Tin Roof Triad.

From both sides wherever you come from
Re-arranging all the time
From both sides whoever is listening
This kills light, dissolves our minds

When you wake is everyone dreaming?
When you wake you waste away
Heaven says that you are a sinner
So go back down you can't come in

Today I have been recruited to help Lochlan with some of the bigger man-chores around the house. Which will mostly consist of me holding hammers or his phone while he takes care of some things that need to be done.

But first I must stand in one place while he bastes me with sunscreen. Because, you know, I'm a child. I offer to do the same for his but he is clipped and brusque. Already done, he says as he turns away and I roll my eyes so high that when they land on the ground again I see that he is staring at me. His expression says he wants to laugh but his mood keeps a lid on it.

So I stand in the blazing sun holding a handful of nails. And then the hose. And then a damp cloth for his hands when he's done with the paint. And then his phone when he finally heads to the garage to put it all away.

Caleb is standing in front of the garage door. He greets Lochlan in a civilized fashion and Lochlan just stops and stares at him. I watch Lochlan's hands. He has shipworker hands, carny hands, hands that are strong and judgmental and quick.

I watch Caleb's face and his medium blue eyes, freshly-shaven jawline, recent haircut and overpriced t-shirt with his white-collar, executive, manicured hands that he hardly ever gets dirty. The difference between the two men is day and night.

And none of this matters because of Ben. He is the meat and they can be the bread only they all seem to want me in the middle. So I'm the meat. But I like open-faced sandwiches. Or something. I've lost my train of thought now.

I ask Lochlan to hurry so we can make ice cream. Again. Because I still feel some sort of need to embrace the heat wave while we have it. I am pink and brown and red and beige now from the sun. I tan in little bits and pieces and I look a little silly in a dress with my ten-yr-old girl brand of farmer's tan and my sunburned cheeks but I'm making a wonderful effort to blend all these different shades because I hardly ever tan and I'm making an effort to not wear shoes unless absolutely necessary and to drink lemonade and admire the flowers that are blooming and watch the children jump into the water and I'm still driving with the windows down and barbecuing everything BUT the ice cream and it is fleeting somehow, temporary, with the relief of a damp dark fall pushing in close behind. It will be too soon. It's always too soon.

Do you have enough for three? Caleb's question breaks into my reverie and Lochlan says We don't but you can go to the store to get some just as I say Of course we do and I glare at Lochlan as he glares at me and I don't have to remind him I'm going to ignore Caleb's threats just like I'm going to ignore everything else Caleb says that isn't related to Henry because I made a promise to both Ben and Lochlan that I would watch myself and I made myself a promise that I would watch Caleb.

So there.

Ice cream for everyone.

But no meat.

Interstellar medium

I know what I want. I've had a whole lot of scotch and I'm looking for a fight.

Come in, Bridget. We can talk. You want to make some coffee?

No. I'm good. Well, actually I'm not but no, no coffee.

What can I do to help? Caleb says it so generously, as if he's doing me a favor. His anticipation is ridiculous.

Take yourself out of my equation. I broke up with you, I want you to honor that.

Honor it how?

No pressure. No terms, no offers, no play, no competition, no weirdness. No more fucking envelopes. No weapons. No guilt, no threats. No sweetness. No charm. Nothing. We co-parent. That's it. You get no say in my life, my decisions, my behavior or my plans. You get no access to me.

Anything else? He is frowning at me. I think I caught him off guard, actually, and now my liquid courage is fading faster than a sunset over the horizon and I suddenly find myself at a loss for words.

If I think of anything, I'll let you know. Do we have an agreement? You promised me anything I wanted.

Do we have an agreement? No, Bridget, we don't have an agreement. I can give you anything but that.

More caveats.

Damned right. Did you think you would pull that off?

Yes.

Would you have been happy?

I don't know.

Exactly. Go get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow.

I won't be allowed.

You let me worry about that.

No, see? That's precisely my point! You're not supposed to be able to do that.

Goodnight, princess.

Fuck you, asshole.

Hey. Watch your sweet mouth or I'll watch it for you.

Wow. You sounded just like Cole there for a minute.

Just enough to keep you.

Too bad he's dead.

You'd better go, Bridget. Quickly.

I'd rather fight.

I'm not fighting with you. Go the fuck back to the house and sleep off whatever you've had and don't pull stunts like this any more.

Or what?

Or I'll stop being honest and go back to being evil.

You know something? I can't tell the difference anyway.

Wishful thinkers and the long way around.

You seem to be in better spirits today.

I'm catching up. I find the change in routines tough.

You've always been so adaptable, I don't know anyone who weathers changes better than you.

I roll my eyes since my head is turned away from him. I'm watering the roses while he stands two feet behind me, mostly likely with his hands in his pockets, still in pressed business casual because he had a meeting this morning. I stayed in bed, listening to Caleb's car purr out of the shared driveway, and then listening to the one on my right exhale all of his tension out in one breath. My eyes were heavy and I closed them against the sun but not before a ten-thousand-degree kiss glanced off my temple. If ever there were a boy to match with a season, Lochlan wins summer hands down. He doesn't mind the heat, he hardly notices it. I am reduced to ice and a sheet and a complaint that drops off my lower lip only after I have succumbed to sweet miserable slumber.

But I couldn't stay asleep. I want to wander around soaking up the sun and sorting out my brain. I want to think soft and daydream up new stories to write and learn how to live in the moment instead of in the hope for the future, riddled with holes and treacherous sections and the ever-present Fear of the Unknown. The sunshine helps push that back, always. The light makes everything better, food, lazy early morning sleep, and time.

I turn finally, since Caleb seems to be waiting for something. He is standing with his hands in his pockets, in one of his summerweight bespoke suits, and he is smiling at me.

Don't roll your eyes, princess. I only know what I see. Where is everyone?

Sleeping.

He rolls his eyes, catching himself and laughs. You're such a morning person.

I nod. I'm still waiting, holding the hose, wondering what he wants.

What's wrong, Bridget?

Oh, honesty, right. You said things would be difficult for me, if you came back early. You're back early. What should I expect?

His eyes flash. Composure may come easily but control is fought for, to the death. I see this and remind him of his pledge toward honesty as well. He flushes ever so slightly and to my surprise, he gives in.

Difficult for you in that I will apply pressure.

Do you really have to be so formal all the time?

You seem far more comfortable this way.

Ah. I see. So...pressure.

Pressure. Blunt and to the point.

Okay then. I wait for more but he stops talking. This is crystal-clear. Um. Have a nice morning. I give him one of my fakest fake smiles and gather up the hose to return to the reel around the side of the house.

When I come back he's gone.

(Determined.)

Mondays are strange.

Today the children and I tried to find the extraordinary in the mundane. A simple drive down the same road we always travel found us slowing to a stop in order for a baby bear to get from one side of the road to the other and down into the cool woods to outrun the heat of the morning. A snap decision after the bear disappeared into the trees to turn off the air conditioning in the car and open all the windows instead. Summer rushed in and filled our souls.

At the pool we lingered forever after swim lessons, for just one more run and jump off the diving board, towels and flip-flops soaked with chlorine, clothes damp for the ride home, again with the windows down all the way, a hearty fuck-you to the extreme sudden heat that we wished for and when it arrived we found ourselves unprepared for company and scrambling to be good hosts.

And I did that thing again where I smiled out of the blue and for no reason at all as I ate a spoonful of ice cream straight from the box and I realized my feet were filthy and my hair wasn't much better and I forgot things like bedtimes and regular all-food-groups dinners in favor of barbecued everything and a handful of potato chips on the side, and the smile was thoroughly contagious, spreading like wildfire through the remainder of the day.

The naked Saturday.

Ben holds a bit of a knack for knowing when to swoop in and take back control. Very late Friday night he came in with a few extra grocery items and a very crabby and unhelpful Daniel (our sometimes third child) and he said we were going out for dinner, just me and him.

And that we would come back on Sunday.

And then he smiled in that very Ben-like way he has and my knees melted all over the floor and I had to hold on to his hand or I might have fallen down because he's ridiculously scary-handsome and sweet and I'm a sucker for his particular brand of attention.

But I'm a stickler for surprise trips that I have no time to mentally prepare for and always leery of what he packs for me to wear but after minimal protest I hugged my children fiercely as they slept and whispered to them to be good and off we went.

I thought Ben was heading to the airport but he drove straight downtown and we went up up up into the sky in an elevator that did not make me so happy but he smiled and kissed the back of my hand and told me he could break out of the elavator if necessary and that I should exhale, maybe, if I felt like it. When we got to our room and I saw the view I was more than a little thrilled to breathe out because it was literally breathtaking.

Ben then admitted that he packed no clothes for me at all and that I was to spend the weekend naked, and that what I had on would be cleaned and returned in time for the drive home.

He ordered a pizza and a stack of horror movies and we ate in bed in front of a giant retractable screen and we made up our own plot twists and filled in dialogue we thought might be more fun as we watched the movies and then when I couldn't keep my eyes open any more he turned off all the lights and my breath disappeared again for the magical view of the lights on the water in the darkness. I could lie there all night in his arms and watch that view like a movie and there was nothing stopping me but true to form I was asleep in just shy of fifteen seconds.

Yesterday we did not get out of bed. At all. He arranged for room service and I was not permitted to put my feet on the floor. Fine by me. I pointed vaguely at menu items and he laughed and ordered everything and we watched two more movies but slept most of the day in the twelve-thousand thread count Egyptian sheets, ignoring the outstandingly gorgeous sunny view.

I woke up this morning rested but with a little bit of a headache ( from the lack of my usual early coffee). Ben was still sleeping. Check out was at eleven. I didn't think we'd make it but that was okay too. I called the front desk and they told me whenever we were ready it would be fine and not to worry. So I went back to sleep, right after I ate all of the french toast and hot chocolate they delivered. Including Ben's.

We wound up checking out shortly after twelve and had to stop for breakfast for him on the way back because he was starving. But he's rested. And he's silly. And boy do we ever travel lightly these days. Instead of coming home to a mountain of travel laundry we had virtually nothing to unpack.

I could get used to that.

The good fascist.

Here goes.

Firstly, a squee-moment. Stephen King's next book, Doctor Sleep, picks up with Danny Torrance as an adult and comes out this winter. I could just burst from waiting. I'm also so incredibly slow with wading through websites and emails trying to keep up with the things I like and I read a very select few authors anymore so maybe you already knew and I did not.

And speaking of books, have you read the Fifty Shades trilogy?

I've really hesitated to bring this up but for those asking me if I wrote it? No, I did not. Yes, I said Jacob was so many shades of grey. For fuck's sakes I said it here four or five times (okay so that's enough examples) over the past few years, for it isn't an uncommon phrase. Also, hey! Christian Grey? Caleb? Hmmm!

Let's not start in, shall we?

Best of luck to E.L. James, however. Her depiction of the character of Christian Grey was positively RIVETING, repetition and awkward phrasing aside and yes, it was incredibly familiar and therefore a tiny bit painful. I sat in one place for two nights and read all three books and I count them among my favorites now, in spite of the parallels to persons living and dead. Gold. Absolute trashy-beach-reading GOLD. Happily ever after is always a good read, isn't it?

Secondly, a boo-moment. One of the caveats of Caleb's latest acquisition (the house next door) was that I give up Twitter and Instagram. Privacy is paramount in our extended family here and I was sort of off-leash online and running for the fence, getting my digs in about him on Twitter and sometimes posting pictures on Instagram that were not pre-approved.

I know, God Forbid.

In any case, I acquiesced and both of my accounts are gone. My apologies if you were enjoying either. If you need to connect with me you'll have to do it through this site because it's the one thing I do that is non-negotiable and while I make every effort to spare the public humiliation of those I love, I don't believe in mincing words. It took me a long time to stop sugar-coating my relationships for public consumption, I don't plan to start again. But I did break the rules and I had to pay the price. I deleted everything this weekend. No, they won't be rebooted later on. I simply should have known better and I learned my lesson.

Any more questions can be directed as always to my email. You can find it by clicking on the Profile section on the left-hand side of the page. Don't come yelling about feminism or masochism, okay? I love to meet new readers, but I don't like to be yelled at. I guess that part is pretty obvious.

Onward and upward.

With the staggers and jags.

This is not for you, it's for me.

Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast
Let your mountains dark and dreary be
For when I am far away on your briny ocean tossed
Will you ever heave a sigh or a wish for me?

(But mostly because I'm tired and August has just arrived home (finally!!) after many delays, detours and distractions from the East Coast and I'm jealous and so sometimes I need to hear it to remember that home is what I surround myself with when I can't surround myself with the Atlantic, literally or figuratively.)

A bonus song for you, you'll know and love it if you're from the Maritimes:



Goodnight.

Collectedness.

Bridget!

Oh shit. I could hide but this one can see through fabric, fire, and concrete, I imagine. He owns my soul, he'd just seek it out and use his evil to draw it in. Like a magnet. Like a puppy.

Yes? I put on my big girl panties, answering him like an adult would. Then I frown and rip them off in favor of my stripper ones. If I'm going to do something, I'll have to go big or go home.

He walks into the room with his suitjacket over one arm, tie loosened and hair tousled and I attempt to steel my knees against weakening. The look on his face makes that easy.

I'm trying so hard to make you happy and you keep busting my balls. He says it softly. I don't exactly know what he means but when PJ says it he's being funny so I just play along.

What, specifically?

Everything. Being worried you don't have the upper hand or that I might turn you all out on the street? Calling me names? Dredging up the past? He throws up his hands in frustration, on the verge of tears but composure is something Caleb strives for in every facet of his life, even in his sleep so the rest of us are clearly deficient in the face of his surplus.

You scare me when I don't know what you're up to! I blurt and he laughs.

You sound like a teenager.

That's the past, remember?

Oh, sorry. Now what do you need to know? I'm trying to be transparent. I'm trying to work with you. Everything is on the level here. What did I miss? I can't fix it if you don't tell me.

You engineered...this. My hands flutter around. Clearly I'm indicating both houses and the fulfillment of my dreams. Except for the ones involving reanimating dead people. I am still working on that, don't think I don't know he can do it, just like he does everything else.

Yes. For you. Because it's what you wanted.

It isn't your place to give me everything I want.

He just stares and then he sits down and laughs. What do you want me to do? If I take it all away, I'm horrible. If I leave it all the way it is, I'm horrible!

I don't know!

Then it remains. Until you make up your mind. He smiles and leans in to kiss my cheek, lingering far too long for comfort, to the point where I wish madly for my big-girl panties again so I can be a lady, because the stripper ones are busy thinking up a private routine for him. He says goodbye and walks out of the room. The spell breaks when he leaves and I pick up the colander and hurl it at the kitchen door in frustration.

Argh! He did it AGAIN!

Who, Bridget? PJ enters the kitchen from the front hall.

Caleb.

Oh, good. I thought you were going to bust my balls again.

For fucks sakes! What does that even MEAN?

It's cold. It's so cold today and the sun is hiding behind the curtains, toes peeking out, mouth set in a line, and hell, no, she won't come out no matter what I offer and instead maybe I should just join her, for all the assumptions yesterday's post brought.

Raise your hand if you were in denial about what you've read and stand up if you really thought I was kidding about having my whole army here in one place and now sit the fuck down if you still think we have the upper hand. You may as well relax, because we do.

Caleb spends fully half his time collecting rent and being a landlord and the other half checking to see if I'm paying attention as he tries to teach me the nuances of being a high roller, a mogul, or any of the other nicknames I call him. A sugar daddy. Because all of this is mine. Why? He owes me so nevermind that part, just know that he can't pull any fast ones and leave us homeless and he can't go and spend the farm and leave Henry without a legacy because the evil idiot went and put all of it in my name and I think I spend all of my spare time now signing things I must read first because I don't trust him when it comes to business and forcing myself not to daydream while he talks about tax credits and immigration laws until I'm so bored I want to fling myself off the cliff just so he'll shut the fuck up.

Ungrateful? You betcha. Walk that mile in my stilettos and you'd run screaming into the dark the last hundred yards or so, guaranteed.

Two big houses on the bluff.

It's moving day!

Daniel, Schuyler, Christian, Corey and Andrew are next door as we speak, unpacking! It's fucking crazy around here today. CRAZY.

I hate that word but I love my boys.

Andrew has been couch-surfing for three weeks and that was enough. The house is ready (painted), here they come. Daniel and Schuy made a sweet little profit on their house and are thrilled to come back to the cliff and Corey is giving it a trial run because he is a little more removed and less caught up in the whole Bridget Adoration Society that the rest of the boys are card-carrying members of.

August comes home tonight (!!!!) from six weeks on the Rock (Vacation. Also somewhat reluctant member of said society, but not really) and will resume living here. He left the house last year briefly, trading places with Dalton (also know as Telfon Jesus or TJ) and came back. Does this make sense?

What do you mean, no?

Okay fine. I'll make you a list so you can keep it straight.

Boathouse (part of main property): Caleb.

Main house: Bridget, Ben, Ruth, Henry, Lochlan, Dalton, Duncan, PJ, August, John.

New house (next door): Andrew, Christian, Corey, Daniel, Schuyler, Gage.

Boys living nearby and that's good: Dylan, Sam, Sometimes-Matt (Sam's on-again, off-again lover),John, Keith.

Boys living very far away and that's good: Batman, New-Jake, Rob, Mark, Joel, Chase.

Boys who don't breathe: Cole, Jacob.

:(

Got it now? Okay, good. Back to helping unpack the kitchens because apparently that is one of the things I do best. I would beg to differ but that's how I ended up needing flow charts and lists, right?

Oh, hush, you.

Two peas, one pod (greetings from close reach).

He puts a plastic Star Wars light sabre in my hand and steps back to regard me. His eyes are lit up with amusement.

Okay, just a minute.

Off he goes and I center myself on the floor of the garage with my blue light-up sword. It makes noise. Vooahmmm vahhhmmm. I swish it around in thin air and smile.

He returns with a jeweled felt crown and Henry's mock chestplate armor, putting the crown on my head and tucking my arms through the straps on the armor.

He steps back again. Oh! Just a minute.

I keep up the swordfighting. It is highly underrated. He's back in minutes with a small plastic medieval dagger.

Back-up weapon. He puts it in my left hand, nodding sagely.

I burst into laughter and he heads to the ipod dock. He thumbs through a list until he hits on something crazy-heavy and then he turns it up loud and he says Now go for it! Slay your demons, Bridget!

And I turn and look at him and say Are you fucking kidding me? This is how you get through the tough parts?

And he looks at me and in all seriousness says, Well, yeah. I don't drink anymore so this is the next best thing, right? And then he turns the music louder.

Something tells me if I poked around a little in Ben's brain I would find his imaginary friends, and they would give me some of their peanut butter sandwiches and tell me that they didn't think Ben was quite right. I would nod quietly and agree, a little afraid, a little amused, a little more understanding of what makes him tick after all.

Probably exactly how he feels when it comes to me.

Overcast.

I woke up this morning alone in the bed and covered in charcoal fingerprints, the bed cold, rain pouring in sheets down the window glass, the house quiet. When I sat up I saw Lochlan sitting on the floor, wearing his pajama bottoms and drawing conclusions on a big sheet of Ingres paper. His headphones are on to block out the world, probably with some Floyd or Senses, background music to soothe his carnival brain that never shuts out the flame or the lights or the love.

Ben is working. Ben is always always working and does not sleep or worry or check in often enough and I feel disconnected and alone without him here when I wake up. I take my phone and find my robe and then change my mind and head for a hot shower instead. My head is throbbing from the scotch.

When we reached the back door last night, Lochlan knocked his chair over in his rush to come and take over possession from the devil, who exited graciously and did not attempt to linger.

Where's Ben? I'm so tired I cut directly to the chase with no explanations of the night thus far.

Recording or writing, I don't know which, peanut. He's been down there all night.

I'm going down to see him.

Bridget, you need to sleep. He'll come find you. He turns me around and steers me upstairs in the near dark. I am heavy-headed and all fluttery, fumbling fingers with the wrong words spilling everywhere and we're slipping on them. Lochlan takes advantage of my loneliness, and my dependence on him like he has so many times before, pulling me into his arms, winding me out and keeping me captive until I am asleep, exhausted and bathed in a mixture of sweat and shame.

When I emerge from the shower some twenty minutes later, scrubbed clean but with faint traces of grey still ground into my flesh, Ben is sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me and Lochlan has taken his tools and vanished. The rain has stopped and the sun is fighting to peer through the cloud cover, losing the battle before it has even begun.

Perrault vs. Grimm.

You like it when you are pulled in different directions.

No. I shake my head gently and take another sip of burning-warm scotch.

You wanted me back and I warned you it wouldn't be easy.

Let's get something straight here. I wanted you to come back for your son.

Don't be coy. Henry has a waiting list of surrogate dads and has hardly noticed I'm here or made note of the fact that I'm back ten days early. This is about us.

There is no us. I am drunk and slurring slightly. I wonder briefly if he can still understand me.

Those delusions help you sleep, don't they, beautiful? He reaches out to touch my bitten shoulder but I pull back, away, pushing out from the table. It could have been worse and by the way, you look adorable and helpless with your hair ending at your chin like that.

Fuck you and your fantasies, Diabhal.

He lifts up his drink and drains the glass before placing it upside down. He leans across the table and smiles again, without letting his eyes in on the joke. What if I changed my terms?

You don't get to have terms. We have no agreements.

But we could. We should.

I need to go.

Probably a good idea. I'll walk you over.

I can find my way across the drive.

Bears, Bridget.

Ironic. Leave the wolf to encounter a bear.

He ignores the namecalling. You're not at full capacity right now. Let's go.

That's the kindest way anyone's ever described me, you know that? I stumble when I stand up. Fucking Scotch.

He just smiles so very tightly, and offers me his hand.

Aperture science.

He showed up this morning.

Dressed in a bespoke suit with his shit together and lies in his eyes, Caleb was standing in the driveway talking to Dalton when I came out of the house also in my finest, dressed for graduation day. The last day of school for Henry too but the strange transition of Ruth beginning high school, since they start it here in Grade 8. The ceremony was amazing. She is too grownup and I am having trouble grasping this, like all change.

He had a wrapped grading present for each of them, and his luggage was nowhere in sight. A red eye with red eyes, the very worst of travel but he still looks presentable and is or seems sober.

And I'm weirdly thrilled that he came when I called.

Like a fucking puppy.

(Here, boy.)

Bridget. He smiles almost imperceptibly and waits for my reaction. He is tense and exhausted and evil and charming all at once and it is the very worst way to show up in front of me. Especially when I am not warned in advance because I didn't expect to see him and I don't know if he is here for the day or the weekend or back home for good and Lochlan still isn't speaking to me but here I am balancing my emotions on a scale but I've shoved the scale way in the back of the cupboard since today will not be about me by any stretch of the imagination. Oh no. This day is for the kids. They worked very hard and we are dressed to the nines and beyond and will go to the school then out for a big ticket celebration.

And that's precisely what we did and now I am flitting around the kitchen on pins and needles waiting for one message to go across the driveway and get the information I want and two messages to go upstairs so I should just drag that scale back out and set it on the counter and hope the balance tips in my favor, always.

Answering.

Bridget!

I heard him coming a mile away and I did what any self-respecting adult would do when faced with a confrontation.

I hid.

Only he knows me so well he was opening cupboards as he talked, looking for me. I was standing beside one of the opened bifold doors by the front hall closet listening to his diatribe about my absolute gall in calling Caleb and what did I need that I would go looking for trouble when trouble finds me.

(Without a map, time after time, a homing beacon locked on a moving target, no less.)

I am trying to parse Lochlan's one-sided discussion and failing because he's moving too fast and his voice cuts in and out between the accent and his movements and I finally get so frustrated I bang my head against the door and it slides closed, revealing the red hair and concerned face of my conscience.

My conscience frowns his disapproval and yanks his jeans up a little higher at the same time. He is losing weight, something he tends toward every summer when the days are long and hot and he lives on night air and bright lights and joyful screaming.

(But it sounds so disturbing written like that.)

I step back behind the door, opening it again to block his unwavering gaze. I don't want to present to him right now. I don't want to answer to him. I don't want him to be involved in my brain right this second but these are the moments when my judgement tips over the front of the Ferris wheel and he scoops it up from the platform and returns to the brake to stop each car at the line to exchange riders. He won't give it back for days. I'll have to beg. I've been doing a lot of that anyway lately, I guess.

He Scottish-clicks open disapproval at me and I cover my whole face so he won't see how much that sound annoys me.

Don't hide your face. Be mature.

Pot, kettle, Locket.

I know, but why did you call him?

If I could answer that I wouldn't be hiding.

So be brave.

I'm so not brave.

Oh, yes you are.

Nope. Wrong girl. Move along. I sink to the floor behind the door and he reaches down to scoop me back up, standing me on my feet, closing the door and pulling me away from the wall in one practiced, acrobatic motion.

Fine. I'm very brave. That's why I called him in spite of your eventual disapproval.

My immediate disapproval. Disapproval isn't the word I would use though. You're so fucking proper sometimes. I should be grateful, I suppose, considering I taught you to spell on the road.

Yes, you should be grateful that I'm so awesome.

And braver by the minute, it seems.

Oh! Just shut up!

You first!

Fine!

You're going to miss Henry's graduation.

There's no graduation ceremony from grade five. I will see his report card when I return and bring a grading gift plus his birthday present. I'll be back in time for the party.

He's disappointed that you're going to miss his last day of school.

I'd be working anyway.

But you'd be there in the evening. So he could tell you he's done.

Oh, I see.

Do you? Do you get that you can't insert yourself properly as a father and then just disappear?

Yes, Bridget, I get that. Do you think it's easy to leave?

Then why did you? I told you you didn't have to go anywhere.

And I told you I did.

Is it working?

It's only been a week, Bridget. Give me time. You calling me out of the blue wanting me to come back is really fucking with my head. I'll just have to drink extra now.

I called you for Henry. This is not about us.

Everything is about us.

Maybe you should ease up on the drinking.

You're just beautiful today. Jesus Christ. I wish I was there.

So do we. Family comes before all of this.

I agree. But I'm here and my flight out is on the tenth of July so you'll just have to make do. Now I'm going to go back to my scotch. It's almost nine and I hope to be unconscious by eleven.

What are you doing?

Sitting in a chair alone in the dark thinking.

You at the house or the cottage?

I'm at a hotel downtown.

Why aren't you with your folks?

You want me to subject them to the Devil? Bridget, I may be cruel but I'm not dumb. They're old now. They don't need to see this. There are things they don't need to know.

Discretion isn't a bad thing.

I'm alone, have been since I arrived. Now are we done here? I'm thirsty.

You could just come back.

Bridget. If I come back right now, the way I feel, things will be very hard for you. So just say goodnight and let me get back to the dark, please.

Goodnight, Caleb.

Goodnight, Bridget. Cheers.

Composure took her sweet time leaving, and in her place sat resignation and an oddly comfortable sort of peace. I meandered my way upstairs shortly after midnight, trailing behind Ben, his hand stretched back to pull me along slowly as I kept becoming distracted by things along the route. Pictures that seemed fascinating or crooked. Blooming flowers. A cat on a stair step. My face in the mirror.

Finally he pulls me into our room and closes the door behind us. Lochlan is almost asleep, a thick acknowledgement in the dark confirming his presence. Ben responds and then leads me into the bathroom. The lights are off, the candles lit, bubble bath drawn, steaming clouds of foam fill the tub up to the brim. I know the water only goes halfway. Ben's exercise in volume proved to us early on how far we could fill it before we flooded the floor.

He strips himself first and then me, taking his sweet time. Big fingers on tiny little buttons, hooks and eyes, satin and bows. I don't help, I watch his face. When he is finished he holds his hand out and I take it and step up and into the bath. The water is so hot I gasp. Once I am sitting he steps in and sits down, the water level rising to lap against my shoulders. He positions his legs under mine and pulls me up into his arms. My arms go around his neck as I am lifted into his lap, holding on for dear life. He presses his head down against mine and I close my eyes.

I think sometimes this is my favorite place in the whole world now, after the beach, right at the edge of the water where the earth meets the ocean and all the treasures remain when the tides change. Ben stirs, kissing my damp skin, pulling up a washcloth, wringing it out against my spine so that the hot water courses down in rivers between my shoulder blades.

It was the last thing I remember before my dreams took me.

Safe.

Neither here nor there.

Call you up in the middle of the night
Like a firefly without a light
You were there like a blowtorch burning
I was a key that could use a little turning

So tired that I couldn't even sleep
So many secrets I couldn't keep
Promised myself I wouldn't weep
One more promise I couldn't keep

I'm watching from the door as Lochlan opens the bottle and drinks pretty slowly at first, picking up speed as he tilts downhill. The guitar comes up and the words begin to pour easily as he works his way through his most favorite of pop radio hits from the early eighties to the early nineties and not a moment beyond and only the ones within his range, besides.

The melody turns to water, washing over me like a tide, dragging me out into the deep where I can't swim, drowning me in memories, drinking me back in and the louder he sings the harder it becomes to keep my head above the surface.

He knows I am nearby. Where else would I be? Immersing us in the past is one of his gypsy charms, one of his carny tricks, one of his aces up-sleeve and it's always so fuzzily hard for me to see past it or around it and so I must go straight through it and I never end up in quite the same place on the other side. When I can no longer breathe I open my mouth and the recollections pour in. I die a thousand deaths before he sings me back to life with his sorcery, that magical way he has of just unnerving people enough, just making them crush hard enough on him so that they don't notice he had stolen their wallets or their hearts, for that matter until it is far too late to turn back.

Ben has his wallet on a chain but I've had his heart for years, ripped out when he wasn't looking and stuffed behind my back hastily to hide when he came too close. He walks down the steps to where Lochlan is sprawled in the chair with the guitar and he picks up the bottle and turns and walks back up to me. He hands me the bottle and tells me to drink what I want and then pour the rest out.

I listen to Benjamin and not to the rest of Lochlan's songs while my throat burns and my composure flies out the window like a goddamned bird.

And above all, be good.

To the sea with all of us
Let the deep wash over us
To the sea she's calling us
You and me gonna turn to rust
In the sea with all of us
Let the deep wash over us
To the sea she's calling us
Let the cities all turn to rust
In the sea

She said she knew with the first kiss
That the man don't match the myth
That the truth can't beat the wish and
Oh! How the man don't match the myth
Ashes to ashes, cheek to cheek
She looks at me and my knees go weak
Struck dumb, too dumb to speak
Ashes to ashes, cheek to cheek

My phone rings at precisely nine each night. The ringtone plays the second lead from Sabbath's N.I.B. and the contact photo is the devil from my Spanish tarot deck. I think it's hilarious. Henry isn't sold, but when it plays he runs for the phone. He and Caleb talk for thirty or forty minutes before Henry has to go to bed. Every night in person when Caleb is here and every night by phone when he isn't.

Only I told Henry to tell his father that he wasn't allowed to waste time talking about me, that if I need anything I will be in touch. Henry, being ten, does not listen to me and spends a good fifteen minutes telling Caleb how he thinks I am, based on what he knows.

Sigh. It's sort of funny and really sad and completely expected. It's also glaring truthful as only a child can be.

Batman, mercifully has kept his word and not contacted me at all, short of sending a curt email reminder to tell me that I am not to worry about any of the boys who might be working on contract to his holdings and that if anything goes wrong and you don't call me you'll be in Big Trouble.

I did not reply.

New Jake has asked if he can still be my friend. I sent back a Maybe text message with a sad face. He replied with three sad faces and Ben sent him an angry face text and then I didn't hear any more from Jake but I know Sam will run a steady stream of updates back and forth because Sam said he really hoped no one would ask him to pick sides because I'm cute and all but Jake is infinitely more useful since he does construction in addition to all the cloak and dagger bullshit.

Only Sam stopped after saying 'construction'. I added the rest in my head.

So I stand by the door and watch as Henry tries to wedge the phone between his shoulder and his ear, failing and holding it with both hands while he walks around his room answering his father's questions and asking some of his own (Is it raining there? Do you still have to do work while you're there? What is Grandma baking today?) and sometimes he laughs and sometimes he says I don't know and then he says I love you to Pluto and beyond and Goodnight, Dad and I will and I'll tell her and Okay, talk to you tomorrow night and then he presses the red button to end the call and runs back to me, putting the phone in my hands and planting a big fat kiss on my cheek, telling me That's from Dad.

I smile and return his kiss because Henry is innocent, and never going to follow in his father's footsteps. Not if I can help it, anyway.

Clemency.

Third time's the charm, is it, peanut?

I am surprised. I was coming into the garage to talk to Jake and Lochlan is sitting in the centre of the floor, cross-legged, hands on his chin. Elbows on knees. His waiting pose.

Batman, Caleb and now...me?

Never. I cross my arms, defiantly. This has nothing to do with you or with Ben or with anything else. They both pissed me off and it wasn't a spur of the moment thing, it was a snowball. I gave Batman far too much power and Caleb would agree to a certain amount of power and then cross the line almost immediately.

I know, I've warned you your whole life about that. He says it softly. He is staring at me, no hiding behind the red curls, for his hair has only grown out into little waves that flip up all over the place and he perpetually looks like he just woke up. I have nothing to hide behind either and I self-conscious tuck my hair behind my ears and square my shoulders.

I'm slow to learn. It's a defiant, ridiculous statement that makes him laugh.

Yeah. Yeah you are. And he gets up and comes over to me, holding his arms out. That's okay though. I think you get that from me.

I laugh when his arms close around me. I think I've done nothing but stand on the verge of tears all damned week again but I laugh too. Half-relief, half acquired insanity. Inherited? Absorbed, maybe. Absolved, always. Redeemed in the face of violent absence, salvaged by the tide.

Conversations from within the cookie cupboard.

What are you doing in there?

Hiding.

Hiding from whom?

Myself.

Keebler elves still failing at their protection detail?

Spectacularly, Ben.

So come on out and we'll talk. Because I don't fit in there with you.

What's in it for me?

My undivided attention and ice cream. Later on, sexual favors.

Oh! Deal.

I had this big speech planned but when I stepped outside he was loading his suitcases into the Porsche.

Where are you going?

He drops the big suitcase on the pavement beside the car and throws his hands up. I don't know, away? I'll either be hammered into the ground by your husband and your boyfriend soon enough or I'll lose control. I lost control twice with you in one night. I don't want to see what a third time would have brought.

I notice evidence of a landed haymaker on his cheek. The dark shadow of a bruise tells me he's already been confronted.

I told them not to see you.

What makes you think they would listen to you?

Everyone listens to me.

Yes. Just long enough for everything to go wrong. You, my little darling, are a shipwreck in progress.

Which is why I took responsibility for what happened!

Do you think that makes a difference? You can jump around saying it's your fault all you like but it's not. I know better and I still...I couldn't help myself.

When are you coming back?

In time for Henry's birthday. And you know what? While I'm away I'm going to drink my face off, black out often, work very little, sleep with completely normal women and attempt to forget that I'm in love with you. How does that sound for a plan, princess?

You're already drunk. Jesus, at least let's find someone to drive you to the airport.

Yes, let's do that. So I can come back in one piece for more punishment.

That's why I was coming to find you.

To make sure I was safe? I figured we pretty much established that I'm not the other night.

No, to tell you I won't be seeing you anymore unless it's for something related to Henry.

Oh, I didn't realize we were officially seeing each other. I thought we were...parents with benefits. That I was lucky. This will just finish me off. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch. I don't know what you did to me this time. I feel completely undone and I need to be away.

Which is why I need to straighten things out. We're all getting hurt here. And you don't have to leave.

He shakes his head in exasperation and pulls out his phone to call Mike for a drive. When he hangs up he looks at the sky.

You don't look hurt, princess. And I am not drunk enough for this day anymore. I'm going to go fix that. See you in two weeks. Say goodbye for me to whomever else you banish while I'm gone. You seem to be on quite a roll.

Overnight a box is left on the front porch. I bring it unceremoniously to the kitchen and open it there. I look inside and then close the lid again and pick the box up. I head down the kitchen steps and out the side door, across the driveway and up the steps on the other side. I walk down the side of the boathouse to the front door and knock on the glass. Caleb opens the door. He looks tired too. He looks relieved that I'm not someone else and I thrust out the box, letting him know he can't buy my forgiveness any more than he can torture it out of me.

I don't need presents, Caleb.

How are you?

I survived. You?

I'm so sorry, Bridget.

Don't be. I came to you, remember?

I know but I still overstepped my boundaries again. He takes the box from me. How long do I have before the angry mob with pitchforks arrives?

I don't know. They are resigned to my whims, foolish as those might be.

Bridget, they won't let me get away with this. No one should.

Cole got away with it. What difference does it make anymore?

Cole paid with his life.

You think? Do you really think God killed him because he hurt me?

God wouldn't do that. But the devil would. You really should know that by now, Bridget. His eyes grow huge and black until they are empty holes in his face and he smiles until that hole joins with the first two and I am falling into his face, into darkness again. I wake up with a jolt and a cry. I jump up, falling, stumbling out of his bed and outside in the dark, naked and exposed. I run for the house in the pouring rain. He does not stop me. He doesn't even wake up.

***

Ben sent for the doctor (who isn't a doctor at all, I don't think), who came to the house and put five stitches in my shoulder, asking if I knew if my immunizations were up to date. I was given antibiotics to take. He said it would have been better if I had been bitten by a bear, that the human bite is the most likely kind of bite to become infected.

He stared at Ben the entire time he was talking and Ben stared at me. When the doctor was ready to leave he hesitated before shaking Ben's hand. Ben said that he didn't do it and the doctor looked back at me.

She is yours? He is talking to Ben, staring at me.

Yes. Mine. Ben said. He is exhausted and barely speaking, hands curled into fists.

***

I managed to avoid Lochlan for most of yesterday as he was up working late into the night and then slept the whole day away. Last night I had already gone to bed when he turned on the light beside the bed and pulled me up to see for himself. He put his hands on my head, smoothing my hair down to where it ends, just at my chin. He frowned. His fingers flitted over my now-bandaged shoulder and he pulled me in against him, rocking me so gently we weren't actually moving.

He kisses the top of my head until he wears a divot in my skull. He is tense, coiled to spring, barely holding it together but trying to be gentle for me.

This is not part of the deal, peanut. He doesn't change. Oh my God. Why do you go to him if he won't change?

Turn off the light, brother. Ben's voice from the other side of the bed. Ben reaches out and takes me right out of Lochlan's arms and tucks me in against his chest and is back asleep in seconds.
I don't have the same luck. I lie there for hours after Lochlan leaves. I don't know where he's going and I am wide awake.

I think the whole day just chipped away at him until he was in a headspace he could not escape. By the time I walked up the steps to the door he was too far gone to be honest and too angry to see reason. I should have left then, but I don't like to leave them like that, any of them, including Caleb.

He reached out, pulling me through the door, putting me down inside, his lips locked on mine, tearing his suitjacket off while he kicked the door closed with his leg. He couldn't get the jacket off. He finally gave up, with it still mostly inside-out and hanging off one arm. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me back up, walking me backwards all the way across the room and down the hall, stumbling but never letting go, still kissing me every step of the way.

He dropped me on the bed, pulling the jacket off at last, letting it fall to the floor. His tie followed. Cufflinks next. Belt. He unbuttoned his shirt and then stopped, staring at me. I was leaning up on my elbows watching him. He is glorious, unhinged and rattled. Desperate even. He looks violent, unsure and determined all at once. Until we tip that balance to the dark I'll enjoy his vulnerability while he displays it. Then we'll trade places.

He steps closer and bends down, hooking his fingers under one strap on my dress and sliding it down off my shoulder. Then the other strap. My arms are pinned. Abruptly he lifts me by the hips and turns me over, face down into the quilt. He cuts the dress off me with scissors. I protest and he clamps his hand over my mouth.

His head is pressed next to mine and he tells me not to say a word unless it's a safe one. He squeezes my face to get a response and I nod under duress. When I whimper he kisses my hair and lets go again. Cutting fabric once more and my favorite babydoll that he chose for me is in pieces. He inhales sharply, running the point of the scissors down my spine. I can feel the trembling in his hand, his efforts to be human instead of monstrous, his failed attempts to make me comfortable instead of scared, his need to make me last when he would prefer to cut me to pieces too. He puts the scissors down and presses his hand flat against my flesh, pressing me down until I can no longer breathe and then he lets go and I gasp for air. I feel him fight his demons in the dark, his face changing as it remains pressed against my head.

Then a ribbon slides slowly around my neck. He pulls it up over my eyes and ties it tightly in a bow against my hair. I try to claw it off and he pins my fingers together in his hand and orders me not to touch it. He asks for confirmation that I understand and I nod. He asks if I will be good and I shake my head. No. I won't. I am brought into the dark, into hell, in an exquisite rush of blinding need. I am left shaking and ruined after many hours, and he asks again.

Will you be good for me now, Bridget?

No.

He sighs and lifts me up once more, leading me away from the warm sheets, toward the cold wall. I am turned to face him and pressed against the bookcase.

Abruptly he walks away. I stand and wait. When he comes back I feel him take my hair up in one hand and I cry out, I know what he's doing but it's too late. The scissors slice through my hair.

Again.

This is control.

Lochlan loves my hair and now Caleb has taken it away. His brief victory overwhelms him as his emotions escape, a torrent of anguish and rage.

I say the only word I think he'll hear. I breathe it but he doesn't react. The word comes out in a yell from deep inside me suddenly and everything stops. He hears it. He lets go and then he changes his mind, reaching for my hand. He takes it and turns away, and I am led down the hall to the bathroom. He turns on the shower, still holding my hand and stands there staring at it, his hand in the spray until it is hot enough. Then he ducks us inside, where he stands with his eyes closed while the water beats down on our heads relentlessly. He brings his hands up and touches my hair, unleashing a new wave of sorrow that weighs him down until he is sitting down against the shower wall, knees up, head down. I get down in front of him and put my hands on his face. I kiss his forehead. Shhhh. His face relaxes. He orders me to forgive him. I tell him I do and he says not for today, not for right now but for everything.

I stand up and he raises his hands toward me, begging me to let him off the hook and I can't. I can forgive him in theory but not in practice and he's never going to have more than what he has now. Enforced compliance, fleeting touch. Temporary custody. A fantasy that disappears the moment the sun conquers the horizon.

I shake my head and he yells my name in frustration. I reach up to touch my hair and he stands and pulls my hands back down. He doesn't let them go, he doesn't move.

Be mine, he instructs. I close my eyes. Please, he begs, trying a different angle. It was supposed to get better, Bridget and it just keeps getting worse. I can't live without you anymore. I won't live without you.

Only if you turn out not to be the only monster left.

He slumps back against the wall in surprise. I watch the emotions on his face. I watch them like a flip book playing a movie on the corners of the pages. Acceptance. Fight. Denial. Regret. Fear. Resignation. Adoration. Rage. They are shuffled out of order and the steam from the hot water is obscuring my brain as we continue to stand there with the water pounding down on the tops of our skulls. I want to be out. I want to be dry. I want to be away from him. I want to come here not on his terms but on my own. I want him to be without strings attached and conditions and demands and threats. I want peace of mind and I want guarantees that he won't die before I'm good and ready but I want him to stay where I keep him, in my darkest dreams and not out here in simple daylight to complicate things more than they already are.

I know I can't have my cake and eat it too. I know that a huge part of him wants to treasure me and the rest wants to punish me. We share the same feelings toward each other. I can't reconcile this any better than he can.

He reaches out suddenly and pulls me in against him, resting his head on my shoulder. Biting it, breaking the skin, tearing me apart. I bear it. I do nothing. I don't say safe words or anything else. I just stand there and let him symbolically eat me alive.

Number One.

Today was the first official Father's Day for Lochlan. Very first, if you can believe what it must be like for him right at this moment. I wouldn't even dare try, I'm sure he will tell me later.

He's doing pretty good with it. He's a little drippy and a little sentimental, and ridiculously grateful but I do believe this boy is holding his own. They'll be okay, I think. And it's something else to stand here and watch this as he grows roots before our very eyes. Something else indeed.

Tiny moments.

Lochlan pulls a quarter out of my ear and frowns at it. Twenty-five pennies for your thoughts?

I laugh and say nothing.

You going to talk today?

I shake my head.

What if I pay you....uh...he's pretending to search my face, lifting up my upper lip, and then peeking in each nostril and making a face, and then pushing my cheeks in together before combing through my hair with his fingers and coming up with one of the bills I returned to him from Caleb yesterday. Fifty bucks! What if I pay you fifty bucks?

Then I'll talk. I take the fifty and jam it into my bra.

Aw, Christ, I was only kidding.

Me too. I flip the bill back out and it lands at my feet. He picks it up and holds it out to me. I stare at it but I don't touch it again. He shrugs and puts it in his pocket. The day you can make change out of that bra is the day we take this show back on the road, Peanut.

(An observation, not a post, not poetry, not gospel.)

I am the sea.

Ben is the mountain. Steadfast, forged out of rock. Broken faces, landslides, avalanches burying us. But still I climb. I have conquered this mountain, eroding his edges, smoothing his sharpness, throwing myself against him and still he stands, with me in his shadow.

Lochlan is a boat, tossed upon my waves, anchored and within sight of shore but content to come and go, always within reach. I hold him in my depths, I cradle him. He rises and falls by my tides and still he floats, buoyed by the hope of a horizon that never ends.

Caleb is the moon, pulling me closer, pushing me away. Dark and high in the night sky, he casts a pale cold light upon my surface and I am captive to his plans. He disappears in daylight and come out at night and I am powerless against his whims. He is constant, forever and apart.

Tucker makes a rare appearance.

(That's what we used to call Ben: Tucker, short for Tucker Max, because he can be so incredibly tasteless and crude sometimes, but funny too. Some things never change.)

I followed a rabbit
Through rows of mermaid-entwined shrubbery
Oh, what marvelous things but
They are, they are, they are
Giving me the creeps

Dark night, hold tight,
And sleep tight, my baby
Morning light shall burst bright
And keep us here safely

Yesterday was a reprieve, and today Lochlan read everything I wrote on Wednesday, or should I say, everything Caleb said on Wednesday. I saw him put his face in his hands and peer between his eyes, unbelieving at the screen. Then he made that disapproving Scottish click with his tongue and got up, slamming shut the laptop and heading outside. Probably to count to seven hundred and forty-nine (thousand) and still not be cooled off when he is finished.

Ben watched him leave, took another bite of his ham sandwich and with his mouth full, said,

Your boyfriend really needs to learn to relax.

He doesn't want anything to do with Caleb's...uh...games.

His loss.

Don't pick sides.

The only side I'm on is yours, Bumblebee. You know that.

Then don't fault him for not wanting to participate.

He's fine with me though. Ben makes an expression here I won't even describe. Because I can't.

Just barely. And besides, you're much cuter than Caleb, that's why.

I knew it!

Can we change the subject?

Not when I'm winning, bee. Have a heart.

You're making fun of him.

Are you kidding me? I love Lochlan. Truly I do. I would love him more but he just won't..stop screaming...

Oh my God, Ben. Stop now.

Yeah, I crossed one of my OWN lines right there, I think. Damn.

Night flights.

When I bring the money back to Lochlan I have to search all over the place for him. I finally find him behind the garage, hard at work re-wrapping wicks on his torches. He's been trying to give his bad arm a workout, albeit for very short increments. He says it hurts like hell but he doesn't stop. His muscles have atrophied and he's anxious to return them to shape. Only I think he pushes it. He wasn't supposed to risk injury. The torches are heavy and it's far too much too soon but Lochlan doesn't listen to reason when it comes to his own preservation. Only mine.

Can you hold this? He passes me the roll of webbing. I drop it almost instantly.

That's a no, then? He laughs and scoops it up, putting it back into my hands. Just don't move. He holds his hand up to freeze me in place.

He's always done hand signals in case I miss the words. Like Cole, he never acknowledged the fact that I might have a hearing loss, he just compensated for what was missing. Cole talked directly into my ear, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight, shivers going down my spine. Lochlan used hand signals, because I was always on the other side of a ride, or at the top of a platform or out in the crowd looking for easy marks. Subtle signals that he still uses and I still obey. They certainly aren't as in-your-face as Caleb and Ben's forcible verbal directions and so they mostly escape scrutiny. When Lochlan issues a verbal command, I fulfill it even faster. He has degrees of seriousness and I know him better than I know anyone else. Maybe even myself as I continue to stand there holding the roll of tape while he lights the other five torches that he has with him tonight.

He motions for me to walk out ten feet. I'm in the center of the driveway. He turns around and walks to me backward, throwing the torches low. They burn red today. Magic fire, I always say and smile and he laughs. There's no magic in this, he tells me each time.

When he reaches me he stops walking. I am peeking over his shoulder. All around me torches rise and fall and spin and twirl and burn. I am in the center of a maelstrom. Firestorm. I step forward slightly until I am pressed against his back. I feel his shoulders working alternately, I watch his hands let go of the handles of the torches. He steps away slightly, always mindful of the danger and where I am in relation to it.

I step forward again and he walks five paces away, still throwing and then when he's far enough away he drops his hands and lets everything fall. Burning torches bounce on the concrete rolling in lazy arcs back and forth slowly as he turns around. Flames fall from the sky to light a circle around us. When I take count of the torches I see that I am in the circle too.

I look up at him in surprise.

How did you do that?

Magic, Bridget. You used to believe in it wholeheartedly. He turns away and begins to dunk the torches in the bucket, one by one.

Still do.

He doesn't look up but I see him smile wide. It's enough.

The stars beneath my feet.

Hello, hello. There is no place I cannot go.
My mind is muddy but my heart is heavy. Does it show?
I lose the track that loses me, so here I go.
And so I sent some men to fight, and one came back at dead of night.
Said he'd seen my enemy. Said he looked just like me,
So I set out to cut myself and here I go.

I'm not calling for a second chance,
I'm screaming at the top of my voice.
Give me reason but don't give me choice.
'Cause I'll just make the same mistake again.

I sense him before I see him, not unusual since I have been crouched at the water's edge for the better part of the morning investigating the treasures the tide brings to me.

But then I see the shoes beside me. Not just any shoes, Italian leather dress shoes. Only one boy in my universe wears those, only he is never considered a boy of mine. He would like to be but I keep him segregated, separate as much as possible. He's a monster. He's a wolf. He's the devil. He holds fully a quarter of my broken heart when and if it is to be divided only among the living.

Find any treasures today, Princess?

I shake my head. I'm not really looking for treasures. I'm actually thinking.

What are you thinking about then? You've been down here for three hours.

I avoid the question. Is three hours bad? Do I have plans?

Maybe I can take you out for lunch?

I stand and wobble a little. I forgot breakfast and my stomach growls, giving me away. He smiles wide. See? Sounds like you could use something.

He hasn't noticed I haven't said anything out loud yet but he offers me his arm. I run back to the logs and collect my bag. I brought my sketchbook down but I didn't draw anything today. And my phone is still in the bag. I leave it there now, since I've dropped it in the water twice this spring already.

I walk back and take his arm and we stroll up the new, unbelievably simple-to-climb staircase cut into the rock face. At the top I type in the code to open the gate. When we get into the yard Lochlan is just coming out through the back door. He hesitates when he sees Caleb and recovers quickly enough to be spared.

Lunch, Bridget?

I've invited Bridget to go for lunch already, but let's make it a threesome. Caleb smiles so smoothly at Loch. I am attempting to simultaneously keep a poker face for the innuendo and watch Lochlan's arm for the inevitable fist thrown when Loch surprises me by making an effort anyway.

Sure. Where are you thinking?

Caleb answers while I continue to wait for the punch to be thrown. Then he drops his arm so I let go and Lochlan picks up my other hand all at once.

Oh, I see. It's going to be one of those really weird days.

At lunch they talk about things I know nothing about while I nibble on prosciutto and the kinds of cheese I still can't actually afford. I text PJ under the table that the day is freaking surreal and he doesn't believe me and wants me to record it all on video when I notice a lull in conversation and look up abruptly.

What?

Lochlan looks a little bit hopeful but completely alarmed at the same time but Caleb has his I'll handle everything expression on. The one we see the most, unless he's wearing his I have to have you now face which they don't see but I do.

I was just offering Lochlan a job.

What?

I bought a company that I want him to run, with your help.

What?

Bridget, are you wearing your hearing aids?

No, why?

Nevermind. Yes, so it's a company and I think it would be fun for you to run it. Together.

We're not interested, Lochlan says, just about cutting him off but not quite.

You haven't even heard my proposal.

I don't need to. The answer is no.

Bridget can speak for hers-

And she'll say no as well. I look at Lochlan but he is staring at Caleb.

Last I heard, you were unemployed again, Pyro.

Then you heard wrong. I've been doing commissions for months. And don't call me that unless you want a taste of your own medicine.

How so?

Oh God. Here it comes. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Pedophile.

But nothing happens. Caleb is staring at his plate, seeking composure. Lochlan's staring at him, eyes blazing, cheeks red, teeth gritted. No composure sought.

Lochlan, stop. He made an offer, that's all.

We don't need his generosity.

We live in his house.

Yes, and someday you'll have to remind me why, Bridget. Lochlan stands up and grabs my coat and pulls me up out of my chair at the same time. Then he reaches into his pocket and throws two fifties on the table and says Thanks for lunch and congrats on your purchase. Too bad the only company you can seem to keep is one you pay for.

***

Two hours later Caleb comes into the kitchen and drops Lochlan's money on the counter where I sit drawing elephants in the water and elephants in the room.

I covered the bill, since I extended the invitation.

He can afford it.

Oh, bullshit, Bridget. How many clients does he have right now? And then what? Lochlan lives from one fifty dollar bill to the next. I'm trying to offer him something more permanent. Something you can have a part in as well. God only knows why everyone is so generous with him when he offers nothing in return.

I look at him. Because everything you offer comes with a catch.

I want both of you to feel comfortable with me. He drops it on the counter in front of me and I watch his allusion spin in a lazy circle before falling flat. We have changed the subject into something dark and unspeakable before it stops reverberating.

No, Caleb.

But you have before-

Very incredibly rarely.

It's a beautiful thing.

And I want it to stay that way.

Bridget. He places his hands on the counter, stretching his shoulders back and down, broadly, almost popping the shirt buttons right off and I need to look away before the gravitational field around him sucks me in. You've got to give a little here. We're all trying to peacefully coexist.

I can't make him do things like that. Don't you even go there.

He does for Ben.

That's different.

All I'm asking is for you to talk to Lochlan.

Don't do this. Not now. Was this all part of the grand plan? Wait until Batman is gone and then start squeezing Lochlan? Or did my tab just go up from the work on the property?

He smiles tightly but still reaches for honesty instead of evil. I'm just trying to make this life a good run for all of us. My apologies for overstepping.

Castles made of sand.

Just on the other side of the big forbidden fence around the perimeter of the backyard is where they began. Holes blasted gently into the cliff all the way to the bottom, and now stairs made out of stone. A railing. A safer way down to the sea, switchbacked into the cliff instead of the near-vertical treacherous path through the rocks before.

And at the bottom, a platform deck and a removable (in case of very bad weather) dock on the deeper side of the property where the big rocks used to be piled up. Where I fell into the sea. Where Caleb's going to moor his next purchase, no doubt in this being a benefit to more than just me as he eyes a sailboat small enough to catch a sunset or two on a calm summer night.

I did expect a whole yacht club to be down there by now, since it took so long, but now I see why it did. I didn't know the path was going to be made and now that it is there, I don't understand why it was never done before. All of this means the children and their friends can now hang out down on the beach without so much difficulty since they are getting older now.

And it means I can go down by myself. Finally! I've already packed a bag with my sketchbook and my music and a pear, as always and I keep the bag on a hook by the patio door, ready to go. I might not be inside so much for a bit. I hope not to be, anyway. :)

Brightly wound (waking up in hell).

Good morning.

It's very sunny out today and I don't know what to do with it, run and hide in the darkest corners, of which there are few anymore since we blew them all up, or venture outside to watch my skin blister and sear in the painful, unnatural light.

It's a subversive kind of day that follows a night like last night.

Early up this morning, propped and prodded against his arm as my head lolled back against his shoulder, shaken and stirred and cajoled out of bed.

I have a surprise for you, he said.

Yet I could not open my eyes.

Come on, sleepydoll. Time to wake up now.

There are stones piled on my eyelashes and concrete poured onto my brain this morning. I open one eye, squinting up into his face. He bends down until we are touching noses and says There you are. He smiles and I notice his teeth are so very white. Or maybe I am still blinded by the night in which the ribbon burned a strip across my temples as I was forbidden to see anything that might surprise me or cause alarm and so I remained behind the fold until now.

Get dressed.

I obey, pulling out a black dress with no less than one hundred buttons, stockings with seams that must be painstakingly straightened once on and my heavy platform shoes. I appear at the door several moments late and he frowns. It's nice out, I thought you would show up in shorts.

I don't have shorts.

Then I can take you shopp-

This is fine. And it is. I freeze while others bake in the sun. Lochlan took all the heat growing up, literally AND figuratively and I got all the cold somehow and I've never figured out how to equalize since. Lochlan would never in a million years say a thing about my clothes. I wish this one would follow suit.

He recovers quickly and asks if I am ready. I nod and he holds out his hand. Oh, I'll be led, I see. Much like I am straight through life, down dead-ends and around blind corners, doubling back and trying a different path. It's a labyrinth but I have no short-term memory to find my way out and so I live within the high walls, running down path after path. They all profess to know the way out, the lot of them and yet if I run long enough through a day I'll discover all of them are still right here. If I found the way out I'd be gone, and you'd never see me again. But that's neither here nor there, and as the lady of the house, I've been given a great and terrible honor today.

I get to inspect the finished dock.

He's built something for me. Finally somebody made something just for me.