunch and then no one will have to worry.

Oh, yay! Burial at sea. I give him my darkest stare. He catches on quickly. We are morbid and black with humor more often than not.

What's with your hair?

I'm annoying Lochlan with it, that's what.

He bursts out laughing. No doubt. You should go to the spa and have a day.

Why in the hell do you all want me to cut my hair? And why the subject change?

You look so sweet when your hair doesn't take over everything with the bad-weather ringlets. And I'm trying to mark my position and move forward from here.

I see.

Should I have not confirmed what you already know? I've had no other lasting relationships. I have my son and I have you. I am focused.

You're obsessive.

It's sweet when it's anyone else but when I make a declaration everyone runs for cover.

Because they aren't evil.

He drinks his hot chocolate. When he puts the mug down he has a pale brown mustache on his upper lip. Neither am I.

Then why are you pushing now? Why don't you just leave well enough alone?

Because I'll be fifty in less than a year and I'm not going to be alone when that happens.

I hear Sophie is free.

Yes, well, good luck to her.

I'm not anyone's bucket list, Caleb.

The hell you aren't.

Can we change the subject?

Of course. What would you like to talk about, Bridget?

Tell me some of your regrets instead.

Oh. Well. I regret the first time we went to Vegas. When you turned eighteen.

The prince of darkness goes for a terrible memory right off the bat. Should I have expected more from him or less?

Why? Should we not have gone?

No, we should have kept going. I should have never brought you back home.

Kidnapping?

Rescue.

The burning of a heavy heart surrenders like a dream.

I was let out, I can't walk away
There were eyes all over me
I stopped breathing only just half way
There were eyes all over me

Well, now that the thrill of Sunday night is ebbing slightly I suppose I need to pick up where I left off, only I'm not sure where that is, exactly. Perched on the edge of the wall in the wind, staring out to sea, where you can always find me when I'm thinking, earphones jammed tightly into my head to block out everything but the view.

I chose to ignore the words, the letter and everything since. Ben asked me if he should just make it easy for me and ban me from going near the devil. Then he wondered if he should just do it in spite of my answer because that's what he wants to do. Lochlan got all bothered and hot and threatened a bunch of things I won't even repeat, and Andrew wanted to know if this changed anything.

No, I told him. This is not new information, if you think about it.

But still he looked sad when he left and I don't think I like the new honesty-at-any-price version of Caleb that I'm seeing now. He's just too hard to predict and too hard to resist when he's telling me his deepest darkest secrets. He's vulnerable and open and transparent and far too much like Cole when he does that and I can't process that at all. My brain just shuts down and says, Oh, pretty wave every time I take a running start at attempting to sort out what he's doing now while I continue to stare at the blue-green whitecaps on the windy pacific. I'd rather focus on the sea but all the loose ends and tight confines need to be fixed. I need to deal with this. I don't think things can go on the way they are and I don't know how we all managed to make it to this point in the first place.

Oh right, I do. Ben refused to pin me down the way Jacob had and I took my unexpected freedom and ran with it. I made a mess. I made mistakes and now I need help fixing things and now help is nowhere to be found. I know what will fix this, I just can't seem to do it. I know what will end this, but I don't have the guts to put it into play anymore. I'm paralyzed and I'm angry at myself and he's taking advantage of my position to drive home his own agenda, this means to an end. Break her down and in the end she'll be unable to resist you. Destroy her and she'll give in.

Who would want that?

Don't answer, okay? I already know their names and I know their faces like I know the sea. Sometimes through and through and sometimes not even remotely well enough to recognize familiar features.

We are behind the tent in the wind. The canvas ripples and flaps violently and the sun has taken on a quiet pink glow. It's twilight. The time of day that finds homesickness rising up like a tide inside my throat until it drowns the memories of the day into blackness.

Lochlan takes my left hand tightly in his right hand. His hands are so warm the rest of my skin feels cool now by comparison. Maria takes my right hand gently but firmly. She looks after the animals and is the carnival grandmother to most of us. Lochlan squeezes my hand and I squeeze both of my hands in response. We are standing in a circle with fourteen others.

Gregory begins the evening prayer, though it's not really a prayer, since by nature circus people are somewhat secular. It's a bonding ritual that is part pep-talk, part prayer, and part planning session. There's a little of everything. Some reminders, a little discipline, some reassurance and all of our hopes and dreams too. Surprisingly by the end of each run we usually have it down to seven, eight minutes tops. I remain silent, or my hopes and dreams would take years to list and dissect.

The prayers almost always begin with asking for strength for Lochlan and end with asking for safety for me, because they all know I am young and escaping reality and trying to live on love and they're scared to death on my behalf and his too but in that relentless wind and staggeringly beautiful sunset I am daydreaming still, my mind at the beach, jarred back ever so briefly when someone says my name, continuing to squeeze both hands as tightly as I can, waiting for the predictable part of the night to be over so that the fun can begin.

Dreaming out (sigh).

Oh hi. I'm so NOT awake.

I went to Switchfoot last night at the Commodore and just wow. It was bonkers. Thanks to the prodding just to run, Bridget once we made it through the door, we made it to the front row again because I'm such a huge, huge fan but short so I need to be way down front and we proceeded to jump up and down and sway and sing with the band until close to eleven. There is no squinting at a tiny stage far off in the distance when you go to a Switchfoot show, let me tell you. You're right in the middle of everything. You get it all. This was the tour highlighting Vice Verses, so it was extra-awesome because VV is their heaviest album yet and I like where they're going with this, frankly.

I'd put up a setlist but I'm still coming down off a high here and I have no idea. I know they played The War Inside and Dare you to Move and Where I Belong and those are my three favorites so everything else just became an added bonus, okay? (Also I took so many pictures I broke my phone, but again, that's neither here nor there.) The opener was The Rocket Summer, and they were tight, like a younger Our Lady Peace. I was impressed. Better live than what I could find online to preview beforehand.

After the show ended we waited behind the venue, watching the load-out and eventually Jon came out and did a little aftershow with his acoustic guitar. It was beautiful and a big treat for me because the other shows we've been to saw us bring the children and kids don't want to wait in back alleys three hours past their bedtimes for anything so we would always come home when the concert proper was over. But not last night.



The aftershow featured:

1. Wouldn't it be Nice (Beach boys cover)
2. Thrive
3. Vice Verses
4. Learning How to Die (from Jon's Spring EP)
   
5. Your Love is Strong (from his Winter EP)
   

I think we were spoiled rotten. He usually only plays three songs out back but we were gifted five. It was truly an incredible night. If you haven't checked them out yet now is the time. Start with Vice Verses and work your way backward. You won't be sorry, I promise.

(Previous Switchfoot show reviews here, here, and argh, the other one was from 2007 and those archives are offline, my apologies but it was the first show for me so it was extra-amazing.)

I'll resume with regular programming tomorrow. :)

Lost in translation.

The dinner party was an easy cleanup thanks to the barbecue and everyone eating everything. No leftovers save for a tiny bit of cake and every wine bottle in the house emptied and rinsed and packed into a box by Dalton, who is good at those things. When they were all outside on the porch I wiped down the counters and tables and then I went upstairs to sit in the walk-in closet and I opened my envelope from Caleb.

Three words on the page in his handwriting. Those very predictable three little words you think of when someone says think of three words.

Not I am fine.

Or How are you?

Or even Just a minute.

Or help me please.

It said I love you.

I just don't understand what he means.

Oh there it is. Plain as day. The catch.

Revealed during lunch, just as my plate is placed in front of me and I contemplate asking the server how I'm supposed to eat what I thought was going to be a Reuben sandwich and some fries and instead is some sort of deconstructed essence of bread possibly with a drizzle of something precious and a curlicue piece of carrot on top. The fries are organized vertically, in a glass. There are eight of them.

This is not food, this is sculpture and I don't know why in the hell Caleb can't just take me to A&W like all the others and then I can horrify him with how positively fast I can pound back a bag full of giant salted onion rings and still walk out of the restaurant under my own power.

I pull out a french fry and bite into it suspiciously and he starts to talk, only I missed the beginning of his thoughts because with great dismay I realize the fries are parsnips because the menu was in a different language so I merely pointed at the list provided and hoped instead of asking because when I ask it's almost as if I am giving the staff license to spout contempt. And I wasn't about to let him order or he would be all champagne and caviar on me and I can't eat those things for lunch anymore. Too rich. Too much.

Sort of like Caleb.

But parsnips are the unholiest of vegetables, in my big list of what vegetables are good and what ones should just be ignored, avoided or outrun entirely.

Suddenly I catch him saying ....and what has he done for you recently except cause more strife?

Oh...WHAT? You want to know what he's done for me.

If he isn't good for you or to you, then what is the point exactly?

This is not your business.

Sure it is. You're the mother of my-

Leave Henry out of this.

He looks down at his napkin. He has finished his carrot curl and whatever abomination of a vegetable he was given. I apologize. I want to know that you are being looked after and that you are happy. Aside from the boys coming to the new house, and it being almost summer, I mean. If Lochlan can't find his common ground with Ben anymore than that puts an extraordinary amount of stress on you. If he can't make an effort-

He's fine. I lie.

How fine?

Fine.

I see. Smile and nod, right, Bridget?

I smile at him. God, I'm such a brat. The server comes back and I tell her to take my plate. She frowns and I ignore her. Caleb makes a note of my one parsnip bite of lunch and frowns too. Great. Frowny faces all around. Parsnips bring everybody down.

I see how you place all blame squarely on one and not the other.

Ben is justified in-

What? This was Ben's idea! Ben's bright ideas rise and set with the fucking sun, don't they? As long as he's shining everything's a go, one too many bad days and everything is off. We can't live like that. I had to make a stand.

You could make a bigger stand, Bridget. You could end their contest. You could have the happiness you deserve. He reaches out and touches my face. You could show a little gratitude for the life you have been given.

I stop arguing and nod. I get it now. We're not going to mince words forever. Some of them must be swallowed whole. The house he bought is going to cost me dearly.

Caleb reaches into his breast pocket and removes a small deep-grey envelope. He places it in front of me. There is a small letter b engraved on the front. Great. He special-orders his stationery now.

I pick it up and tuck it into my handbag. He stands. I know. You have to go. Read this one after your dinner party. Please. You know where I'll be.

Vanishing points.

So the plan as it stands now is to move the big electric gate from the end of the driveway to the top of the road proper. Possibly even rerouting the driveway so that it isn't so close to the highway. Right now it's almost beside the actual road, as in when you turn off the highway to drive down my street, my driveway is right there. It's almost it's own road. I'm not sure if the city will allow that due to municipal work and such but Caleb assures me money can buy anything.

When he says that I always point out his marital status. He will retort that it's just a matter of time and we drop the whole thing and pick up the features of the new house instead. Like how come our porches and patios are all wood-trimmed and next door is all glass panels and who the hell picked that color for the kitchen floor tiles, they must be a genius and taking turns looking up the rangehood over the island cooktop or touching the natural stone feature walls throughout.

The plan is for Schuyler and Danny to sell their beautiful little house upneighborhood for what they paid for it, to get out from underneath their crushing mistake of a mortgage, and Christian (!) and Andrew (!!) will sell their places to move into the new house. Corey (!!!) is going to sublet his condo and give it a trial run. Sam (!!!!) is considering swapping his parish digs for a housing allowance and is waiting for approval for that before he can even consider living here.

I have been walking around smiling for days due to these wonderful turns of events.

Batman did a little financial postmortem on Caleb's wheelings and dealings and said Caleb has a knack for coming out ahead no matter what. Caleb has paid Batman in full plus interest for his uh..mafia bailout and has liquidated so much besides that he's now sitting flush on a pile of Robert Bordens taller than the pine trees out front and then some. He still has a lot invested in Ben. He still has the remains of the umbrella company (which is technically mine now I suppose) and his profits from his newer forays into venture capitalism. He plays the stock market. He does consulting. He works pretty much twenty-four hours a day and he's very very good at what he does so it was less of a surprise than you might have expected.

I don't care, I was busy trying to ascertain how the clear glass washbasins in the master ensuite are sealed. Because I will be forever curious and eager to learn about all things construction thanks to my hundred-year-old castle in the grass back home (Huh. I wrote home. It wasn't home but I will leave it in.)

Caleb walked around behind me with his shirtsleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets and a genuinely pleased look on his face.

Does this make it better? He asked at one point.

What, exactly?

You'll have everyone here.

You did this just for me?

No, I did it for the land. For the dollar figure. As a side benefit, I get to see you happier than you've been in weeks. Can you fault me for that?

No. I admit it and then there is the sound of a doorbell and he smiles and turns away, heading to the front to see who it is. Probably Sam, he was going to come on his lunch hour and see what everything looks like.

As he walks away down the hall Caleb calls back to me, Now you've truly got yourself a commune, Princess and I frown at myself in the wall-to-wall bathroom mirror. This is not the commune I imagined. That one had chickens running loose and I would ride around the yard naked on a motorcycle while the boys fixed their cars and chased ten toddlers around. We would grow our own vegetables and be off the grid completely.

This is some sort of completely different commune with expensive marble floors, Macbook Pros, guitar sponsorship, two very refined children and a bunch of fortysomething hipsters with portfolios and nice boots and new trucks instead. The obligations to and reliance on the outside world staggers me. It's unwelcome. I thought there would be more camper-vans and cookouts involved. More stars. More iced tea. More time to spend together instead of time spent apart.

I guess sometimes when wishes come true it's not always in the form you pictured. Sometimes it's something else altogether. But it's still very very very good because I like it when we're all here. All home.

All in, as Lochlan said the other day. Yes, all in.

B sides.

PJ has put on his epic little-boy frown. Can't hardly see it behind his full beard but I know it's there. I reassure him that he is not moving again. He can keep the suite downstairs. He's very happy there. He is plotting his future there, or something, since I have graduated to not needing care and keeping twenty-four hours a day save for certain scenarios as detailed in the rules that they have about me/for me. I need to be escorted when on the grounds or at the water. Otherwise I am free to confront bears in the woods, play in traffic or just stick close to home to wallow in my own misery as I see fit.

At this rate I should just walk around naked for all the privacy I suddenly have.

But I don't like it much and frankly if PJ wanted to move to the new house I'd probably shut that down with some sort of fairytale emergency just to keep him close by because he's my big bearded shadow. I would grow a beard just to lead the PJ fanclub but when I tell him that he pretends to be touched but mildly horrified at the thought of a beard on my face because wow.

That would be something.

Checking for the blast (here, then, take this instead).

She once believed in every story he had to tell
One day she stiffened, took the other side
Empty stares from each corner of a shared prison cell
One just escapes, one's left inside the well
And he who forgets will be destined to remember

He came back today, cleanshaven and freshly shorn. He rivals Henry for his military cuts only Ben's hair is finer and less likely to behave, haircut or not. He looks like my Ben again. His eyes have dark circles, his irises see ghosts when he closes his lids over them and his brain is ruined, pickled and fried like carnival food, having seen too many things he would like to forget and now he exists in a space where he lives for himself, owning no one anything at all, while at the same time needing an almost debilitating unspoken amount of reassurance and support. He has been through as much as I have but that isn't why I'm with him.

I'm with him because he demonstrates a clear ability to comfort me. To love me. He can hold me and smile and everything vanishes. He is kind and sweet and incredibly silly and passionate too. He's a good hockey player and an okay guitar player. He can make me laugh with enough in-jokes that we have our own language that we send each other messages in and no one else knows what is going on. Ever.

I'm with him because I. love. him.

He does not give up even when the going gets tough. He doesn't back down but he'll back off to keep the peace. He keeps everyone on an emotional leash that helps him navigate this new blown-out tilted world we live in.

He's certifiable. Crazy. Hilarious. He's started food fights in each and every high-end restaurant we've ever visited (across the continent) and been banned from almost as many hotels for throwing furniture, people and drunken rages (sorry). He has always paid for the things he's broken and then some.

He does not fit in my car but he'll drive it anyway because I suck at things like overpasses, parking garages and drive-thru lineups. He crunches down with his knees around his shoulders and pretends to hold his breath while he steers with his fingertips. He'll talk in a high breathless voice until he gets out. I laugh so hard I cry.

He loves me, in a time where I am incredibly difficult to love, selfish and ignorant, to boot. He ignores all that and just says some day things will be different. While he says that he's busy eating my lip balms because he HATES when I wear them. He literally hates kissing me when I'm slathered in sticky, slippery gloss so if he eats them then I have nothing to wear. It's not working, I just buy more. Someday he's going to die of pink glitter poisoning, I can feel it.

I hope I'm a thousand years old and don't hear them when they come to tell me that he's gone. That's the only wish I have left is that I don't outlive any more of them, but especially him because he is different, he is mine and I am his and frankly I don't care what you think of our arrangements or my love life or polyamory or communes or musicians or circus rats or anything else.

He's downstairs now teaching himself Nothingman because it's a song I can sway to in place and he laughs when I do that. He notices when I do that. Not sure anyone else ever has.

And he doesn't like to be written about because he only cares what I think of him. No one else. So that makes it seem as if he is absent, or forgotten or lesser somehow.

Don't make that mistake anymore, okay?

I asked him about what happened with his devastating plans and the camping trip and the loss of his courage and everything else and I'm satisfied with the answers he gave me, whispered into my hair where all secrets go to hide.

At least the ones that don't belong here for all to see.

I know I haven't said much about the purchase of the house next door. I've been very busy juggling hearts and I haven't had time to even think about it and then Satan sends a message this morning telling me it is closing day and did I want a tour now that he has the keys?

That was fast. Doesn't it take longer to move furniture out of a house that size? Apparently they were mostly out the door anyway and the staging was all that was there, removed the day after the sale was approved. We probably could have gone in before now but Caleb is in no rush.

Also, change the locks first. Always change the locks first. I was going to tell him this until I saw New Jake heading out with him this morning. Jake will look after putting new locks on and then Caleb can pay him for doing so. Unless Jake goes to live in the new house too and then it can come off his rent. Don't ask me what their plans are, I'm never told anything until it's too late to change anyway.

***

Fortunately for him, Lochlan did not have his cat that swallowed the canary expression on when I saw him. His look was pure concern.

Where were you last night?

Theater.

You could have messaged me.

I don't think that would have been appropriate. Besides, I left my phone on the desk.

Are you okay?

Why wouldn't I be okay?

I can read, Bridget.

Then why did you ask where I was?

He looks up at the sky abruptly. It's an exasperated, almost eye-roll. Because I was hoping you would have a little more to say than this. Don't shut me out.

What would you like me to say?

Have you talked to Ben?

I really wish people would stop asking me that.

Does he know you know?

I'm guessing yes, since he can read too. In spite of everyone's assumptions that he can't.

When are you going to talk to him?

If and when he brings it up. It's not an issue. He didn't go through with it. Everything remains the same. If you want to push him around then that's your problem. Don't make it mine.

You want to stay with someone who would give you away.

I want to stay with someone who considered being unselfish and letting me out if I wanted out but in the end couldn't let go? Hell yes. Yes, I do.

I'm not sure who is more fucked up, you or Ben.

Then we make a good couple. So if you're so perfect, why are you with us?

Can't let go.

Then you understand him perfectly. And me. Are we done here?

He nods, eyes glassy, words forgotten.

Good. I have a house tour to get to. Want to come? It'll piss Satan off.

Sure. Just give me a minute.

Okay. I soften and try to smile for him and it fails. What a mess. What a godawful fucked-up mess.

Transparencies.

Today's bad joke involved walking past microwave egg poachers in a store and discussing the merits of hunting eggs out of season, or perhaps on crown land but only for their yolks. But not just any eggs, radioactive ones. It was a halfhearted and vaguely overtired joke sacrificed in place of simply discussing anything else at all, because sometimes that is what we do.

***

Last night I was cornered between Ben and Duncan halfway down the hall. I put my head down and Duncan gently took the forbidden bottle out of my hands and took it away, leaving a kiss slammed against the top of my head, bruising my brain. I didn't fight him. I let him take the alcohol and the kiss. Ben took the laptop and tucked it under his arm and into his other arm he tucked me and we went downstairs where he sat me down on the big couch while he hooked my computer up to the big screen and then Jake in all his former blonde Viking glory filled the fifteen foot wall while his voice filled my ears.

I don't cry when I watch him anymore.

Well...much, anyway.

Ben turned off the lights and locked the double doors and turned my head away from the screen with a kiss. A kiss that became something else and he worked his way through my clothes until I was free of everything and I put my arms around his neck and turned my head back toward the screen as Ben moved against me and there was Jake, watching us, smiling innocently, benignly, not knowing how to read the future yet except for the predictable parts.

When Ben stopped hours later, he rested his mouth against my ear and he asked me if I wanted to leave the movies on or if I was finished watching and I didn't say anything but one tear ran out of my eye and down into my hair and he brushed it away and sat me up and pulled my clothes back together and rearranged his own clothes and then he sat back down and pulled me in again, close to his chest, wrapping his arms around me, kissing the top of my head over and over again, squeezing me every time Jacob said my name on the screen.

It was like a party game except instead of drinking shots when I hear a specific word I get stabbed in the heart every time. And I've died a million times over here tonight but we keep watching. It's a montage of Jacob, six hours of smaller videos strung together chronologically of everyday moments, not big ones, just ones from the times when I would turn a camera on him when he was doing normal things. Sometimes he responded and sometimes he ignored the camera. Sometimes he made faces and sometimes his annoyance was written right up front for me to read first in his expression.

Sometimes he didn't even know he was being filmed, like when I was watching him warm up for a hockey game, doing laps around the rink. I see him turn back briefly to say something to Ben and then he turns away and Ben calls something to him. Jake turns back in a flash, launching himself into Ben's net. They go down swinging, brawling and in the background you can hear me say He's not worth it. Jake, come on, Ben's nothing to you. and I feel Ben's jaw tighten against my head but we just keep watching because we're masochists now and it's in the handbook, the actions we take to grind it in good and keep on going.

***

I arrive in Caleb's kitchen promptly at nine, in my battle-stilettos and a pencil dress (armor) so tight I'm seeing black spots at the edges of my vision but he won't take me seriously if I show up in jeans and a t-shirt so Pepper Potts is the only way to go.

What in the hell was that?

Did you talk to Ben?

Yes, I talk to Ben all the time. Now tell me why you tried to keep me from going on a one-night suburban camping trip?

Did you TALK to Ben?

Why don't you just tell me what I need to know and we'll go from there.

Caleb frowns and crosses the kitchen to the cupboards, pulling out two glasses. He pours three fingers of whiskey into one and drinks half of it before asking me if I want some. I tell him it's nine in the morning so he thinks for a moment and pours one finger in and hands me the glass. I return it to the counter and ignore it while he drinks the rest of his in one gulp. He looks pale.

I didn't want you out in the fucking woods with a pyromaniac who can't handle conflict and an indecisive drug addict with all the wrong bright ideas even though his heart is in the right place. What happened, anyway? Caleb looks up, dazed, distracted, and not at all like he usually does.

We camped. Then we came home. I smile. And then Ben and I spent last night watching ghost footage and fucking on the theatre floor. He's very good-

Bridget. Jesus Christ.

Why don't you just cut to the chase here? I have things to do, Caleb.

Your husband was going to tell you that Lochlan could have you.

What?

Exclusivity for Lochlan. An offering. You were to be a gift. Ben doesn't want to stand in the way of your happiness, if that's what he's doing by holding on to you.

I find the glass and drink the whiskey without returning his gaze. It burns and I feel alive and dead and somewhat blindsided and more than a little disappointed. So you didn't want me to go because...?

I didn't want that sort of disclosure to take place in an unsafe location.

You didn't want Lochlan to win.

I wasn't even thinking that far ahead. I know that Ben just wanted privacy for the three of you but it was a bad idea from the start and I'm glad he decided not to go through with it.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and hold out the glass for more. Yeah, me too. He fills the glass this time and I drink half. How did you know what he was planning?

He came to me and asked for help.

And you told him to give me away?

The look on his face smolders, burning a hole into my soul. No, Bridget. I told him to do whatever he could to make you happy. And not be selfish about it. That's what he came up with.

You told him not to be selfish? That's the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?

You would be surprised. He looks back into his empty glass. He didn't tell you any of this, did he?

No. I say it softly. I don't think I can take any more, Caleb. It's a plea. Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up.

He really loves you, Bridget. The fact that he doesn't want to let you go is comforting.

We haven't been getting along so well lately. Things have been rough and I always put Loch in the middle and I-

The bad times will pass. They always do.

When?

When things are better. You both need hours of therapy and a good swift kick in the-

Nice.

It's true.

What's in this for you?

Hmmm?

Why would you tell me this, since apparently he changed his mind?

I want you to know the kind of person Ben is.

I know the kind of person Ben is. That's why I married him instead of Lochlan. Or even you.

Was I in the running?

I'm leaving now. I need to go home and sober up for lunch.

Good plan. By the way, you look lovely today.

This dress is killing me.

You should wear it more often.

Only you would say that, Diabhal.

Child all the way.

Oh, now this is a toss-up.

In one hand? A deep grey envelope inviting me down to the boathouse to discuss my camping trip because apparently it wasn't sanctioned though no one made a fuss because the children were present and wow, how adult we can be when reminded and how childish when not.

In the other hand is a stolen bottle of white lightning and a laptop full of videos of Jake.

Just guess which one I'm choosing.

See you on the other side of two hundred proof.

*self-destructs*

[Update. I have a passenger! He gets no fucking moonshine. Ben's not allowed to drink anymore. And I don't know why he would want to watch my home movies but hey I won't look a gift-Ben in the mouth.]

Synecdoches.

And he still gives his love, he just gives it away
The love he receives is the love that is saved
And sometimes is seen a strange spot in the sky
A human being that was given to fly

Home again, just after lunch today as the rain began to pour down steadily and the temperature, though mild overnight, dropped again mid-morning. My teeth were starting to chatter when I spoke and my shoulders shivered uncontrollably until the heat in the truck kicked in full on the way home. I reached a point where I just couldn't get warm anymore.

At one point Ben zipped me into the front of his hoodie, wrapped his arms around me and exhaled on the top of my head and still, the sides of my knees were cold. At another point I was sitting as close to the bonfire as humanly possible and Lochlan started to yell because he was worried I would catch my hair on fire (it's happened) and I moved back because the heat wasn't reaching me anyway.

I ate smoldering, charred marshmallows without even blowing on them first. When I slept I dreamed of being a hotdog on one of those stainless steel rolling racks because then I would be just toasty and done to perfection (that's what I imagine a tanning bed is like) and I woke up colder than I have ever been in my life, in spite of sleeping wedged between the human fireball and a man big enough to have his own independent climate control system onboard. He keeps it set far too cool though and the fireball is generally too hot to touch comfortably.

So there you have it.

Next time we go I hope it's warmer so I can complain about the stifling heat and how Ben's skin is icy and wonderful because he's the undead or the living dead or whatever they used to call him that was funny before too much time passed and we actually had to distinguish between those kinds of things.

Last minutes.

Seven o'clock on a Saturday night and Ben walks into the kitchen and says simply,

Little bee, let's go camping.

Who?

Caleb's got the kids for movie sleepover so I figured you and I would go. Go pack your boyfriend and let's get going.

He turns and walks out of the room. If I know Ben, he'll put his truck keys in one pocket, a guitar pick in the other pocket and proclaim that he is ready to go. Not sure he's ever really figured out the whole tent + sleeping bags + food part of the deal. Ben doesn't actually live in the reality he claims to. He lives in a different fantasyland, where camping equipment just falls from the sky for him to use. That hasn't changed in twenty years.

I take off, scrambling. Sleeping bag. Check. Tent. Check. Food. Check. Run down the driveway to the boathouse and kiss the kids and tell them where we will be. Check. Urg. Phone isn't charged. Will do that on the drive in the truck. Check. Sketchbook and pencils. Check. Extra blanket in case it's colder than the forecast. Check.

I am waiting in the front hall with mostly everything when he returns with his guitar case and he looks around.

Where's Lochlan?

I don't know? Camper, probably?

Go get him. Come on. We have to get moving to get a site before dark.

I thought you were being sarcastic about bringing him.

No. I wasn't.

You want him to come camping with us?

Yes?

Are you going to kill him in the woods?

Only if he tries to kiss me again.

He doesn't do that. You do it to him!

Oh, right. Okay, I'll only kill him if he doesn't respond to my advances.

You've a very hard man to figure out, Benjamin.

I hear you like guys like that.

Just..wow.

That WAS sarcasm. In case you were wondering.

Between two thieves.

It's a carpet bag with lavender stitches along the outside of one seam, a painstaking repair job done in the dark with a flickering flashlight and a rusted needle while I waited for him to return from tear-down. The rotation is horrible some weeks and so I am forced to go to the medical station each night and be watched over by the disapproving nurse because no one else is free. She doesn't like him. I think she likes me but she seems too worried to confirm that and instead I am treated to an endless routine of disapproving clicks and checks so I go out and sit in the dark behind the trailer.

She wants proof that I have not been kidnapped, stolen or otherwise forced to be here against my will. She wants proof that I'm eating, growing, menstruating even. I am weighed every week. Just beforehand Lochlan pours sand in my pockets and in my shoes. But she wants proof that he isn't doing anything to me that I don't want him to do.

All of this is carried out through charades. She doesn't speak English and I don't speak Romanian.

Lochlan does, but he isn't here now, is he? I just wait for him to come back and flash me a brief tired smile and she'll launch into a barrage of words at him that sound even stranger than the ones in the songs he sings when he thinks I can't hear him, and he'll answer back just as fast, beginning softly and ending in that stern none-of-your-business voice that he deploys as proof that he can handle this.

This.

This life, with it's broken camper with the makeshift lock on the door, one pillow to share and one thin blanket we hardly even need for the temperature Lochlan runs at. I often think if one of his torches goes out during a routine he could just blow on it it to reignite but he laughs and said it's his Scottish passion that heats him to a slow burn and it's his Bridget that fans the flames. Oh, the charm. It works magnificently when he is standing in front of me defending this life. The one with the stolen tablecloth and the hard-earned toolbox and the warm beer and fifty dollars in hand to procure a week's work of food but we run out on Thursdays usually by mistake and have resorted to borrowing regularly with no intentions to pay it back because if we do then we'll never get ahead.

The zipper on the bag is finicky, catchy and almost broken but not quite. In it always the same things. Something warm to wear. Something good to read. Some music to listen to (then it was the walkman with the expensive batteries. Now it's the expensive phone that can't last half a day on a charge), some photographs of times when I could still smile spontaneously, and a half-assed plan to rule the world on our terms, because there is no me in we, as Lochlan says late at night when we giggle as he pulls the threadbare blanket up just to the stars, calling it our night-fort. It's the safest place in the whole world.

It's where he teaches me those other languages I will instantly forget and where he tells me about all of the places in the world that he will take me someday and where he describes in great detail the food we'll eat on Saturday when we cash out again and head in town. I think I like that part best.

The part I like least is when he reminds me to keep the carpet bag packed and near the door. Just in case. I still listen. It's still there. His stuff is in it too.