Boy on fire.

Oh, what a delicate balance I hold today on my rope as one side of the tent features a red-headed nightmare, loathe to embrace the new tenderness of my attempts to care for Satan. Yes, why do we fortify him so that he will become stronger than the rest of us once again?

That's a very good question, Lochlan.

On the other side of the tent rests Mr. Convalescence, who did in fact return to his side of the drive late this morning, and assures me that his medication was simply fucked up and too strong and no, he did not have a heart attack, even though I wondered if I was being protected, jaded in my acceptance of just about everything they ever tell me, keeping my childhood view of the world because it was safer there, for a time.

Caleb is being forthcoming. If anything, had this been more serious he might have proclaimed he could be dead before he turns fifty, thus opening the door for me to hesitate at the center of the tightrope just briefly enough for everyone to gasp with anticipation.

(That was for show, by the way. The redhead never would have let me off the ground if he thought for even a moment that I couldn't pull it off.)

Anyway, the Devil said he is feeling a million times better today (see what he did there? No? Argh.) and isn't that devilish at all right now. He's humbled, grateful and appropriate and I even went ahead and cancelled his upcoming meetings, rescheduling them for next week and I paid his bills listed on the ledger and I made a couple of phone calls on his behalf to explain he would be indisposed at least for next week to people expecting his schedule. I shopped for some groceries for him and cleaned up the boathouse. He was very pleased.

So pleased he put me back on the payroll.

Cue more redheaded indignation right there but really beyond, oh, saving Caleb's life, Lochlan's being a creep about this.  He's conflicted, surprised and shocked by how quickly he jumped in and took over the whole situation as if he does it every day.

He doesn't. He was never a volunteer firefighter with the others. He's never had any first aid training past laughing and telling me that what to do when he burns himself is swear because 'it bloody well hurts' and we all know his ability to Be There in an emergency is staggeringly lacking.

And yet there he was. Making sure Henry doesn't lose any more fathers. Making sure Bridget doesn't lose anything either because it would be too much. Too soon. Again.

So back to my leisurely unpacking of clothes I didn't wear on our break at the farm, waiting for Gage to decide if he is going to stay on past the end of next week, since Halloween was his departure date, planning for upcoming anniversaries and listening to Loch talk about how glad he is that the devil is out of his house, our makeshift circus tent, our sideshow stage, my highwire so far up you can't actually see it until the lights come on.

Your house, Lochlan? 

Oh, the look.

Shiver like a chickadee.

(It seems the only dull moments around here are the ones in which I blink. Also, I'll now be playing the role of Personal Assistant to Satan. Again. Indefinitely as requested. Sorry.)

Caleb's thumb continued to trace my ear for two more songs and then he sort of tapped my face and I looked up at him and he asked for help.

Help because he felt so sick and he didn't know what to do. And it's not like I knew what to do. Just because I'm a mother doesn't make me a general practitioner but it seems as if I'm the expert most of the time on all these things.

He said he felt as if he would throw up and I managed to get him up and was leading him to the bathroom when he fell to his knees in the middle of the hallway, taking me down with him and he threw up on the floor.

The first thing I thought was, so he really is sick and the second thing I thought was OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK. And then I slipped and fell because his weight was incredible on my shoulder and he just kept on dry heaving. He couldn't catch his breath. He was struggling and I just started to scream.

For the record, I have an epic horror-movie-calibre scream.

Loch was the first one there and by now I had Caleb on his side, propped up against me and I'm trying to hold him there. The rest of the boys show up and within moments Caleb has color again. I was sent back to the main house to clean up and I stood in the shower and cried and cried and cried.

And then I couldn't cry anymore and the water got cold and I realized Ben was sitting on the other side of the shower door holding a towel for me. I realized I am paper-thin, water-soaked and torn. Fragile like a little bird with too many choices. Eat? Fly? Hunker down in the nest and ride out the storm? I don't know, for my brain is the size of a pea, my lifespan a whopping two years, if I'm lucky.

Caleb is sleeping now. Here, in the main house because I'm loathe to leave him alone and Henry is worried too but we have assured him that Caleb is okay. It was a reaction to some of the medication they keep changing to try and circumvent the headaches he's been having, which was already a bad reaction to the medication. And the bourbon he keeps drinking, even though he said he wouldn't. He'll be okay. You know, for now. Whatever that means. He's mildly dehydrated and exhausted but I know just what to do for both of those.

He will be livid that I wrote about this at all. I don't think he minds being viewed as evil, but he would never want to be seen as weak. But I had to put it somewhere or I might have exploded from the tension and from the strange turn of events that saw me go over there on a night where normally I would have chosen not to go at all.

Capitu-early, Capitulate.

But I don't know how to leave you
And I'll never let you fall

I found the envelope later than usual. Lying inside the front door on the floor where I would find it easily but no one else would look and I waited and waited forever, past dinner and tea and guitars and a short meeting with Sam and some cuddle-time with Ben and then when they had all drifted away on books, music, film and quiet talk I slipped out across the driveway to the boathouse.

The door was unlocked and I slipped in quietly. No lights on. I wondered if maybe Caleb was out but I passed his car in the drive.

I walk into the living room and I see him. He is lying on the couch, blanket bunched up around him. Not just dozing but deeply asleep. The stereo is on low, abandoned to an easy-rock station singing songs from 1983 that remain seared into my brain for how ridiculously profound they were to me when most people considered them little more than pure drivel.

I sit down on the floor close to his head and reach up one hand to stroke his cheek.

He isn't scary like this.

He isn't aging like this.

His heart is perfect, like this.

It's so incredibly rare to see Caleb sleeping, it's like a gift that helps me not be so afraid of him or so quick to condemn his motives. He can't hurt me when he's sleeping. He can't inflict the damage that leaves scars that last a lifetime when he doesn't even have his eyes open. He can't unnerve me with his insistence that he isn't evil. His unconscious soul poses no threat and in the growing darkness of the unlit room his slumbering form is a comfort to remind me that I won't be alone if I don't want to be. It's a promise of a different sort with a weight that feels different. The three decades between us stretches down a different road and is so much more painful than you could possibly understand from a few recollections on a screen, written at my kitchen table with total and utter disapproval from all sides, lest I get too close to the truth. Once you arrive there, you can never leave again.

I put my head down on the couch beside his chest and close my eyes. With half an ear exposed I can no longer hear the music but my brain is filling in the lyrics with the melody just fine, a skill I continue to work on for the inevitable day when the music stops on the outside and never returns.

Caleb's hand comes down over my hair and his thumb strokes a curved line across my ear while the song swells into the final verse in my skull.

I can make tonight forever
Or I can make it disappear by the dawn
And I can make you every promise that has ever been made
And I can make all your demons be gone

But I'm never gonna make it without you
Do you really want to see me crawl?

He is not asleep after all. Never was.

All technically roses.

Every Saturday morning, early-early when the sun came up and we made lunches with fifteen minutes to spare because there was never enough time to come all the way back out to the lot to eat, I would take the strawberries outside the camper to hull. I sat on the bottom step and carefully used Lochlan's pocket knife to flick the caps into the grass. Every town we left saw a neat little pile of strawberry stems left on the grass. Composting on the run.

Once Lochlan had washed up he would return quickly to me. I slide over so he can make it up the steps around me. He turns to tell me I might be taking off too much of the good stuff. He crouches down to sit on the top step, his legs and arms coming down around me as his hands reached out to guide my fingers with the knife. Like this, Peanut, he would say, and he would curve the knife upward just a little to scoop out just green, leaving behind red and a tiny little bit of white. Then he would let go and watch as I tried to duplicate it and when I had it he would steal a single berry from the bowl between my knees and smash a soft kiss against my ear, saying we should hurry a little, that he would go make the sandwiches.

And I would go back to chopping the tops off straight across because it was so much faster and less dangerous to my fingertips and because I didn't like strawberries the way I do now. I liked apples because I could pick them up off the ground underneath almost any tree, polish them off on the hem of my t-shirt and take a bite right where I stood. A whole one would make me feel full and still I could pick up as many as I could carry back to the trailer any time I wanted, which was actually only late at night when I could hardly keep my eyes open and even the rumblings of my belly didn't lend to wanting to carry anything home other than my body on rubbery legs.

***

We now eat strawberries every single morning because they're a treat. They're still pricey in that decadent way that says you wouldn't pay four dollars a pack for anything else that would only keep for two days and because a whole bag of apples, five pounds at least, is the same price and will go that much further.

Lochlan is in the kitchen at the sink, hulling a big bowlful for the day for everyone, because he has strawberries again after I went away and didn't buy any, and he wouldn't go buy any in some sort of solidarity move to me being away and unable to share his breakfast. When I went to the store yesterday and came home, holding them up victoriously so he would have some comfort he said póg ma thoin (which means kiss my ass) under his breath but loud enough that I caught it and fired back tóg bog é (which was a warning for him to watch himself) and Gage walks in and asks what language again and Lochlan says Romanian and laughs.

Asshole.

I frown at him and tell Gage we like to keep our Gaelic up because nothing says immaturity like a secret language used around everyone else. To me it's akin to walking right past someone to whisper in someone else's ear. Gage said he didn't mind, he's seen enough in-jokes and odd allegiances here to hardly notice. I bet. Lochlan laughs again but it's bitter. He recovers enough to offer Gage some berries and Gage accepts. He's hungry.

In any case, when Ben and I came back midweek, Lochlan was waiting nervously around the front of the house, flicking his lighter, pacing in circles, juggling rocks from the garden and then the tennis balls we throw for the dog. He walked up quickly when we pulled in, opened my door and pulled me out of the truck straight into his arms. Not a hello, not a once-over, not a word, just a crushing blow of a hug that left me breathless and I held him tight as I felt every single ounce of tension rolling out of his limbs in waves. He squeezed tighter and tighter until I saw stars in the daytime and then he let go and shook Ben's hand as if he was greeting a firing squad. Ben pulled him right in and kissed the top of Loch's head and told him he was sorry for staging such an obvious coup but we would talk with Sam maybe and get past the rough parts as a team instead of factioning off. That he made a mistake but that we had been apart for so much of the summer he kind of panicked.

Kind of, he said. Huh.

Lochlan kept his nervous relief in check. He scratched his eyebrow and looked from Ben back to me, nodding. Saying we do need a little more regular help to live this way with such strong personalities in play and so many emotions involved. We all nod. This will take work. They fight for time and we need to fix this and Boom, the switch is flipped back from temperamental, demonstrative back to practical because that's how Lochlan works. No in-between, no balance. Just always getting every bit of usable strawberry or not having any at all.

We are home. I'm sure that's obvious. Eventually I always turn into a pumpkin, for moments as a princess are fleeting and happen in dreams. I can see the glitter washing away, the rivers of water slowly clouding in with streams of dirt, mud caked into the seams of my dress as they become the ribs on the rough skin on a gourd left to rot in a field somewhere.

Ben laughs when I say this but he looks sad because he's frustrated that his charm couldn't override my stubbornness.

Someone should have warned him.

I come in and he's washing dishes again. I frown. That's my job, Jake. You don't need to do those.

I want to, Pigalet. 

Okay but when you wind up with dishpan hands you're not touching me. 

I let you touch me with your hands. 

I wear gloves when I wash pots. But that's not a fair comparison because your hand is so big it covers my whole face. You wouldn't feel mine the same way.

He smiles sadly and then I abruptly realize I have conjured up one of the most bittersweet memories we have.

Sorry, I tell him.

He shakes his head. It's okay, Pigalet. I'm just killing time while you kill everything else.

He presented a blindfold and I balked.

It's morning, I'm so tired and I don't think-

Bridget. Relax. This isn't what you think.

I wait, back against the wall, dress in my arms because I was busy finding all of my things when he walked into the room, impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place.

Would you relax? Please, babydoll? This is a good thing.

He's said that before and it was only ever good for him. Well, that might not be entirely true but I had to be broken in first. And we all know that's never a fun prospect.

We have a flight to catch, Bridget. Your things are already in the car, I had them sent over, and when we land, you will asked to put this on so that our destination remains a surprise until the moment I choose to reveal it to you. No worries, the flight crew is well-versed in discretion.

I have school and work and Cole won't-

Cole has his show. Does he ever have time for you during those? And school can be made up. I've taken care of everything.

You can't take care of my job.

What job?

You quit my job for me?

If you need things, ask me for them.

I need a job. We don't have a lot. We're trying to save for-

Just ask and I will give you what you need.

This has nothing to do with you.

If that were true we wouldn't be here. Now put your dress on. He ties the blindfold around my wrist and turns to leave but then he comes back and holds out his little mobile phone. I don't even know how to use it.

You will have to call Cole to tell him you love him. Some things I can't do on your behalf.

But then last night this happened.

This is not cooperation, Ben, I tell him from the table where I have been ignoring the dinner we made in favor of throwing out desperate half-thought-through ideas in an effort to get him to stop moving long enough to talk to me past the chit-chat of what we should cook or do or fix at any given moment.

(Us, Benjamin. Fix Us.)

He would tell me he's trying and then he'd turn and do something different.

He ignores the comment and instead asks if I want any more mashed potatoes. I look down at my full plate and give in.

Sure. Load me up, I say to his back and roll my eyes.

And I missed the smile and the wind up, and a big ball of mashed potatoes hit me in the face. I was so surprised I ate fully half of what he threw, just by virtue of where it landed and then I burst out laughing and jumped out of my seat, grabbing my plate and chasing him out the front door and down the steps where he inexplicably turned and I ran right into him, dumping my dinner against the front of his shirt.

The plate hit the ground and he's still laughing but he says Go back inside, Bridget, hurry. There's a fucking bear in the driveway. I turned and ran back up the steps and at some point I was too slow or the bear was too close because Ben grabbed me and ran the rest of the way across the front porch and inside where he closed and locked the door. We looked at each other and laughed because we're covered with potatoes. Ben has a green bean balanced at the top of his shirt pocket. When we look outside the bear is licking the plate.

We have not gone back outdoors since. Which is fine by me, because we finally started talking. About bears and elephants and the future, too.

Memories play through while I sleep now and I can't make it stop.

His fingers trailed down my hair, tracing my ears, lips, and chin. Collarbone. Elbows. Fingers. Breasts. I'm breathing shallowly, evenly, flat on my back in the quilts, having invoked my non-slip grip, as they call it, goosebumps on top of goosebumps. He is all eyelashes and desire and yet he's made no move to change position. He finally puts his head down in frustration against my ice-cold skin.

I can't make you warm, Bridget. Why can't I make you warm? 

***

In my dreams Jacob and Ben have squared off in the snow again. Ben is not as strong or as emotional but he has so much more to lose. His pride. His stake in our friendship. His place in my life.

You fight like a girl, Preacher, he laughs and gives Jake a shove. Jake returns the favor with a roundhouse and Ben hits the ice, crumpling like paper, unable to defend. But the smile never leaves his face. Why don't you take some of this enthusiasm out on him? He points into the house where Lochlan sits in the center of the couch, one arm flung out wide, the other flipping the zippo half-strength so he doesn't ignite it, and I am curled up in that open arm, watching a movie from the thirties, parroting the dialogue while he tries not to smile at how I sound in my starlet voice.

Jake looks at the window just long enough to miss Ben's return throw and takes one right on the jaw. He staggers and goes down on one knee and the opposite hand, putting up his other hand in a motion to stop.

I don't need to be able to fight, Benjamin. I only need to know how to love. And that, he points back through the window, is something I don't even think I could begin to challenge.

Dress/Code.

For my next item on my bucket list I want Ben to twist my waves into a funnel shape and then roll me vertically between his hands until my hair fans out like a troll doll.

I never stood by the logic that a bucket list need only be populated with lofty aspirations or magnificent achievements, because I also want to pee-write my name in the snow someday, like the boys can do. I just can't figure out how.

In any case, I did get my clothes back because it's very incredibly stupidly-cold here, as one expects in the Prairies in October. Stupidly stupid cold. When I was finished my motorcycle ride I could have etched a lovely design in the glass doors. I might still have that ability because I haven't warmed up at all and blue lips and rock-hard nipples really isn't a great look for me, in spite of what you might think.

Trust me.

We finally went shopping. Ben is gigantic and we needed groceries that Nolan doesn't keep here, living alone. I think he lives on coffee and instant oatmeal and we tried that and I was okay but Ben ran out of energy quickly. He has new callouses on his hands from splitting wood and sore muscles from working hard after living such a soft life in the studio. He loves this. I think if we didn't have obligations he would stay here forever.

We called home. Spoke with the kids, and all the boys. All is well. They wanted to know how we were doing. Ben ignored the question after I fumbled an answer because we haven't addressed anything past getting the chores up to date and being together.

I made chicken pot pies and tea and we didn't talk, we just ate. I yawned and we went to bed and slept and slept and slept and Ben woke up smiling and I threw my arms around him and he said he liked being alone with me but I had cold skin and he was going to get my clothes for me.

I did not have the heart to point out that my usual heat is from convection from Loch, or that there's an elephant here in the room with us and we haven't fed or walked it yet.

But he does not need to be told these things. He already knows.

She stood in the doorway, the ghost of a smile
Haunting her face like a cheap hotel sign.
Her cold eyes imploring the men in their macs
For the gold in their bags or the knives in their backs.
Stepping up boldly one put out his hand.
He said, "I was just a child then, now I'm only a man.
Do you remember me? How we used to be?
Do you think we should be closer?"

Update.

We found a dirtbike in the barn.

GUESS WHAT HAPPENED NEXT.

Banishing Point.

An hour away from home,
The lights come on.
Standing at the side of the road,
I am in awe.
Amongst the snow and trees,
The freezing cold,
I thrive on each sorrowful note.
For the moment, all is still,
A tranquil pace.
The ease of being stranded,
In this compassionate place
Amongst the snow and trees,
The air is cold and clean,
and for the moment, I am at peace.

I would have helped with the farm chores today. I would have stacked wood and fed and watered the horses and mucked out the stalls and cleaned up the gardens, harvesting the remainder of the pumpkins and squash. I would have gone for a ride maybe to picnic rock and brought a thermos of hot chocolate and maybe we would have gone and bought some groceries since we don't have much here. I would have helped spread manure (yes, me, I can do these things) and I would have washed curtains and done some fall cleaning chores inside while Ben was winterizing the tractor and the trailers into the waning afternoon light today.

I would have done all kinds of things but Ben hid all my clothes.

Bring me the motorcycle.

I need to ride around the yard.

Commitment to purpose.

(We're here. Back on Nolan's farm.)

Just for added effect this morning, Ben drove past the castle and my breath caught in my throat. He looked at me but I pretended to regard it somewhat nonchalantly, pointing out the fact that they still haven't done anything about the windows or the hedge, for that matter and that the whole street looks broken down and tired now, in comparison to the fresh view of a modern Pacific neighborhood where hope lies in every wave on the ocean and in every ray of sun that makes it through the fog to hit land.

I hate it here. Those final three months living here alone did something to me, something on a level with angels and violence and history that permanently altered my psyche.

We hit the highway and drive far outside of town, continuing long past where any sane person would have already turned and gone back, loathe to be out in a rural area at dark. We have a rented truck, and it smells like cigarettes and loneliness, like low-grade depression and contented discontent.

Ben absently tells me to stop writing descriptives in my head and I smile in spite of myself. He is smiling but it's one of those anticipatory, nervous sort of adrenalized almost-hopeful smiles that make me want to scream simply for knowing exactly how he feels.

It wasn't until we pulled into the driveway that I allowed myself even the same smile. There's the woodpile. There's the tire swing. There are the horse trailers.  A little farther down the drive and the grove of trees thins out just a little and then the garage looms and then to the left, the house, a modest, open post-and beam constructed oasis in the deep woods.

Beyond the house is my beloved picnic rock and the creek and the trails and more woods. I jump out of the truck and take a deep breathe and the cold air rushes into my lungs and Ben gets out and pulls our things from behind the seats. We packed light. We have seven nights to fix what is broken. Seven nights to try and reaffirm whatever it is we have that we can't quantify but it's there, it's there like a concrete wall bursting out of the ground and blocking out the sun.

He turns to me and tells me we'll be okay. I nod. 

It isn't until we reach our room and he puts the bags down on the bench behind the door that I see him in that funny dim mid-afternoon, sun-beaming-in-at-knee-level light that the thud abruptly starts up in my chest, my heart hammering a million miles an hour, the tell-tale lurch of a broken organ when I look at Ben that signifies that I am still alive and I still love him in spite of my ability to sabotage everything that's good. In spite of our plans to tear everything apart.

He saw that lurch and the relief flooded into his eyes, further softening them into something beautiful, something I know so well and something I keep throwing away as I chase the past, hoping if I can somehow catch it it might save me from the future.

Miss Universe (Underdogs and overdrive).

Ben came over and rested his chin on the top of my head, standing directly behind me as I looked out the window into the dark. I leaned back against him and he put his arms around me.

Why aren't we packing?

It will only take a half hour or so.

True. Are you looking forward to it at all?

I twist around so I am facing him. Of course I am! Are you?

Yes. Though it's fucking cold there I think. Why else would Nolan leave?

He's not going on a tropical vacation, if that's what you mean.

It was a joke. A very bad one, considering.

Nolan is going to a funeral in Colorado. He needed someone to take care of the property for a week. We need a break and so we were selected to fulfill this duty. The only caveat? Only bring each other.

I was so excited until it sank in, exactly and now I'm not so sure. And he can see that without my pointing it out and we are mostly deluding ourselves here and clearly we really need this trip to sort some things out and then we'll be back for the big First Anniversary parties and whatnot.

But still.

I turn back around and stare out into the night. I count Mintaka, Alnilam and Alnitak.  Betelgeuse. Saiph. That one I never forget. It's the same as safe.

He's not coming, Bridget. You can count all the stars you want but you already had a break with him and I know it wasn't ideal but this is our time now.

I turn back around. I know. 

Maybe we shouldn't go.

We need to go, Ben.

I think we do too. But I have to wonder if I'm delaying the inevitable. Same sky, same place and all that. I've reached a point where it's finally beginning to sink in that I am the first runner up here and he's the fucking beauty queen. 

In spite of myself I burst out laughing and clap both hands over my mouth but it's too late.

You think that's funny?

No. You just never do that. 

Do what?

Make analogies. 

Sometimes the best parts about you rub off on me, Bee, but it's the worst ones that I need to learn to live with. 

Those are the ones you figure out first, not later, Benny. 

What do you mean?

I married you knowing you had issues but I can live with them. 

I have issues, do I?

Tons. 

But you married me anyway. 

Yes. 

Thank God for that, Little Bee. 

But do you? Do you thank Him or do you curse Him for the strife he has brought along with the unanimity?

You know something, Bridget? I have stood by and watched as you have fought to make peace with the dead and the living alike and I watch you struggle and fall down and get up again only to be knocked down and I don't know why you don't let me help you.

So you don't get hurt. 

See, I don't think you'll hurt me. I don't think you could hurt me. 

Oh, Ben, you don't even know what I'm capable of. 

See, that's where you're wrong. Because I've seen it all and I'm STILL HERE.  

Maybe that's a mistake. 

No, that's the only thing that's right. He smiled at me, and his eyes were shining so bright I thought they might explode into a million new constellations but instead they gradually softened back into the warm brown that I know so well and I tried to smile back but it's hard because I don't trust myself. I was raised to be wrong and to be nimble and fickle and old habits are so hard to break it's like they're made of stone.

This world is only going to break your heart.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

He's on a roll presently and I don't know what to do about it short of wait for his intensity to wane. Like it always does. He'll get distracted by bright lights and the remains of the day and forget what he was so focused on.

He was fooling around with the guitar and stole the opportunity, singing a song I haven't heard for a while and my goosebumps rose up and he laughed softly and asked me why I was invoking my no-slip grip when he hadsn't even touched me yet but the song had left me rather speechless, lobotomized and frozen stiff.

Exactly the opposite of the effect he thought it was having.

I shook my head. He further capitalized and kept on singing. And he sang it over and over again, almost five times until on the fifth time Duncan called down the hall for him to Can it already. We get it. 

He put the guitar on the floor and settled back in, pulling me in close, kissing the top of my head.

Just like old times. He whispered.

We couldn't afford a guitar back then, Lochlan. Or a couch. Or a roof that didn't leak, for that matter.

Do you have any good memories of life before obligations? 

There were always obligations, we just had fun fulfilling them so it didn't seem like a burden. 

It was so simple. Everything is so complicated now. 

Only if we let it be that way, but yes, all of my memories are good memories except for the ones that are bad. 

Thanks for clearing that up. 

Anytime. 

Boys.

I took another sip and swallowed very slowly and I watched them over the lid of my chocolate milkshake because Christian said if I went any further in I might wind up in the line of fire.

They've squared off in the center of the field and I'm watching Lochlan stand with his fists clenched, his whole face contorted into the friendliest rage ever. Because he couldn't look scary if he tried but oh, boy is he trying. I kick the toes of my All-Stars into the sides of Christian's feet and ask him to stop them but he said it wouldn't do any good, they've done this at least once a week forever and they've been best friends for such a long time now everyone just waits them out.

But why? 

It doesn't really matter, Bridget. Maybe you should go home. Your mom will be pissed at us if she finds out we let you stick around and watch a fight. 

I've seen fights before. I try to sound non-committal. I try to sound older than eight. Of course I fail. I'm eight years old.

Right, Bridget. Run home. You'll probably see everyone later on our street. Please, go before we get in shit. 

And then Lochlan throws a punch and Caleb wasn't expecting it and down he goes. I find this suddenly fascinating. Caleb is a head taller than Loch and he definitely looks scary when he's mad. I think it's his hair. It's brown and barely wavy and he's got future-movie-star looks happening. Lochlan's red-blond springy curls are going to be his downfall. That's totally what it is. That and the fact that he's the shortest of the boys means I don't expect anyone to take him seriously but for some reason he seems to run the entire neighborhood. Caleb is two years older and resents Loch for that in a way that burns but he doesn't let on to the others. I can tell though. I'm really good at figuring people out already.

Lochlan backs off and lets Caleb stand up again. There is blood on his lip and he wipes it off on the back of his hand. He says a swear word and when he looks up he sees me and points in my direction. I can't hear what he's saying but Christian whispers Thank God under his breath. Lochlan turns and looks at me and shakes his curls and then motions for Caleb to go ahead. I guess the fight is over so I take another sip of my milkshake and wait for them to come to me.

Caleb reaches me first and puts on a softer expression. Sorry you had to see that, Bridget. Everything's okay. Cole snorts from somewhere behind me and Caleb shoots him a look that only a big brother can exact. See you later, he tells me and they leave, walking home or probably anywhere where Lochlan isn't, right now.

Lochlan comes over and the others sort of fall in around him. A natural born leader who doesn't want the role but takes it anyway. He stops directly in front of me and holds out his hand for a sip of my milkshake. It's a test so I pass it to him. He takes a long sip. Then another. I hold his gaze.

You sure don't act like any girls I know, Fidget, he tells me.

I'm not like any girls you know. I'm like no one you've ever met before or will ever meet again. 

Lochlan laughs as he considers my words. I'm going to hold you to that. 

Fine by me. You could have left me some of my own milkshake though. 

We turn and start walking back to our street. How about I buy you another one?

Not right now, I'll puke. 

No, not right now. How about on Saturday afternoon? 

It's a deal. Do you have any money?

Yes, I have money. I help out at the plant. It's not allowed so they pay me in cash. 

Why is it not allowed?

You have to be fifteen to work there. I have another year left to go. 

Where are you going to get a job once you're old enough?

I don't know. 

Well, what do you want to be when you grow up?

I don't care, I just want to make enough money to live a simple life. But it won't be around here. I don't want to be near Caleb.

I thought he was your best friend. 

Well, he is. Lochlan shrugs, I just don't like him and he doesn't like me either. 

That's weird, Lochlan. 

Yeah, I know. 

Planning a perfect day.

A breakfast of eggs Benedict and Vietnamese coffee and then lunch of a toffee mocha and red velvet cupcakes and then dinner consisting of Monte Cristos-the sandwich and the coffee.

And then a horror movie marathon for two.

Hopefully it will be raining, for the added cozy factor and it would be wonderful if I could venture into the movies knowing I would still be awake halfway into the first film and it would be lovely to not have any repercussions to staying up very late, the next day being easy instead of painful from lack of rest.

It would just be amazing.

Don't you think? 

Four.

(Looking at her is like waking up.)

He pauses and then takes a deep breath. Here we go. The memories about Jacob remain so close to your surface and yet nothing about Cole. Still. This summer it will be going on seven years, Bridget.

I know. I say it softly as if that excuses my behavior.

I would like to make a...separate proposal, if you will. I'd like to commission you to write some of the better memories down for me so I can make it into a book with some of his works. 

Is seven years the magic amount of time within which one passes from villain back to hero? I stare at him in sudden total chagrin. Scorn is not permitted.

He looks up sharply. No, I simply want some good memories to help offset everything I know. 

Paint him in the prettiest light possible? 

No, Bridget. Make a record of the times that things were good. The times your love grew instead of the times it was tested. 

I don't know. 

There's a ridiculous advance involved. 

Money doesn't buy me, Caleb. 

I'll do it piecemeal then. He winks and goes back to scrubbing food off the plates in the sink. He spoils me sometimes. He cannot cook and yet today he invites me down to the boat for scotch and bruschetta and we had a little sunshiny picnic, our legs dangling over the side of the wharf. I took off my shoes and then he did too and for all of fifteen seconds we were children again. Well, I was. When I first met Caleb he was sixteen, not a child anymore but barely a man. And now he's on the verge of fifty and just figured out how to chop up a few tomatoes to put on toast, sprinkled with a little bit of basil and a whole lot of absolution.

I drank my scotch in one gulp and waited while it burned the whole way down. At least I was not cold anymore. He frowned and we finished our lunch in silence and then we walked up the path together, I in my bare feet, kicking up dust every time I slid backwards, Caleb's patience tested as he repeatedly put out his arm to stop me from passing him on my way back down.

I offered to help clean up and then I'm out of here.

This amount of money and a guarantee to spend a certain amount of hours doing what you love best will serve to undermine us both, Princess, he winks at me and I pretend I don't see it. The water gushing out of the tap is loud and I unconsciously reach up and turn down my hearing aids until they're almost off. I've promised to wear them until it gets easier.

I don't know why I lie.

If I have memories I'll write about them on my own time, without a deadline. 

Okay, Bridget. I give. You're going to keep refusing all offers of help no matter how well I disguise them, I'll just go back to a cash allowance on a regular basis or direct deposit or something. 

For what? I don't do anything for you. Presently. 

That changes on a dime. Literally. He smiles to himself. I shrug. He is leaving me speechless often these days.

And yes, Bridget, seven years seems like the perfect amount of time for one to turn back into a hero. Especially when it's multiplied by four.

Why aren't you in the garage? 

I like it better out here in the sun.

What if someone sees you? 

Then you'll have all sorts of explaining to do but I think you've been doing it anyway. And they aren't listening anymore because it's growing dark. 

What are you talking about? It's only four o'clock.

I was being analogous.

He is sprawled in the Adirondack chair on the right. The one on the left is empty, waiting for me so I sit in it, falling all the way to the bottom, feet off the concrete. I look at him. He's in his fraying so-pale-blue-they-match-his-eyes jeans and a threadbare rust-colored t-shirt because that's what my brain put him in today. Then I realize what's missing and add a worn plaid flannel shirt in shades of dark blue and grey and now he looks like Jacob should.

I can't give this up. I'm not the crazy one.

He has a flask and he's drinking and the words are pouring out like fire. What's the definition of Adapt, Princess? Changing yourself to suit the conditions. Ben is right, you know. I'm sorry, I listen in. He isn't as dumb as he looks and he seems to only be the one who ever has your best interests at heart. 

Which weighs more, my best interests or my needs?

Are they different? They shouldn't be different, Pigalet, unless you are mistaking your wants for your needs. God will show you the difference. 

God isn't here, Jake. 

Sure he is. But he's a ninja. So you just can't see him. He takes another drink and laughs. I take the flask and erase it and Jake looks disappointed briefly and then sits up and leans forward, elbows on knees, all serious and attentive like he used to do when he was going to talk to me for a long time and a little thrill would run down each of my ears and converge on the back of my neck, lighting up my mind.

God is a Ninja. There's my next book title, Jake. 

Awesome. 

You can ghostwrite it with me.

He frowns. Did you just make a pun at my expense?

I grin ridiculously. Yes. Suddenly I wish he was still here. So badly. When he looks out to sea I re-tie all the knots on the ropes that hold him down to earth, making them even more complicated and tighter than before.

Bridget, that's a waste of effort. It's almost time. 

NO IT ISN'T! I am so fast I'm the ninja now, running up the steps as he makes a grab for me, his hands closing on air.

Ghost protocol.

Of all the nightmares that ever came true,
I think that gravity is you

There's a moment two minutes and thirty-five seconds into Type O negative's live performance of Gravity in which Peter Steele yells "I can see God!"

It remains one of my favorite moments in music, giving me chills.

***

Ben stands by the door and I am all the way across the yard on the other side of the wind. He is not nervous, he likes to play out a lot of rope and I will take my end and run with it until I reach the end and get yanked right off my feet. It is taut between us but I keep pulling. It's low tide and I want to blow kisses to my ghosts while he says it's now time the ghosts went away because we're not going to get anywhere now until we lighten the load enough to actually let the wheels turn.

I love his analogies. They're always about mechanics and physics (Fuck me, I wrote psychic about fifteen times until my brain kicked in right there) and things I know very little about. Last night he launched into this incredibly complex description of how Eddie Van Halen gets his sound and I likened it to when I try to explain to him why I need an eighty-seventh lip gloss (because it's matte, non-sticky and an eighty-first shade of rose red that I don't already have) and while it makes perfect sense to me, I may as well be speaking French to him.

Likewise when he talks about soldering guitar pickups and I have no clue what he means but I figure they are matte, non-sticky pickups in different sounds and it's sort of like lipgloss except he creates music and I create distractions from the wrinkles around my eyes and whatever other flaws are there.

Like the fact that if any more color leaks out of my eyes I'm going to have freaky white irises. They assure me this cannot happen, and I'm all LOOK AT ALL THE RECORDS I CAN BREAK WITH THAT STATEMENT and everyone drifts away again to watch from the edges while I stand in the wind, my hair sticking to my lipgloss, because this one is too sticky.

Maybe Ben can solder pickups over my mouth and I can make music instead of just filling in colors.

May you rot in heaven.

When cold water's on her skin
I can feel how long it's been

New World is on repeat in my ears and the wind finally died down. I stand at the top edge of my world. To my right I hear sirens but there's no road there so I know it's my ears playing tricks on me as they always have.

The sun is so bright. So bright I have squinted my eyes up into tiny half-moons, peering out under my bangs, blinded by the rays. I'm almost wishing for rain at this point. That's cracked but so is the ground beneath my feet. I'm out in the grass at sunup watering the carnations and roses (still going strong) and I'm looking at the faded green grass wondering if it really will come back or if somewhere we went very wrong in letting it go with less watering than we should have done. You can't water a lawn this size, you just can't. On the other hand, it would look better green. So I don't know where I'm going with this.

The raccoons took all the grapes save for a bowlful and that was a disaster. The roses had a blight of some kind and the lilacs are so long over I almost forgot about them. The orchard is a shell game, and no one knows where the prize is. It's a relic, a tree ghost-town, a bark army failing to advance against the salt wind.

I got a lot I gotta do
Just to get through the end of the day
It hardly ever happens
But I go to sleep the same anyway

And you can't believe in yourself
You can't believe in anyone else
So why sit and wait
For the new world to begin

We need to get the snow tires out, I think to myself. Jake would have done it by now. They would already be on my car if he were here, just in case. He would have the shovels out and be ready, even though he would stand here every day and remark how mild the day is, every day like clockwork only his clock is broken now and in the process it fucked up my sense of time. I can't tell anymore whether it's nighttime or daytime or dinnertime or time for sleep until I drop. I can't tell if an hour has passed or a minute.

I can't tell you anything but that's okay today because it's beautiful out. So beautiful I can't even see.

The more they stay the same.

Can I buy a mechanical pencil when we go to town? I am down to a stub, one that Lochlan painstakingly sharpens for me each night with his knife. If it gets dull before he's done his shift I have to wait. Sometimes I forget to ask when I see him and then I can't write or draw at all when I wait for him to come back to the camper. He was late and so tonight was endless.

Sure. It's a good week so far. Unless you blow it all on candy apples. 

I won't do that. 

Yes, you will. 

I promise I won't. I make my eyes very big and I shake my head slowly side to side.

He bursts out laughing. You'd be more convincing without the ring of red sugar on your face, Bridget. He turns stern again. I told you to get a hamburger. You can't live on candy. You're still growing. Do you want to be this tiny when you're older?

The apple was cheaper. Plus it's fruit! Fruit is healthy. I'll grow. At least I hope I will.

Fruit doesn't fill you up. Now your growling belly is going to keep me awake all night. He thinks for a minute. I think I'll run out and get us something now, and I'll get you some pencils at the same time. 

No! It's too late now. Don't go out. 

Growing peanuts have to eat. He says it softly. Just lock the door and don't let anyone in and you don't go out, okay? Besides, it's good practice learning to love the dark. 

I only love it if you're here. 

He thinks for another minute. Okay, let's try this instead. He pulls me over to the bed and we look out the tiny window. See that star there? In Orion's belt?

Mintaka...right?

Good girl! Okay, you keep watch on that star, and so will I and it will be as if we're together. Same sky, same place. And I'll be back in an hour. 

What are we going to eat? Not hamburgers. They're all drippy and greasy and then we'll smell like mustard in our dreams.

Ham sandwiches then? With mayo?

Okay. The good ham with the black edges?

I'll see what I can do. He smiles and crushes a kiss against my hair and then leaves, coming back three times in thirty seconds to make sure the door is locked.

*** 

Purgatory is a track and Jacob is running, running, running circles around me as I stand in the center, whistle around my neck, clipboard in my arms.

You always finish with the same time, I tell him with a frustrated smile as he crosses the finish line for the eight-millionth time.

I'll never get faster or slower. I'll just remain the same. Forever, Bridget. No amount of encouragement or training is going to change this. You KNOW this, Pigalet. But still you make me run. I'd like to go home to the Lord now. 

Not gonna happen. You don't belong there. Go back and do one more lap. Let's see if the headwind will make a difference. I take a bite of my ham sandwich and shake my head at the page of results. The same number on every single line.

Pigalet, you're going to run out of room on that page soon. Then what will you do?

***

You're different with everyone. Don't you see it?

Apparently Wednesdays are for open wounds and gaping holes.

No, I don't see it. If you have something to share then just get it over with. I shovel a grilled black forest ham sandwich onto Lochlan's plate. PJ looks at the plate and then looks at Loch. If Loch decides to pick a fight and then leaves without eating lunch PJ would probably like to reap the benefits while the benefits are still warm.

Oh, now I get why they fight over me. I'm usually still warm.

(I'm kidding. Fuck, cut a girl a little slack. Like I said, it's Wednesday and Wednesdays have become strange days indeed.)

Yeah, well, with me lately you're a fucking goddamned little bratty child who won't listen to a fucking thing.

Except in bed. Then I am the same with all of you, so no one's missing out.

Bridget! Lochlan growls it across the counter at me but if he wants bratty he'll get bratty.

PJ stands up. He's really gunning for that sandwich so he tells Lochlan to watch himself. Lochlan ignores him just like he ignores the plate.

Are you going to eat that? I ask him. Because if you aren't then I think PJ is still hungry

Lochlan frisbees the plate gently down the island to PJ, who puts his hands up in a football-dance sort of victory celebration.

You should eat. You're still growing. I tell Loch.

I'd like to think I was, he says, but like you, I'm stuck in 1983. And gets up and leaves.

BOOM. He's home.

:)

Jumping guns.

And the fear burns away
The sky breathes it in
So why sit and wait
For the new world to begin

The phone rings at 5:30 this morning, 8:30 New York time. I am not awake. I'm not caffeinated. I'm not sure it wasn't some sort of massively vicious prank or, at the very least, a dream.

Jesus fuck, bee, a guy makes a shitty comment and you run with it and now I've given away my life without even knowing it. Is my stuff outside in a smoldering heap in the driveway? 

Who is this? 

Oh my FUCK. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Bridget. I love you. Perfect comeback.

Then why are you all like 'You don't need me.'?

Because you don't. But that's a good thing. We have a healthy relationship, it's just unconventional. Well, except for the fact that I regularly lick you all over but if we were any healthier you'd be whole wheat. 

Then why won't you come home?

I had a meeting that I wanted to go to. And I have a surprise.

What surprise?

You'll just have to see when I get there.

I roll my sleepy eyes toward the ceiling. I don't think I can stand another day without you. When will you be home? 

How does tonight sound? 

Better than good.

Okay so in the meantime? Don't listen to Caleb. Don't listen to anyone. We'll sort it out. We always do. Just don't listen to any of them.

Do I ever?

That's my girl. 

Hi. I hate everybody.

My dreams are all just throwaways
My superstitions lack
I'm just unlucky anyway
All of my cats are black

Don't let the sun pass you by
Don't let it fall from the sky
Don't let the the sunshine pass you by
Don't let the tear fall from your eye

Another morning, another gorgeous heavyweight silk embroidered swing coat, tights and respectable-heeled boots, another attempt to pin my hair up and another attempt by yet another man in a suit to steer my life in a way he sees fit, instead of in the way I want.

(Did I mention I don't know exactly what I want?)

Batman halfheartedly shoots a cuff and checks his watch.You going to bounce around for the rest of your life here? Ben's given you a clear sign. Change is necessary and I don't think he'll come back until he gets something.

What would he prefer, that I overthrow Loch for Caleb?

Well, at least you're not sleeping with Caleb anymore.

Boy, are YOU ever out of the loop.

He stops whatever admonishment he was about to make and just stares at me. I shrug.

So why would Ben stick around at all? Why would he put up with this, Bridget?

We made a family out of what we had and some other arrangements too. We're not perfect.

By far.

Wow. This is a fun breakfast date. Thanks.

Bridget, none of this is normal.

And your point is?

You need to decide what you want and leave everything else behind.

Oh, so what you're saying is, for the past twenty years as long as you were getting some it was great but since that no longer happens I should behave now?

 There's too much at stake now.

The time for stakes has come and gone. I'm just..well, I don't even know what I'm doing now.

Exactly. I can't believe you have sustained this so long. How many at a time?

Okay, so now you're basically asking me if I sleep with all of them?

He looks around and back at me. Yes.

No, I don't do that.

It was an almost visceral sigh of relief that came from his demeanor but I didn't wait around to see what he was going to ask me next.

Pinned.

We're sitting in the sun at a little cafe. At the counter as we were collecting our coffees the server went to great pains to draw layered hearts in the cream, as if we were together. I frowned and Caleb ignored the whole thing but tipped heavily, like he always does. The server was confused and busied himself with the next round of orders, not bothering to try and sort it out. I sit down, draw a jagged line through the heart with a wooden stirrer, and Caleb breaks out in a short laugh.

I need the plane.

I haven't renewed the lease, Bridget. I thought you would remember that when you saw us booking business class. The plane is currently in reserve to someone else. I no longer travel nearly as much as I once did.

Fine, I'll book something myself.

You're not going to New York.

You just finished saying everyone over forty is a grownup here so you don't get to forbid a damned thing.

You don't count.

Wow. If Ben were here you'd be happy to book on my behalf.

Bridget, what is the best way to gain or keep power?

Divide and conquer.

How am I doing?

I turn to watch the boats struggle against the wind in the water. I don't answer him. I could tell him maybe he is responsible but he would deny it. I could tell him to leave all of us alone but he wouldn't. I could lavish praise on him for his evilness but he would doubt my conviction so I use silence instead, the only thing from me that he can't understand one bit.

I want you to remember something, Bridget. Out of all the men you've ever loved, I'm the only one who has never tried to push you away on purpose. The only one. My proposals are for your benefit as well as mine. No more worry, drama or doubt. We work well together. We'd be happy. You would never have to work a day in your life ever again.

I consider this as I sip my broken-hearted, overpriced coffee and I smile to myself when I catch him.

Who said I ever loved you?

You did once.

Was there a loaded gun pointed at my head?

 No, actually. He says it softly. He can't steer the whole conversation anymore and I can see the fire leaving his eyes. He picks up his cup and takes a sip while he surveys the people around us. You don't remember, do you?

No.

That's okay. It's probably a good thing.

Why?

You were loaded, not the weapon.

I watch him as he continues to evade meeting my eyes. Does it count if I'm loaded?

I hope so, Bridget. It's one of the few things that keeps me in line when I want to go very far afield with you.

The Chastening.

Raised voices in the driveway this morning woke me up and I went out on the balcony to see what was going on.

Caleb's home. By himself. Unloading his carry-on and his briefcase from the front of his car. He and Lochlan are trading harsh words but I can't hear what they're saying so I head downstairs and out the front door in my bare feet, Hello Kitty pajama bottoms and Ben's Excelsior t-shirt no match for a frosty, sunny morning.

Go back and get him. How fucking irresponsible can you be? 

Ben is forty-three years old, Loch. I know you're used to babysitting but he made up his own mind and I had to get back.

When is he coming home? 

When he decides, I suppose. You'll have to ask him. 

Did you remind him that he has responsibilities here? 

What exactly? Playing second fiddle in the family band isn't exactly Ben's forte. 

He needs to be here for her! Lochlan points at me. I have made my way to the end of the walkway and I wait there. Lochlan didn't even turn around and he knew I was there.

Caleb puts his briefcase down and a little bit of evil leaks from his expression. He tilts his head. I would have thought you'd be thrilled he's staying longer than anticipated. It gives you more time to spend playing with your doll without the constant reminder of how badly you fucked everything up and how you'll never EVER have her the way you want.

My mouth falls open.

Stop it! I walk right past Loch and confront Caleb. Why didn't he come back with you? 

He didn't say. But he seems together, if that's what you are worried about. 

Together? That doesn't mean anything. Why would you come back without him?

Like I told Pyro. Ben is an adult. Plus he has all kinds of work he can do down there.

I need him here. 

Lochlan's talking on top of me. He should be here for Bridget.

BUT YOU'RE HERE! Caleb roars at Lochlan. It's really odd that you want him back here for Bridget. Makes me see exactly how difficult a time you have with being responsible for her. Maybe Ben is giving you a chance to show off your true colors once and for all. Then she'll understand for herself that you're completely incapable of doing much more than mindless entertaining. In this kingdom, you have defined yourself as the court jester. Dismissible. Forgettable. Temporary. 

Lochlan is stunned into total silence. So am I. We look at each other and then back at Caleb, who won't shut up suddenly. He hasn't said this much in one breath since forever.

Maybe Ben's giving you both a little tough love. He made a fatal mistake bringing you on board. He only did it because he thought it would make her happy but it's backfiring. And Bridget is as stubborn as she is beautiful and prefers to pretend that since she can't actually see our flaws that we must not have any. Maybe Ben's going to shine a light on all of that now and come out the victor. At least that's what I would be doing if I were him.

What if he bets wrong? Lochlan's eyes are smiling but his face isn't. What if I can pull this off and there's nothing for him to come back to? Lochlan's a betting man. Always was, always will be. He got that from the fair. I will bet on nothing of significance only, I got that from the fair too. It's not worth it. We lost too much.

Loch, in the forty years we have known each other, you haven't been able to sufficiently take care of anything, least of all Bridget. Not a career, not a home, not a pet and suddenly you find yourself with a wife and child and you are so ill-prepared I don't doubt for a second that you are the one being taken care of here, instead of them. You show your true colors every time, Brother. Every single fucking time. 

Frustrating.

I just have a couple more meetings I want to stay in town for. 

How long, Ben?

I don't know yet, Bee. 

Is Caleb there? 

Not right now. He went out somewhere for dinner. He knows everybody. It's weird. 

Yeah, it is weird. How are you doing?

I'll call you in the morning. You okay? Do you need anything?

Yeah. I need you. 

If I thought that was true I would be there right now. 

Straight to voicemail.

Well, this is humiliating but after waiting forty extra hours I really don't fucking care.

She swings a string of pearls on the corner
The streelight reflects the light on the water
The string, it snaps and the pearls go sailing
And they splash and bounce and roll cross the wet street

It's difficult to be the messenger, knowing I'll be shot for sheer lack of information, knowing I am already dead.

PJ can't process my news. What do you mean you don't know when he'll be home, Bridget?

He didn't say. 

August's turn. But did you ask? 

Yes, of course. He didn't even acknowledge the question. It was a twenty-second call.

Ask Caleb. This, from Dalton.

He hasn't responded to anything yet.

Is Ben okay? Gage is uninformed and curious. Curious = caring, that's good.

I heard from him late last night. Daniel speaks up. He asked me to pick up some strings and cables before he gets back. He asked if you were okay. He didn't let on anything was weird. Sounded fine. Tired but fine.

Maybe he's just distracted. You know he gets when he's there. Like a kid who's had too much sugar and-

Bridget, He knows you don't like it when he's away. Andrew is frowning at me.

Remember when he went out to do the shows and hardly called? He's always been like this. I'm sure he's fine.

Want me to go fetch them? Duncan stands up, as if flying to New York will take half an hour instead of half a day. It was supposed to be a thirty-hour trip and still nothing.

I shake my head. Just keep trying him.

Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies.

Get a little bit higher,
So we can fall til we bleed
Push a little bit harder
Pull me into the speed
So tell me can you feel this?
Come into my dream
Are you ready to awaken?
Are you ready to feed?
Cause I need to feel
Yeah, I need to say
I must confess, I’m addicted to this
Shove your kiss straight through my chest

Midnight came and went and I was still seeing everything through a spin. He walked me backwards up the stairs and down the hall, his arm around my waist, my feet hardly touching the ground as I held his face in my hands, stealing kisses he didn't seem to want to spend.

Sleepytimes, Bridget. (I'm not the only one who's fucked.)

No. Stubborn girl that I am, I bite his lip hard. He responds in so many ways I don't know what to touch first so I simply go for broke. Everything.

Wait. He says it into my mouth as he turns the knob and in we go. Pitch black, full dark. Our senses recalibrate and launch into overdrive, touch taking center stage. He closes the door and backs me up against it, lifting my dress up over my hips, hands sliding everywhere, our foreheads pressed together as we fight to breathe the little air that remains that hasn't polluted our judgement all to hell.

He tries again. You need to go to bed.

I need you. I try to slide down to the floor in front of him but he grabs my throat, holding me up. He resumes his efforts to take me out of my dress, kissing down my shoulder, pinning me with his torso as I grind against him, fighting my way back out.

I always lose.

He hooks his hands under my knees and slides me up the door and that's it, I can't fight anymore. Now I just hold on very hard as the ceiling comes closer still and then slides away. He smiles into a kiss and stops, pinning me between his body and the wall before resuming, slower than slow. I can feel him trembling and it drives me over the edge.

He has other plans, and lowers us to the floor. His hand comes back up to cradle my face as his other hand finds a purchase on the back of my thigh. He drops all of his weight on me, pulling me up into his rhythm until I forget everything else. The floor has no give, it makes everything hurt in the best way possible but he is not happy with it and so he pulls me up over his knees and sits on the floor, lifting me in his arms, dropping me back down hard, my breathing confined to a small space just underneath his chin. I hold on as hard as I can and we make our return trip to outer space, ending just as I think I can't do this anymore.

He smiles and smothers my face with more kisses. Gentle ones now instead of the ones that sting, ones that bruise. He tells me to hold on tight and he gets up, holding me in his arms and throws me on the bed, climbing on after me, over me, bringing the sheets and blankets up with him, settling in with his arms around me, landing another good kiss on my forehead as my shoulders and hips begin to burn from scraping into the carpet. I ask him how his knees are and he says they fucking hurt so bad but I don't care, no, I don't care about anything right now except for you. 

I am so tired now I can no longer outrun the tequila and it catches up with me and turns my lights out, blurring my motives, blurting out confirmations I had no intentions of making. Me neither.

***

Late this morning I make my way downstairs quietly, gingerly, mildly headachily. Loch is at the table alone eating toast. He asks me how I'm doing and then winces as he gets up to hug me. His knees are fucked, bleeding, shredded. Lochlan, we need to look after that. 

Yeah. What about you?

Just slightly burned all over my whole backside, no blood though. 

He makes a small grateful smile at that and leads the way down the hall into the bathroom so I can grab the first aid kit.

Funny how the tides have turned and now I'm the one looking after you, I joke but when I look up the clouds have passed in front of the sun in his eyes and he isn't smiling anymore.

Yeah, funny, isn't it? He corrects his expression but it's too late. I don't know what to make of it so I just load it up with iodine and gauze, taping it well but ensuring he has some range of movement. It's the same way I treat all mortal wounds for the two of us, just like he taught me to do: clean it, cover it, and wait for things to get better.

Brought to you by the Sam and Matt show. Now with tequila!

A postcard came in the mail with information from Starbucks on how my free drink entitlements would be put on the card, instead of having to have a drink postcard by itself. Um, oops. I tossed the card when it ran out like eight months ago. I'm not very good at city life, I'm afraid. Spent it all on brownies for Henry anyway.

***

I'm perusing designer (sorry, artisan) cheese in the grocery store when I'm suddenly acutely aware there is someone standing close by and talking and yet no one else is around. Assuming it's Caleb again I ignore him completely this time until the basket is lifted out of my hand and Lochlan puts packs of chicken and some green peppers in as he takes the load. I pull out my earphones and smile at him just in time to hear him decline a dinner invitation from some total stranger on my behalf because, as the stranger can see, I already have plans for dinner. Lochlan is gracious and annoyed at the same time and I don't even have a sweet clue what's going on.

Running errands has become akin to dodging the Casual Encounters page on Craigslist. I swear to God, I had no idea everybody in West Vancouver was so desperate.

I live with some of them.

***

Sam and Matt are so incredibly sweet and hot together that they have become my new television, on twenty-four hours a day, commercial-free. The romance channel. Also worth noting, we are watching Revolution on Monday nights now. It's very good and I love it. I wish it was commercial-free but I don't get the whole PVR thing and so whatever. I'm not going to spend more money on a fourth cable box for one tv show. I'm just happy there's finally something on worth watching.

***

I have an iPhone. Clearly the apocalypse is upon us. Who KNEW!? I was the very last holdout after that drunken fiasco in which I dropped the 3G and shattered it (also TEQUILA). This time they gave me one made of ALL GLASS.

I know. What are they thinking!

They were tired! Of hearing me complain! Because I dropped (!) my Nexus S in the water twice (Okay, no I didn't. I FELL IN THE CREEK on a hike and it flew out of my hoodie pocket and then three days later it slipped into a full mug of tea with honey and yeah...it was never the same and very finicky so when the boys went to get their iPhone 5s I was gifted a gently-loved 4.

I will love it hard, I promise. First thing I got for it? A slide-out bluetooth keyboard case! Huzzah!!

I really had no idea I kill nice phones along with husbands. NEW TALENT.

***

No, I'm not going to fucking Meet the Teacher night. I know all the teachers.

***

Wherrrrrrrrre is the food replicator already? I have to make dinner. Blah. Too tired.

***

Musically we're fucked. I was listening to In this Moment, Caleb has Testament on (10...9...8...7...6....6....6....hahahahahaha, how fitting) and PJ was sporting something called Orange Goblin and then Lochlan has Apocalyptica in his headphones and Gage has Evans Blue on and Jesus, Mary and...August? well, he's got...James Taylor on in there. I can hear it. I know his secrets.

***

Yes, I'm drunk! Wednesday at 4. New record! Not my fault. Matt has been mixing drinks all afternoon and apparently none of us can resist him, even though only what, four of us can partake at this point.

Good thing, that.

Drive-by Lochlanisms.

So..Frankenweenie is allowed to use forbidden words and the rest of us are still relegated to calling dead-end streets 'unturnaroundables'?

Yes. 

Relief, in Ben-form. Wiseass.

Down through my lashes today, down down down to the bottom of the sea where the plaques bolt into the rocks and the waves pound the letters away slowly.

I'm still not allowed here on the edge by myself but I'm not by myself today. Ben is here with his smile turned upside-down, raw silence on the stereo and his hands in his pockets instead of at-the-ready.

Luckily I am tired and worn to smithereens, mentally empty and not a flight risk today.

So Caleb broke your soul, Cole, your body, Loch broke your heart and Jake your head. What's left for me to have a go at? He says it softly but we haven't looked at each other in a while. I can hardly hear him.

My future. I turn and gaze at him, my back to the ledge.

He looks up. We're already driving that into the ground here, little bee.

I nod and swing my arms out wide and my whole body pivots and corrects.

Come away from there, Jesus, please. He reaches out and takes my arm, pulling me in closer, away from the bluff, out of the wind that threatens to smash me on the bronze markers. He keeps talking.

What if maybe they only temporarily wounded those parts of you? Since physically you're okay right now, except for this stupid cold. And your heart is still beating, not broken completely. You're here on earth so your soul is intact. And your head is sort-of okay. Well, maybe not okay but some days are good. I don't think your mind is broken or you'd be in the corner drooling and staring at the static on a TV screen.

So everything's fine then. Perfect, I'm still breathing, I can function moderately well and I hate white noise so tell me, Ben, what the fuck does all this MEAN, then?

It means you're...He is trying to stifle a laugh and I"m going to smack him. It means you're emo.

Wow. Yup. That's it. I'm emo. I was waiting for someone to clue in.

Sorry, I'm a bit slow. He taps his head.

Yup. You took forever, for crying out loud. I roll my eyes and climb down off the rock wall, headed toward the house.

Jesus, Bridget, I was only kidding. You smiled! You thought it was funny!

My broken heart is not funny!

WOUNDED!

Fine, wounded. Lying on the battlefield, bleeding out. Great, my death is now fucking Groundhog Day to be repeated every twenty-four hours.

So should I wait until you actually die today before we....

BENJAMIN! GROSS!

Only for me. You won't even know what's happening. You'll be dead.

I think that's illegal.

Only if I'm caught.

Inverse (two months later).

(Go back and read yesterday's post. Then read this one. Now tell me which way is up. Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say.)

Fortune brings me around for a respite when Cole and Caleb decide to go together on a rare outing to an art show, leaving me home alone. I have a cold from running around in those non-waterproof thigh-high boots for weeks on end. I am run-down and feverish and thrilled to have a day to myself. I promptly change into jeans and a worn t-shirt with a warm hoodie over that and my All-Stars. I take the bus into the city and I knock on Lochlan's door precisely at two.

He is not attentive or chivalrous. He takes a drag from his cigarette, pushes his glasses back up his nose and turns away from me, walking back inside. His apartment is three rooms and not luxurious in the least but neat and clean and..useful. The door opens into a half-hallway and the couch is along that wall, desk to my immediate right, small dining room table in the open space in front of the desk, TV unused in between, then on two walls there are cupboards that mostly construct a tiny kitchen. At the end of this open area there's a door on the left that leads to another micro-hallway with doors to his bedroom and the bathroom. I follow him in, closing the door myself. He puts out his cigarette and frowns at me.

How are you? He waits exactly five-tenths of a second and then says You know what? Nevermind. I can see for myself (Only it comes out meself). He pulls my collar down and sees marks. Who's responsible?

I shake my head.

The new guy? What the fuck's his name again?

Loch! Stop it.

I can't trust you with any of them,  it seems. You have a new best friend? Just like that.  How does that even happen?

He's just a friend. And don't you think things happen for a reason?

What things? No, they don't. There's no such thing as fate. There's plans and there's coincidence, nothing more.

What about magic, Loch?

Not the same thing, peanut. Magic, well, that's what you and I had.

He pulls me forward into his arms until my face is wedged under his chin, against his throat, his hand smoothing my hair down, his breath hot on my head. He leads me over to the bed and pushes me down gently, in the middle of a kiss. He unzips my hoodie and pulls my arms out gently and smells my hair. You smell so good, Bridget. He admires his girl before he breaks her heart into so many pieces we never did find them all. We never will.

I love you for everything you ever took from me
I love the way you dominate and you violate me
I love you for every time you gave up on me
I love you for the way you look when you lie to me
I love you for never believing in what I say
I love you for never once giving me my way
I love you for never delivering me from pain
I love you for always driving me insane

Hours later I feel rejuvenated and alive. I sit up and he pulls me back down, threading my hair through his fingers, pulling it away from my face as I gaze into his eyes. Lochlan kisses me and it means everything. He reminds me that I am to watch myself around the brothers Grimm and the new guy too and he lets go gently, pushing me away. I protest but he does not notice, too busy looking through his wallet. He takes out a stack of bills and gives them to me and kisses my shoulder. Hide those away in case you ever need them and stay here and get some sleep. You have a fever, he orders, I have to work but I want to make you dinner later tonight. He slips back into his clothes, grabs his backpack and heads out the door.

I carefully fold the bills and tuck them into his night table drawer for him to find some other time. I snuggle back into the blankets, falling asleep in the light scattered across the bed in the late afternoon, the late-fall sun still persisting through the turned leaves, delirium clouding my dreams.

1998 (twenty years in.)

It's fall. Boom. Equinox. Leaves. Color. Summer's end. She left in the night without saying goodbye probably weeks ago and I got up this morning and pulled on a clingy black knit dress, black stockings with seams that have to be stick-straight or they make people dizzy and my thigh-high boots that make it hard to bend my knees. Huh. I'll have to fix that soon enough, since it seems I'm on my knees more often than not. I spent the whole day breaking in the boots before midafternoon when I arrived at his front door.

Come inside.

I obey and cross the threshold. I wait near him until he has closed and locked the door and then he takes my hand and leads me down the hall.

How is he?

He's fine. Working hard. 

Do you need anything, Bridget? 

No, I say it softly. Yes, I need something, Diabhal. I need escape. I need protection from your brother, I need you to not pretend to believe me when I tell you Cole is just too busy for me because that's not what this is at all and I wish you would set me free and I'd also like you to know I'm only here because I'm trying to double-cross you, and failing miserably besides.

Who is he?

Who is who?

The new friend you've been spending time with. Wow, someone's fast.

He's nice. Taking his masters. More of an acquaintance than a friend. I just met him and had to give him back a jacket he lent to me. He's harmless.

You don't think things happen for a reason, Bridget?

Which things? I am eager for him to note the difference. Instead he throws me down on the duvet and pulls off my boots. He admires how straight I put on my stockings before he rips them to shreds and he admires his girl before he breaks her soul in so many pieces we never did find them all. We never will.

I’m the one that you need and fear
Now that you’re hooked, it’s all becoming clear
That all your judgments that you placed on me
Was a reflection of discovery
So maybe next time when you cast your stones
From the shadows of the dark unknown
You will crawl up from your hiding place
Take a look in the mirror
See the truth in your face

So how can this be?
You’re praying to me
There’s a look in your eyes,
I know just what that means
I can be, I can be your everything
I can be your whore
I am the dirt you created
I am your sinner
I am your whore
But let me tell you something baby
You love me for everything you hate me for

Hours later when my hands are so sore I can't lace my boots properly, he pulls my hair until my head tips way back and I let my eyes take their time to land back in line with his and he kisses me once more as if it means anything and he reminds me that I am to watch myself around new people and he lets go roughly, pushing my head away. I bite my tongue when my head snaps forward hard and open my mouth in surprise. He does not notice, too busy looking through his wallet. He takes out a piece of paper and removes a pen from his breast pocket and scrawls something on it. Then he gives me the paper and kisses my shoulder. Stay and rest, he orders, I have court, but I want to take you to dinner tonight. He takes his giant, heavy briefcase with him and leaves.

I rip the note into tiny pieces and throw it up into the air, letting it fall all over the room, tiny shreds of whatever horrible little bit of information he has for me scattered on the late afternoon like the fall sun on the newly-turned leaves.

Through a Barlow lens.

When he lifted my chin up he scowled into my face, bonked my nose with his and then kissed me on the forehead when my eyes filled up with tears.

I told you not to do that without me there, peanut, he scolded. I had lifted a wallet from a man who was too inebriated to move quickly enough and crowed so in my victory that I didn't notice his friends, who were just fine, standing just to my right. I dropped the wallet and took off running and was not caught but I hurt myself something awful when I dove between two rows of barbed wire into a empty field on the perimeter of the show grounds.

I lay bleeding in the grass in the dark until I was sure it was safe to get up and move again, since Lochlan said a long time ago if you are caught, drop everything and they will usually stop chasing you pretty quick. This was an offhand remark he made, since he was not actively recruiting me to go out alone and pick pockets. If anything he HATED when I was with him and he had to resort to that to feed us.

Ow! I flinch as the warm cloth touches my abraded ear. I think I left half my hair on the fence.

I think I need iodine for this. Was it rusted? Why am I even asking? Of course it was rusted. Probably filthy. Jesus, Bridget. What have you done?

I close my eyes and he keeps working as gently as he can. Underneath all that blood I bet have no skin left. My shoulder is the worst, I imagine we'll go outside so he can pour cool water over it because if he puts the rough washcloth on it I might punch him in the face to make him stop.

He frowns. Empty your pockets. I think we'll go outside and I'll flush everything out.

I smile and turn around and pull out three twenty dollar bills. Never said I didn't take the cash before I dropped that wallet, because I watch him more closely than he realizes, sometimes.He is my hero, because I'm twelve and don't know any better yet.

His eyes light up and he grins and laughs. Well, isn't this ironic! I get to spend this on a first aid kit.

.nevigrofnU

What are you doing, Bridget?

Listening. There has to be a third song.

Hmm?

There needs to be one more song to complete this. A trilogy, if you will.

Just accept what they give you and enjoy it.

I can't. They're like drug dealers and this is crack.

Nice analogy, Princess.

That's the only way I can describe what some songs do to me, Jake.

You want to know what I'm going to do to you right now? He reaches over and pulls my shirt up over my head, careful not to snag my hair as it cascades through my collar. I'm not going to listen to bitter songs with you, if that's what you were hoping for,  Pigalet.

They did indeed put out a third song, finishing the set, almost a year after Jacob flew. I wonder if he's heard it yet?

How can I be lost?
In remembrance I relive
And how can I blame you
When it's me I can't forgive?

These days drift on inside a fog
It's thick and suffocating
This seeking life, outside it's hell
Inside intoxicating

He's run aground like his life
Water much too shallow
Slipping fast, down with the ship
Fading in the shadows

Abject and true.

It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds.

Go seek.

You can sing all you want, brother, but she's never going to be your soulmate.

That was all it took this morning for Ben to upend the whole breakfast table (which seats fourteen people) and send Lochlan to the floor. I'm not sure why Loch persists in digging his own grave every fucking goddamned day but I believe it might be deep enough by now.

I'm glad it was only the three of us who were present, since I feed the early boys early, then the kids with PJ and Danny and then the rest of them get their own, and then I can sit and enjoy my coffee and waffles with my two former favorite people, neither of whom is keeping any promises at all this morning. At least they managed to not break any dishes for once but it took a really long time to scrub the coffee off the walls.

***

He is the cat and I am the canary and I sought refuge in his company the moment I had the kitchen cleaned up, opting to practice defiance over obedience, the morning dramatics forcing a new sort of exasperated recklessness. I took my big basket of blackberries and off I went, ostensibly to use Caleb's kitchen and hide out for a bit.

True to form, the moment he comes to the door, he does two things:

1) He tells me I never have to knock. He knows I'm coming and never locks his door besides.

2) He invites me in and was just finishing something or other and has all the time in the world. This is new this year. He's definitely one of the few who reprioritizes when he says he's going to do so. No longer do I need to wait for conference calls to end, or a break between meetings if I appear. He just drops whatever he's doing and gives me all the attention I want or need until I have enough or have to go or walk out on him or whatever.

(He's actually working very hard on making our encounters positive so that I stop walking out on him so much but I imagine that will be a slow process that won't ever end.)

Caleb takes the basket and turns to go into the kitchen, setting it beside the sink.

What are we making? Pies?

Jam.

Mmm. I've never done this before.

I did one batch already but I want to make more. You don't have to stay.

No, I think this will be great. You lead the way and I will take orders. He winks at me when I look up at him, startled, and quickly changes the subject. Up at the house this morning...was anyone hurt?

How did you know?

I heard a crash.

No, they're fine.

Doesn't sound like it to me.

I don't want to talk about it.

Me neither. I want to make this jam. Let's get to work.

Two hours later we had nine more jars sealed and cooling on the counter, in addition to the fourteen jars I already made last week. Caleb hangs the towel on the oven door handle and turns back to me, rolling his shirtsleeves back down. Does the timing mean I can invite you out for lunch?

No, I should go back. I want to talk to Lochlan.

He winces just barely but understands he is caught anyway. What do you say to that sort of behavior?

Not to do it?

Does that work? Does it work like it does when they tell you to stop doing things you do that upset them? He is smiling again. He's poking holes in the way I hold my life and all the good parts pour out through the tiny jabs like an hourglass and when my time is up I know everything's going to change again.

It doesn't matter, it's not your concern.

Sure it is. Put simply, Bridget, if Lochlan was your soulmate, you would easily be able to avoid spending so much time with the one person he despises more than anyone else on earth. But here you are anyway. Maybe you should question your choice of soulmate after all. A soulmate is usually the person who is your other half, your perfect match, and I daresay neither one of them live up to your character. Not by a long shot.

But I always go for the longshots.

You should look a little closer to home. We're cut from the same cloth, Bridget. There's a reason we can't leave each other alone.

Cue the walk-out. Thanks for helping with the jam, Caleb. It wasn't until I was halfway across the driveway that I realized he even knew exactly what Lochlan had said to set Ben awry. Lochlan spoke somewhat softly, just loud enough to be heard and no more.

When all else fails, Tucker, sing.

(On days like this I wish Ben would give up metal for easy listening and I wish PJ would stop telling me these kinds of entries are too personal to post and too cheesy for others to appreciate. I've found the exact opposite to be true.)

I went down to ask Ben why he was being SUCH a fucking DICK this week so far (because we don't mince words, we like them whole), and has been all but absent after throwing rule after rule upon me, to the point where I believe I am allowed in the kitchen, one of the bathrooms and our bedroom but otherwise forget it. I was buried in his blanket orders and unable to understand his motives past trying to find some way to keep me out of trouble when trouble and I are Siamese twins, joined at the hip.

It fucking sucks. I have things to do. I don't like being pegged down but at the same time he just didn't know what else to do anymore so he made a bunch of rules and then disappeared downstairs to bury himself in work.

So it was time we talked past You can't do x, y or w, now just stay the fuck put already, bee!

I had my case ready to plead. I threw the door open and...was put in my place instantly. He was expecting me, and he was practicing. Practicing. By the time he finished the boys were lined up behind me, watching, struck silent.

He was singing Bridge Over Troubled Water and he didn't miss a note, even the difficult ones at the end. Probably a metaphor for everything else, that is.

Sail on silver girl, sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU FOR DECADES, BRIDGET!

Okay, so..Lochlan's still reading the blog.

So noted.

Bond.

Horror movies were my first true love. Not only because I love being scared, but because I liked watching everyone else be scared too.

I sat very still on the couch between Cole and Caleb and every time Jason Voorhees came onscreen I would simply close my eyes. At the end of the movie everyone said I was so brave, I didn't tell them I had missed 90% of the plot but I now knew the inside of my eyelids better than ever before. I thought that was pretty profound at ten years old, but at eighteen Caleb could not read my mind yet and said I was more hardcore than any other girl he knew.

Andrew, at eleven, just nodded. He wanted to be like Caleb but he had a hard time concealing his wide fearful eyes and the hair standing up on his forearms. He pulled Christian aside and asked him if he could walk home with him now instead of going alone through the woods behind the baseball field. I laughed. They never made me walk alone but the first one to jump out from behind a tree and scare me would get a watershed of scared-tears that would scar them with guilt for the rest of their lives, exacting a pledge that it would never ever happen again.

But it did. Over and over again. Cole was probably the worst. He would make some excuse and take off in the other direction, only to double back around and jump out at us somewhere along the path. I learned to walk directly behind Caleb. I still do.

Those were nights that Lochlan was still at the garage, stupid nights with stupid part-time jobs that left-me in the half-assed care of the others, who tended to pass me off on each other and sometimes take me home early, and sixteen-year-old Lochlan would lock up the garage and go track everyone down, unable to find me and showing up at my window at midnight, and I would sneak out the front door and sit on the steps talking to him until the sun came up. He told me about his plans to go on the road with the carnival while I watched the edges of the trees for Jason and he would repeatedly ask what I was afraid of. Sheepishly I finally told Lochlan, and he pointed out as long as he was around, nothing bad would ever happen to me.

That promise has held ever since. Now I just need to figure out how to glue myself to him and then I think I'll be all set. The minute I'm out of his sight everything falls apart.