My fierce, inebriated sea.

Streets are filled with broken glass
You get buried by the past
Give me just a little taste
Lay this mess to waste
Take me home

My mind is racing take me home
My body's aching so alone
I'll make you want to stay with me
Befriended by the enemy
One more time

Every little thing about this tells me
Nothing out there is ever gonna help me
All these words that I hear spoken
Just promises broken

Looking outside from a window sill
Throw another coin in my wishing well
Never find what you're looking for
Fifteen miles
Your dim light shines from so far away
Your sad smile is all I see when I say-

A year and a half into being married to Cole, Lochlan sent a letter, registered mail from Atlantic City.

Renew your passport and come do this with me. Leave one madness for another.

L.

That was it. Two sentences and his initial along with a hundred dollar bill to get me there. I started packing instead of eating the lunch I had just made for myself. I got on a bus and I went. I was twenty-four years old and I knew enough to pack everything I would need to stay for a while.

I should have packed that lunch. When I arrived Lochlan was busking for cash on the street. He was pulling in three or four hundred dollars a day as long as he began by nine, moved around a lot and kept it up until midnight with very few breaks. The day he started after lunch and finished up early he made forty-two dollars. Eight hundred dollars in he realized how unsustainable it was, and add in the fact that I did not want to pass his hat for fifteen hours a day in the sun, having walked away from a perfectly good job in air-conditioning where I made ten dollars an hour guaranteed. You ain't got nothin' if it isn't guaranteed.

Nights we would have a late dinner in the same dive bar each time and slow dance to the music over the PA. Soul Asylum was big back then, or maybe they just put them on when they saw Loch. His strawberry blonde hair was so long now it was almost straight. He looked like Dave Pirner, but shorter. (Loch is much, much shorter than Dave, as I found out later in life.)

Promises Broken was a favorite song for keeping us in line with each other at this point. I was married, he'd moved on (whatever that means) and we liked to slow dance and talk and daydream to pass the time while we waited to hear about the actual opportunity I had been summoned for, this one in New York with the show. This was not small time carnival anymore, it was full-on freak- and sideshow, be your performance, breathe in a madness of a different sort indeed, day in and day out.

Off we went up the coast. We thought it was legit. It was, in a way. In one way it was a dream life. Nomads. On the road again together. Best life. No rules. In another way it was a muted, corrupted nightmare and we never should have gone back down the road we did. We need rules. We need anchors. We need the security that doesn't exist out there. It isn't safe. It isn't fair. It isn't the same.

We were propositioned regularly. We were offered other jobs, far outside of what we knew, in the seedy underworld of unspoken entertainment and beyond. We saw things small town people shouldn't see, and at night we split a pint of whiskey so as to keep our wits while we slow-danced to that same damned song.

Loch was playing that song this morning and lamenting just a few more poor decisions we (Or I, to be fair) have made since then. Took me two days to find him down on the beach with a guitar, a pick and an untouched sketchbook, no pencils in sight and an empty whiskey bottle bigger than a pint, though I couldn't smell it on his breath when he kissed me. When I checked his body language for cues he caught me and explained that he poured it into the water, that he found what he was looking for and it wasn't in the bottle or the water. It showed up two days late and then heard the song and stood with her arms crossed, fighting off memories that he had no business bringing back to her now.

It's a zero-sum game now, Peanut, he said, and smiled and he tipped the very last drop onto his tongue. And you're not very good at those.

BLTs and lemonade in bed.

How long till I don't feel
Like you're still right here
Reminding me of what is real?

Ben decided to stay home today, one day alone after everyone else returns to the weird subnormal house routines and work schedules we are ruled by. I move to get up and make coffee but he reaches out, wrapping one hand around my thigh, pulling back until I have no choice but to fall back into bed.

Hungry, I protest.

Me too, he says as he climbs over me, pushing my knees apart, pinning me down by the throat with one hand while the other smooths my hair back from my forehead. His eyes meet mine. I can see how hungry he is for myself. The one place I always love to be is right between Ben and his uncontrollable appetite. Only I can't breathe so I pull at his wrist until he releases my neck and wraps his arm around my shoulders instead, lifting me up until I am caught full against him.

Them he brings his full weight down on me. Yes. Yes. Yes. This.

We are climbing together, I don't know where but I just know it's a good place and I never ever want to leave. His teeth gnash against my ear and it hurts. I can hear his ragged breathing, hot against my skin, held when his hands become slick with sweat, sliding down my ribs instead of holding me. It's an exquisite agony and he keeps me there long past any remembrance of food or morning or obligations. Just when I think I can't take any more the waves of euphoria drown me. Just when I think I can no longer move Ben changes one little thing, renewing our collective energies. I can't get enough of him. I reach up to run my fingers through his hair. It's so soft, black glossy waves so thick my fingers get lost and he takes my hand down, kissing the palm, smiling.

Abruptly he pulls us up and turns, leaning back against the pillows, pulling my thighs up over his until I have him straddled. He is now my prisoner but I am not in control as he lifts my hips away and back, over and over until I beg him to stop and then he covers my mouth, pulling me back down, turning over and then once again I don't get to breathe as he starts anew.

I am face down now, nose pressed against the blanket, out of strength. Ben is just getting started and so I brace myself, balling the sheets up in my little fists as if that will help or something.

It doesn't.

Somewhere around lunchtime he asks if I am still hungry.

Yes, I croak weakly and he laughs. Starving.

I'm going to go and make us something. He turns me over as he gets up. He pulls on a t-shirt from last night and his pajama pants from the laundry I never put away yesterday. He turns back at the door and orders,

Don't you go anywhere, little bee. I'm not done with you yet.

I grin. I have no plans. None that involve clothes anyway.

Pie hearts.

This whole month so far has been tough. I'm done with it and ready for September, I think.

Oh, well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me

The song is stuck in my head. I'm hoping it doesn't become an earworm such as What's the Frequency, Kenneth did that persists for years and years but at the same time it's easy enough that if it did, it might not bother me so much. Maybe I'll just listen to it a thousand more times and then it will stop looping within my head. Or maybe not.

It's Ben's fault. He has the CD in his truck and I was a little surprised. It borders on country, no? Ben does not listen to country music. He says that sometimes expectations and pigeonholes are closer in the mirror than they appear and that I mellow him out. That I make everything so much more visceral emotionally and he isn't used to that. That sometimes he feels a little bit lost but then the moment I am beside him he feels home. Or maybe he said whole. I don't know, he has a quiet speaking voice and is sometimes difficult to hear.

I sat and thought about what he said for a helluva long time, I did. I wondered if I should agree, apologize or just pack and get the fuck out after all. Which is sort of what I did when I left with Lochlan.

Ben said he wasn't worried. He knew I was safe. He knew I was okay because I called him four times a day and sent him pictures. I should not have gone but I had to. I couldn't let Lochlan leave alone and I couldn't tour with Ben and yet look at all the rules, all the plans and all the impulsive moments that we strung together to build chaos. Look at this beautiful mess. Look at what we've done and marvel in the fact that any one of us still knows what day it is or can answer a few suggestions when asked what makes us happy.

Oh, yes, please pat me on the back for the hole I have dug is now far deeper than I am tall and a lot darker than I imagined it when I drew it on paper, held up against the glass with paper tape to trace the light.

Leeway.

A tray is placed beside me on the table. Uncovered for my approval, which I give readily. Another test. My default when pressed.

Um....a Monte Cristo and fries, skin on, sherry mayo on the side and a Jack Daniels and Lemonade, double, please. No ice. Thank you.

I just say that to see if he will do it and so far so good. It's been years now and it still works perfectly. The steward turns to leave, apologizing when he realizes Caleb is standing directly behind him.

Caleb looks at the tray and then smiles tightly. I'm surprised you don't order cotton candy or something.

This is not the place for that.

Definitely not. This is a far cry from the camper, isn't it?

Another universe. I say it quietly, redrawing the line.

Point taken. He says it softly, lifting up my glass and using the corner of his towel to wipe down the outside where the cool liquid has clashed with the warm evening. The boat is in dock in its new berth on the water directly below the house instead of over at the yacht club. It's more private so we don't have to take it out to be alone. I watch as the crew disembarks, their work finished and I tug at my wet bikini bottoms. They are too loose and sliding over my hip bones every time I breathe. He watches. It was too cold to swim but I lasted eleven minutes in the water anyway, to be stubborn.

I feel lucky, Bridget.

I let my head loll back against the headrest of the seat and gaze up at him. Do you? Why?

Yes. It could have gone either way and I'm surprised your feelings were as strong as they were.

As strong as they are.

Yes. Surprised and...humbled. Thankful.

Maybe I have a soft heart.

Do you?

No. Can I eat now? The sandwich is still warm but so is my drink now. He isn't touching his own food. I make him nervous. I love being in this position. He asked for a quick swim and dinner on the boat and then I am free to disappear and he and Henry have a boy-movie night planned on board. Henry wanted to rewatch the Dark Knight series. I think Caleb deferred on Batman in favor of Iron Man instead. Henry is fine with that. They'll be making popcorn and pulling down the super-screen which is pretty neat even though it's not quite as big as the theatre in the main house.

If I can keep talking while you eat?

Fill your boots.

Are you going to fill in the blanks on your blog?

Huh?

The events of the past week. Do you plan to write about them?

I don't know. Maybe.

Can I ask that you don't?

No one reads it, Caleb.

I just wish we had some secrets left, princess.

Oh, I think there are lots of those.

Not enough.

You're looking for ground again. Already. Jesus. We're an infinite loop.

Just like you and Lochlan.

I stand up, hiking up the ties on the sides of my bikini bottoms. I'm not really hungry. Save this plate for Henry. I pick up the glass and drink the bourbon in one gulp. It's a small glass, no worries. See you tomorrow. Have fun.

What are you up to tonight?

Ruth's at a friend's for a sleepover so I think a quiet night would be good.

With Ben and Loch?

Yes.

I see.

What? What do you see?

What? Nothing. See you tomorrow.

I call him on his evil and the mirth fades from his eyes. That makes me sad. We made up some ground but it buys such fleeting peace. Damn straight I will write about it, as soon as I sort out how.

Life on the edge.

My phone became nothing more than a camera, my soul nothing more than a sponge, standing three hundred metres out in low tide.

I left my heart there if anyone needs it and I don't plan to be back here for long.

I learned that sketchy wi-fi means the ferry service will lose reservations that I might not have actually had, after all, but that's okay because they'll let you on a different one since you're there anyway. I learned that new food is fun and that Creme Brulee is just as much of a treat as a glass of wine.

I saw that surfing looks terrifying and fun, and I laughed and laughed and did not even swim. I walked. I walked until my legs hurt, and then I walked some more.

I found that my hair, like Jake's, turns completely white after being outside that long.

I noticed Lochlan still burns. (Take that any way you want.)

I discovered that when Caleb shuts up finally, I like him better.

I lost four pounds. I was hardly ever hungry.

I knew Ben could build a campfire, but I didn't know he could build one out of practically nothing and I forget how good woodsmoke smells the next day, filtered through the hoodie I wore the whole time and might burn now.

I discovered that some things change and some things stay the same:



I had an honest-to-goodness do-nothing VACATION.

I bought souvenirs.

And I cried when we left.

No woman no wifi.

Back into Oregon we go, making our way up the coast with big huge plans to meet Ben and the children and have an actual family vacation for the remainder of this week.

Things are better. Things are great. You're not missing me, are you?

Farthest point.

Laundromats in Santa Monica have free wi-fi, and I still have the same problem I had when I was a preteen and would fall asleep on long drives, waking up tremendously carsick.

I've made some headway, however. I managed to get OUT of the camper. But it was a small victory in that I still managed to barf on Loch, who was not all that impressed and then almost barfed himself.

We're doing great, thanks.

Oh. Oregon just ROCKS.

But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering
What you had and what you lost

Road trip, he said. Right now. Pack.

I wanted to ask where or how long but I know better than to ask that when he looks like that.

Yes, Loch. I said instead, and went to get my things.

Fair and square.

Ben's index finger trails across my top lip. He is on his knees in front of me, my wrists caught in his left hand, his right hand silencing my protest. He is frustrated, growing more heavy-handed by the hour in spite of his efforts to stay light. He keeps tightening and then loosening his hold on me as if his very limbs are breathing through the effort. I am held within his heartbeat.

Just once, Bridget. Face your fears and feed your demons? (It's something we tell each other sometimes when one of us hesitates just a little too long. In my case a little too long translates into days.)

The demon gets fed. Far too often. I'm not encouraging him anymore. And Loch won't like it.

Loch doesn't have a say and it changes nothing. Everything's on your terms.

That's when I feel hands on my shoulders and I am pulled backward until I am leaning against Hell. Hell is in a suit vest and matching pants, white shirt with sleeves rolled up, tiebar still fixed in place, tie loosened and bowed over the top of the bar. Caleb's chin presses down on top of my head and Ben's finger slips, his nail scraping my lip just enough to illicit a tiny cry of protest. He stands up and takes a step in toward me, pulling my face up to his for a kiss to make it better. This won't make things better, this makes Satan worse and Lochlan worse and sometimes Ben worse and yet here he is still looking for the tiny domestic thrills wherever he can get them. Still looking to watch. Still looking to bleed out on the inside while he fights and loses the battle to control his whims.

He has a sweet tooth. I am the candy store. Caleb, the sugar daddy. Nothing changes. Not money, not positioning, not the promises he made to Lochlan on a beach ten months ago to cleave their hearts in half and be NICE and not pull my arms apart as if I were a ragdoll and they were the children.

And yet the minute Loch turns his back, Ben steers us all on a collision course with the dark.

Caleb's hand slides up the side of my neck and my goosebumps betray me. I close my eyes. Fucking touch my head and my composure is swallowed whole, never to be seen again. He spins me around to face him, lifting my chin up, asking me what I want.

And I'm such a brat that I open my eyes and say Lochlan.

Just to be as difficult as possible. Just to tell the truth.

This is not the promise I made to Ben. I made it to Cole and Cole's long gone now. But according to Caleb, a promise is a promise, and according to Benjamin, life is short and according to Bridget, tomorrow's going to suck and involve things like Robax platinum and shots of whiskey when no one is looking to calm my frayed nerves and a jeans and a hoodie to hide the marks and I'll walk rather slowly and look no one in the eye and when Lochlan comes home he'll just know because I don't lie very well and he'll blame me anyway because he thinks I engineer my life and if I do then no one has told me how, I'm just along for the ride, be it on a Ferris wheel with all the pretty lights in the night or on the pitch-black rollercoaster, screaming into the dark at a high rate of speed.

Mercy wakes.

Ben is plotting ice cream sundaes and television for a rainy night. I am already asleep on my feet, getting over this stupid flu bug and not getting nearly enough sleep besides.

I fall asleep midway through the bowl, tucked into his arm. I think he ate his spoon but I forget to ask as I turn and walk down the hall toward my dream while he settles in to watch a documentary on Bob Marley. My brain is fried, my synapses firing blind, nerves shot into a target painted black with large circles and holes, clean through.

In my dream, the devil marries me and the ring he puts on my finger is the mood ring he ripped from my finger when I was twelve. In my dream the ring fuses into my bones and becomes a part of me. I put a curse on it so that you can never get away, he whispers, his face turning black in the hollows, stretching long into the dark. His voice drops to a whispery-growl and I shrink away as the thunder rolls and crashes around us.

Blessed are those who mourn! shouts Jacob into the wind, standing at the top of the path under a tree bending dangerously in the high winds. His blonde hair whips against his teeth, lips spread wide into pure joy. You will be comforted! He points down at me and I shrink back against the devil, aligning myself with the dark. The devil wraps his arms around me and I disappear into him, screaming.

He squeezes hard and all of my breath escapes my lungs in a rush. My eyes fly open and it's Ben, his face an inch away from mine, his eyes filled to the brim with concern. He kisses my eyelashes. Just a bad dream, little bee. Just a dream. You're okay. I'm here. Everything's okay. I open my mouth to tell him I'm fine and begin to hyperventilate instead. He holds my attention and counts, one arm holding me close, the other stroking my cheek until I can exhale normally again and then after a few minutes he asks what this nightmare was about. It helps to talk about them, or so they say. I'm still on the fence.

The Beatitudes.

From the bible?

Yes.

Preacher dreams?

Satan was there too.

Which one was scary?

Both.

Ben squeezes me closer against him and presses his lips against my forehead. I hear Bob Marley singing in the background and for once I'm grateful for music that doesn't ask an emotional ransom of me.

Bear sightings #19, 20 and 21 took place on Saturday as we watched a mama and two cubs make their way across a trail late in the afternoon. They moved quickly. Bears get hot too and it was seventeen billion degrees in the shade that day. Even standing in the snow on a mountain.

Get your mind together.

I know, I know
You'll probably scream and cry
That your little world won't let go
But who in your measly little world are trying to prove that
You're made out of gold and can't be sold?

Ben finally got up in time to see Curiosity land on Mars and indulge in a bit of conscious holding of the Princess before he frowned and removed my Agent P gear completely. I thought he would enjoy it but he doesn't want any affectations, no window-dressing right now, no disguises. I wondered for a brief moment if I was going to get to cross #1 off my bucket list and be herded outside to ride around the yard on a motorcycle sans clothing but no, not last night I guess.

I can wait for the motorcycle. In the meantime I will just ride the Rockstar.

Snort.

***

Today is weird. Today every time I stand up my eyes cross and I feel like I'm going head over heels, almost to blackout-stage but just not quite. I have eaten. I did sleep. I helped pass up screws while the ceiling fans were installed in several bedrooms and I felt the sweat trickle down the back of my neck from the time I got out of the shower until the rain began, midafternoon.

I opened every window in the house and relished the cool breeze. I cursed the intense heat because I no longer adore it. It just makes me incredibly cranky and tired and impossible.

Daniel asked if I would pick him up a Utilikilt too since Ben and Loch and several others have them and I said I would and Googled a shop that sells them, in addition to things I had never HEARD of and boy am I ever sheltered. I went back to Daniel with a list of questions as long as my arm and he laughed and then blushed, admitting he could only answer a couple of them, so I went to the walking fairy-boy encyclopedia that is Schuyler and he knew and then I told him he was far too worldly for my Danny. He countered that Ben could have answered any of those questions.

What?

He's worldly, is what I meant.

Well, so am I.

Not like we are, he laughed.

Oh, Schuyler, I've done things that would curl your hair.

Sadly, you think those things give you cred, Bridget.

I need cred now too?

Bucketloads.

Hey, I think I saw something with that name on that website!

So I think I'll keep the unknown unknown for now. It's much more delicious and fun that way, imagining. But this doesn't fix the What-to-wear-when-it's-twelve-thousand-degrees-out question now, does it?

I went back to Daniel and told him to just wear his Speedo and pretend he was going to go swimming or something. Eventually.

Mini-update. It's still 38 degress and my fingerprints melted off two hours ago.

Home safe and sound and wtf is that bruise on your arm and wow you didn't shave or do laundry or possibly shower for eight days straight and Jesus Christ, just sleep now because you haven't and it would have killed you had you stayed out there any longer.

The bruise is where he backed into a piece of equipment.

The laundry because hardly any places had laundry service and when he got to the hotels he was tired. So tired.

I don't think he ate.

I don't think he knew what day was which, honestly and he's stone cold sober and clean and worn the fuck out and maybe too old to do this without a keeper and a hushed, irate call to Duncan confirmed that (because Duncan is still out there) Ben didn't do very well at all and hardly spoke and wouldn't participate past wanting to help with load out and showing up quite surly to everything else.

Okay then.

This is my fault. When pressed Ben would point out he wanted me, that I could fix his mood, his demeanor, his mean. He was angry and difficult and exactly like himself out there and the moment he walked through the door and I threw myself at him wholeheartedly we both knew that yeah, maybe we do need to be together more than we might 'want' to sometimes. He was instantly better, instantly happy, relieved and peaceful. No fake anything, no rage, no hostility. Dalton (who walked in behind him) said he saw the moment when the switch was flipped and it was the exact moment that Ben saw me.

Which is kinda...well, awesome and DOES A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT FOR MY PRINCESS COMPLEX, YOU KNOW.

So there.

He is still sleeping, having had a forty-minute steamy hot shower to wash off the road and the airplane fuel and the homesickness. Sleeping like a baby.

GUESS who just walked through the door?!

That's right.

Ben.

:)

On playing all your cards and I have a big mouth. Or big fingers, I guess.

To keep the flow (is there a flow? Am I cliffhangering again?) I'm just going to point out that I won't be detailing Caleb's latest proposal. He makes one up every time he has a checkup or every time a day ends in y at this point and also at this point both Ben and Lochlan have chosen to ignore them completely. They aren't worried in the least.

Basically his proposals are reward packages. If I leave Ben, I can have x. If I leave both of them, I can have x and y. If I am exclusive to Caleb, I can have..like, the whole alphabet.

But this time he said if I change my mind I can keep it all. I can go back to them. I will have it all and I should do it just to secure our futures. Just because throwing away that sort of offer is absolutely wasteful and selfish. Do it for the children, he said.

Right. Um. No.

That's why this one was so different and open-ended and supposedly ironclad, as he pointed out the day he dropped it on my head. I have also decided to just wait him out. I don't believe there's any sort of threat of removal involved, I don't think he'll walk away, and I don't think things will ever change so maybe it's best to just ride the waves and enjoy the sunsets. He left himself without any breathing room on this one, so maybe there won't be any more at all.

Here's hoping.

Are we caught up now? Oh right, I still haven't told you about August coming back from the East coast with a broken heart nor did I tell you John put in some sort of wacky formal request to move here.

Also! Ben is getting on a plane in mere hours minutes (they're on the plane!) and will fly through the night and half of tomorrow to get back to us because he belongs here, not Out There and Corey? Yes, Corey is still an asshole.

Feel like you're in the loop now? Trust me, nothing's changed.

I want to stay up all night and wait for him but that might be dumb. So I'll go wedge myself back under the fireball so no one can find me. Goodnight.

Advantage.

I woke up suffocating this morning, my face wedged in tightly under Loch's jaw, his elbows pressing into my shoulders, his hands wrapped around my head tightly. Protecting me from his nightmares as we sleep. I forced my arms up through his until I could release his hold and then he turned away, leaving his hand behind, holding mine tightly.

For as analytical and as sensible as Loch is in mixed company, he's still by far the single most affectionate man I have ever met, always within reach or closer. Always ready to spend hours in a hug if that's what I want. Frankly he's destroyed most of the other boys for me, they can't understand how a hug can last for more than a couple minutes at the very most. They don't understand how holding someone can go on for days.

Thank God he isn't them, for no matter how exasperated he gets, his arms remain open every second of every day, asleep or awake. I am grateful for that.

Too.

Ben's coming home on Saturday. That turns five days left into less than two. I can get used to that kind of math and my extreme bristling over his absence has been replaced with relief. His ire at me trying to bury my head in the sand is replaced with relief. There is far too much relief going on around here for two people who literally shared a kiss at the airport and then said Fuck you at the precise same moment.

It's meant to be, clearly.

Also, my gums are bleeding, my bangs are too long already (YES!) and I've cleaned every bathroom on the peninsula except for PJ's because PJ is a slob and we just don't go there. I think he might be nearsighted.

That is all.

Six days left and six days ago.

We both made the call
But it was only my fault
Such a beautiful view with a long way to fall
I was afraid to leave the safety of above
But if it doesn't it's not love

I've grown accustomed to seeing Caleb in what I can only call 'smart casual'- clothing that is not bespoke suits, steamed and pressed within an inch of their lives, delivered every third day by a service because I think a wrinkle might ruin his evil intentions or something. No, smart casual is Caleb in lighter shirts and jeans. Sometimes even in a hoodie and cargo shorts. It's less of a surprise but some outfits are still surprises, like today's black watch plaid pajama bottoms and a tight grey waffleknit t-shirt.

So tight it made one wrinkled line straight across his chest, binding against his biceps and his chest..and hey, what do I know? 32 degrees in the shade and the sun hasn't even come out yet and I need to beat back the fuzzy little cougar inside my head because she's becoming a problem.

So is that shirt. And if I talk about his clothes I can ignore everything else, right?

Like his hair, with the waves sort of messed up in front and the tousled ends and no comb, no forcing it to conform today, more Cole than Caleb, more sweet than sinister, somewhat defeated and open and welcoming and today I took the embrace, even though I knew it wouldn't do either of us any good at all.

The moment his arms closed around me I felt like a deceitful teenager and so I ducked out of his arms, asking instead for the report he promised.

He turned away and said Follow me, walking barefoot into his office, where he dragged a second chair around his desk and placed it next to his. He sat down and indicated I was to sit beside him. I took the chair and waited.

He reached into a drawer and pulled out two files. One was grey and had hospital addresses stamped on the front. The second one was pink, labelled BRIDGET. He opened the hospital one first and then he stopped. I'm sorry for making you wait. I needed time to rest, the headaches have been so bad. He went on to explain the high blood pressure of late, the stress and inability to manage his anxiety.

I'm foundering. The devil doesn't have anxiety, does he? How is that even possible? What stress again? I'm not understanding and he turns so that our knees are touching and I realize he hasn't even shaved today and wow. Beautiful. I see cougaring is some sort of defense mechanism. I wish I could just take a break already.

He continues to explain while I stare at the places where his shoulders turn into his neck and since when was his neck this wide anyway and he's not unaware that I am not exactly paying attention and so after a few minutes of me not replying to direct requests that I confirm what he's telling me he closes the folder and sits back in his chair while I reconcile his visual perfection with his internal imperfections. How can someone that looks like this be so ruined?

Oh, right. That's what they used to say about me, before the black circles under my eyes and the black hole that is my heart swallowed the pretty alive.

I'm not going to die any time soon, Bridget.

Cole did. BOOM. He was dead. Just like that.

Cole was taking things he had no business taking, Bridget. That's what killed him. It forced his heart into overdrive and his heart then gave out. Nothing more.

He took pills for his ADHD. It kept him calm enough to work.

Caleb frowned. The quantities of speed he took moved far beyond his diagnosis, doll.

I know this and I don't want to listen but he keeps talking about how he was forced to choose between watching his brother fail miserably and at least seeing him go out on top.

You could have kept him from that life and instead you made it worse?

My point is that I don't take drugs presently and I'll be swearing off alcohol as well now. My health is paramount. Cole refused to listen to reason and refused to stay clean and he paid the ultimate price.

He wasn't a junkie.

Caleb gets down beside my chair. Bridget, I loved him too, don't you doubt that for a second. But when I realized he wasn't going to change I had to shift my energies to you and the kids. This is what the second folder contains.

What?

Read it.

Can I take it home?

I'd prefer it to stay here. You can come and read it over as many times as you need to.

My hands are shaking when I pick it up. I was so sheltered. They continue to shelter me, Caleb and Batman do. Batman was as aware of this as Caleb and yet he's never said more than a sentence or two to me about Cole though he knows almost as much about him. More proof that I made the right decision sticking close to Caleb while cutting Batman loose.

I read the first few paragraphs and my eyes cross and I put the page down.

I can't do this right now. You want to cash in on his flaws.

Bridget, he takes my hands and places them against his heart. I manage my health. I am doing everything in my power to make sure I'm still around when Henry has children. Hopefully longer than that even. But I accept the fact that I have weaknesses and I need...help.

I can't save you, Caleb.

His eyes well up but harden. Yes, you can.

I need to go now.

Bridget, please. Just stay. Stop dancing around this and take what's yours. I watch you struggle. That's what's killing me.

I'll see you later.

It's ironclad. You'd be a fool to refuse.

I've been a fool all along.

Se7en (head in a box).

I must obey the rules
I must be tame and cool
No staring at the clouds
I must stay on the ground
In clusters of the mice
The smoke is in our eyes
Like babies on display
Like angels in a cage
I must be pure and true
I must contain my views
There must be something else
There must be something good
Far away

Seven days left and Ben has lost his phone already, supposedly putting it down on a table at a cafe and forgetting he didn't put it back in his pocket. We've wiped it from here, we think. Who knows, this is the area of the experts, not me. I just get even less time to speak with him now, publicly and on someone else's phone and so Ben reduces his discussions to nonsense like what he had for dinner and questions about who is at the house today. I lie, he lies and we just keep on counting down the minutes together and separately while the elephant in the room gets bigger and bigger. I swear to God it's inflatable and at some point it's going to burst, leaving bits of grey all over the walls, stuck to my hair, fluttering down like feathers from the sky.

Only it would be red, not grey. Elephant guts. My insides. Lochlan's hair. Pick a shade of red. Red is the color of shame and the color of my blood, the color of my heart and the color of my face when I blush or get very cold.

Or very warm.

Loch is so quiet and gentle right now, you would hardly believe it's the same person. Careful with Peanut-Brittle, they told him when they left. She's not sleeping so well. As if he doesn't know this. Ben's face was full concern when he left, masked with artificial jovial anticipation. Fake. Fakefakefake.

But the last-second hug from him at the airport buckled my damn knees.

You can come with me. He whispered, out of range of the showman.

The road is no place for your family, I reminded him, a direct quote the last time I wanted to go and he refused. I stepped back, bitter and composed, all of it a show of my own.

Our send-off on the weekend ended with a massive Fuck You to each other because when things get tough we both withdraw completely. He refused to stay and I refuse to be loyal. Everyone save for us will reap the benefits of the latest war (they call them Bores. B-wars. Ben versus Bridget. The Bores. Get it? I know. It's not funny at all.)

Lochlan went out of his way to remind Ben that I would be fine, and so he also incurred the wrath of all that is unholy and metal. And oversized. Depending on how ostracized Ben feels when he comes home, we'll just pay for this later and play house for now.

Depending on the day Ben either feels generous or selfish and I never know which, I can't set my watch by it, it just flies up out of nowhere and envelopes everything in darkness to the point where no one knows which end is up. This is one of those times. One of those awful, miserable times where I wonder if he'll even come back and he'll wonder why he stays.

And to add insult Caleb keeps sending me messages and leaving voicemails. He wouldn't dare show his face right this second, I might eat it off in my sudden sparks of tiny, ineffective rage.

Have you thought about our conversation? He wants to know. Fuck you I reply. And sometimes No and I don't plan to. When I'm so moved I just write Later.

In a burning building I would save Ben. All three of them are there and I would focus on the biggest. Save him, save myself. The rest are capable. The rest of them started the fire. The rest of them can burn.

Love how they police each other.

Oh well, then.

Caleb came over and admonished pretty much EVERYONE for dropping the ball. Since I have soothed their broken hearts, hungry bellies and bruised egos, Where is the reciprocation here?, he wondered.

They are suitably chagrined and we're ALL doing a lot better this afternoon.

Especially yours truly.


Also, he remains evil. Just in case you were wondering.

Little monster indeed.

Just stay away from the white light
I'd say your worst side's your best side
I never hurt anyone
I never listen at all

Eight days left and I've reverted back to many of my old behaviors of the late days of 2007. Living in my pajamas. Not getting out of bed at a 'reasonable hour'. Clutching the phone all night while I lie in the dark with my eyes wide open. Loch on a cycle, waking up to gently admonish me to Get some sleep, peanut before drifting off again sitting up only to wake up in alarm and yell at me again, under his breath.

Ben calls first thing in the morning in the time zone he is in. It's very late there, the time zone he is in is so far away. I listen to his voice, holding on to every word, squeezing the life out of the sound of him breathing, panicking when the connection is lost more than once. He reminds me to get a new phone before he goes. He says he loves me. Then I get fifteen seconds to catch up with Duncan and the phone is silent again. He'll call me late afternoon again to say goodnight. He'll sleep just when I miss him most and once again I'll realize I forgot to do a whole host of things because I am busy, watching the minutes tick by on the clock until he is home again.

Eat something, Lochlan orders again as I arrive at the table still in these fucking pajamas. I dutifully pick up a piece of toast and bite a crumb off the corner. It tastes like sand and I drop the toast back on the plate.

It's only a week, someone points out helpfully.

Ten days, I correct automatically without realizing who I'm talking to.

Nothing more is said and I sit in the chair until Lochlan takes the plate away eventually, toast still on it. His hand is on my shoulder, rubbing my back. He reminds me to get dressed. To brush my teeth and smile for the kids. He reminds me repeatedly that Ben isn't dead. That Ben has a job and whole lot of talent that he needs to cultivate that on a regularly basis and I look up at him and nod. I hear that Ben isn't dead but I worry that maybe he is and this is what's it's like without him. The moment anyone leaves the house they die, resurrecting upon their return, coming back to life when I see them.

My brain is operating just fine, thank you, it's my heart that's in full flight-or-er...flight response (RUN!). It's running the show and I can't seem to stage a mutiny to retake control. Maybe that will change? Seven more days after today so there's the week someone mentioned. Then six five four three two airport and I will stand in the private lounge near arrivals and realize I have aged another thousand years, therefore I must be immortal and I'll live forever, which is not something I am interested in in the least.

I'm only interested in next Tuesday, thank you. And until then, yes, I'm going to be impossible, Lochlan.

Deal with it.

Epithets and airports.

Ten days, he said.

I'm fine, I said.

Ten days to go out and wreak havoc, albeit more slowly than he used to, tearing up the stage in a place where they all know enough English to sing along but not enough to understand the meanings of the songs they're singing. Ten days to get a taste of a life he used to have, albeit sober this time around with no women, no drugs, no booze and no all-nighters. Prescription medicine and aftershow Skype calls home each night replace a few forties of poison and a line up of girls.

Shopping for souvenirs for his stepchildren and his friends replaces writing cheques for trashed clubs, hotel rooms and equipment.

Counting days of mayhem is replaced by counting the days until home.

We shouldn't be doing this replaces we should have done this a long time ago.

Payments begin to trickle in again where before the funds sat stagnant and uninspired, earned long ago and still undecided on. What to spend. What to keep. What to invest. What to plan. What to do now that life is so suburbanized beyond what he ever thought he would have. He used to have nightmares about overdosing on the road, dying alone with nothing. Nowhere to call home, no one to call his own and nothing save for the liner notes, some fancy framed records and a Wikipedia entry to tell you who he really was.

That doesn't happen anymore. The nightmares have been replaced with ones involving who is Alpha and who is Omega. And how long before someone snaps and tries to push the Devil off the cliff, bringing a curse down upon our heads that lasts a thousand lifetimes over, dooming us to the purgatory of hell on earth. How long before the Princess explodes, her head a magnificent cocktail of incendiary thoughts and explosive moods that threaten to blow it right off her fucking neck at any given moment and that is why he keeps his hand wrapped around it when he sleeps and who's going to look after that while he's gone and what if the job is easier for someone else and what if the plane goes into the Atlantic and what if the stars don't align and what if he likes it too much to come back and what if, what if, what if?

And none of the above is relevant to you specifically unless you, like Lochlan, ask me why I'm being so awful today and maybe it's because Ben promised he wouldn't go anywhere ever again but then you know, it's only ten days, Bridget and it will be over before you know it and all sorts of half-lies and...placations and crap spewed out and the very last thing I will be to Ben is Yoko Ono and so I nodded and told him he should totally go! And he pointed out that my eyes were far removed from the rest of my enthusiasm and then with equal alarm he assured me that Lochlan would be here. That only Dalton, Duncan and Corey are going with him so I have everyone else but I'd better miss him (Ben, that is) or he would be really sad.

I said I was already sad and I cried as I helped him pack. Best wife ever. He had to switch out to a larger suitcase just for all the misery I lovingly squished in around his things because I ran out of arms to hold it and I've always been told it loves company.

Nine days left.

Furies and spitfires.

I was sleeping and my head was lifted up, cradled in his hand as he leaned over me for a kiss. One small protest was made followed by surrender as I put my arms up around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him down with me and instead I rise up higher. I am the Fleaweight. He wraps his other arm around my waist and kisses me again. A long one. A Goodbye, I'm going kiss that is met by more protest. He can go later. He can not go at all.

A final kiss lands on my forehead and I am passed back into waiting arms. I have not opened my eyes but I feel the rough stubble of a familiar jaw and the loose curls against my ear. I say Ben's name and I hear him as he stops and asks me what I need. I ask him to stay. He crosses the room back to me, taking my face in his hands again as I am turned out for another kiss. I could kiss him all day. I may have before but he had other plans for right now so he turns me back to the warm waiting arms where I will stay until he comes back.

***

When I come outside I am met by Caleb, standing in the driveway beside a car I don't recognize. He is wearing all white and the trunk is open. I hear Sophie call out something about a few more minutes and he winces visibly. I frown. She is clearly putting up with me in a grand and desperate attempt to extract some of the riches from Caleb's wallet safe will heart.

I thought you said there wouldn't be a next time?

That holds. I slept on the couch again. But you don't play tennis, which I love, and she was in town and invited me so rather than wait around for you to roll out of bed or give me an answer to my proposal I'm going to keep living.

Should you be playing tennis? I mean, don't you need to take it easy?

No, I need to have fun. And I found a willing participant.

Then make her a proposal, why don't you?

No, Bridget.

Sophie comes out just then. Also dressed in white. So pulled together I unconsciously try and tuck my bangs (too long AGAIN) behind my ears and just fail and look pulled apart. Which is fitting, really, after two days in bed drinking gin and eating pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I had a micro-vacation and it shows. I'm a mess. The house is a mess. God only knows what the other house looks like.

Bridget.

I smile. I don't even want to greet her. Also I have not brushed my teeth.

We ready? She flashes a different smile at Caleb and he gives her a withering glance. Yes, just a moment. I'll set the alarm.

She hurries off to the car and gets in the drivers seat (mystery solved) and turns her politeness into a scowl I see clearly despite the window tint. Caleb comes bounding down the steps and walks straight over to me, grabbing my elbows and landing a kiss on my temple, which is beginning to erode. My head is going to be lopsided soon unless they start trading off sides instead of always on the right. He ducks his face down against my ear and says It's a good thing I like tennis so much.

I whisper back that he can always go and pug for singles at the club and he laughs. You don't show up at a place like that without someone significant on your arm.

'Significant'?

Some faceless attractive lawyer from out of province.

The lipreader in the car takes note of this and blares the horn a couple of times, waking up my entire household.

She will have no fans left here now. My work is done. :)

A little bit little and covered with stars!

Now, see, I would post but Daniel and Schuy took the kids camping and so I am sort of drunk and in my underwear (Wonderwoman Underoos) watching the opening ceremonies and eating pizza! With Ben and Loch, neither of whom (which?) are drunk but both of which (whom?) are also in their underwear, except that Ben hardly ever wears underwear so he's just um..Ben.

Goodnight. Ha.

I love my room. Party all the time!

The lion's share (apologies to Mr. Baum).

(Sorry for this, but this isn't about what you like, okay?)

One of the things only those close to me know (and now everyone) is how much I despise The Wizard of Oz.

Not the book, the movie. I saw the movie when I was a child and it turned me off ever seeking out the book to see what I missed. It was that bad for me. I didn't like the characters, I didn't enjoy the story, I found it frightening and uncomfortable and weird. The design, the actors, the costumes, the sets, the dialogue, the whole picture just rubbed me wrong.

And it hit home, too. The Cowardly lion wished madly for courage, kind of like me.

I wish I had been braver. I think it's too late.

Northumberland burn.

Through every forest, above the trees
Within my stomach, scraped off my knees
I drink the honey inside your hive
You are the reason I stay alive

I am in my customary indoor thinking-place. It's four-ish in the morning or so, best time for conversation uninterrupted. Best time for truths otherwise obscured by manners and tact. I sit beside the bed on the floor, my head against the mattress, a goblet of red wine sipped so slowly I've been at it for an hour and the glass is still over-full.

He is flat on his back on his bed staring at the ceiling, an icepack wedged against his jaw from where one of those carnival rat punches hit home. He mostly doesn't care about it and was toughing it out when I noticed the swelling and the bruise coming out. He has meetings he can't go into looking like a fucking prizefighter and so I went and made a makeshift coldpack for him, wrapping it in a towel.

He held his arm out as if I would then cuddle with him, having let my guard down already in demonstrating tenderness. I sat on the floor instead and his arm dropped down to rest on my shoulder. I shrug it off and we wait in silence for common ground.

He speaks first, clearing his throat gently after an unsuccessful first try. We have grown so close that this is difficult and it shouldn't be. We owe each other nothing at the end of the day. He bought his proximity to me and I decide the rest.

I- I need a few days, Bridget. Then I'll share everything with you. I just want to unwind right now. No worries, doll. It isn't that bad.

Are you dying?

Most definitely not.

Then just tell me.

It will be shared in conjunction with some other business we need to discuss but I don't feel like talking business right now.

Do I need to do anything?

No. It's on auto-pilot (In-joke. The board runs everything.) You just need to be here.

I can't be 'here'.

I mean stick around.

Where else would I go?

Half the time I think Lochlan's going to smuggle you out in the middle of the night and I'll track you across the country and find you in a camper in Shediac and you'll be welded to something so you'd never have to leave.

He would totally do that. Heh.

And Ben would never know where to look.

But Ben is Now. Loch is Then.

What am I?

I don't know yet.

That makes me profoundly sad. You don't have a place for me. Or maybe it means I'm the Future.

You're not the Future.

You don't know that.

Hell, yes, I do. I gulp down the entire glass of red and brace for the instant headache. He rolls onto his side and frowns at me.

Now why did you do that?

To anesthetize because you cause me pain.

Pain I can also fix. Does this mean you're going to stay for a while?

No, I'm going home. You can call me when you want to talk about your test results.

Bridget, don't be nervous. I just want to have everything together to make the best use of your time.

That's the only thing I have now. Time. I just wait for things. Things happen. I wait for the fallout and then the resolution and then I wait some more. I wait to stop worrying. I wait to be happy. Time is definitely the enemy.

Then what am I? If I'm not past, present or future. What am I?

You? You're the devil. We established this in 1983, remember?

333 (Half evil).

Who claims that no man is an island
While I land up in jeopardy
More distant from you by degrees
I walk this shore in isolation
And at my feet eternity
Tries ever sweeter plans for me

PJ wound me into a tizzy by spending more than a little time trying to convince me to join the Witness Protection Program before Caleb's return. I adopted his low-grade panic until the dreaded message on my phone sent me scrambling downstairs and out the door.

Come

Dutifully I presented myself in the driveway to Caleb, who was standing beside his car, sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets, suitjacket threaded through one arm, carry-on laptop bag at his feet. Mike was standing at ease beside him, hands behind his back, staring at the car. The look on his face was somewhere between disappointment and amusement.

Caleb looked at me and then abruptly (alarmingly even) dismissed Mike. We both watched silently as Mike got back into the Bentley and drove carefully in a loop before leaving the driveway, pausing at the top to wait for the gate. I stopped watching but Caleb continued until the gate slid closed behind the car.

Then he smiled tightly.

What have you done, doll?

My composure fought to stay above ground as I tried to speak clearly and failed. Nothing came out. I hid my face behind my hands. He walked over, dropping his jacket, tearing my hands away.

Why are you afraid!

I hear the Scottish click. Just once and we both turn and there is..well, there's everyone. All of them. On the porch and the steps except for Lochlan, standing three feet behind us, and Ben, three feet behind Loch.

Caleb turns back to me and repeats himself. Why are you afraid? Softened into a question now for the benefit of us all.

I ruined something you care about.

I can fix it, Bridget. Anything can be fixed.

The second click came out almost like clockwork and Caleb must have lost his mind because he charged Lochlan. Charged him. The nerve. He's yelling What the fuck is your problem and Lochlan's shouting outrage over things that simply can't be fixed and they're not talking about cars anymore. Ben pretends to be supremely interested in the direction of the wind when he sees that while Caleb is still much larger and a lot stronger than Loch, he still fights like a girl lawyer. Loch isn't at risk.

After a few moments of them trying to choke each other out we realize that we need to do..something so Ben reaches down and grabs Lochlan by the back of the neck and I surprisingly don't burst out laughing when he comes up still swinging. I would but none of this is funny.

Caleb straightens out his clothes. He is not hurt, don't worry, and he at least has the guts not to storm off.

The car. The fucking car can be fixed, you fucking hot-headed carnival rat.

It was just such a glorious euphemism though! Being able to fix something ruined that someone cares about! Lochlan spits out again, in case anyone needs clarification at this point. Ben still has him held because his arms are still moving, because he will take any excuse at this point and just fight to the death already but there's been too much of that already.

Besides, this is my fault.

I won't drive your car anymore. I'm sorry, Diabhal. I hold out the key and he takes it, keeping my hand in his. I see Lochlan's limbs flinch and twitch but Ben has him good. For as much as Lochlan can charm the universe by virtue of his passion, sometimes he just needs to know when to let things go.

You can drive the car, Babydoll. Just be careful.

I nod and he gives me my hand back. He walks over to Lochlan and strokes his face. Lochlan threatens to ruin him and Ben threatens to let Lochlan go if Caleb torments him. Where was this passion when she needed it, Loch? Caleb asks him and it's as if the wind has gone out of Lochlan's sails. Ben says Caleb's name again as a warning but Caleb regards him wearily.

I'm actually not up to any more arguments, if you don't mind. It's been a long few days and I just need some rest. Maybe later in the week. And he salutes Ben casually, then blows me a kiss and turns away, picking up his bag as he goes. Everyone watches him until he gets to the bottom of the steps and then I realize his medicals. I don't know what his results were and I take off running after him.

He turns and looks over my head, still keeping an eye on Lochlan. He never does look me in the eye. He just says Not now, Dollface and continues up the steps.

Whoops.

Caleb waited until he was away to send Daniel the same proposal concerning Daniel running the newest company he has acquired, the one he offered to Lochlan first. Apparently it's a small graphic design outfit with a stellar clientele and a fabulous reputation. Something solid and yet not overwhelming, because Caleb is very interested in making sure everyone is employed and busy and therefore less prone to get in trouble on such an...hourly basis.

Case in point, he has re-offered me the usual position of playing Pepper Potts to his Tony Stark. This will be the seventh time in fifteen years. Daniel thanked him profusely and turned Caleb down. He prefers to be a kept woman. Me too. I turned Caleb down and promptly found myself in trouble.

I wish I knew how he DOES this.

I..er...um..dented the Porsche.

And it couldn't be a bumper or anything, no, it had to be the passenger door. All along the bottom. I feel sick to my stomach. I'm scrambling to find a body shop that won't rip me off so I can get it fixed after finding out the hard way that none of the boys were willing to take on fixing anything involving German engineering only because it's too...expensive. Which argh.

Add it to the list of things I would change if I had some ten-second rewind chances.

(Jacob would be the first thing. I would have stopped him. I would have never let him go up there. I would have tried harder.)

Apparently now the only things left are to try harder at parallel parking next to tree stumps and learning to be gracious when offered things I actually have no good reason to turn down, because the devil works in mysterious ways, you know.

Three can keep a secret.

Thinking about our younger years
There was only you and me
We were young and wild and free
Now nothing can take you away from me
We've been down that road before
But that's over now
You keep me coming back for more

Baby you're all that I want
When you're lying here in my arms
I'm finding it hard to believe
We're in heaven
And love is all that I need
And I found it there in your heart
It isn't too hard to see
We're in heaven

His voice is low, his eyes veiled. He is vaguely angry at me. Angry at me for spending one entire night telling Caleb things no one else knows and angry at me for calling Batman and giving him false hope for the sake of seeing a movie. Even though Caleb deserved to know certain things first and Batman and I have always seen the Batman movies together by virtue of our own in-jokes. The pyromaniac took offense and he took possession. He leans right in against my ear and claims his time, asking if we can have a quiet weekend dreaming. I pull back and look into his eyes. Suddenly they aren't angry. Suddenly they are darkened pink and lavender skies, bright lights and excited screams, farmer auction callers and carny promises. Burnt popcorn and french fries. Cotton candy still stuck to my lips, my hair, his neck where I kissed the dirt and sweat he wears like a uniform after a full day on site.

Pop radio hits play on a speaker and I am still too small to ride most of the rides without him and so he takes too many breaks to take me on everything I want to experience, my staff bracelet almost falling off by the next morning, stuck to his chest as we sleep in the hundred degree heat of the camper with the smallest stuck-window you ever saw, my mood ring leaving a mark against his face where I held it all night to keep him so close we breathed through each other.

What kind of quiet-dreaming, Locket?

Sleeping in, eating pizza and lazing around on this chair together. He laughs quietly. Lochlan likes to sleep but he also works long hours. He's a huge, impossible study in contradictions, the strictest but most permissive guardian, the most affectionate, hottest, ice-cold lover, the most logical, irrational mind you will ever meet and a thoroughly practical, whimsical soul to back the whole thing up.

Right.

So from that you clearly will beget one fucked-up, completely uptight and proper, impulsive, lackadaisical princess who thrives on sugar, love and bright lights and still can't handle any sort of criticism whatsoever without copious amounts of tears, drama and ridiculousness. I am also supremely punctual and fully insured.

The plan was to never grow up, as long as we could help it. We're mired in the eighties forever, listening to Bryan Adams through a shitty sound system over the general boisterous noise of a hot summer night and a capacity crowd.

It's a deal. But only if we get a Hawaiian pizza too.

One pepperoni is enough, Bridget.

Can we have ice cream after?

Sure. Whatever you want. (see? SEE?)

You worry too much, Locket.

No such thing as too much, peanut. He gives my forehead another bruiser of a kiss and pulls himself out of my embrace to go and see about dinner. I pull the hoodie that he has left behind close around my shoulders. He turns back and smiles. Wish I had a picture.

So take one already.

***

I head inside to change. It's gotten cold out, and Lochlan is taking a while with the pizza. I change into jeans and a thin white lacy sweater with a dark blue cami underneath. I brush my hair, apply a little bit of lip gloss and slip into flat sandals. I frown and kick them off, trading them for my All-stars instead. They match the ones Loch wears almost daily, if he must wear shoes at all. I decide my outfit is complete and go bounding down the stairs, right into Ben's arms. He laughs and squeezes me.

Just the person I was looking for. God, you look so pretty. Let's go for dinner.

I don't blink. Loch's getting a pizza for a picnic on the patio.

Ah, okay.

So grab a hoodie and come out.

Naw, I won't be a third wheel tonight. His voice is light but his eyes are heavy.

Ben, please.

I'll catch you later. Going to go and get a little work done and I'll see you both later. Love you.

If there's a third wheel it isn't you-

Bridget, it's ok. No big deal. I can pull rank whenever I want anyway. I could tell you you can't go. I could tell him to take a break.

I know.

And I really want to do that right now but I won't.

He can handle it.

I wouldn't be able to.

You're not making sense.

Right so let's meet at eleven instead. Go have your picnic and watch the stars and then come down and get me, okay? Eleven. Does that work? He needs you, bee.

I need you though.

He smiles. You have me. At eleven. And he gives me a gentle shove past him to encourage me to go.

I hesitate again, two steps down from him, looking up. Ben acts annoyed, telling me not to be late and I nod and he turns and disappears into our room. The door closes behind him. I turn around to go back downstairs and run smack into Lochlan, who is looking for me. This is becoming a habit, since I can't hear them coming.

Ben won't come down and eat with us.

Ben is Ben. He'll just eat the bed if he gets hungry.

Would you come if he offered you the same thing?

That's exactly what I did, Bridget. I volunteered to be the third wheel he feels like right now because it was the difference between being able to see you in the way that I want to and never seeing you again.

I don't like theses moments where their plans overlap and feelings inevitably get hurt.

Ben is back at the top of the stairs. I wouldn't have kept her from you, Loch.

That's because you're a sick fuck, Benny.

Yeah well, beggars can't be choosers. Let's eat. Ben smiles slightly. He's such a pain.

You two make things very difficult for me. We're supposed to work together. I pout.

We work together just fine. You're the problem, princess. Ben laughs.

I'm going to go see what Andrew's doing for supper.

No, you're not. (This is Lochlan, ordering me around.)

I was kidding!

No, you weren't. (Ben says this, calling me on my bullshit.)

Can we eat now?

Good idea. (this, they say at the same time. They're fucking FREAKS, I tell you. Sharing one woman, and clearly one brain.)

Eleven didn't see any change in my guard. Eleven saw me being led back into the darkness trailing hand to hand to hand. Well-choreographed moonlight, or some semblance thereof.

Clarified (like butter).

In case it wasn't clear (is it ever?), no, Batman isn't going to come back to the fold. I'll take my New Year's Eve check-in calls and keep the emergency number and otherwise be smart enough not to bite off more than I can chew.

Who isn't guilty of doing that from time to time?

Things have also not changed with Caleb. He doesn't gain any ground in knowing the full spectrum of his brother's colors. He doesn't have the upper hand suddenly again, and no, he hasn't said much since our endless conversation. I think I've rattled him good and frankly it was very good for me to get some things out. Secrets are like splinters, they fester, working their way to the surface eventually anyway.

He's traveling to New England this weekend to one of his big spendy private clinics for his usual annual physical and check-up. I keep my fingers crossed and I don't miss him but I do worry. It's a strange feeling to wonder how he is and still attempt to keep him at a safe distance from my thoughts. I'm not sure I'll ever find a way that works that makes everyone happy, so I just work at making sure no one feels left out.

Forty days and forty nights.

I caved first.

Why?

The Dark Knight Rises. Penciled in on my boygenda, which is a small dayplanner on the kitchen counter where I keep track of plans with the boys and the boys' plans and their trips and tours and whatnot and there it was: July 20 TDKR/Batman (only it didn't say Batman, it said his actual given first name which is none of your business) and so I called his cloak and dagger number and I left a brief message asking him if our date was off and I should find a willing replacement to take me to the movies or if we were still on, to go as friends and nothing more?

I never received an answer, he just drove to the house to collect me in the Batmobile (Ha, kidding, he drove his car) and off we went to the theater. He bought me Skittles. We sat way down front and a few people gaped at him but otherwise we were mercifully left alone and I didn't know it was three hours long but gosh, am I ever glad I went because I loved everything except for one little part.

Bane's voice.

I couldn't make out what he said except when he shouted and even then it was a massive struggle so mumble-Bane was sort of ignored in favor of the...epicness of everything else.

I will definitely side with the Justice League because as fun as the Avengers are, Batman and Superman have a tendency to make me cry. I worry about them. I fear for them. They are vulnerable in a way that the slapstick-Ironman and Toonish-Thor are not. I like them more.

I won't give anything away, I will just tell you I cried three times, covered my eyes more than once, and was completely aghast twice at new developments. It was that good.

It was so good, I'd like to go see it again. Right away. As soon as I can. But not with Batman. He brought me back to the house and walked me up to the front door where I automatically invited him to come in for some tea. He refused, standing with his hands in his pockets watching the fountain, shaking his head.

Bridget, if I hadn't pushed-

But you have and you will. And I need to just minimize all of the pushing and shoving right now.

It would be better if I could remain a permanent part of your life.

Better for whom?

Everyone.

Why?

Because Caleb behaves when I'm around.

He's behaving right now.

Only because he's in the doghouse. I know what he did to you. They told me-

Who told you?

Your husband.

Which one?

He laughs out loud. Pyro. Pyro told me. He keeps me looped in.

Godfuckingdamnit. And since when do you call him that?

Stop swearing and be a lady, for chrissake.

Fuck you too. And fuck Lochlan for tattling-

He's smart not to trust Caleb. Caleb is..I don't even know what Caleb is. He's a small fish in a big pond. He is out of his league, and not objective enough to be rational when it comes to you.

And you are? You have it all figured out?

Hey, I didn't bother you. I was gone. I was living. I listened to you and I didn't contact you until you used the number to reach ME.

What have you been doing?

Working, Bridget. Thinking. Living. Reading. I won't perish from a denial of access, don't flatter yourself.

I wouldn't.

Sure you would. You like to know we're all miserable, dying on the inside from a lack of your attention.

Fine. Yes. I like to feel wanted.

You are.

By you?

No.

Liar.

Yes. And you can call me whatever you like, just don't call me Batman anymore.

Why?

There were those who could destroy him, so clearly the shoe no longer fits.

No one can destroy you? Wow. Maybe you are a superhero.

Yes, and you, Bridget, as it turns out, are my kryptonite.

Fine. You're now Superman. That's what I'm going to call you from now on. Congratulations.

By the way, Part II of the Watershed post is up. Right here, in chronological order, the day after Part I, if you are so inclined and not using a feed reader to read my journal.

I'm sorry it doesn't say what you think it might. Cole and Caleb's folks are still alive and savvy enough to visit the internet, I don't intend to make things any harder for them than I already do.

NO VACANCY (full for the summer).

Actually we're not adding one. We're replacing one.

Since Corey's head explodes every time we spend more than four hours in the same location (yeah, love you too, buddy), his time was short-lived and he's uh..I don't know. Gone again. He doesn't say much and so Gage! Came back! (Remember him?) and is going to stay on until about Halloween and possibly beyond so AKA forever and here we go, now. There is no more room at the inn.

The only Gage-specific rule we had to make up was 1. Please, for the love of God, no more alcohol because Gage equals party sometimes and we seem to have run dry on purpose. Well, except for the occasional toast or nightcap. This is a really good thing. Especially for the princess, for if she can't hold her liquor she'll damn well make someone else do it. Or so said Loch, who just..well, he's cranky today. What else is new?

Lochlan has also turned blonde finally. I think it happens overnight each summer. His burn darkens to coffee with cream and his hair takes forever and then suddenly he's all strawberries and rays of sunshine and brown and gold and different and familiar and beautiful.

At least in theory. As long as you don't look directly at him or ask him anything he deems foolish. (Bridget, what the fuck? Go inside. We'll talk about it later.)

Jesus Christ. I can't win.

Fragment (running by the lee). (Part II of II.)

Tell me the bad things first. Don't spare me.

I look up at him sharply. It makes sense. Maybe we need to do this. When I begin to talk I feel Caleb tense around me. As if he is bracing himself for the very worst. As if he is some sort of saint or angel.

And I am succinct and truthful. I speak clearly, not mincing words or softening things. I talk about Cole's flaws. His debilitating flaws. I try not to psychoanalyze him as I talk, I just enumerate everything as if I am dictating a grocery list. I feel really detached suddenly, and I press further back into the crook of Caleb's arm, which has dropped down around my shoulders possessively. His grip hurts slightly. I know he is holding on for dear life, and I keep going.

I find places to stop and hide. Places I shouldn't describe and still I press on. Some of these things I have never said out loud before. Some of these things I will never say again. Even when Jacob asked me, I could not answer. Because I did not want to be seen like that in Jacob's eyes. I didn't want to change the way he looked at me. I didn't want to ruin things because he would have self-destructed sooner, of that I am sure.

When I have gotten all of it out I stop, a worn silence remaining. I am exhausted. I'm surprised that I held it together. Caleb kisses the top of my head too firmly, telling me he's going to make some tea for us. He pushes the blanket back around me tightly and disappears into the kitchen. Six minutes later he returns with a second, smaller tray and I realize I am famished. He slices some bread and cheese and we take a break, saying little, daring each other to stack up the jalapenos and eat them without making a face. He fails. I do not.

When we're done eating he takes both trays back to the kitchen and refills our tea mugs, bringing them back for us to hold while we talk. It's close to four in the morning but the sentry remains outside in the garden unless my eyes are playing tricks on me but I know they're not. He asks a few very blunt, difficult questions that I answer to the best of my ability. He's struggling with this.

This was not what he expected.

This is not what he knew.

This changes things, reversing the Pandora mechanism clicking into place one section over from where we thought we once were.

When we settle back in to our respective positions, he asks for the good. The reward for a hard night. Sing the praises of the one that has just been thoroughly vilified, change tack now, and sail towards a new light, blahblahblah. Find the good, Bridget, and get back to your happy place, hurry-quick, the sun is coming up and the wind is dying down again.

And I give him that reward just as the sun begins to rise. I tell him all the good things and I watch as he panics inwardly, hunting for a place to put everything in a tiny vessel that stows nothing, instead scattering it all over the globe, always leaving the wrong things behind and using precious weight for things of zero consequence. It's a delicate balance and we're always swamped and in peril. We're always sinking. We're always far from shore with no rescue in sight.

Oh and you know what else I loved about him? Even when everything was awful, if he was there, I felt safe. Even when things were bad, he was home and I felt safe. I always felt safe with him, even when I didn't.

I watch as Caleb visibly relaxes, for he knows that power well. It runs in the family.

We stabilize abruptly, stop taking on water, and head toward the shore. I have ceased to make sense when I blurt that out and I realize I can't say anymore, he can't process anymore and we're done for the moment. Maybe we'll pick the conversation up another time. Maybe we'll never talk about this again. It was unceremonious, outwardly unemotional. Yet I can hardly believe the weight that has lifted.

It's time to go home.

In my bare feet I walk carefully across the driveway, slipping into the cool, dank garage just for a moment.

Jake is there, standing in the center of the open room, hands clasped in front of him, eyes closed. I whisper his name and his eyes open. In them is a far greater sorrow than I have ever seen before.

Oh, Bridget, he says.

I close my eyes to protect myself. When I open them again Jake is gone and the garage is empty.

Another time, Preacher. I can't do this right now. I just did something really big and I need to think about Cole for a little bit.

Watershed (Part I of II).

I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you
Where have the times gone, baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?

If Happy Ever After did exist,
I would still be holding you like this
All those fairy tales are full of shit
One more fucking love song, I'll be sick

He made Eggs Benedict and juice for us and sent me home without my shoes at eight this morning. My voice is hoarse from talking. And it's fine because this time I'm not going home in the condition I went home in last month when he summoned me and I went in blind. This time I went in with my own rules and I promised to bring the wrath of God behind me if he broke a single one but he has no intentions of doing that again and so last night I locked the door behind me and turned to face him bravely in the dark.

You're afraid. His blue eyes glint black in the dim light. The hemlocks surrounding the boathouse obscure all starlight from entering through the skylights tonight. I know these rooms by touch. Sort of how I know all the boys by the way their skin feels, their body temperatures. Caleb tends toward the cool side, in spite of the fires of hell he burns within. They don't affect him the way they do me, I guess.

I'm not, I lie.

Again, if you won't be honest this will be difficult for you.

There's that phrase again and it jives perfectly with his evil but not at all with his honesty. I wait without responding. He puts his hands up to my face and I flinch and give myself away. He stares at me in the dark and then abruptly he reaches out and turns on a lamp. Come with me, he says, and takes my hand.

He leads me over to the couch in the center of the room. It faces the television and a wall of windows behind that. It faces the sea. He pushes me down and grabs a blanket off the lower shelf and tucks it around me and then disappears to the pantry, returning with two whiskeys on a tray plus the bottle, a block of cheese and a baguette with a knife sticking out of it, some olives and a tiny bowl of jalapenos, because I love them.

He queued up some music and settled in beside me, his arm up over the back of the couch behind my head as if we were romantic interests. As if we had settled in for a date at home.

He asked me to tell him what I remember about Cole. Not as a form of torture or punishment for my shortcomings, but out of the curiosity of an older brother, now an only child.

And so I did.

And this is not something we have done before.

I am usually moving to fast for them to ask. I don't slow down. I don't sit down. I make my mistakes, I make my corrections and I just keep moving all the time and then the ghosts and the emotions can't catch up to me and most of the time I think that's a pretty good thing. I'm not in therapy. I don't take pills, I just never sit down unless I'm writing so in essence the boys still need to shoot me in the ass with a tranquilizer dart to get me to sleep.

Whiskey works but I cut myself off so maybe low lights and jazz and some snacks help fill everything in and BOOM, I'm down and he opens the Pandora's Box.

If I name the things I remember will I change the future?

No, I don't believe so. Not in this case. Ask me about Jake and I'll still run screaming but for Cole I think I can manage.

He leads. Caleb makes a good counselor. He's a little bit tender, gracious and patient. Attentive. I am pretty sure I'm the only one who sees this side of him. No, I'm completely sure I am.

I begin by answering his simple prodding. He gets up and walks around the room, turning on a few more lamps, making everything cozy. I note that we can now be observed if one were to venture to the lower end of the driveway where the rock wall begins. I am sure that someone is there but I don't want to look, I am too cozy and almost weirdly thankful for a chance to indulge in this.

I am honest. It isn't long before he stops having to prompt me and I just began to talk. Soon he sits back, settling in to listen as I tell him about a man he hardly knew.

Life preservers.

I take the champagne when he brings two glasses out to the railing. Our new tradition, forged in the trenches where someone told the Princess and the Devil to co-parent peacefully.

Here's to the beautiful mother of my son. He holds his glass up. I blush reluctantly and take a sip. This is supposed to be reciprocal but I change the subject.

Cheers. He's an amazing little man.

Caleb takes the compliment anyway, even though he gets little credit for it, since nature is something that scares me to pieces in this case and nurture has had clear sailing for over a decade now.

So, why didn't you write something different on Friday?

What do you m-

I thought you would have talked about Cole, and the six years of him raising Henry as his own, and instead of paying your respect on that day you give life to Lochlan's fantasies instead?

My face turns the color of the envelope peeking out of his shirt pocket. Ashen grey. My first instinct is to throw the champagne in his face and the glass over the railing before storming off. My second instinct is to turn cold and demand that he be ashamed of himself for trying to control my writing. My third instinct is to admit that...

..that I forgot.

I forgot that Friday the thirteenth marked six years since Cole died from the complications of his heart exploding. It was wrapped around me and I broke free and because of that he died.
Six years. Henry turns eleven tomorrow and it seems like so long ago when I was trying to have a birthday for him because he was turning five and that's such a big deal and I couldn't do it because I couldn't feel anything but death. Not a thing.

Ever since we've made a huge effort to separate the two days and now I see why they were all so patient on Friday and I wasn't aware of the date past being so fucking happy it was a hot sunny Friday and that meant two days of no work and everyone being around and I worked steadily toward today's celebrations with only my son (and the living) in mind.

Because it's private and I've decided I will keep him that way. I lie and swallow the rest of my champagne in one huge gulp. It burns my nose and my throat as I watch Caleb's face turn angelic, a sweet smile filling in his cheeks with just the right amount of tears in his eyes and I know I played my part the way it was written for me.

Just like I always do.

He pulls out the envelope and I'm caught so off-guard I take it and open it on the spot. With dismay I see that this invitation is more complicated than most, and that I won't be permitted to be forgetful in the future, because just as I think I might be one step ahead of Caleb, I look up to find he is in front of me, reaching out to push me back a little, just so I constantly have to make up ground. So I never get ahead.

I've decided I am livid with myself when I look up and see the look on his face. We have competing emotions of surprise and disappointment written all over our faces. He takes the envelope out of my hands, replacing it in his pocket without breaking his gaze.

You don't have to accept the invitation, Bridget, but please don't ever lie to me again.

Bear sighting #18 occured late this afternoon when we ventured halfway up the hill to a field where we like to fly kites and walk. He was on the opposite hill having some raspberries and he didn't seem all that perturbed to have company until we laughed a little too loudly and he went booking straight across the field and into the trees below us. For a moment I thought we were going to have to make a break for the road but I wasn't all that worried, he was quite small and mom was nowhere near our side of the meadow. I'm guessing she would have been watching from the line of trees as we infringed on dinner time.

Four star daydream (the replacements).

(This worry is completely unrelated to oh..everything else. But it's here nonetheless and someone who turned out to be completely unqualified told me once that I should write down my worries so that I might let them go. Instead it highlighted them and now they fester and burn.)

Lochlan is in a much better mood today.

He has allowed his brain to melt all over the inside of his skull and he isn't expending much energy on anything other than softly teasing me. He came to find me when he got home from his meeting. It seems weird to see Lochlan going to meetings but that's how he gets paid. He goes off in the one suit he owns (a medium-brown linen that goes well with his red hair) and then comes back and finds me to show me his cheques, direct from Batman, who would rather expend the energy to do absolutely everything in person instead of doing everything the easy way with the technology at hand. Though it seems to me the wealthiest among us share that trait of being so old-fashioned in business. Huh.

Today we sat out front weeding the gardens just because I wanted fifteen minutes of sun to help even out my Neapolitan tan. Loch unbuttoned his shirt three buttons down because he is choking in the heat. The jacket he has already abandoned, tossed overhand to land on the porch railing up above us.

You think you'll have any parts that match any time soon? His eyes are twinkling. He's looking rested, in spite of the unease he carries about living in such close proximity to Caleb. He hasn't touched a drop of alcohol for a little while now as he attempts to find better ways to manage the tension aside from drowning it. He's made some amazing changes. I'm not sure all of them are good so I give him my worried, silent eyes instead of what he is seeking, a gentle comeback.

I pass him back the two cheques he held out to me only after registering a practiced blank expression to conceal my stunned surprise. He is working for far more than I realized and the stakes have just become that much greater with the addition of the extra digits. It's all coming back now.

Don't, Bridgie. It's not the same thing.

I was there, remember? I don't know if you're aligning with the right stars, here, Locket.

The only people I align with are you and Ben and the kids.

Then give up the curse of doing commissions for Batman's contacts.

The money is too good. I'll work the run and when it's over it's over.

He said the exact same thing to me in 1985 and so I wait. He presses his forehead against mine and keeps his eyes locked on me. I try to look anywhere but directly at him but fail. I start to laugh but sob at the same time. Just quietly, just once and he reaches out and pulls me in close.

I'm not doing anything but trying to make a little money while I can, peanut. I'm getting old. It's about time I had a proper savings account. I have a daughter going to college like...tomorrow, it seems. Jesus Christ.

I can give you money.

I don't want the Devil's money.

Then I'll get some from Ben.

No, everything is okay. This will be for us. I'm using Batman, that's all. He's got the connections and maybe Cole knew exactly what he was doing.

Cole got eaten alive by their attention and it went to his head. His ego exploded. He became someone els-

I'm not going to ever be anyone but me. I promise you that. I'm just a loser with a paintbrush.

He said the same thing once.

I'm not Cole, peanut.

He stiffens and I can't breathe, his arms are so tight. I tuck my head under his jaw, wiping my nose on his shirt. You will be.

Never. He whispers it and brings up his hand to hold my head pressed hard against his chest. Not in a million years. Not for anything.

Finding my bearings, he calls it. I love that.

Oh, and since I got rid of Twitter, I suppose you want to know that I am up to bear sighting #17.

She comes to the yard just outside my bedroom window every night around midnight now. The blackberries aren't quite ready yet. She's eaten all the cherries. She ate the garbage that PJ left outside the garage in error, bringing her two cubs out to the driveway with her that night. We were enthralled.

I don't want her to touch the grapes in the vineyard and the orchard doesn't make any apples anymore and so we stare at each other in the dark now, our stomachs growling in unison, our fear of each other keeping us rooted in our respective places.

She is so huge and quiet. I would not stand a chance.

She needs a name.