Nova's glow.

The sea, well, she was very pleased that I sang Castle of Glass to her, headphones on. I can't hear myself sing as it is but I think I did okay. When I turned around three of the boys were standing there and they clapped.

I don't know why they didn't harmonize with my most recent relentless brain-train track.

Fuck.

Trust fun.

Do you feel the chill,
Clawing at the back of your neck?
I start to spill.
Did you really think that you could fix me?
They'll sell your bones for another roll.
We'll sharpen your teeth.
Tell yourself that it's just business.

Sometime in the night, Ben finally appears. At some point he must have decided absence was easier than comfort and he lied and said he had a deadline. Schuyler hung up on him, I was told. He waited until another midnight hour had passed and then he sat down on the side of the bed and ran his fingers across my forehead. He leaned down and kissed my cheek and said he was sorry. That he should have kept a closer eye. That he gets caught up in his work. He slides his hand over my mouth so I can't respond. Like everyone in this house, Ben would prefer to live in the daydream of his choosing, and any deviation from that will burst his bubble. So I say nothing and eventually his hand leaves my mouth and I drift back into a dreamless, empty crash of a sleep. He's not there when I wake up.

***

I'm still foggy today, exhausted and dehydrated. PJ has already driven the children to school in the pouring rain. I don't think I remember how to drive anyway.

Lochlan is still yelling. He shoved a bowl of Lucky Charms and milk under my chin this morning and asked me how I felt. When I started to answer he just blurts out,

He could have killed you. Mixing drugs and alcohol! Jesus CHRIST! What if you had overdosed! What if you died!

I pushed the bowl of cereal back. These aren't questions. He's yelling at the wrong person.

If he wants to kill me, he won't do it with drugs. I stare at Loch until he clues in slowly around the perimeters of his outrage. It takes the flames out of his fire. Fear shuts him down instead of waking him up.

I asked the Devil to kill me once before.

He came pretty close.

***

The men come with the new patio doors. They are custom-made, a rush order. I'm not willing to board up the wall waiting for something to be ordered from some other place. One of them sees a framed item on the wall and reads the plaque underneath it. He asks if Ben is home, could he get a picture maybe? I tell him I don't know. He proceeds to walk around the room pointing out what a fan he is, stopping at the desk where my writings are. I ask him not to touch anything, please. He reddens and returns to working on getting the doors installed. As I leave the room he apologizes, but for what I don't know. Curiosity doesn't require an apology from a stranger but I accept it anyway.

***

I watch the rain from the dock. Caleb holds an umbrella over me. He is still surprised at the uproar his actions made in resolving my abrupt freakout.

I turn to him. You can't understand why they're angry. 

No, frankly. I can't. 

Then next time skip the Ativan or whatever it was and just ask PJ or whoever's home to see that I am just...restrained appropriately.

I feel more comfortable watching over you myself. He smiles softly. And it wasn't Ativan.

That's why they're angry, Diabhal. 

Because I can manage your needs? Because I love you?

Yes.

Benzo baby (now with...goats and kangaroos).

Sorry for not coming back with further entertainment. I don't think yesterday turned out to be a banner day of class, dignity or grace for Caleb or myself.

He has zero patience for games that involve locked doors (did I tell you that one? No, of course I didn't) and when I heard the glass breaking I freaked because the glass is supposed to be bulletproof. Breakproof. At least I think it is. I'm drunk. I don't remember. It should be safe, however.

Safe is an unreasonable expectation, a pipe-dream, a fairy tale.

I got tackled heading up the steps and went down hard on my chin on the top one, bit my tongue, tasted blood, dropped the bottle of rum and managed to elbow him in the face all in one motion. He wrestles me onto my back and proceeds to pin me there. There's blood dripping off his lower lip onto my chest and I don't want to be held down, thanks.

So I knee him where it hurts and he roars with a rage I haven't heard before. He straddles my waist, twists his entire body to one side and pulls his hand up and then he stops and sits there on me, staring. Out of breath. In pain. Dripping blood. I stare back wide-eyed, frozen, mute.

He shakes his head slowly. I was about to backhand you. Bridget. I'm sorry. Oh my God. You're so brave.

I shake my head in refusal. This isn't brave. This is terrible.

Did Ben take your ghosts away and then he went too? And you need someone. You do, you need someone to keep you safe.

I nod with great hitching breaths and he finally gets off me, pulling me up to a sitting position. He presses me against his chest like a doll.

You're safe. I won't leave you alone.

I shake my head, pulling back. I stick my index finger against his shirt. Not safe. I slur. SO fucken kangaroos. Dangeroos. Tell Ben. Tell Ben I want my goats back. Ghosts. Those goats. I want Jake and Coals.

When's the last time you slept, Princess?

I raise my hands, palms up. I don't have the question. I told him point-blank.

You don't have an answer, you mean.

I nod and burst into fresh tears. I don't ever have those! Can you buy me some?

He nods. Sleep. That's what you need. I'm going to suggest we get you some clean clothes and then you can come across to my house and sleep in peace. Okay?

I nod and wait as he opens drawers and closet doors and finds me an outfit. He is out of his league. He can have a Valentino custom fitted for me from memory but he's not sure the baby pink leggings and the Hello Kitty t-shirt are mine. Or even if they qualify as an outfit. Good enough. He tucks the clothes under his arm and pulls me to my feet, putting his arm around me protectively. We head outside and across to the boathouse and he asks if I can change without help.

I tell him no, because I read so much more into his question than he asked, in spite of being one hundred pounds of booze-soaked disaster.

He pulls the bloody t-shirt over my head and bends his face in to inspect my fat lip. He puts his thumb against it, pulling it down slightly and I wince.

So he kisses it. He gingerly stretches the new t-shirt over my head and then he turns the bed down so I can get in. Once I'm settled and almost asleep he comes back with a pill and a glass of water. I don't even ask him what it is, I just take it.

Out like a light.

I wake up at eleven this morning to shouting. I lie there with a pounding head and a numb lower lip and I can't focus on anything. Sound, lights, pain. It's all just gauze obscuring my mind. I try to get up but I can't even make neurons fire. It seems they are out of ammunition. So I just lie there, much like the character in the horror movie who is paralyzed but can see, hear and feel everything that's going on, they just can't move.

Lochlan bursts through the door. He's still in his version of a suit, which is his brown blazer and jeans. I smell jet fuel and bad airport coffee and complete and utter fear. I piece together that he came home, saw glass and blood everywhere and lost his mind.

I would too but I think sometime in the night I got my much-wished-for lobotomy. I can't care enough. I can't figure out how to talk. He comes in and kneels beside the bed.

Where's Ben?

I shake my head. Where in the hell are my words?

Did Caleb do this to you? Let me see you. He rips back the sheets and lifts up my shirt, front and back, he runs his hands down my limbs. He checks my head and then he resumes breathing finally and I shake my head. I feel a word or two.

I fell.

Bullshit, Bridget. He stares at my eyes and asks what the hell I'm on. Then without waiting for an answer he is up on his feet again, shrugging out of his jacket, heading back to the kitchen. I sit up but the fog hurts. Everything hurts. The gauze over my brain cinches ever tighter until I see stars. I hear more shouting only it's mostly Caleb. I drag myself to my feet, holding onto the walls as I make my way out of the bedroom.

Caleb sees me and crosses the room, his arms out. Bridget, you need-

She needs ME. Lochlan pulls him back and hauls off to throw a punch but then Caleb brings him down with words.

Right. She needed you and where were you?

Ben is home. She was supposed to be with HIM.

Then maybe it's time you talked to him about his disappearing act, because it's eating her alive.

Well shit. He's in. He broke the patio doors. I don't even.

And WHAT can I trade in exchange for being allowed to keep the music on?

You'll have to ask the Devil. He's on the porch but I've got the chain on the door so he'll have to use his evil powers to get in. This should take a while. In the meantime I can raid PJs liquor cabinrt

ONward and upward princes. Right jake. Tryin, here.

Mulligan shots.

GO AWAY.

The epitome of self-destruction involves hauling out the speakers on the patio and patching them into the ones in the garage and then playing love songs from the early eighties so loud I've already blown five out of eight of these suckers and I fully intend to blow the rest. Dalton tried to stop me but I screamed at him and he backed away.

Wait, the epitome of self-destruction is being fucking drunk on a Monday morning! What do I win?

When the cops show up with the noise complaint any minute now I think I'll entertain them with a gunfight and then my big plan is to light myself on fire and throw myself off the cliff before anyone can stop me. I'm small, I'm fast and clearly right now I'm flammable, thanks to all of this bourbon in my bloodstream. I'll jump in slow motion to the strains of Air Supply or REO Speedwagon.  Chicago. Fuck, Hall & Oates, bitches.

I wonder what Jacob heard on the way down?

(The ipod wouldn't work when they gave it back to me. There wasn't enough of it left.)

Survival skills don't include microeconomics and other things the devil doesn't know.

He lingers in what is supposed to be a quick hug hello, his arms keeping me against him, his head bent way down, his nose almost touching my jaw, lips against my throat. My goosebumps have deployed, every hair on the back of my neck stands up straight and I hold my breath. Of all the stupid things in the universe to be caught in today, this tiny allegiance would have been the most unlikely. Except for, you know, nonexistent boundaries.

You smell positively intoxicating. What is that?

Jacob's patchouli.

(One drop goes so far that there's still a third of a bottle left. I kept it, okay? Sometimes I put a little drop in the hollow at the base of my throat and then I can smell it all day long. I'm sure I'll still be doing it when I'm a hundred and twelve. It reminds me of him. It makes me feel safe. Unlike the Devil, who makes me feel as if I'm perpetually in danger.)

Remind me to take you to get something new. Did you like the last Cartier? I thought it was beautiful on you. 

I shake my head and attempt to disengage from his arms but he's having none of my escape, in spite of how he skated smoothly past the question of my loyalties once again.

I do need to discuss something with you. Henry's recent choice of weaponry-

It's a toy. 

No, it's very real, Bridget. Wasn't the pocketknife enough?

A slingshot is a good tool for him to practice his aim with.

 You're determined to live in a Lord of the Flies type of environment. 

What would you prefer I gave him to work on?

A laptop. I've been thinking about introducing him to the stock market. 

Caleb, he's eleven-

I was much younger when I started enjoying my first dividends from penny stocks, Bridget. 

Woo. Lucky kid. 

Smart kid. 

He's smarter than you'll even be, Diabhal. 

I don't doubt that for a second, but I want him to know more than busker tricks and outward savagery, Bridget. I want him to be independent early on. Then he can have everything.

Like you do?

Yes. Except that I don't have everything, Bridget. 

And that's why a slingshot is more important than a paycheck. You can get a girl with life skills and busker tricks but you can't get one with cash. Well, you can, but she won't be the same quality. Come to think of it, that's rather ironic, isn't it?

I smile at him and he finally lets go of me.

When one door closes, another opens (and in walks a BOY! Or TWO!).

I'm going to be a landlady again!

Yes, I know. Most people collect stamps. Coins. Cars even.

I collect people.

My only prerequisites are that you have to be ridiculously handsome. You have to like my random drive-by ambush-cuddles, twenty-four hours a day. You can't be afraid of monsters, angels, demons, fire or children. You have to know how to set a proper table, sleep with a cat (or dog or child or homesick boy) on your head and fold the laundry exactly how I like it. Instead of PJ's method which is organized mayhem. Stacks of it.

That's it.

Oh, and don't eat my cake. EVER.

Those are the rules as I present them, always.

Enthusiastic nods were the response to my lecture. We've got a deal. They move in May first, into Lochlan's old wing, which will see all of the easels and art supplies moved to August's old room over the rest of the month. They will be just in time for Bridget's Birthday celebration 2013.

Who's moving in? What?

The future Mr. and Mrs. Matt and Sam. Newly engaged since 6:46 this morning, or to those of us who are less inclined to be so specific, sunrise.

YAY! Also: More CAKE.

(I would have more words but when they told me my head exploded. And when they asked if they could take me up on my previous invitation of permanent lodgings, the rest of me followed my head and now I'm all just confetti and sugar and struck happily dumb, awash in endless sighs of how awesome this is.)

No memory.

Jacob leans right into the mirror snarling as he ties his tie. He sings to his own reflection.

Pleased to meet you
Nice to know me
What's the message?
Will you show me?

I've been waiting a long time, now
Now here's the answer
You're all mine now

What are you doing, Jake?

I don't look mean enough when I sing, Princess.

'Mean enough'?

Fierce enough. I'm trying to be fierce. You see, Pigalet, that's what makes the ladies scream at the shows.

I see. 

Doesn't it? What do you think?

Maybe you should ask a lady. I throw off the sheet and stand up on the bed. I am completely naked.

Yeah, you're right. He winks at me. Seriously, what do I look like when I sing?

Like a country music star from the seventies.

Well, shit. That's not what I was going for at all.

***

Caleb is tying his tie in the mirror when I arrive. He's got a meeting today with Batman. I'm pretty sure both of them will arrive fully armed and dangerous. I bet Caleb has a knife in his boot. I bet Batman is already cracking his knuckles absently as he writes notes in his chicken scratch on a legal pad. He is usually ridiculously early for meetings and then disapproves of everyone else arriving on time.

See, Caleb is still a key figure in Batman's...um...empire, and they have to work together. Hell, everyone would work together if it wasn't for that one pesky little blonde thing fucking everything up all the time.

You look nice.

He rolls his eyes. You don't. 

Gee, thanks. 

I prefer you without clothes, but in this tie. 

I stare at the tie and it dawns on me that it's the same one he used to tie me d-oh, you know what? NEVERMIND.

I'm not going to the meeting. I need a day to window shop and just get away from everything and everybody, so, you know, I wind up in a car with Caleb for a couple hours because that's not escape at all, no.

Where are you headed anyway?

Marshalls? Holt. Robson. Everywhere.

Need money?

I'm not going to buy anything, Caleb. He fishes out a credit card anyway and I shove it in my purse. I won't be using it. He's ready so we head outside just as the car arrives. I frown at him. I thought he was driving.

I don't feel like worrying about parking today. (AKA he wants muscle there, you know, in case Batman IS armed.) Where would you like to have lunch after my meeting?

McDonalds.

Seriously, doll...

I am!

He just stares at me.

Sushi? I smile with all my teeth.

Better. He concedes.

Maybe someday they will have McSushi!

I sincerely hope not.

He holds the door open and I climb in. The song is still playing, oddly enough.

I've been waiting for my sunday girl
I've been waiting for my sunday girl, now
I've been waiting for my sunday girl
I've been waiting for my sunday girl, now

Pleased to meet you
Nice to know me
What's the message?
Will you show me the way down town?

A little incendiary.

I wasn't watching you perfectly still
I'm near perfectly dazed
Out of our hollow and into a space
Fire and water and space
Yeah further and further away

I'm trying to keep up, running along behind them as they make their way through the woods quickly in the fading light. I am stumbling, tripping over roots and rocks. I've already ripped the hem out of the bottom of my sundress, it's a handmedown from Bailey and it reaches almost to my ankles anyway. My sneakers are covered with mud and my braids have come loose but I'm game. I want to keep up with them and Lochlan already said three separate times to stay put, not to follow. That he would see me tomorrow probably, that they were going to do things that sixteen- (Caleb), fourteen- (Lochlan) and twelve-year-old (Cole) teenage boys do. Eight-year-old girls are not invited.

I am bathed in sweat and tears of frustration but I wipe my face and keep struggling to catch them. Wait! I cry when I see Christian's green t-shirt disappear from view. I run faster and promptly trip over my skirt again and go down on my hands and knees.

Okay, I can't keep up. He's right. I'm going to turn around and see if I can find my way home from here.

Then I look up again and Caleb is making his way back to me. He looks worried. When he reaches me he pulls me to my feet and tells me to climb on his back, that he will carry me piggyback the rest of the way. I wipe my eyes again and he asks if I've been crying.

No, I snap, and when he turns away I wrap my arms around his neck and he stands up, pulling my legs around his hips, holding them just behind my knees. He walks easily with me, moving quickly enough to make up time but not too quickly so that he won't trip and spill us both. It seems like only minutes go by and then suddenly he walks out into the clearing and goes to Cole, turning away from him. Cole puts his hands under my arms and lifts me off Caleb, standing me on my feet. Lochlan scowls when he comes back from the place where he had hidden a flat of cheap beer and a pack of cigarettes by the river where they fish and never catch anything. He's really mad. His ears are turning pink.

You going to carry her back too?

Caleb walks over to him and gives him a good shove. Lochlan shoves him right back. I take a step toward the woods. I don't want them to not be friends because I followed them even though Lochlan told me to not to.

Christian turns and grabs my arm. Stay here, Bridget. It's too late now for you to go back by yourself. It'll be dark soon.

Loch takes my elbow and walks me away from the crowd. They are passing out beers and lighting cigarettes. They're going to get in SO much trouble. Where were you going now?

Home so you won't fight because of me.

You'd be smart to stay away from Caleb.

He carried me most of the way. He's nice. (Inside my head I also add and cute. And tall. And strong. And he smells like soap.)

He's not nice. He did it because he knew it would bother me. 

Why would it bother you? 

Because I told you not to follow. We're going to have a bonfire. How late are you allowed out? 

I don't know. I said I would be back in a few minutes. 

Shit. Okay, I'm going to take you back now then and then I'll come back.

Can I stay for a few minutes and see the fire? 

He smiled and scratched the back of his neck as he stared at me. I don't know why, but I want to stay with him. He might not be as tall as Caleb but he's so much cuter and he smells like woodsmoke and fabric softener. It's not just that though. When I stand beside him I feel all weird and excited and happy.

No, because then I won't be able to find my way back in the dark. Plus the fire is usually my responsibility. I like to control it. 

Please?

No, Bridget. Say goodnight to everyone. We're going. 

I stick my lip out but I dutifully march back to the loose group of boys and tell them to have fun but I have to go home. I thank Caleb for bringing me the rest of the way and apologize for wasting their time.

A chorus of Awwwwww's and Sweet Dreams! rises as Lochlan reaches out to take my hand. Dylan sings a little bit of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Caleb sits in the near darkness, frowning. His eyes glitter in the dark. Cole whacks him on the back and hands him a beer.

On the walk back I ask Lochlan why he lied to me about being mad at Caleb because he helped me.

What do you mean?

Why are you really mad at him? I won't tell him or anything. 

How did you know I lied?

The way you moved. Your eyes. You're a bad liar. 

So are you. You said you'd stay put. 

We're even then. 

Yeah, we are. He squeezed my hand as we walked. How come you're not freaked out by being in the woods after dark?

Because you're here. And you didn't tell me about Caleb. 

Did he say anything to you about me on the walk to the field?

No. He didn't talk at all. I thought he was busy trying not to trip and drop me. Why?

Because I told him you and I are friends. That we talk alot. That you're old for your years when we talk about things that are important. He thinks it's wrong. That I shouldn't have anything to do with a girl so young. 

So why did HE help me then, if he thinks I'm too young to hang out with all of you?

Because he knows it would bother me.

Does it?

Yeah.

Why?

I don't know. It just made me really really mad if I thought he was trying to take you away from me only because he knows it would piss me off and not for his own reasons. 

A little shiver ran up my spine in the dark, tickling the back of my neck. I don't know why but I like it that he doesn't want anyone to take me away from him. I have heard a few stories already about Lochlan and girls, mostly that a lot of them want to go out with him, mostly that he's a charmer who has kissed and yet not told all over town. But since I've been here I haven't seen him with anyone at all. Maybe they're wrong.

If I had to pick between you and Caleb, I'd pick you, you know. 

He grins in the dark. That's good, Bridget. It will save me and Caleb the inevitable fight to the death.

Antipologies.

I can't do this. 

Which part?

Any part involving him.

Who?

Oh, Bridget, stop it. I can't deal with Caleb. Okay? I can't. I've tried. Nothing works and when he touches you I want to rip him apart. 

Now you understand how everyone feels about you. 

No, they don't. I've been with you for so long-

So entitlement makes you immune to jealousy suddenly?

It's not the same. He's your monster and you go to him willingly. What the fuck is that? What the fuck is with Ben just ignoring everything going on around him? I'm losing my fucking mind here-

Did you come to apologize?

Yes.

Accepted. 

What about you?

What am I apologizing for, again? Setting us up for life?

Breaking my heart, Bridget. 

I just stared at him. I was not expecting him to say that.

Cupric sulfate, cupric chloride, polyvinyl chloride and blind rage. That's where your colors come from.

If you can't soar with the eagles,
Then don't fly with the flock
Are you still getting by?
Was I your knight in shining armour?
Or the apple of your eye?
Or just a step, a fucking step to climb?

It's official. I have corrupted Sam with my musical tastes. We pretty much live on the same page of lyrics on a regular basis though. If he's listening to or humming something odds are I either had it playing the day before or I'll put it on the day after. If we find something new we share it with each other first and while I patiently wait for Stone Sour's  House of Gold and Bones Part 2  and Switchfoot's Fading West soundtrack to hit the shops I can soothe my twisted mind (and his) with Bring Me the Horizon's Sempiternal, released today. August and Lochlan have already memorized the songs. It's like the Beastie Boys but more melodic, more metal. I can't even describe it.

This morning Sam was playing it so loud in the church he took a page right out of Jacob's book of daily tasks. That or this whole area is filled with folks who have the police department on speed-dial because we're interrupting their yoga or something. He got a visit and a warning and a whole lot of compliments on the acoustics of the room. I know, right? (Not bashing the yoga crowd, just the concept of silence in general.)

And yes, Lochlan exploded yesterday/today/perpetually. I keep finding pieces of Mystical Fire everywhere. I always suspected he was made of it but I have confirmation now. How pyrotechnical of him. But he's exactly like me, says one thing, does the complete opposite. We are working on it. It's going exactly as well as you would imagine.

Rather badly.

He called me a name this morning even. A horrible one, and Ben wrestled him to the ground and threatened all kinds of things. Because Lochlan doesn't mind when he's the interloper but if someone else is, well, look the fuck out. I told him he was a hypocrite and a fraud for all of his sudden morals. He told me to grow up and I yelled back that I did! I DID!

So why do I provoke him so painfully? I don't. Well, I mean I do but really there are things you don't know. Yes, life should be simpler. Right or wrong, yes or no. Black and white. But it isn't and it never will be like that, I fear.

So we eat the music, grow the skin, soothe the ruined hearts and keep moving forward. He loves me, he just doesn't like me.

I taught him how to pull that off, I just can't tell you why.

He'll soften. I just have to give him a little space. Or maybe he has to give me space. See? This is why I play my music so fucking loud. It blocks out damned near EVERYTHING.

Bridget and the lake of fire.

Hear the inside of my brain today. Press play, go to track #3 and just leave it there all damn day.

Withering eyes catch you as you fall
 A bitter sigh, no one moves at all
Let me in for one more long disgrace
Just forget the same distractions you refuse to face
We both know that it's gone
But what if no one knows
No one knows to remember why it's wrong

This is all the pain a man can take
This is how a broken heart still breaks

I don't need much to show you
Only enough to control you
Bury your head inside this
And gather the darkness that binds it
I think I'll die if you deny me
Swallowed alive in eternity
Give me a way to be the agony
I knew you all along

Last night I bumped my nose against the shoulder of the Devil as he took us far out of reach of redemption on purpose, his arms a vise holding me to him. This morning my lips are still numb, my head and limbs hurt vaguely and in my fist is a cheque signed in his fountain-pen flourish.

I made my way down to the beach just before dawn to see if I could reach redemption on my own. The sun came up and drew a harsh line on the rocks. A challenge. Warm me, I thought. No, she said, there's nothing left of you for me to bother with.

I bent down at the water's edge, soaking the hem of my dress, pulling back my sleeves to show the sun how swollen my wrists are because I won't show anyone else. I gingerly floated the cheque in the sea, then I pressed it down until I was up to my elbows in the icy Pacific, my hem drinking up the heavy water, trying to hold enough of me to pull me in, pull me under. Seems I fight that wherever I go.

The ink runs across the paper, obscuring the secrets he bought from me, whatever ridiculous amount I asked for easily met, without hesitation. That's how I know he's the Devil. It doesn't matter how much it costs, he can pay for it.

I watched the zeros blur and vanish, the paper turning transparent in the saltwater. I picked it up, balled it up in my fist and threw it as hard as I could. It didn't go very far.

I don't either.

I sat down hard on the rocks and smiled at how awful I am. How far I can go before someone reels me back in. How I can climb down here to rock-bottom with such little help, starting over every day.

If you persist in destroying every document I give you just say so and I will switch to deposit. 

His voice doesn't startle me or make me turn around.

I don't need your money. 

It's part of our agreement.

You're not listening. 

Bridget, correct me if I'm mistaken. I'm fulfilling my end of the agreement, what about you?

I fulfill my end. 

But you ruined the cheque?

I'm not a whore (I didn't say it out loud, I only whispered it into the bubbles at the edge of the water). I don't come to you for your money.

Bridget, I can't hear you.

I turn my head and look at him. God. So handsome and I fucked him up too. Or he fucked me up. I don't know who even started it anymore. Oh right, he did. By default. Couldn't just keep his shit together and leave me alone in the first place.

I said I'm not a whore. 

No one says you are.

I raise my hand up to point up the hill. You..you just...gave me..

He looks up at the boathouse jutting out over the edge of the cliff and he looks back at me. Bridget, I thought you would appreciate an immediate, tangible reward but it seems to trigger a deep regret. I didn't mean for that to happen. If it's easier I will just deal with the financial aspect of this invisibly.

I nod. My teeth are chattering. My reward is not what he thinks it is. I'm not who I think I am.

It's time for you to go get warm. Have you been home yet?

I shake my head. No, I haven't. I wasn't going to walk through that door, my new bottom line weighing me down like a stone, a guilty, heavy, unchangeable stone. But I should go home now. I need to peel off this skin and try and grow something thicker.

Snap, crackle.

The only April Fool played on me this morning was a very strange half-hour in which Dalton sat across the table from me staring mightily at me as he slowly ate his bowl of Rice Krispies.

He just kept staring.

I did everything I could do to ignore him. I read the paper, I played with my phone. I drew patterns in the cinnamon left on my plate from my piece of cinnamon-sugared toast, and finally when I could take no more of his attention, I got up and stormed out of the kitchen in a huff.

Behind me Dalton called out,

But Bridget! You said you loved Rice Krispie STARES! 

(This was based on one of the first and last times I ever tried to read lips. I just can't do it. Things get hilariously fucked up and then they come back to haunt me years later, now, don't they?)

Lazarus lunch.

Lunch today was spread out on the long barn-door table Ben built in the vineyard so that we could eat outside without being relegated to the rather dull concrete patio at the bottom of the steps. I much prefer to sit out in the lower yard, surrounded by grapevines. It was so warm in the sun and so cold in the shade, I kept my soft angora wrap handy to pull up over my shoulders as the shadows shifted over me.

Christian finally drew Bunny Duty this year (see previous years here and here). For some reason he's never had his name pulled, and after a decade it became a bit of an inside joke and finally, on this final year of egg hunts for the children, he had the honor of dressing up in his morning suit (coattails and all) and the giant creepy bunny head, and he played it hilariously, zipping and zagging and being caught and escaping and the children shrieked and almost for a moment forgot how cool they are, and how old they are now, the wonder years diminishing in favor of being sure that everyone knows that they know that the Easter bunny is usually one of the boys.

I hope these years are short-lived and they find joy in the magic again sooner rather than later, but since I've been exposed as Santa Claus and a part-time tooth fairy, it stood to reason that the Easter Bunny would not be far behind.

Of course, had he not been so readily observable this year, we might have stretched it a little further. But that's it. Next year Henry will be on the verge of thirteen instead of twelve and they would rather have iTunes gift cards than chocolate eggs, and they would rather sleep until ten on a sunny Sunday morning than get dressed at the crack of dawn to go hunt treats out in the damp cool grass.

I thought about this as I put together the first outdoor lunch of this year. Devilled eggs. Coleslaw. Everything bread. Fruit salad. Roast beef and ham. Cheese. Homemade salsa and chips. Cinnamon buns and iced tea.

I don't have to enlist anyone to help carry dishes out to the table. They come looking for sustenance, for companionship. For family routines. I straighten Ben's tie and tuck PJ's collar back down. I ask Henry to go wash his hands (again) and I sent one more message to Caleb to find out if he is coming or not (he is) and then I check through the window beside the front door to see if Sam is here yet (he isn't). I debate calling him when I see Matt's car drive down around the fountain. Good.

I remind Andrew of the app that he asked me about earlier (Kitcam, so awesome) and I watch Duncan for a few minutes to see if he's got his flask or not (he doesn't). Dalton is still asleep and will eat later (no surprise there). Lochlan is juggling cans of cheap beer on the grass, stopping when he sees Andrew come down the steps, then offering him one as if it isn't a loaded weapon. Andrew thanks him for the cold beverage and then pretends to open it just as Loch loses control of his poker face. Andrew's been here a long time and he's aware of Lochlan's tricks so he aims the top at Loch before pulling the tab, howling with laughter as Lochlan jogs around the yard in a big circle, just out of reach of the spray of foam.

 Ben calls everyone to the table. Once everyone is seated and settled, Sam stands up and says grace. It's beautiful. Like the table. The yard. This life. These people. Matt leans back in his chair and watches Sam with a quiet smile on his face. Ben rubs his thumb up and down the back of my neck as I lean against him, enjoying the tiny tides of goosebumps on my arms as they rise and fall. Lochlan faces the head of the table to listen to Sam but his arm is stretched back, holding my hand. Ruth interrupts to point out there's a ladybug on the edge of the bowl and so she won't be having anything the bugs have touched and Caleb ignores her declarations, serving her a nice big spoonful of potato salad anyway. She dutifully thanks him with the worst look on her face ever. Lochlan watches her across the table as he pours tea for everyone. They are talking without saying anything. It's a slow but wonderful process and she works hard to bend her mouth into an agreeably pleasant expression. We hold up our glasses in a long-established pecking order. Ladies first, followed by the youngest all the way to the oldest.

Caleb finally holds out his glass and Lochlan takes it and fills it, passing it back. Caleb smiles and thanks him and Lochlan looks at the sun and then says he's sorry but there could be a ladybug in that glass of tea. Cue Ruth loudly proclaiming she's not going to drink any ice tea either and I say her name quietly because most of the time that's all it takes. Lochlan keeps going, digging at Caleb so I say his name too. He stops. Mercifully.

Everyone else settles down to the business of eating Easter lunch, a new sort of tradition we've developed in the past three years that far eclipses our previous traditions or past lives.

As the number of plates pushed away continues to grow along with voices rising around the table, Lochlan finally finishes his second helping. He winks at me.

That night. You remember so many small things. 

It was a pivotal moment in your life.

Every moment you're in my life is pivotal, Bridge. 

Not sure whether that's a compliment or an insult, Loch. 

It's a compliment, Idiot. That was an insult. 

I thwack my fork against his forehead and he scowls and rubs the space between his eyes. The sun goes behind a cloud again and I reach for my wrap but Ben is already pulling it up around my pale shoulders. He kisses the closest bone and thanks me for lunch, telling me it was good. That he loves these kinds of days, that everything is a resurrection here sometimes. I lean my head against Ben's chest for a minute. He's right.

Sam watches us. He nods enthusiastically at Ben. He's let his hair grow and now he has a wavy, willful cap of curls that suits him perfectly. He has kept an eye on the time and now he stands to the tune of the collective groan rising up from at least half the table. We're all too stuffed, too warm and too tired to move, but he has one more service today and so he has to get back to the church. Henry and Caleb have plans with an Xbox and Ruth wants to load up her phone with music so Loch will be busy for hours and I figure by the time I get all of this cleaned up with PJ and Ben's help again it will be time to start supper.

If I've learned anything at big holiday dinners with these guys is that it doesn't matter how late I delay a meal, how many servings they have during the meal, or how insistent they are that they're going to be full for days, weeks even, no one has ever failed to show up for the next meal.

Happy Easter.

Blaze (another installment brought to you by twelve and seventeen).

Do I need a ticket
To buy this ride?
Convenient it appears in front of me
The expression on your face gives a sign
And I don't like it

Wait, he said and he staggered toward me, his eyes locked on mine. Then he veered off around the corner and I figured maybe he's had enough alcohol and he has to go to the bathroom. He comes back around the corner holding the hose. Oh. He needs some water, I think and then I remind myself of what he's doing and mentally breathe a sigh of relief because the water bucket is only going to help so much in an emergency. An endless supply is a much better idea.

And then he turns it on me and I shriek. It's ice cold. I put my hands up and turn around, shouting his name but he doesn't stop. He walks closer and raises the hose up over my head, making sure to soak me good. Making sure my hair is wet, my shoes, and a four foot circle on the ground around me.

He drops the hose on the ground at my feet and nods. You're safer now. Don't you move, Peanut. I swear to God, if you move- He loses his train of thought and returns to the unplanted garden, the turned earth where he is learning to manipulate the flames. He can already throw fire, juggling so many torches I have a hard time keeping count, but he wants it all. Tonight he's eating it. Fire is cake to him.

Lochlan's so smashed right now I have my doubts that he should even continue. They're teaching him fire-eating out behind the utility buildings at the end of the road where the parking lot is, jammed full of our campers where we sleep between days spent working the midway. He wanted me to be there to watch his evolution and learn a few things too, he said and so he woke me up in the middle of the night, helping me dress, chattering quietly about securing our future. Taking things higher, burning up like a comet in the sky. I nodded sleepily. Future. Sky. Fire. What does he think my dreams are at night?

They're not this, standing dripping and shivering in the middle of the night in late August watching him learn he has more than a natural affinity for this. Don't inhale. Don't spill. Don't swallow. Pay attention because this can kill you but you know, it will also render you blind drunk in the space of the first twenty minutes so good luck remembering your techniques at that point. Good luck indeed.

Every time he puts flames on his tongue I hold my breath along with him. Every time he shoots fuel out between his teeth and lights it on the upswing with the torch I force myself to keep my eyes open in case I need to drop, grab the hose and save his life.

But at the same time I'm rapt. The flames dance white-hot in his eyes. He is visceral and alive and excited. He's a natural, they tell him and he's proud. Chest-thrust out, ego-soaring proud. Stumbling-drunk proud. Pretty sure of himself and finally when I realize he's having trouble holding still when he should I ask him to stop.

Loch, please! Enough for tonight. 

No, Peanut, I'm just getting the...hang of things...just a little longer.

Please?

He stops and stares at me. He rocks slightly. Then he smiles crookedly and nods. Yeah. Okay. He points his finger and staggers backwards two steps. Admit it. Your blood is thrumming. I can feel it from here. I just want to get this right and then I'll teach you. We'll do it together and then we can buy that land up on the Cape and we can have everything we've talked about. 

Right so pack it in before you have an accident. Your luck has run out for the night, Mister. I give him my caller voice and he grins.

Yeah, okay.

The gear is packed up and the others drift away into the darkness at the edges of the night. Lochlan puts his arm around me and apologizes into my hair for getting unintentionally drunk off the grain alcohol they were using for fuel, for soaking me in cold water, for waking me up, for keeping me a captive audience, and for being so thorough in planning our future. Ours, together. All of this is for me, although after tonight I'm thinking maybe he should be a house painter or something and I'll work in a bakery. Safe things. Easier things with regular pay. Nothing that devalues his efforts, with half his talent given away for free when people don't pay for the entertainment, instead disappearing into the crowd, forcing him to return to the back end of the lot and run rides. Forcing me to want to steal just to help out.

But Lochlan reads my mind. Naw, Bridget, the plan now is to make them pay up front. Spread the word, create an irresistible show, maybe on the sideshow circuit down south and then negotiate the profits from admittance fees and concession. I have it all figured out. We'll be world famous. 

We? 

You'll be incredible.  I'll eat fire off your skin. We can kiss, exchange flames. You can mimic me behind my back and make them laugh-

He stops and grabs my head in both hands. He brings his forehead down and presses it hard against mine. Shared brains. We both waver now because he's controlling my movements. I laugh as I keel crazily to the right and then overcorrect and veer far down to the left but then he gets us under control.

Listen to me. You're so brave. You were brave to come with me and braver still to stay. If I can do anything you can do it twice as well. Matt says he's going to pass my name along, that it's a..what's the word? Attrition! Attrition kind of thing where you have to wait for a space or be that good that they make a space and acquire your act, but he knows enough people. So we develop this and make it different and then word will get around. Let's do this. Let's live off this magic we found. Let's keep it unreal, let's...oh fuck, I'll be right back. 

He took off running out into the middle of the field, and stopped, bending over, hands on his knees, bringing up all of the fuel that found its way into his stomach. Hopefully none of it went into his lungs because I don't think he could expel that. He remained swaying crazily in that position forever while I shivered and plotted and twisted and planned and by the time he made his way slowly back to me, a new clarity on his face, we had it figured out without saying a word. Our take on on the traditional act of fire-eating. It hasn't been done before. Or maybe it has but we don't know yet, we'll have to wait and see. The only thing we know is that even if it's been done before, it will have never been done like this.

We make our way back to the camper and clean up best we can. As we settle back in under the blanket, my hair freshly towel-dried, detangled and loosely braided, my limbs safely ensconced in his hundred-and-ten-degree clutch, he tells me that the beauty of the next five or six years, until I am an adult, is the time we will have to learn and practice, to plan our future together, and to further perfect our mind-reading. He lies there smiling at me, this terribly drunk magnificently affectionate flame-haired teenage boy taking back over from the winsome, inherent showman I watched earlier in my sleep.

I drift off with the taste of alcohol on my lips, his I love you promise ringing in my ears. I burn without fire. I feel dizzy. I have that weird hyperventilaty-scary-happy feeling that only comes from Lochlan. Like I can't breathe when I'm around him but I can't breathe without him either.

Alright Friday.

I'm thinking it's like a whole nother week where I should just not write.

I'm in a positivity race, running down the track full steam when BOOM, out of nowhere it hits. A rock, right in the side of my head. I waver and stumble but I don't stop running. More rocks come from somewhere just outside my peripheral vision, pelting me, bruising my skin, causing me to weave but I keep on running, dodging the larger ones if I can, ducking and bobbing along like an idiot but...

You know something?

Fuck it. I drop my hands, slow to a stop and turn and walk back to the starting line. This race isn't going to happen today. They won't let me run it.

There were a few good things about today. Lochlan coming home with good news. Caleb and Lochlan both loosening their helicopter grips enough to let both kids wander around the neighborhood together even. Sunshine and a cool breeze. Sam calling in between services telling me people are funny when they only show up twice a year for church and expect him to remember every little detail of their lives. August sending an email thanking me for not crucifying him (yeah, he made an Easter pun) in print, that he's been waiting weeks on pins and needles for the inevitable entry and it wasn't what he expected so he wished us a happy weekend and told me all about his job interviews 'in town' this week. I called him.

In town? You mean near where the gas station and the flag are?

The very same. As many amenities as you have on Point Redemption there. 

I have an army. Who needs amenities? 

You do, Bridget. 

Toushaaaaaay, August.  I'll dispatch the army to get them for me. 

It doesn't work like that. 

Dammit. It should.

Newfie Donuts (Front-wheel drive only).

August left the point just before Valentine's Day. For good. He went home to Newfoundland and he isn't coming back here unless it's for a visit. I said sometimes people come and sometimes they go but it took me until now to get through transcribing his departure without going to pieces.

Oh..

I take that back.

***

 ...Like, whole decades of mixed messages, conflicting orders and inconsistent patterns of rewards and punishments that have left her confused and emotionally stunted by the lot of you. 

Years ago when she made such self-deprecating comments about being feral I dismissed it as a mild lack of confidence but now I see. She was pointing out her own awareness of this. She can't cope properly because you all keep changing the rules. It would destroy anyone, let alone a suggestible child and let alone to continue for as long as it has.

I had a responsibility to my best friend to see that she was taken care of. And I have tried. But certain things have happened in my own life and years have passed and I'm not seeing enough change here. It's one thing to say her grief is ebbing significantly, and it's a whole other thing to see her sabotaged on a daily, even hourly basis with your wants and inadequacies. 

And with that, I'm out of here. Going home. I have a full plate to deal with and I can't watch this anymore. She's such a beautiful girl. It's a shame she's been destroyed first by them and now by the selfishness of the rest of us.

I was standing behind the door in the alcove that becomes the library, tucked in on the north side of the main level, quietly set apart from the rest of the house. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I know what it means when there's a family meeting and I'm not invited.
I know what it sounds like when someone's leaving and they're not coming back.


***

Late that night he comes to find me. He takes my hand, leading me into the living room by the fire. We settle into the big couch and he throws an arm around me, pulling me close.

I haven't been here for you much the past few months. 

You've had your own issues, I don't expect you to drop everything and look after me. I do okay. 

Yeah, you do better than okay. He smiles ruefully and I am about to burst. Bridget-

I know you're leaving. Oh God, I hate that feeling right before crying. I hate the fear of being without anyone. I'm afraid of the homesickness. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of going to find him and not finding him there. Like Cole. Like Jacob. Like me.

I gotta go home, Bridge. I have to look after my folks. Jake's folks too. I need to figure out what I'm doing before I get any older. I think you have enough support here. I think they're competent enough. I think maybe I don't help as much as you tell me I did.

He's referring to the months in between Jake flying and when I let Ben hold my heart. I went to August. I called him Jacob in the dark and he put his arms around me and held me against his warm skin. He sounded just like Jake. He tasted just like Jacob and he gave me nights to fall asleep in that hurt so much less than they would have otherwise and then it became an albatross for him and he had to pull away again, but only a little. Enough to make room for Ben. But he gave up more for me than I could have ever asked him for, five years of his life watching, evaluating, making quiet suggestions that more often than not were hurled back into his face. He had guts. He never minced words with me.

But we had fun too. It wasn't all work. It wasn't all pain. He is a part of this family and he always will be but I know he won't ever come back and live here again. It won't be the same. If only I could force things to be the same but I also want him to go back and settle down properly, find love that will last and be true and have children if he wants them and be happy. Use his education doing social work again, instead of fly-by-night psychoanalysis. Maybe we can visit. Or maybe we can just talk on the phone.

You did. You were there from the beginning and you've never judged me. I love you. 

I love you too, Bridget. Jesus, you change people. I didn't believe Jake when he said you were a walking breathing heart. He said you were the definition of his love. He was right.

(Right there marks the moment I was given the best gift I could ever have asked for. Right there. The definition of Jacob's love. I need no more than this.)

But of course God never listens to me so I keep listening to August as he talks and I make that stupid, heartbreaking attempt to drink in every detail. His blonde/red eyebrows, his long curls, the hemp bracelet that has been reduced to fuzz around his right wrist. His worn jeans and freckled hands. His short eyelashes and tall frame. His hard jawline and threadbare watchstrap. His slender fingers that touched me in the dark when it was so wrong but so needed.

Past tense but he's still alive. I wish my brain would bluescreen so I could send it back under warranty and sync up a new one.

Five years is a long time to give up your own life for a friend who took his own. Why do you owe anyone anything after that? Why would you do that?

August is a good human, that's why. One of the best I've ever met.

Will you visit, August?

Maybe, Bridge. I don't know. I imagine in a bit I'll come back out and see everyone. Once I'm settled again.

Or we'll come to the Bay. 

That would be so great, Bridget. If you can manage it. I know it's not an easy place to go.

I throw myself in his arms. The sobs are just pouring out now.  And then suddenly Ben is lifting me up, away from August and he turns me around and holds me tightly. August stands up and kisses my head. I love you, little princess. Thank you for making my best friend the happiest I ever saw him. He loved you so, Bridget. Don't you ever doubt that. We all do. Every last one of us and we'd go to the ends of the earth for you so if you ever need me you call and I'll be on a plane. You promise me. 

I am spun back around for a response. No, I can't do that to you. Go and live your life. I don't know how to thank you. I don't even know where I would start. 

Hey, I needed to be here just as much as you needed me to be here. Don't think this isn't an escape from everything else too. It's a dream, princess. So are you. 

But I'm a nightmare, August. 

Not even close. Jacob wasn't someone who had any patience for put-ons or nonsense. I think you bought him time. He never planned on you. I don't think any of us did, Bridget, Jesus. You're just a tiny little planet and we're all rotating around and around you and I gotta go back to my own solar system. Don't you cry, you hear me? And don't write me off as a bastard or a coward or a jerk. I don't mean to make things harder, I promise you. That's the last thing I would want for you.

August, if you say one more word I'm going to keep you. I choked it out slowly. It wasn't a promise, it was a threat.

He opened his mouth and then thought better of it and smiled sadly. Instead he just held out his arms.

Envelope, the verb.

The best thing about the internet today?

Randy Blythe's Instagram. Now with devil horns.

***

In other news, also with Devil horns (because that envelope I found yesterday curiously hasn't moved), I'm sort of suffering again. I pushed a little too hard at yesterday and moved it a little too far and it slid back and crushed me like a bug.

But I'm a ladybug, so I have wings AND a hard shell and I pushed back and we're pretty much in a holding pattern at wherever I was around noonish yesterday when I had all KINDS of great ideas on how to wear myself to smithereens instead of taking it a little bit easy because of being so sick on the weekend.

Sam and Henry are playing a game together, Lochlan is away-away in the City of Angels delivering a work of utmost importance. He called a little while ago and after we talked he wanted to talk to Ruth. I told him she wasn't here.

Where is she?

I don't know. 

What do you mean, you don't know?

I mean, she's somewhere between here and _______'s house (Best friend). I imagine they're wandering the streets. She has the phone with her.

Wandering the streets? She's thirteen, for chrissakes. 

Right. Thirteen..

Okay. I get it. Just keep tabs, would you?

Loch-

Bridget. I worry. I'd feel the same way if I called and PJ said you were out wandering the streets. 

Well, that would be a whole different scenario if I was, wouldn't it? 

True.

Relax. Please, Loch.

How, Peanut? 

You just remember that she's half you and half me and so you can have confidence in her value judgements and her problem-solving skills. 

Knowing that she's half me and half you only guarantees to me that she'll definitely be far weirder than the average kid. 

Jesus, take the wheel.

(The title is completely unrelated today. Some days the day is completely unrelated to the day, here. In other words, I'm feeling better so you get the Necro-gnome-icon girl. Enjoy her while she lasts, for I'm sure it won't be long.)

Batman asked me this morning why I cause him so much misery without even being an active part of his life. I shrugged. I'm not actually going to let him put that on me because I didn't ask for his continued presence. I keep trying to get rid of him. He just won't leave.

I don't think it's my fault. I've been fending off his advances for a few years now.

I say now because there was a time when I didn't fend them off. He was a nice reprieve. Actually, I don't think that's it at all. He's always been patient and disapproving and difficult to read and closed and stunningly attentive.

And gosh. He's handsome. And rich too. And he has manners we don't even know yet.

But he won't leave.

I wish I could make him go but he and Ben are up to something and he's doing a little more due diligence with Ben this time so that Ben doesn't wind up leaving part of his soul behind on any more projects. They sort of ruin him. He can't set boundaries (I KNEW THIS PART) and then he just gives all of himself to something and doesn't know what to do with the empty hole when he sends his work out into the universes.

But pshaw, we all knew about the boundaries thing. Right? Right?

Right. Because I saw the silver envelope under Ben's ipad. I saw it but I didn't touch it. And  I don't want to know what it says or when it's for or any of that. Nope. I don't. And I didn't say a thing when the first words out of the client's mouth on the monitor as I left the room were the wish that they could have done this in person, because it would have been so much easier.

I don't agree with that.

I'd rather have Ben here, even if I have to start from scratch to teach him the difference between right and wrong. I don't think he's ever known, frankly.

I don't think I do either.

I'll just call it FacePalm.

Hearing aids. Now. 

Yessir. (I run and fetch them and put them in.)

Wow, you're fast. Now turn them on. 

ARGHHHH. Fine. Just a minute. (I turn them on).

Ready?

Yup. 

How are you feeling, my tiny beelet?

Like shit on a shingle, Benny. I wish you were here. 

I know. I like to argue in person as well. 

I wouldn't fight with you if you wouldn't keep flying off to places I can't go. 

Is that what this is?

Maybe. 

You miss me?

Cleverness really isn't your strong suit, is it?

No, we established that, Bridget. My strong suit is Hearts. 

That was the best comeback ever, Ben.

No, this is: I'm in the driveway. In case you didn't notice your FRONT YARD behind me on the screen. Cleverness isn't your strong suit either. But I knew that already. 

(At least that's what I think he said. I dropped the phone on the carpet and ran right out the front door.).

Still sick. Fever broke yesterday finally. Well, maybe. I hope it stays away. Doritos are good again and I crashed out hard on the living room couch at four yesterday thinking I would close my eyes for twenty minutes and work on my headache and it was so noisy and no one really noticed until BOOM, I woke up and it was almost six and we hadn't even planned dinner and Ben had to leave at seven to catch his plane and I pretty much railed at him for thirty minutes straight, made him a sandwich and refused to end the argument as he was walking out the door. 

Just like Tour! Only for a shorter time period. In other words, I'm still going to remember what I was mad about when he comes back. I'm not sure how that will go exactly but let's hope for the best. After all, he could have done this on a conference call. He could have stayed home to look after me and then he wouldn't a reason to complain that I don't "need" him.

I do. He just is very hard-headed and won't LISTEN.

In other news, my throat now hurts worse than my nose (which is always bad but good, I think) and my head feels like a freight train stopped on it and has no plans of moving forward. Every time I cough it's like being punched right behind the eyes.

So excuse me if I'm a wee little bit crabby today. I have just about reached the point where I'm prepared to auction off another little piece of my highly-mortgaged soul to the Devil so I can feel like a million dollars again.

(That's a figure of speech.)

Back to death I go. Let's try again tomorrow?

Death's Door.

The world is still coming to a rapid end here. I can't breathe at all but the game has just been upped with the most amazing Feel Better present in the universe:

It weighs fifteen pounds at least. It covers the 1870s to 1950s! It's the most beautiful book in the world. I had to put it up at the kitchen counter because it's too big and heavy to rest on my legs to look at in the big chair in the library.

Thank you, Locket. I love it. I love you.

Buckethead.

Benjamin's home. He brought Nyquil from the airport. It had already expired. I didn't say anything. YOLO and all that. I took it anyway. I gather I have fifteen or twenty minutes tops before I'm down for the count or I am fatally poisoned.

Your random email questions today, answered:

1) Yes, I realize 102 degrees isn't death's door. But it's higher than usual and I'm enjoying the hallucinations immensely.

2) PJ's jokes involved indignities to dead bodies. Okay? Happy now? GROSS. I can never ever die. Ever. Ergo, I hope the Nyquil was still good.

3) Loch sang this song on a loop for me and I don't think I realized it for the first three or four renditions:

And if I told you that I loved you
You'd maybe think there's something wrong
I'm not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one
Those who speak know nothing
And find out to their cost
Like those who curse their luck in too many places
And those who fear are lost

He did a good job. He is very tired now and asleep on the floor in the library.

4) Where is Duncan? Oh, dear Internet, you have a crush too. It's okay. We all think he's just the cat's meow. He is also sleeping (not on the floor but on the couch in the theatre room) because he took an additional late evening torture shift and spent five hours listening to me complain. This after spending most of yesterday afternoon listening to me complain.

5) Where is the Devil? Entertaining the children, thankfully. Finally he's doing something HELPFUL.

6) Ben is not in trouble. There's just no point in him sitting around in NYC until Tuesday so he came home for the weekend.  He seems to be convinced that sex, movies and Ketucky Fried Chicken are totally going to fix everything.

I hope he's right.

Oh. Lights out. Holy. 

Worse.

102 degrees (and still far below what everyone's favorite fire eater runs at).

Saw rainbow hedgehogs on the lawn.

Coughed up so much snot I made a very bad joke about snotnauts. Oxygen seems so scarce and I got scared. It took a long time to soothe the panic from coughing so hard you think you'll find a lung in your lap eventually but Lochlan sang and sang and sat up and rocked me like a child and PJ sat on the floor and made bad jokes about things I can't repeat here. Because no one gets how sick we can be and I don't mean snotty-sick.

Dalton brought in juice but I couldn't drink it and basically everyone over twenty has been awake since four this morning.

And Ben too, who got on a plane and will be home any minute now.

Yay!

Iron Maidens and hipster nursemaids.

(Lochlan had a full day of errands to run today out in the valley and so he left me to the Creative Facial Hair Club members. I will exact payback when I feel better.)

Death approaches slowly, walking in sock feet, not making a sound as it advances across the room and crawls into my throat and sinuses. My temperature rockets to a hundred but it's not enough to fry this clear and present danger, intent being to leave no survivors, and no trace that it was ever here.

Today I wandered around the vintage stores in a feverish daze while Daniel tried to get me to approve or dismiss everything he held up. I find four more Louis Vuittons (one real) and a whole herd of Coach bags and a Fendi too. He found a jacket Ruth would love. I just couldn't get my act together to feel good enough to care or buy anything in the end but he managed to drag me to four more stores and then suggest I stop at the insurance company (our broker sold out, ergo new paperwork ten times over) to drop off new cheques so I did that and then I cried Uncle. I wanted soup so we...came home.

Because in Daniel's sheltered universe, BRIDGET makes the soup.

Huh? We could have stopped at five different delis on the way home but instead he just assumed I would feel well enough to make a big lunch.

He went home in a huff, hungry and I threw the bag of clothes he bought right out the door after him. We both miss Ben. Daniel is a closet brat though. He won't admit that something's wrong, he just acts all twitchy and belligerent until I boot him out and then in three or four hours (the time it takes to watch two rom-coms and drink half a bottle of wine alone) he'll slink back over with a big case of the sorries and the Iloveyous. He's nothing like Ben when it comes to fighting. He turtles without any effort at all. It's almost disappointing to argue with him but if it's all the same to you I'd rather not.

Duncan took over control of Princess Ickynose Duty and made soup for me, putting it in my big Chococat mug with a spoon and a bubble-tea straw, on a tray with juice and crackers and then snuggled in with me on the couch with a whole box of tissues to watch The Man Who Laughs. I drank the soup, almost fell asleep and promised myself to campaign for a remake of the film that follows the book a little more closely.

Duncan swore he'll have nightmares for the rest of his life.

I apologized for sneezing on him, but he said that wasn't what he meant.

He turned off the television and the DVD player, closed the curtains and instructed me to sleep until close to dinner time. I obliged willingly and also vowed to someday maybe marry him too, if time permits, since he's surprisingly nurturing for someone so blindingly cool.

In a perfect world:

• All boys give hugs without being asked and don't let go until someone else does first.
• Every romantic lovesong is sung by Corey Taylor (at least in my head. He has a perfect voice).
• No movies are directed by Judd Apatow or Tim Burton.
• Laughter is endless and unable to shut down without herculean effort.
• Money doesn't grow on trees but things are more evenly distributed.
• Lochlan has no temper.
• Neither does (did?) Cole.
• Jake would have had no despair, no hopelessness to offset his flawed faith.
• Jake's faith would have been whole and perfect.
• Sam would not be restless, but content.
• Ruth and Henry are always safe, forever and ever, amen.
• I can park a car without a ten-foot buffer zone in all directions.
• Cotton candy doesn't make my teeth hurt.
• PJ finds what he is seeking.
• I'm not allergic to sunscreen, fabric softener, food coloring or red wine.
• The beach is closer and there are no oil tankers in the harbor (wtf Vancouver?)
• The Atlantic and the Pacific don't have to fight for my loyalty.
• Chocolate cheesecake is easier to find.
• My favorite television show (Revolution) moves to 7:00 PM instead of 10:00. 
• My narcolepsy gets cured by something stupid, like chocolate cake. (Sadly I tried this already and it did not work.)
• Caleb would find a hobby (besides making money, collecting things and...chasing me.)
• The wind would disappear.
• The cherry blossoms would stay up in the trees where they belong.
• I wouldn't have to wait so long for the third book in the Divergent series.
• Ben would retire now instead of in thirty years time.
• August would come back. 
• I am never sad about things beyond my control.
• God pays attention to me.
• I can hear. I can hear you. I can hear everything.

We call it Heartbreak Point because we're dramatic like that.

Ben is still in New York, probably eating his weight in pizza with one hand while signing contracts with the other. Batman will keep him out of trouble but they won't be back until at least next Tuesday. Why? Because it's March break, people are away and so they have to wait until those people come back.

I see the irony in this and I decline to even fight about it. Ben will work himself to death and I'll stand there with my shovel, damp earth weighing down the blade, splinters in my fingers from the handle and I'll tell him I told him so, just not out loud.

Caleb took his life in his hands today (as if it is ever anywhere else) and brought over a new envelope today. A big manila one with Lochlan's name on it.

What is this?

 The proposal he would like. 

What do you mean?

Read it and see. 

But Lochlan didn't read it, he burned it because he doesn't care. Or maybe because he does. It was sort of a relief to see it go away again without the weight of Caleb's blood spilled on the pages or my soul dissected in print for all to see. We didn't grow up when everyone else did, you see. We're stuck. Wedged between seasons, trapped under age.

Argh. Now I'm curious, Loch says with regret. I can't fight him blind. 

Never stopped you before. 

True, he says ruefully. You know, I think maybe we should take a trip.

Memories of flying down the Oregon coast, an angry mob chasing us the whole way rises in my throat like bile. No, I'm fine right here, Locket. 

I mean a real trip, Bridget. I think I'd like to take you home now. Overseas, I mean. Maybe we could do Ireland, too.

I don't believe him for even a moment and so I smile and indulge his thoughts as he spends them out wistfully out loud against the wind. Dreams and magic are his only currency here. He knows it will never happen. He knows we'll die here on this point, sandwiched between spring and fall, between the angels and the devils, the living and the dead, the carnies and the gravemakers too.

I don't think I gave us any other choice.

Don't shoot me down
While I'm awake
They've set the traps
I'm gonna stay

So I need to know your name
I'm gonna stay
I need you to do the same

Same conversation, totally different subjects.

Stop staring. What is so fascinating anyway?

You are. 

No, I'm not. 

On the contrary. 

I finally resort to staring back. He is studying my eyes. Maybe waiting for them to change from faded glass-green to washed-out watered-down turquoise and back to green again. They do that, based on my moods. If you look on my bare back there's a switch you can flip to see them do it when you get tired of waiting for them to shift naturally.

 All I can think of is those years in between when I was very young and now that have caused my complete and utter disdain for my own appearance. At a glance I'm still pretty, depending on how fast you look or how drunk you are. Upon closer inspection age and time and circumstance and death have cast a slight pall, softening beauty into something else. I still have short legs, no ass and childish hands but now my eyes have lines from squinting, I have black circles under them that just won't quit, my hair is fading to ash and my translucent skin is striking, startling. The road map of veins across my chest, hands and legs precludes looking good naked. Naked, I think I look like a map of the human condition.

Or something small and freakish that belongs in a jar.

And scars. Not sure which ones horrify more, the surgical ones (from being too ridiculously tired and small to give birth to ten-pound babies without help), the permanent marks Cole left on me that he thought no one would ever find (everyone found them) or the little white checkmark directly under my nose from where I tried to impress Lochlan by trying out his skateboard. I hit a rock and french-kissed the pavement. I also broke three teeth during that little stunt, ironically.

(Because, you know, I somehow wasn't smart enough to remember that I had already impressed him walking a wire sixty feet up in the air in front of hundreds of people. Or waking a burning wire eight feet off the ground while hungry, while there was a price on my head.

I can do that. But a skateboard? I can't ride a skateboard, those things are deathtraps.)

Enough, I tell him. Stop looking at me.

Why? I could never get tired of looking at you.

You're so...weird.

You're the one with the checkmark on your face.

Wow, Loch. Pretty good coming from someone who burned all his arm-hair and most of his fingernails off trying to learn to juggle fire.

I succeeded though. You still can't ride a skateboard. Oh and everything I lost grew back. I didn't think your scar would be there forever.

It could still heal. Forever's not finished yet.

EXACTLY MY POINT! THANK YOU!

Wafer tumbler lock.

I have an incredibly detailed theory about how certain faces, places and melodies are keys that open certain parts of who we are. Souls are locked. Some keys fit, some don't. I'm not sharing it in detail here today but it's been on my mind a lot lately.

In the middle under a cold black sky
The sun will only burn for you and I
In the moment before I lose my mind
These hours don't mean anything this time

Lochlan is following me around, guitar strapped on, singing radio lullabies at my back as I try and ignore his understated selfish glee. He hasn't stopped smiling as he puts on a show to lift my mood. It's working. Sometimes he opens up enough, putting away the practical side of himself and bringing out the fun side. Switching easily from parent to lover. I just wish he would do it more often. I need it right now. Ben and Batman have gone to New York for a meeting and I'm not all that thrilled about it. Neither were they.

Caleb invited us over late last night (no envelope but no surprise either) and asked Lochlan what he wanted. What would make him happy. What should he change about his proposal to me that would satisfy Lochlan in particular. That was when Lochlan tried to speak but instead he started laughing.

Caleb remained on the other side of the kitchen island. I think he probably had weapons stockpiled to just below counter height. But Lochlan didn't stop laughing and so Caleb ran out of patience and said he wasn't going to discuss this until we could be serious. He walked to the door and held it open so we could leave.

I attempted to apologize for Lochlan's verbal paralysis but the giggles are incredibly contagious. The Devil merely rolled his eyes as we staggered out the door and back across the driveway.

I was asleep within twenty minutes, I think. I don't do late evenings so well sometimes now. I'm always tired and back to drinking coffee after lunch to try and beat back the early evening yawns and the massive crash that hits whenever I stop moving long enough to entertain it.

When I wake up with a start, it's pitch dark and silent, very early in the morning. Loch is awake too. He rolls up onto his side and kisses me, his hand sliding into my hair as he lifts my head up off our shared pillow. His arms tremble slightly.  His other hand slides down to my hipbone, grating against it with his thumb as he pulls me under him.We sleep sandwiched together so he doesn't have to bring me far. His heat keeps me simmering just under one hundred and three degrees. He is impatient, unintentionally rough and deliberately gentle all at the same time.

He lifts himself up on his arm, forces my legs around his waist and brings his weight back down. My breath comes out in a rush against his neck and his arms come up around me as he finds a rhythm that works with our song. Another key, this one involving perfect timing and a melody that plays in my head as he moves us. It fits. We move so much more slowly than most and I don't know if that's because it's just something we do or if we've figured out how to bring ourselves up to molten lava temperatures while barely moving at all.

In the dark I feel his face smiling against my cheek, his head ducked down, pressed against my hair, his weight keeping me right on the verge of hyperventilating, the song filling my ears and leaving everything else out.

Another kiss as he brings us through that motionless crawl, and I think I've died. If this is my final breath I'll go, willing and swift. Loved. But he is not finished yet. He winds me right out to the edge where I dangle over the earth far below us and then he pulls me in and I hold on to him as he peers down to check the surface of the earth too.

There isn't much to see down there. The clouds with their sterling linings have obscured everything and so we stay where we are, long out of breath, steam rising from our skin, pale curls raked across both of our foreheads, eyes locked in the dark.

Keys.

When we finally release each other the cold air rushes in to cause shivers and I hastily crawl down to the bottom of the bed to pull up the sheets, the duvet, everything that wound up on the floor.

I drag everything back up and bundle down into the covers and he bends his head down, kissing the top of mine and he says to me,

This summer marks the beginning of my thirty-fifth year of being in love with you. I want to celebrate.

And then he falls asleep so fast I can't respond, and so I just lie there wide awake, my heart hammering against my hands, clasped against my chest. We should throw a party, I think to myself. We really should mark this somehow.

Wait, we just did.

Before I can stop myself the giggles take over again, quietly at first but soon enough my shoulders are shaking with the effort and the noise is enough to stir Lochlan awake. His lifts his head from the pillow and slurs,

Maybe someday we'll grow up and be mature enough to know when enough is enough. Go to sleep, Peanut.

That does me in. I don't sleep for the rest of the night. I just lie there in the dark and grin.

They should have put DIFF ICULT somewhere.

When I came downstairs yesterday evening Duncan and Ruth were shaking off their coats in the back hallway. Ruth looked relieved and told me she went to apologize to Caleb for the email. She got Duncan to go with her for moral support or backup or protection or something, I don't stop to let my brain parse the possibilities.

What did he say? I ask.

Not to worry about it. That he tested the limits when he was my age too and he understands my position. What does he mean?

That he's smart enough to know you will always side with your dad.

Oh. Can I go to my room now?

Yes. Thank you for going to see him.

Tomorrow night he's going to do a sundae bar.

You're lucky, kiddo.

Ruth disappears up the stairs and Duncan waits until she is long out of earshot before opening his mouth.

Bridget, you're struggling with not projecting your feelings about being a teenager onto Ruth.

What do you know about being a teenage girl?

Sadly, not enough to have this conversation.

It's okay. It's...a long story.

You really okay Bridget? Maybe if you talked to me or someone, anyone, you wouldn't be strung as tight as drum all the time.

You want me to be loose?

That's a whole different conversation, ma'am.

***

I see you hiding in the palms of my hands
And I'd be afraid to let you go
But I don't see what my eyes are supposed to see
And I lost myself
Do you need to question everything?

 I woke up this morning covered in sharpie again. My knuckles say NOGH OSTS.  Loch's printing. Up and down my arms he scrawled validation in between my tattoos. Over my stomach he wrote promises he made to me that he's kept. He wrote backwards so I could read the parts I can't readily see in the mirror. He's thoughtful like that.

Written across my knees is a love letter, facing me so when I sit in a chair I can read the whole thing. It's in Ben's writing, since he makes things easier. It's beautiful and smudged and indelible and sweet. Lyrical. On my toes he wrote COUR AGEO.

I ask him where the US went and he said we're right here.

I am careful not to scrub too hard in the shower, only to rinse away the night with the washcloth and leave the words intact. On and under my skin. At one point I seriously considering having all of these words removed. Burned away leaving clean new flesh. Faded and barely remembered, words that once meant everything are now relics of a whole other life, stabs of pain, epic spells of insecurity. Regretful words. Do they make me who I am or was I trying to become someone else?

And then Lochlan said any time what's under my skin gets to be too much they would write new words on the surface but I could wash them off when I wanted. This gives me a little control when I feel like I don't belong in my own skin, when my self-esteem takes a dive and never resurfaces.

Because let's face it, I have none. No self and no outward. Which is why they patiently watch me set myself on fire from the inside out. The only thing I remember from last night is asking Lochlan if we could eat fire because I was drunk and it would be dangerous and impressive and then look, look how amazing I would be.

He shook his head and told me I already was but that it was sad I didn't believe him. I never believe him. I don't believe in much of anything these days except love and whatever other imaginary futures I can make up in my head.

Yeah fuck it.

She's got bigger balls than everyone.

The day just gets better and better. Caleb just forwarded this email he got from Ruth while she is at school:

I just heard the best joke!

Love is like a fart. If you have to force it, it's probably crap.

LOL

The subject line said "Team Dad". Excuse me while I go high-five my kid. Ahem, I mean give her a lecture on respect. Oh, who am I kidding?

Engineers.

We're at Easter dinner with Cole's parents. Cole sits to my right, and across from me sits Caleb. Both brothers hold their fork the same way, between the middle and the index finger. I'm not sure when I noticed it, probably when I first started attending these holiday dinners a few years ago. Cole and I are engaged now and Caleb is finishing law school. His mother asks about the big dinner and dance after convocation. She is hopeful that he is going to work and study less and maybe date more.

I have a date for the dance, yes. I've invited a classmate. 

That's wonderful! Anyone we have heard of before?

No, her name is Sophie. She is a first year student. 

Will we get to meet her? 

I doubt it. It's just a dance, mom. Please don't read more into it than is there already. Wait for the burden of proof. 

It's just that you've got so much going for you. We'd like you to find someone to share it with. 

When I can convince the right girl, I would like to do exactly that. He stares pointedly at me and I ignore him. I am eating everything on my plate because we can't afford fresh vegetables or prime rib roast. I'm soon to be nineteen and I woke fifty hours a week and it all goes to rent and paint and film. Cole is in school too, though art school so far pays nothing. Caleb is twenty-six and has the most beautiful apartment downtown, close to the university. If you ask me though I will tell you I've never been there.

***

I help clean up the kitchen after dinner. Cole's father comes in to get new beers for the boys and he and Cole's mom have a hushed discussion by the sink.

Do you think he's gay?

Does it matter? I just want him to find someone and not be alone. 

I think he has. I just think he doesn't want us to know yet. But I can't figure out why for the life of me unless it's a man. 

I wish he would find a girl like Bridget. She's so helpful. They have switched gears. I didn't realize I had stopped moving to listen. I'm caught. I blush.

I'm sorry. I don't mean to intrude on a private discussion. 

Do you know anything about anyone he might be seeing? Has Cole said anything?

I don't-

Look, honey, I'm sorry to put you on the spot. Of course that isn't fair. Why don't you let me finish up, you can go spend time with Caleb. You and Cole hardly get to see him these days. I don't remember having to work this hard when I was your age. 

It's fine. We have big plans. 

You're going to be a beautiful bride. 

Thank you. I hope I can make your son happy. 

I fail to distinguish which one as she passes a stack of dessert plates to me, forks on top.

***

We're in my kitchen, finding more plates. We keep running out and I have switched to paper. PJ went to the store for me. There is hardly room to breathe. The memorial ended and everyone gravitated to the house. Cole's mother wants to serve pie to all of the boys so they can choke it back along with the first taste of mortality they have ever experienced. I wanted to leave Cole, I didn't want him to die. And I don't want to face his mother. Not now. Not like this, with Jake in the living room trying to wear all of his hats at once. Minister, backstabber, outsider, future.

I wish you would have just left Cole for Caleb. He's been in love with you since you were in pigtails. I knew a long time ago that you were the reason he never found anyone. He's done very well for himself. You should have maybe chosen him.

You would have wanted me to be the reason for your sons betraying each other and maybe hating each other?

You're right. But now there's no reason to hide anything. I think Jake would understand. He's new to the group of friends, isn't he? He won't be alone for long, that one. 

I stop and stare at her. I am horrified. I don't love Caleb like that. 

It might come in time. He has the resources to provide for you and the children. He can give you everything. In time, you might develop deeper feelings for him. 

It's so warm in the kitchen suddenly. I make my excuses and run upstairs. Jake follows but I don't stop. I run into the bathroom and am sick to my stomach. Jake bursts in and pulls my hair back from my face. He's asking what is wrong. What did I eat? What happened? I brush him off, telling him it was all the drinking I did after we left the hospital. That it's catching up with me now. He believes me.

When I come downstairs, Caleb's mother is still waiting for me. She says she's called Caleb and he's flying in in a few days, as soon as he can wrap up his immediate business in Toronto. He's so important he misses his only brother's service but now he's clearing his schedule?

My face turns white. I haven't even had time to tell Jacob anything. It's been a good three years since I've seen Caleb and things are finally settling down. I think we've put the past behind us but now it's going to catch up again. But all of that is a distant nagging fear in comparison to the sharp ache of death and trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I broke Cole's heart and it killed him.

Part of me wants to be thrilled that I paid him back with such finality but the rest of me is too shocked to feel any relief at all. It's all caving in because I wanted out. And now she wants her only living child to be with someone like me? Don't people realize what I've done here? Can't they see how many mistakes I've made? The value that's been placed on my head is far more than I'm worth. I don't say anything to her in response to her announcement. Jake sees the pallor of my skin and sends me back upstairs to sleep.

Only I can't sleep. I watched Cole sleep and while he was sleeping he died. And right now I would give anything to have him back. He could fix this mess. Or at least make it less obvious that we made it.