Intervals.

(Twenty-nine years, eleven months, and thirteen days.)

That's how long he waited before pulling the Ace down out of his sleeve, a sleight of hand trick you missed before you even realized you were concentrating so hard you weren't actually concentrating on the right things.

He's good and you don't put any faith in that. You can't be fooled. You can't be had. There are no surprises, you cry. It's all just smoke and mirrors. Anyone can do it.

A challenge, quickly dispensed with, and you'll walk away with a new appreciation for magic, because magic is real and now you know, he always says.

Except I've never seen a trick that took that long ever and I've seen them all, watching from the temporary, rickety steps with the bag of red licorice that he put into my hands to stave off the dinner-time hunger pangs. These steps are the emergency-door steps behind the Funhouse and this is where he practices his tricks in the mid-afternoon. When he grows up he's going to be a magician and I will be his assistant, because we needed a backup plan for the downtimes between school, the midway (which is so unpredictable) and the circus. I think we almost have it.

And I'm going to barf. I've eaten half the bag. It's so hot out here in the blazing sun but Lochlan likes to torture himself. He says if he can do the tricks under 'dress', he can easily do them in better circumstances.

(Later he would correct me and tell me it's duress, and it means someone doing something that might even be bad because they have been threatened by someone and will be hurt if they don't. Oh, I think I get it. Yes, I definitely get it.)

He brings me a bag of licorice from the store where he stopped and filled the bike up with gas because he's hardly been off it and it's not even his and I fret every time he guns it up the driveway, waiting to see him smoke the gate at a thousand kilometres an hour but so far so good and now it goes back to New Jake, who I think is getting anxious to ride.

Licorice still makes me want to barf after a certain amount, because I can never stop eating it. Once I ate the entire bag in one sitting and had to spend the rest of the afternoon hallucinating on the kitchen floor from the sugar sloshing through my veins.

Lochlan tells me four sticks only and sits down beside me with Jake's helmet in his lap.

How is Benji?

He's pissed and unruly and...I don't know, he's everything today, Loch. 

Want me to go talk to him? (I've been mostly keeping them apart. All of them.)

No. Not really. 

This doesn't work, Bridget. Any issues he has with me need to be fixed. I can't be responsible for how he reacts to stuff. 

I know this. But still. Why now?

You don't like it? I got the feeling you were pretty thrilled with me.

Why now, Lochlan?

Because I was trying so hard to make your life magical, Bridget. I wanted everything to be bright lights and magic and make believe. I wanted it to be so beautiful and Caleb and Cole took that all away and taught you that life is painful and violent and frightening. I just want to bring things back around. I won't let him win this. I just..I just want to show you that you don't need anyone else.

All for one, is it then?

I don't know, Bridget. This isn't sustainable. 

That's what Ben said this morning. 

He's right! Jesus, he's so right.

I take another stick of licorice and he pulls the bag out of my hand and stuffs it into his backpack. He picks up the deck again in the blazing sun and asks me to choose a card. Any card.

But I can't because my stomach hurts. He fishes the Queen of Hearts out of the collar of my shirt and tells me to come on, we'll go back to the camper now and he'll put the ice in front of the fan for me, and that next time to listen when he tells me how much licorice to eat.

(I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back, til things are brighter.)

(That would be Mr. Cash, if you're inclined. And we're okay right now).

I'm lighting torches and laying them down on the patio. One after another after another. Ben sits scowling directly behind me on the steps. I have him on a proverbial leash and he must follow me around as I scowl, dragging my dark cloud along over our heads. Head to toe black for each of us and I'm not sure who is pulling off the fiercer look. I would say him. I'm too small to make anyone nervous except in this way. I'm mad. I'm really, really mad and the only way I can keep everyone at bay, away from us is with fire.

Again, how fitting.

I'm so mad I haven't actually spoken to Ben since Monday night, except to order him around. I haven't acknowledged his threats, given in to his pleas or given up on his dismissals. I wish he would stop talking some times. I wish he'd stop being silent too. I wish he'd stop being funny and sweet in between moments of failure and despair. I wish he could turn his ego off with a flick of a switch. I wish he wouldn't say one thing and do something else. I wish sometimes that I didn't love him so I could just walk away.

He's said more than once that I should. Just go already, walk out. Don't come back, cause he won't miss me. Don't look back cause he won't watch me leave. Don't cry because he's not going to shed any tears.

I put my head down in my hands and let the words bounce off my skull. I hear that's the thickest part of me, according to sources who know these things. I could still feel it though and it hurt.

I finally looked up again and I leaned back against my heels and I told him to shut up and he laughed and said I was amazing.

Yes, I am. So if you want to be with me you'd better work hard to be amazing too.

He laughed until he cried. No, literally.

Caleb picked that moment to come up the steps from the driveway and he saw the imaginary leash and the heavy black clothing and the ring of fire and our expressions, hung right out to dry and he rolled his eyes and said For fucks sake, can you two be normal for five minutes? 

Afraid to fall.

(People seem to like the sound I make, screaming the whole way down, so here. Take it and just fuck off, please.)

I tried not to seem bitter. I tried to be nice. I tried to stand behind the door and watch as they've carted him off and made excuses and put up a wall and then I tried to make do. I tried patience and understanding too. I tried on acceptance but that doesn't even fit, it's huge and I would just fall right out the bottom and then I tried the last two things on the list and I think maybe they might be presentable.

Enough so that no one stares, at least.

Bravery, of course, and fear.

Oh, Jesus, golly, that's such a big one, that fear. I don't like that one at all but sometimes it works for me in ways nothing else does. I mean it works for us, for him.

For him.

Idiot-Benjamin.

Lochlan tried to steamroll me right out of the proceedings. Sam tried to jump in with both feet, this is his specialty and since he's in house, why not? But no. Go plan your fucking wedding, already, Sam, you're hammering Matt right into the ground. And Jesus Christ, Loch, you know I love you but you know I promised to be here for Ben in ways that trump just about everything else and hell, I never said 'forsaking all others' but right now come to think of it, he does need me a little more than anyone else does. Right now.

So I'll fix him, because nothing else is working.

I already forced him to get the fuck out of bed and go for a walk and then I made him eat and then shower and shave and wish the children luck. Ruth has exams today, Henry has a street hockey tournament and fucking Christ just stay busy.

Fix the shelf in the bathroom, help Daniel with the painting. Fucking take this book and read it. Make your wife a cup of coffee because Lord knows she hasn't slept and make a phone call and talk to August for a little while and then I will and we'll keep the pressure off Sam and we'll keep the children in the dark and we'll fight off the Devil and the superheroes too and we'll just stay here together and get you better. 

Yeah.

We're in the double-digit hours already. 

It was a division of the night, into two distinct parts. His was all that mattered as he pulled my hands up over my head and caught them with one hand firmly wrapped around my wrists. I remain still and breathe. This is not how this one works. This one doesn't stray so far from straight-up missionary fucking and this one doesn't restrain me unless I'm determined to hurt him and this one never goes to dark places, preferring to light a match, flick a lighter or lick a torch until the dark is pushed back into the edges, retreating smoothly and without hesitation.

This one doesn't like to hurt me, not even to pretend.

And I know he won't but then his teeth catch on my bottom lip and the unholy sound that erupts from deep within his throat give me such a little thrill I mentally chastise myself for being so goddamned predictable, depraved.

Tell me what you want, he pleads. No, wait, it's not a plea, it's an order and Little Miss Depraved kicks into high gear with her endless list while Little Miss Fragile lies there and smiles.

***

Trust has become a four-letter-word, spit in any random direction hoping to land a blow, traveling on the wind. Ben sent me a series of messages from downstairs and I knew what he was up to before I saw him, finally, when I went downstairs to see him. I can tell by the subjects he brings up.

Ben, you promised us. 

He's doing what he's always done, sitting slouched way down in the armchair, all knees and elbows and cheekbones and big brown eyes and he's not wrecked but I know he wishes to be. He takes a sip and then slams the glass back down on the arm of the chair. Some of it leaps out and coats his forearm and some of the chair arm but he makes no move to wipe it off or apologize for the mess. He points in my direction with his free hand.

I promised you, he says. He's lucid. The glass is full. I look around for the rest of the bottle so I can see where he's at and he reaches over the other arm of the chair and pulls the bottle up by the neck. It's full too.

This is the first drink, Bridget. Why don't you go get someone for me, okay, Bumblebee? This is not for you to handle. 

But maybe it is. Maybe things have to be different. Maybe we can't keep going in circles. Maybe we can't keep building up the towers to knock them down. Maybe I'd like to use my instincts for once.

I walk over to him as he covers his face with his hand and I take the glass away from him. He watches as I drink it, the whole thing at once. I gulp it down until it's empty. It burns. Oh, Jesus it hurts so bad I think it might have dissolved my knees. I start choking and coughing but I still grab the bottle and I turn it upside down, pouring it all over Ben's expensive soundproof carpeting.

He watches. He doesn't even try to stop me.

It's the first drink and the last drink, Ben. I want you to keep your promises just like I keep the ones I've made to you. If you do this again, next time I'll light the carpet on fire after I soak it in fuel and I'll burn down your whole fucking life. 

I think someone already beat you to it, Bee. 

You want to know the funny thing? I know better than that. He didn't make you pour a drink. You did that all by yourself.

I posted this a little while ago:

But then Ben sent me this:

He wins.

Six Pine Trees.

The preacher uniform seems to be a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and ancient jeans. Brown leather shoes, but at the last minute because we hate shoes, you see.

 I know this because both the preachers in my life sport the same outfit most days.

Well, they used to, I suppose.

Sam shovels cereal into his mouth at a pace that might cause me to look away if not for his own expression, which is not at all relaxed like usual. He chews noisily and swallows, takes a sip of coffee and then one of juice. Then he holds out a spoonful in offering and I take it. He shovels another into his own mouth. Now we're both staring at each other and chewing noisily.

He finishes his bite before I do and tells me he's getting more terrified and overwhelmed with each passing moment in planning this wedding and he's no longer pretending it's cold feet.

What is it, then?

Maybe it's a sign.

If I told you it's normal and then it's a relief once the ceremony is over would that make a difference?

What if it doesn't?

They have annulments for that but I don't think you're going to find a greater man than Matt.

What if I don't really want a man?

T-Rexs' arms are far too short for this to work. And alpacas are so filthy, Sam. 

Bridget-

If you fuck up the best thing that's happened to you in a long time, Sam, I'll never speak to you again. 

His eyebrows go up and he says, The most fascinating thing about what you just said isn't that you can make idle threats so easily but that the thought of you carrying this out would be a literal death sentence and I would cease to breathe, never being the same again.

You're one of the few finding a life in this mess of what Jacob and Cole left behind, Sam. 

I made a mess, too, Bridge, the first time around. And Matt is too good of a man to risk ruining. 

So don't ruin him. Make him happy. 

I see the light leak back into his eyes, which crinkle up quite beautifully as my words soak into his brain. We've had this conversation before, Bridget. 

I know we have. You have to go or else you'll miss your own service.

Coming today? 

No, you can give me a synopsis later. 

I can give you one now. Leave it all in His hands, and let Him carry the weight sometimes. 

I tried but I couldn't find Him.

Then you didn't look hard enough. 

 Great. I can be the little deaf and blind heathen. Now go take your own advice.

You're something alright. I will see you this afternoon, unless I don't.

Bye. Did I mention I love having you here? 

Did I tell you I will never be anywhere else again?

No! You didn't, but you totally should because I would like to hear that. 

Then I will tell you later, because I'm going to be late if I tell you now.

Sam gathers up his messenger bag and his blazer and phone and kisses my head before rushing out of the kitchen. Church starts in eight minutes. It takes twelve to get there.

Caleb looks up from the newspaper. He is sitting at the table waiting for the children to take them out to brunch. He folds the paper closed with a practiced snap and smiles thinly. I see that the legacy Jacob left for Samuel is in the way he speaks to you. 

What do you mean?

With each passing day, he talks more and more like Winnie the Pooh. I'm surprised you didn't notice this before.

We settled on cheese and bread and whiskey for breakfast and pretended to paint the sunrise as it appeared on the horizon but really we were liars and fakers and thieves, until that whiskey dissolved the lies and uncovered the truth, set against a cool morning tide, wind roaring in our faces as we split the last piece of smoked gouda.

Lochlan ate the heel of the loaf of bread too, even though I wanted it. He took my glass away after two drinks and told me I still need my bangs cut and I dissolved into barely-inebriated frustration.

What's wrong? He asked and I lied some more to see if I can craft a poker face out of fake smiles and thin skin.

I'm cold.

He pulled his sweater over his head and stuck me right through it. It smells like turpentine, kerosene and Old Spice. It smells like Cole but then my brain reminds me that Cole smelled like Loch, save for the kerosene.

His eyes smile at me and it's hard to be mad. Really hard, as it always is when he switches those gears from parent to first love.

Simple tasseography.

He's sipping on a coffee on the patio, just out of the sun, where the shade begins from the overhang. The backyard is a blown-out, nuclearly-bright point that crumbles to dust in dry weather and sharpens in the rain. The orchard has no shade either. The boathouse is in a lovely stand of hemlocks and cedars and there's virtual wooden darkness out front except for very early in the morning but that backyard, man, it's just overly warm now.

I suppose that's why he's not wearing a shirt. He's warm. Lochlan does not sweat, he just turns red-hot from the inside. He glows like an iron in a fire. I only wish for that strange talent as I scrap my bangs off my forehead from where they are plastered and vow to burn these flannel pajamas just as soon as it's cool enough for actual fire.

I only put them on when I got up because they were hung on the hook on the back of the bedroom door and I had to wear something presentable. I'm sure I wouldn't get objections if I didn't put them on but that's neither here nor there, now, is it?

In a similar train of thought, I guess that's why Loch is wearing his navy blue board shorts and nothing else. They were probably within reach. The color just highlights his hair as the curls on top have changed to honey and strawberries and the ones underneath remain the color of the darkest orange maple leaves for now.

He looks delicious and I'm hungry because I was busy and I eat breakfast at nine but there was no bread left and I didn't feel like having Shreddies or fruit for that matter. I could have dispatched someone to fetch an egg mcmuffin but just as likely they would have told me to get it myself. That's a useful, bitter order when one is pretty much bound within these property lines as it is.

I could have called Mike to take me to the McDonalds in the city but God, what a waste of gas for one person's breakfast.

I have just decided I'll maybe gnaw on Lochlan for a while when he tells me New-Jake has lent him the Sunbeam for the weekend.

Oh, that's a great idea.

Have one better? He asks, smiling. Not like you won't be invited. 

I grin. In that case, be careful? 

Always am. 

Liar liar pants on fire. 

I don't tell anything but the truth. 

Oh my God, you even lie about lying, Locket! I poke him and grin. This give and take used to be normal. It's a nice change from our usual strung out declarations and emotional undertakings. This is levity.

It feels so good he feels guilty and ruins it instantly, lest I take the wrong things seriously. So many years and he still doesn't trust me to know how to react properly since I have grown from a little kid with a little instant-gratification brain to an adult with...okay nevermind. The point is he stops smiling and tells me he's not leaving this earth without me.

Oh. This earth grinds to a halt and almost throws me off in the process. Gravity intervenes at the last second, channeled by his eyes, which have leaked all of their mirth down over his skin and all that remains is sadness and devotion.

You just...had to do that, didn't you?

I learned from the best and now I can't help it, he says and his eyes continue to project their heat shimmer as I try and breathe through my choked-up throat.

Rock- or Metal-tarts would have been so much cooler.

Old mister fun is back
Wonder where he's been hiding at
Hanging round the edge
Walls unfortified, inside
No different, patchwork hack
Toil away on an unlaid track
Falls closing in, got nowhere to hide
This time
Finding ceilings low
I'm too big or this room's too small
Why's my ceiling another's floor

Christian is writing, writing, editing, working and I've done nothing but distract him for a good ninety minutes, chattering about damned near everything, showing him different boats and what I think are whales but are probably waves because I'm not good at this, I find the binoculars big and heavy and even propping them on the table isn't a great solution but Christian is impatient and frustrated and finally he says,

Bridget. Get a chair. You look ridiculous.

Oh, well, why didn't you say so?! I don't think like the rest of you!

I see that. Need a Pop-tart?

I stare at him. I can't think of a comeback.

***

Christian used to babysit me when I was eight. Mostly because Lochlan was above that and Christian was happy to make some money for what he considered an easy gig. Except the first time he did he put a movie that his family had rented into their VCR. He figured he could keep me busy that way.

Ah, the brilliant ideas of teenage boys. The movie was Halloween.

By the end of the movie I was behind him on the couch, covered with pillows, shaking like a leaf. He turned the television off, turned and stared at me with wide eyes before putting on his adolescent bravery and he said,

Need a Pop-tart? (As if Pop-tarts could solve everything.)

I chose strawberry and then asked if he had the second movie, so we could find out what happens next, because it didn't actually end, just hanging like that. Look who's brave now!

That's called a cliffhanger, Bridget. You want the other Pop-tart? He holds out the wrapper.

Yes. I take it but I can't finish it and he takes my offered remaining piece and stuffs the whole thing in his mouth.


***

I shake my head. It's too early for pop tarts and besides, they make me feel sick now. Probably because they are cardboard with sugar frosting and I'm getting too old to be fooled by those kinds of things.

But now Gage won't get his chin off the ground. He points at Christian and then at me.

He used to...babysit you?

Sometimes, yes. 

Isn't that weird?

Would have been weirder if it had been Lochlan, Christian laughs and takes a bite of his Pop-tart. They don't make him sick. Lucky guy.

Out Shine.

Ben met me halfway up the basement stairs after a cryptic SMS sent me flying down the steps. It was eleven at night and he had come home, shown his face at the table, wolfed down a plate of food and disappeared to the basement to finish something up. He said he'd be an hour, ninety minutes tops. This was at six-thirty.

Right. 

When he meets me, he says, Oh, what's that, bumblebee? Your phone's dead? What a shame! And he throws it over his shoulder. I hear it hit something and bounce to the floor and he tilts his head in that weird intense gotcha way that makes my knees kind of buckle and he scoops me up and carries me down to the studio.

Which isn't a studio anymore, it's a campsite.

With a tent. Our six-person tent set up in the middle. No lights but three battery-powered lanterns are on. The portable electric fireplace plugged in and flickering nicely (lights, no heat). He's projected stars onto the ceiling and set a soundtrack of loons, crickets and lapping water.

And an ice bucket with champagne because as I have said many times before, Benjamin has no idea what to bring on a camping trip. He had called for pizza too, it was sitting on a blanket in front of the open tent. He shivers and laughs and tells me (pretending) that the lake was really cold (yes, it was) and that we need to start over (yes, we do) and boy is he hungry (so am I!) and just like that he resorts back to the quavery-earnest hilariously non-serious Ben that I fell in love with.

This..is....

Something Jake would do. I know. I was witness to some of his outstanding romantic gestures. It's okay, I can take it. But he squeezes his eyes shut and ducks his head down as if he's about to be lambasted. But he's not.

...incredible. I love this. Ben. I freaking love it.

He opens one eye doubtfully and grins. Then he passes me the whole pizza box and I take a slice and fold it New-York style, like he's taught me.

Ghosts don't go camping, Benny. 

Sure they do. Especially when you wear them on your shoulders like a backpack. 

Ben-

I dropped the ball, Bee. 

Yes. Kind of. 

I'll make it right. Is it too late? Do I have a shot? Can I...crawl back into your heart with some bubbly? He pops the top and pours two flutes and passes me one, clinking his glass against mine before drinking all of it. He puts it down and I look at it. Then I look at him and wait for him to detail his promises in full.

It's non-alcoholic, Bee. 

I know. 

How did you know?

I trust you. 

It's also Christmas. Thank you, Santa, he breathes. You gave me exactly what I wanted. She's beautiful. And a perfect fit. 

What it's like to still be twelve years old.

(It's not your eyes.)

Lochlan buried all of his own bravery and determination in the cornfield when I was a child and can't stick to his own beliefs anymore. Push him just a little and he wavers and gives up. He hates that about himself but he's learning to find the will to push through, to put his foot down, to risk anything at all. I think sometimes I got off rather easy, and Caleb scared him more than he scared me. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what happened, because I've been mowing him down ever since. He won't put up a fight with me very often. He's mostly paralyzed. Injured. Wounded. Scarred. He used to make all the decisions, he controlled the sun and the moon and now I'm learning celestial mechanics on the fly to try and keep the universe going while he lives in his own world in which he knows things are wrong but not what to do about it. He struggles to put aside his doubt  in order to be a good father. Every moment he fights to not show Ruth his flaws. She accepts them anyway, same as I do.

 Cole used to have three brushes on the go at once. One behind his ear, leaving paint on his chestnut curls, one in his right hand, creating magic on the canvas and one wedged tightly between his teeth to bite down on when it hurt too much. Painting was catharsis for him, therapy, release. He would come to bed at four in the morning, turning on all the lights so that he could find me and I would open my eyes long enough to make note of the placement of catastrophic smears of paint that he didn't bother to clean off before sleep. I woke up in the most violent hues. My skin was always raw from showering in turpentine. We threw away a lot of sheets.

Jake had a thing about hot food. Everything had to be broiling. I don't think he ever ate a salad or an ice cream cone in his entire life. He sort of spoiled me rotten in that respect, as he would disappear each morning and come home with fresh warm bagels for breakfast, or McDonalds (!), then we always had soup for lunch and at night I spoiled him right back with hearty stews and casseroles and barbecued goodness. Later still in the nights he would heat up cake in the microwave. I still do that to this day. Not sure what it was but seeing as how I visited the tiny hamlet where he grew up in Newfoundland I'm guessing he was always cold and this was a comfort mechanism. It worked wonders, in that regard.

Caleb had some sort of grand plan for himself from the day he was born and he has steamrolled his way through life to get there. He's isolated himself from everything and everyone, depending on Cole and on me when he wanted company, now paying for those choices dearly when his brother died and I refused to give him the same loyalty I afford to Lochlan. It's the one thing he can't buy and it's driven him mad enough that he's now getting sloppy, making business decisions with his heart instead of his mind. He's slipping at last and I like him better fallible. I like him when he tries to be human. It's refreshing and strange. And I must refrain from vilifying him so much now, since I gave him a son. He can't be that bad, if he gave me a child like Henry. Henry is love and for it, Caleb has changed. He's finally human.

Ben is trying. His hands shake, his mind isn't clear but he sometimes wakes up sober, at the bottom of the well, ready to climb out for another day and work towards staying above ground. He's too big to be so unsure, too heavy to be as graceful as he is, too nimble to be so physically strong and so emotionally wrecked. My sun rises and sets by his rare smiles, and when I take his hands in mine and squeeze them he is grateful for the lull in trembling. I'll be strong for him. We take turns. Right now I've got everything going sort of okay so I can be the one to take the bullets and he can be the one to take cover. At some point we'll trade. He's the strongest and the most fragile person I know. They say that about me too, so it stands to reason we would work best together. I can't lift him but I can hold him up, I say. And he says that he can't fix things but he can hold me while I try.

 I look at this table and I don't get why no one walks away. I pushed and I threatened and I did every single thing I knew of to test them and no one budged. I have fought, tempted, struggled and failed. I have loved. I have tried so hard to sort this out.

Five massive personalities with strength beyond belief. Giants. Tyrants. Legends. Heroes. Villains. Magicians. Gods.

Now three are left.

I'm amazed they all share the same single weakness. Amazed, but not surprised.

And I'll be waiting for you there.

This is for long-forgotten light at the end of the world
Horizon's crying the tears he left behind long ago

The albatross is flying, making him daydream
The time before he became - one of the world's unseen
Princess in the tower, children in the fields
Life gave him it all: an island of the universe

Lochlan fixed the dryer, Ben fixed my hearing aid (at least temporarily but as he pointed out, I'll yank them off after twenty minutes anyways), we threw the moka pot in the recycle bin and decided to bounce between the big coffee maker and the fussy french press from here on out, and I didn't drink any wine or draw any pictures at all.

Instead we went out for a fancy dinner (which does not include carrying our own food to the table and sometimes that's nice too even though it's hard to beat french fries in one's cupholder, which is not at all a euphemism for anything, Padraig) and came home to watch Cloud Atlas, which is a masterpiece, and you should see it if you haven't yet.

It's not as complicated as Inception nor is it as esoteric as The Fall (my all-time favorite movie besides Across the Universe). It's beautiful and fractured and fucked up and perfectly fitting together and difficult and easy all at once. I had a hard time with parts of it for obvious reasons, which I never expect and then there they are, and incredibly graphic besides. But I'm not sorry I watched the movie because I know the difference between real and not real and I'm working hard to not personalize every death, every leap, every decision just because it's happening on a screen/in a book/throughout a song.

I could bury my head in the sand but I won't. I can't.

Today we've shifted our plans to painting, bourbon and cake on the beach, because it should be less girly and more rustic, Loch said. I pointed out cheese is far more rustic and manly and what in the hell is he talking about but he said cake is manly enough and it will do fine.

Yes it will. It always does. Pretty sure he changed the menu to cater to me, and not the other way around. They do that. They'll choose something I want and then act like I'm doing them a favor and I figure it out later. It all works out in the end, just like movies by the Wachowskis.

Twelve hundred dollars worth of bits and pieces.

So far today, I have broken the moka pot, the dryer and one of my hearing aids.

PJ and Ruth had a mini-standoff,  Lochlan had a one-sided shouting match with Caleb and Matt and Sam abruptly stopped planning their practically non-existent wedding because Sam is having a busy week with other weddings, ironically.

Matt closed the folder that Sam left on the table (without the selections marked that Matt asked him to do in choosing certain aspects of their day) and put it in the recycling bin. He gave me a tired, half-bitter smile and said not to say anything, that he takes it in stride as one of things he loves about Sam, that they'll work it out next week when Sam's schedule levels out.

What do you love? His devastating vulnerability and indecisiveness? 

Something like that. Matt laughed.

Lochlan is standing at the counter watching us and sort of stewing in his own bitten-back anger from his morning's completely unresolved altercation.

Sam is the male equivalent of Bridget, Lochlan says abruptly and Matt nods before catching my expression. I turn my jaw slightly to the left and gaze at Lochlan steadily.

Matt whispers Sorry in my face and kisses my cheek on exit. He's heading downtown to run some errands and meet some extended family for lunch. He finds the difference in his weekday schedule versus Sam's end of week+weekend one a little tough but he doesn't say anything because here it is Saturday morning and where is Ben? Sleeping, because he worked around the clock all week. If I'm lucky I'll see him tomorrow when he wakes up.

At least, I hope I will.

On a good note, Gage is loving living here. He loves watching the drama, the waves and the giant movie screen. He loves the wildlife (bears AND coyotes yesterday, two apiece) and he loves the food, though he's incredibly handy at cooking and on a weird schedule that sees him hungry before I can even think about cooking. He loves the people. He's also good at knowing when to leave a room. He salutes and follows Matt out of the room and Lochlan comes around to help empty the dishwasher.

Could you wait until Caleb is back to at least 75% capacity to rip him apart?

Could you not cave in with your heart on your sleeve the moment he drops below that? 

Fine. 

Fine. 

Great day. What do you want to do?

Go down to the beach, draw, drink wine and eat cheese. I smile, thinking he's never going to go for it.

How provincial. 

Tell me about it. 

I love it. You're taking the high road. 

What would I do if I took the low road, exactly?

I'll tell you while we head down to the water. Get your pencils. 

Today was completely and utterly preempted by the guy who did way too much yesterday, too soon after being released and was knocked flat on his ass by another doozy of a headache. He asked me not to leave him alone so I didn't.

You could say I know better, but maybe you don't know how fragile life is and how strange it is to see Caleb brought down by pain. It fucks with my head something fierce, okay?

Galoche.

I remember waking up at three, hearing the birds (I think there's a nest in one of the trees closest to the house) and Ben was pulling me over, stripping off my t-shirt. Just before his hand slid over my whole face I cried out Wenceslas (safe words should always be three syllables and holiday related, correct?) but he didn't hear me. His other hand was wrapped in my hair and then I was blind, deaf, mute and all energies were channeled into touch. At five-thirty he was gone again. He does not sleep sometimes at all. He has such bad habits and worse listening skills. I told him I loved him but he didn't hear that either unless I missed his reply. That happens a lot too.

***

THIS. I want this for Christmas. For my little deep-fried sticks of heaven, man.

***

Caleb and I helped out at Henry's school this morning. Fun times. Not often they get a Princess and a Demon in the classroom on the same day but it happened finally and we did okay. Except the children are even larger than before and the whole place is louder (this is Grade six). Afterward I opted to walk home alone where Gage was the only one around and he had already eaten. Caleb proceeded downtown to a meeting he couldn't get out of and then I guess he can eat alone too. I'm not really hungry anyway.

Unless there are fries involved.

Did you really think that you could fix me?

(Never try texting a girl who already said she doesn't want to talk to you right now.) 

Bridget? 

Yes?

I still want a list of what you want to do for the summer. 

Plastic surgery. An extensive amount. So I can be someone else.

Absolutely not. Try again. 

Circus school? I'm really rusty. 

Try again. 

Going to seduce Duncan and Dalton in the same night. Possibly together.

JESUS CHRIST. 

I'm KIDDING. 

I don't think you are. 

WELL JESUS CHRIST TO YOU TOO. 

Tho, Duncan would fall for your seduction in under five seconds. 

You think? We should place bets. 

Please call an ambulance. 

You're a laugh a minute, Caleb.

As are you. Make a list, Bridget.

I have a list. You're not invited. 

If I had another party I bet I'd be on your list. 

I'm going now. Turning off the phone. Did you want anything specific?

Yes. 

I'm busy.

I didn't even tell you what I want. 

Oh, I know what you want.

Then tell me what YOU want. 

I want a lobotomy. I want Jake to still be alive. I want things to even out for five minutes. I want to recognize a goddamned street name in the paper when I read about my own neighborhood. I want to sleep. I want everyone to back off. I want some help around here. I want to turn off MY FUCKING PHONE NOW GOODBYE.

Not as different as you think they are.

Writing the past calms me down, oddly. Fitting all the memories into place. So please excuse me if I stupidly hit publish halfway through a post because I get surprised by the fire boy. That post will hit the front page eventually but only when I'm finished it.

He turned down your request for Jake to come here? 

(Lochlan has a soft spot for Jake. Bought him real steel-toed boots when he was doing construction for Sam. Kept him out of trouble when Keith was determined to find some the first summer they came up.)

Yeah. 

Oddly, I agree with him. 

Please explain why?

He's young, good-looking and you guys get along a little too well. I don't need that on top of everything else.

(Or he had a soft spot, I guess.)

He put the dinosaurs here.

(Title is a reference to the new Alice in Chains album. It's an epic full length pole dance earfuck from start to finish. Low Ceiling and Phantom Limb are early favorites.)

(Also New Jake, Jacob, since we are calling him that now (HURTHURTHURT shhhhh) went home today. Sam and Not-Matthew took him and I've talked to him four times since six and boy is he pissed that I managed to wake him up each time in the process so he's definitely feeling better.)

I have touched some nerves all around here lately, I think. Mr. Aloof Scotsman never actually came around and yet I still am drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

How truly fitting, pun intended if yesterday's hesitant, awkward post is any indication.

Except that we are the only ones who think we're special. Everyone else was almost visibly ragey and demonstrated such, beginning with Ben who acted like he didn't care which clearly meant he does, right through Batman who refused to let Jacob off the hook employmentwise (how can you refuse to accept someone's resignation again exactly?) to Caleb who said no more guests, permanent or otherwise. This is the roster. There will be no attrition or additions or reuptake here, unless I buy him out. He's not selling. Even if I could afford it which I can't.

He said he is sparing me from spreading myself so thin and that Jacob is just about old enough to be able to manage his disease just fine without me and that maybe I should think of him instead of being selfish, how once I crawl under their skin they cease to take interest in anything or anyone else ever again.

Don't project, Diabhal.

Oh, I'm not. Not in the slightest. Also please ask the rat to remove his crap from directly behind my car.

Oh, your son's unicycle, you mean?

He looked at the floor and then when he looked up again we had a new subject to discuss. I'm taking the summer off. I'd like to know if there's anything special you'd like to do.

I am confused and taken by surprise so I say nothing. He smiles and we picked up right where we left off. Oh, and I'd like an explanation of why you felt it prudent to write about things long buried in the past, figuratively and literally speaking, for once.

Oh, there it is. I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop and now I feel like a ragdoll that someone has by the arm and they're clapping it repeatedly against the side of the barn to try and get some of the dust off it. Ow.

I'm guessing Lochlan wasn't all that happy either.

Lochlan loves me unconditionally.

Christ, I'm going to wind up back in the ICU.

No, you're not! Don't you pin that on me.

Why not? It happened because of that, because of what you wrote.

BULLSHIT.

Not bullshit at all. It just happened. Don't think for a second I wouldn't try to prevent that. I've never felt so awful in my life. But the last thing I want to see on a fine Tuesday afternoon is a line condemning me and everything I've worked to become in favor of a twelve-year-old child looking for validation from her past.

If you're going to dismiss her so readily as superficial or unimportant than how did she manage to derail your entire week and put you in the hospital?

Touche.

Exactly.

I don't give you enough credit, you know that?

You never have! I was nothing more than a trophy to be fought over.

You were more. You are more.

Can't have it both ways.

Don't write any more about the past, Bridget.

Sometimes I have to.

At what cost?

It helps me. I don't do it to stick it to you or to Lochlan. Writing helps sort me out. You KNOW this.

BUT I DON'T LIKE IT. You're too close and you need to stop.

Well, tough, I guess because I have to put me first. Which you always say I should but you only mean when it's safe for you.

He nods and looks out the window, saying nothing.

Caleb. Caleb, LOOK AT ME.

Bridget. I'm tired, demoralized. and the bad guy yet again because I'm not willing to add any more acts to the circus you run over there. I'm not willing to.. he stops.

To what? What aren't you willing to do?

I'm not willing to tilt the odds away from myself with another soul on this point. And you think you can write something inflammatory and cancel your grand plans to see this through, but I survived at least long enough to tell you you're not going to get away from me that easily so make things easy on everyone and just stop. Enough. You ARE a child. You're a child who has to be reminded repeatedly that enough is enough. No more. 

You first. (I expected myself to say that, oddly. They want to keep me frozen in time as a child forever then that's exactly what I'll be.)

Lochxygen (ha, JESUS. A portmanteau for breakfast).

I don't own you but I know you're mine
Never disown you, never treat you unkind

But once in a while, you get on my nerves
Once in a while, you get what you deserve
I need you ninety-nine percent of the time
Ninety-nine percent of the time

Lochlan caught me like a boomerang on the way back from refilling tea cups on the porch for those who had retired outside to play guitar and discuss the fate of the world. I left a plate of much-appreciated cookies there too and I'm sure they were gone before the door closed behind me.

Hey, he said. He pulled me into him so hard I lost my breath. He kissed me, pulling me up the steps, unbuttoning his shirt, steering me down the hall until we can get past the doors. He unzips my dress but then pulls up the hem. Forget it, leave it on, can't wait. His arms are so tightly wrapped around me I can't breathe. I bite his lip and he changes gears, pulling his head back to stare at me, barely focused on my eyes, breath coming fast against my nose.

I know she's in there, he says abruptly, both hands holding my face firmly now so I can't look away. Instead I kick at him, frowning. A child's response. All I've got now, because he's going to systematically dismantle the wall I spent all week building.

Bridget, he says. Peanut. Mine. His hands tighten and then he moves them back to pull my hips against his.

I'm sorry, I choke it out. It hurts to even say it. (LOYALTY RESTORED, says my brain in a deep booming voice like when you play Quake and it announces things like QUAD DAMAGE and INVISIBILITY.)

Me too. But you can't hide from me, Peanut. I don't work that way.

I know. I didn't know what else to do. I put my arms around his neck and he pulls me up into his lap, tucking my head down against his shoulder, pressing against it with his iron jaw.

Shhh.

His arms are locked tight, his legs taking all the work, his hands forcing me to move when I want to stay close. He fights with this for a while before pushing me onto my back again, his arms underneath me, his face against my neck. He finds his rhythm, slow, harsh and colorless. He loses himself, holding me so tightly I have to fight for space to breath or everything will disappear and I don't want it to. Not with him. Not now.

Finally he says my name in the lowest rumbly-jagged voice ever. Bridget. With that, whatever work had been done on repairing my stupid, shattered heart becomes the biggest waste of time that ever was because it's ruined again and we're back where we started.

He stops moving gradually, pulling his hands up to my face once again. He kisses me gently. Softer than usual, slower than usual. Taking forever and I've decided I might be able to live without air after all.

But he starts up again, pulling me in close against his skin, pulling my tired limbs up around his own, always tensed. I tell him I can't. That I need sleep and he says what I need is right here, it's this, us. I'm still nodding as he lifts me up and turns me over. He puts his hand down on the back of my head and my goosebumps form a barrier between us. It makes him laugh. He's up on his knees, pulling my hips into him for so long I get cold and the goosebumps turn to sandpaper to the point where he turns me back around to face him and holds himself up slightly, just enough to make me want him more.

I don't remember when we stopped but I do remember he didn't move away and we stayed locked together tightly all night like we used to when all we had was a rickety little single cot, no heat and no plans as to how we would stay together, just that we would, no matter what.

I wake up with aching lungs and his eyelashes for a view. He senses when I am awake and his eyes open slowly, halfway only. He peers at me, his green eyes confused and grateful and sated.

Morning, gorgeous. Hungry?

No. I'm pretending I'm not awake yet so I can stay here with you. 

He smiles so wide I almost get pushed onto the floor except he's not letting go.

Favoritism.

I think pretty soon all of my care and feeding will pass to Daniel, who is really good at choosing a nice wine, a big blanket and a whole stack of records and taking me by the hand up to his bed where we gossip and lounge and listen and snooze and be existentialist nobodies.

Today he also went back downstairs for chocolate, because every slow song or hard question made me cry and frankly I think I need a vacation.

This ran on for three hours straight until I was piss drunk at four in the afternoon and both Ben and Schuyler were starting to complain about the lack of participation by either of us in the day, proper.

Not like we actually cared, but for the sake of everyone else we finally emerged, weebly-wobbly and full of lyrics and showmanship and sugar and booze.

Makes it really hard to make dinner though. But I did.

One home, one to go.

Two interesting side effects of what has been a very long week that isn't over yet, is that Duncan has become very aloof and matter of fact and so has Lochlan. Interesting when the stars of the house show don't get their requisite amount of hours in the spotlight.

I would expect this from Lochlan, even though I don't approve of it, since Henry is very unhappy. Dad may tell little white lies about how he feels to get Mom's focus but Dad did not lie about this. I saw the numbers. I saw Caleb on his gooddamn knees from the pain and I thought it's about time God takes you down a notch even though that was mean.

But I would not expect this sort of silent outburst from Duncan. I'll have to sort out whether he just feeds off Lochlan's moods or if he's actively feeling marginalized by me, which I don't intend, but right this minute there is not enough of me to go around.

Back today but only having to go to one hospital will be far easier. I'm taking some drawings in to Jake. He wants to come here, to the point. He does not want to give up his employment though. I guess I'll have to talk to Batman too, and Caleb eventually, since it's his property and he has to have final approval, though it's not like I can't sway him pretty easily.

Caleb is touched that I am glad he didn't die even though he is fully aware that I'm glad he got such an incredible wake-up call. Don't worry, I said it to his face first.

You should have heard what he said in reply.

New-Jake has finally turned the corner. He's doing so much better today. Asked me what was wrong with my eyes, rimmed with red and leaking all over the damned place. Said it wasn't so bad. Basically made me want to smack him, but instead I told him of my phone calls to his parents, and I told him about the kids hula-hooping with PJ in the driveway. We are currently making space in the house next door for him, Batman be damned. Jake can't seem to manage his own self all that well so some nifty routines should help him with that. Then we can nag him constantly and he'll be healthy and not die.

***

I look at Ben and wonder how he does it. He's very forthright and curious here, very keen to know what's going on and to be of use. He's lost both his parents and two of his good friends and then some but he's as comfortable sitting in a hard chair in the corner of a room watching someone be helpless as I am uncomfortable at it. 

I'm a little wreck. The smell of the hospitals makes me nauseous, I worry and fret over every line, every beep, every person with a name tag who turns to talk with us and all I can picture is Cole, still and quiet at last, under a white sheet ripped down to his waist, the corners of the sheet pulled out at the bottom when they should have been tucked in, the unsteady beeps from the monitor beating my heart to smithereens as they slowed to a crawl and then stopped.

In contrast, Caleb's heartbeat is strong and steady. They've got his blood pressure and his pain under control. He has been ordered to get himself under control emotionally. This is not a choice, it's a requirement if he wants to live a full life, so he'll be healthy and not die.

***

I had to go outside in the courtyard/sidewalk/gift shop and pace and pull myself together more than once. As far as I can tell, we're doomed.

Bit stressed. New Jake is still in the hospital (DKA) and now Caleb is too (his blood pressure went so high his headache made his nose bleed wtf), albeit a different hospital which means I currently live on the highway, in a coffee cup.

 Waiting for a shower (there's a lineup) and in the meantime I have to go yell at Sam. Maybe God will hear me that way.

Butterscotch ripples.

I'm listening to Air Supply in the kitchen while I do preparations for dinner and ignore the messages on my phone. Let them pile up. Eventually the phone company will cut me off. Exceptions I will take are Corey (who is coming over with a big fat cheque for me for my artistic contribution to his latest music video) and New Jake, who is currently at the hospital with Sam because he fucked up his insulin again and no one is looking after him so I might bring him here so I can.

Oh baby, those memories come crashing through
and I just can't go on without you.
Go on without
It's just no good without
Yoooooooouuuuuuuuu

PJ thinks I'm insane.

Ha, you're very perceptive, Padraig.

Batman wants to know what we buried in the cornfield.

Perhaps I should tell him that it was loaded.

Speaking of evil things, Caleb switched gears this morning, telling me he wasn't feeling well, asking if we could defer Henry's dinner night to tomorrow (they go to a restaurant once a week or so and eat big huge hamburgers and talk man-talk). Fine. Need anything? No? Okay great, gtf away. I don't plan to message Caleb for the rest of the week. It's draining.

Henry was not impressed and thinks his father is lying because I am always nicer to Caleb when he's sick. He told Henry I was more cuddly and so I told Henry that yes, his father lies but only to be kind, like those lies we tell when we don't really like a gift or a food or a moment but we need to be polite and not hurt feelings. Henry then asked if PJ could take him out instead because PJ doesn't care if Henry gets mustard on his t-shirt and laughs way more than Dad. I said some dads just aren't that cuddly and Henry said that sucked.

Yeah it does. Come hug me. Better?

Yeah.

I'll always be cuddly for you. 

Yeah but mo-om, you're like needy-cuddly. I don't mean to hurt your feelings though.

Gee, thanks, Bunny. Next time lie.

Okay. Sorry. 

It's okay.

Will you check on Dad?

Yes. 

Now?

No. I'm up to my elbows peeling potatoes. Why don't you check on him? 

Okay. Bye. Love you. 

Love you too. 

On his way out he asked if he could have ice cream after dinner. I said if PJ says it's okay then yes.

What if PJ says no? Can I override him with this conversation?

Absolutely not. 

Aw. Okay, mom. 

Second best fire juggler I've ever seen (evening postscript).

The Granville Island 'Cultural' Association has banned all busker acts involving fire and/or bagpipes. Also absolutely no deviations from the original audition script and no interaction with audience members will be permitted.

They're serious.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. 

Scatterminded.

Reading a ad-hoc bio for Lochlan from a website and it lists his current occupation as Tenor. I smiled and everyone else went WTF. Do the latin and you'll see. It means 'someone who holds'. He's crafty like that.

The rest of it reads like something from a bucket list filled with fireworks and circus acts (because it is). For someone so serious, it's an acute, abrupt study in contrasts. It's hard to believe but he is the same person who is directly to blame for my personality for he shaped it during my most formative, important years. Now do you see?

When he opened the cupboard looking for a stapler this morning he found seven different kinds of glitter but no stapler. He went to the desk and found sparklers, glowsticks and suckers but no stapler. I watched with amusement as he did a couple circuit of the main level before coming back and waiting for me to acknowledge him. He likes things orderly. Everything in it's place now. We've traded OCD for instruction in our old ages here, he is now difficult and rigid, I remind him to loosen up and have some fun.

I look up.

I give, Bridgie. Where's the stapler. He is defeated and doesn't even ask the question, he just says it flat.

I take the sucker out of my mouth and think about it. The sucker is breakfast, because I'm an adult and can choose to give myself a sugar high before noontime and I can choose to ignore the irritation in his voice because life is so hard for our tenor right now. It must take more effort to hold a heart surrounded by ninety-five pounds of total foolishness and utter bullshit than I realized.

The black one? The big office one?

Yes. 

It's in your hand. I wink at him and return the sucker to my mouth and he swears a blue streak and mutters to himself the whole way back down the hall.

Chelation

Late last night yet another message from the Devil pops up on my phone. Not a big deal usually but this time Ben was plugging my phone in on the dresser and he got to read it first. He shook his head, read it again and then deleted it. Then he made some lame, obvious excuse about needing his glasses out of the truck, that he would be right back.

Lame because I was standing there holding his glasses because I had grabbed them on the way up the steps.

Loch walks in and sees the look on Ben's face and asks him if he had a good sleep because Ben's been completely oblivious to Caleb's manipulations all spring. We're happy he woke up at last. He's made such a concentrated effort not to be the loose cannon anymore, I'm proud of him and at the same time frustrated that I can't ask him to deal with the monsters I make.

Tonight I didn't even have to ask and I wish he would pick a side already instead of hiding behind some magnanimous effort to see me sort out my life on my own when he's happy to throw wrenches into the works every chance he gets.

He came back an hour later tightly wound and unwilling to discuss it. I handed him his glasses and he took them and I asked if everyone was okay, sort of code for wanting to know if he's hurt Caleb, if I should go and check on him, if he needs a doctor or an ice pack or last rites. Ben stopped me before I could wind up too much and said all they did was talk and he didn't know what I had done but Caleb is a man haunted and driven by all of this turmoil lately.

Please, Ben. He plays you like my fucking fiddle. 

Does he, Bee? Does he really? How many men have fallen for you exactly and how is he pretending when the rest of us are brought to our knees? 

You can't even recognize when the Devil forces you to take his side. Ben, come ON. He doesn't have that power over you. You're not his to use. 

Ben stares at me for what seems like forever and then eventually gives me a nervous almost-laugh. Fucking Christ. I don't even know how he puts things into my head.

That's how he does it. It's frightening. 

Ben looked doubtful but relieved. Yeah, it is, actually. 

Don't spend time with him. He'll get under your skin. 

I just...yeah. I know. Fuck. I know.

But Ben didn't look like he felt better and so the moment I could extricate myself from his presence I sent a message to Caleb.

What the FUCK did you do?

Exactly what I warned you I would do, Princess. You chose to do things the hard way. I am just facilitating that for you. 

Fuck off. 

Hell, Babydoll. I'm just getting started.

Now she holds me not.

Gage is going to remain here for the spring, summer and into fall. He said he'll take off again around Remembrance Day, if we'll have him. I suggested someone put the staple gun near our winter gear, fresh into storage and when that time comes we'll fix him to the floorboards so that he can't leave. Schuy just grinned endlessly and Gage was incredibly touched that we want him to stay. He's not used to having an address for that long. He said he might order some stuff from Amazon because there is a place it can be sent. I told him he can have anything sent here now and in the future once he leaves (if he leaves) and we'd get it to him and he needed a minute to collect himself over that idea. Also over the extra blankets I put in his room and the initial G on the hook in the closet by the front door. His color will be crimson for towels and sheets. I'm running out of colors.

Some people just fit beyond measure here. That much I see from my view on my tiptoes looking over the sunset in through the windows of my house where sometimes things are peaceful and cohesive and sweet and not hard or painful in the least.

In other news, why, yes, I did fall asleep in the theatre when we went to see Star Trek: Into Darkness today. Ben filled me with popcorn and chocolate and then BOOM. I dunno. I'm sorry I'm a little narcoleptic and my chin hits my chest the moment I warm up in the dark (it happens in more than just the movie theatre). Luckily someone kicked my seat and I woke up in time for the good parts but I couldn't tell you a thing about any of it. Other than blue eyes. Oh, and Armie Hammer from The Lone Ranger trailer? Jesus, hotness.

When we were on the way home I checked my text messages and there were seven from Satan himself. He wasn't kidding when he said he would make things difficult, covering everything from my (lack of) finances to how I look when I'm sleeping (motherfucker) to how lonely he is at night to how he should maybe turn the garage into usable space so it can't be taken over by my ghosts.

I will try not to reply. I'll try very hard. I'm having such a good day.

O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd!
She was a vixen when she went to school;
And though she be but little, she is fierce.
         ~William Shakespeare

Drama, bullshit, maintenance, peanut butter and jam.

My lunch date was cancelled on my behalf, by someone loathe to fix anything but happy to mess with the Devil ad hominem.

So instead of going downtown to a fancy place I go down to the kitchen to make something. Lochlan joins me. Silently we get out bread, peanut butter, jam and cans of pop because that's what we always made in the camper and it's sort of a habit. Also a habit is Lochlan putting the second can back because I've never finished a can of pop in my whole life. They're too big somehow. I don't like eating out of cans. It has nothing to do with anything,  I like metal in my ears, not my mouth (SHUT IT, BENJAMIN).

We each read one side of the paper while we ate, me on my knees (SHUT. IT) on the bar stool, leaning way up on the counter at the island (JUST..)trying to keep up and failing, reading a third of each article while Loch motors through everything like he's in a hurry.

But he's not. Batman gave both my boys a little time off. Ten days to get our shit together because it's not and no one can work like this and he spoils me even though I don't actually pick up his calls or reply to his texts much because can't you see? I have everything under control here.

Snort.

The Devil sent a message telling me he was sorry to miss our lunch and that he would go it alone and I replied to that because most of the time I prefer replying to his texts than having to see him in person because he makes my knees shake and I don't know why. I said Have Fun as if I was sad just because when he says he's eating alone I want to cry. But also I want to shake myself and ask why I even care but I know I would reply something snarky like Stockholm Syndrome so I won't ask at all.

Lochlan holds out the can of Ginger Ale just like he has since I was eight and a half and he realized I was wasting a lot of junk food he was paying for. Take a drink, Peanut, he orders and I listen, just like I always do.


***

A lot of people want to know what the boys are up to. It's easy to reach me. Just click on my profile, up to the left and once there you can see what music I like most (this week anyway) and how to reach me via email. Sometimes I even manage to reply, I swear.

Let's see. 

 Ben is working at home because he has time off, you see. So uh..yeah. There's that. He's great at drive-by affection as of late. He also almost fell asleep at the wheel the other night because he stays up half the night talking and other things. He still makes no apologies and no attempts to fix, he just watches me as I flop around like a psychological fish trying to sort it out myself, God bless him, he's the singular person in my life who doesn't treat me like a child. Which is why I married him aside from the glaringly obvious necrosexual aspect of my attraction to him (vampire rock stars are where it's AT). He's so depraved he makes me blush and nothing can make me blush anymore so that's saying a lot.

 Lochlan  is doing a lot better, almost to the point of cheekily thumbing his nose in the direction of the boathouse. This is progress. A few days ago he was in a fetal position on the floor so I'll take this any day. Ben cuddled him to death because Ben has a crush on him that's barely veiled so he didn't complain and pretty much volunteered but if I tell you that I'll be murdered so let's keep it between us. Loch is drawing a bit and otherwise planning work in his head. Batman keeps him fairly busy with a constant stream of commissions. I think to give him a steady cheque, not so much because his painting is up where Cole's was, collector-wise. Well, maybe. I don't know. The only thing Loch says is that it's temporary and soon he'll be back to a regular day job. I don't know what that will be but to him a regular job means busking more than one weekend a month. Watch for him, in any case and give him some money, okay?

Caleb is doing pretty good. He's part-time schmoozing, part-time money-laundering, part-time Porsche-shopping. He had his visit with his cardiologist and he's doing great. He tires more easily than he should and the headaches are sometimes very bad but he is managing pretty well, all things considered. He's excited to get back to diving but the headaches keep sneaking up on him. I don't think the stupid trips help him feel better but he says they, like me, help distract him. I'm sure it's a ploy for attention same as when he ties me down.

PJ's heartbreak is ebbing. We can joke about it now without him punching us. I just duck but the rest of them are slow, I guess. He said he's considering going the way of Sam because men are so much easier to get along with without drama and bullshit and maintenance. Finally! We agree on something! We also agree on Epic Metal Beard and he's growing it back. She didn't like it so he SHAVED IT OFF. Guys, if a girl tells you she doesn't like your beard?

Run.

August is doing great. In between hippie music festivals he is currently staying with Jake's parents who can't keep up the homestead anymore without a lot of help. He's getting everything done that they need. They were relying on neighbors and hired help for everything from yard work to household cleaning and such but it's coming to a point where they need to make some decisions, I guess. That will probably be to adopt August and mix up his name alot. Apparently Jacob's mom cries every time he walks in the room. I know that feeling well.

Jacob? Still dead but possibly visiting the garage again. I still miss him every single minute of every single day. God, my brain is so broken sometimes I don't understand how I can figure out how to brush my teeth every day but let's keep going.

Cole? Still dead with wings black as night and completely and utterly personified in Caleb so really that's the draw. Cole was magnetic, enigmatic. I can't help myself.

Matt goes to work every day, comes home every night with a kiss for his bride and they talk quietly, play some guitar and help with meals. He irons a lot of things. Like everything. I told him that is a cry for help, that he's looking to make life neat and orderly so it manifests itself in wrinkle-free clothing and he stared at me forever and then burst out laughing and said, no, Bridget. I was raised to always look my best. And it's true! He comes out in the morning in pressed pajamas and a pressed t-shirt with combed hair. He's like the Humphrey Bogart of the hipster set.  I'm sure he'd like to chase me down and iron me but I've truly been rocking this unkept bed-star look forever and he'll have to live with it (Twitch. Twitch.).

Sam loves it here. Loves being right by the water. Loves praying on the cliff and loves counseling everyone without having to arrive or leave. His pajamas are not ironed (yet) and he's giving a great indication that he's going to be the best runaway bride ever so I don't know who's counseling who exactly but I love having him here too. Mostly to steal his CD collection. And his coins. Shhhh.

Duncan S. Thompson is doing great. He has no jobs on the horizon until September and so he is On Vacation. Which means he drinks margaritas for breakfast and tries to get me in trouble all damn day. He's writing a book. He's pretending he's a monk. He loves the cats and they love him back to the point where I have started calling him the Crazy Cat Man. That made everyone happy, they didn't like it when I called him the Lizard King. He is still mostly in charge of my health and safety since PJ flipped out. We could change it back but why fix what isn't broken? I think it will be changed back soon because Lizard. Yeah.

Dalton/Teflon Jesus is a heart-stealing gypsy vagrant. The drummer he marches to has odd timing though. He disappears for days at a time and staggers back all smiles. He's a vegan suddenly which is getting lots of jabs from the others and he still works far more than his big brother. He takes every job he can get, even the shit ones. He's stockpiling money for a long trip I think, though he won't say in as many words. He shows me pictures of all the girls he sleeps with. It's like a yearbook of pretty hopefuls starting at the midlevel to reach the stars. He certainly doesn't mind. I told him he wasn't vegan if he was eating them and he laughed for days. If they only knew that he was worth seducing and the ones farther up are not but you can't tell a girl that, they have to learn for themselves. Some faster than others.

That's it for this house. I'll catch you up to speed on the next-door boys next week sometime in between life and love, I guess. Same as always. :)

Demon laughter.

A man can be destroyed but not defeated
Even when he's lying black and blue
Living on a faith above his ceiling
Never going to know if it rings true
There's a voice inside that keeps him
On the path of righteousness
You can't break his stride or change his mind
'cause he won't second guess

I took the money to the bank this morning and put it all back in Caleb's account. Then I went next door with the receipt and the now voided agreement. Because in it he says I can cancel at any time.

He met me at the door, offering me coffee. I refused politely, telling him I just wanted to drop off some paperwork. He took it from me, leafing through the forms, lifting up the deposit slip and then smoothing it out, his brow furrowing. He looks at me and then leafs through the forms again just to be sure. Then he asked if Lochlan is making me do it.

I told him I had expected it to make things easier for myself and for Lochlan too but it didn't work out that way.

Ah. By reverting back you do understand that this will make your life harder, do you understand?

Oh my God, such a lawyer.

I'd rather fight you than give in. 

It sounds so extraordinary when phrased like that. 

You're a sick fucking pervert, you know that?

Yes, I'm aware. But only with you. By day, I'm the mild-mannered Lord of the Underworld. 

You admit it! 

Who wouldn't? It's an honor and a privilege. Now what did you want to do about our lack of arrangement? Shall I harass you right now or would you like to have lunch first?

I...what? I forgot what I wanted to say. 

Exactly as I directed, via my overwhelming powerful evil powers. Lunch at two? 

Sure. 

NO VACANCY yet again.

I can't do a standard post today after all. Gage arrived right after breakfast when Ben was still in full-on metal-cookie-beast mode.

Say it with me now. Gaaaaage.

Poor Lochlan. Every time he thinks he's found a new spot to set up his painting supplies someone comes along and turns it into their space. Gage gets August's old room here in the main house, since it is still somewhat furnished. I don't know how long he is staying yet. We'll discuss that tonight, but it's sort of uncanny how he appears when the grapevines sprout and leaves just after we harvest the grapes each year. So I still don't know if I should get attached again or not, because it sucks when he leaves. I suppose it sucks more for Schuy but he can write his own blog.

He'd actually be pretty good at it, I think.

Cheer Factory.

You what the funniest thing about today is? That T-1000 comes on the stereo and Ben sings the whole thing in his Cookie Monster voice. Or rather, he yells the song. It's not exactly melodic or anything.

Time out.

Ben is home today (because by late last night there was absolutely nothing left of anyone). I stared at him from the doorway this morning as he slept. I had my nose pressed against the wooden trim, so only one eye was on him. I remained like that for so long he finally acknowledged me, because he wasn't sleeping and I could tell.

Pretty cyclops. Going to make me a waffle?

No, you can make one for me though. 

Why just one? I know you'd eat about seven of them. 

Better get cracking then. 

Will do. He flings the sheet off and stands up. He's lost all of the extra pounds he gained in March and is back to his very pale, very thin self. He's all sharp angles and sweet translucence. He's my vampire and I can't look away. Savior and sinner rolled in to one. Ben has no moral compass. He has no sense of past or future. He has no regrets and he won't surrender. He also won't apologize but I know this and I've gotten used to it. He is who he is and the only thing he's actually truly sorry for is the fact that I knew what I was getting into but I married him anyway and for that and only that I have his sympathy, or so he tells me semi-regularly.

What about Cale-

We'll sort that out later. Right now I just want to eat waffles off my bride. I mean with my bride. No, wait, the first one. You game?

We stand there grinning at each other stupidly. Because we're stupid. No hidden reasons there.

12:37 left in the third.

Leafs are up 4-1 over the Bruins.

Ben came home to eat some crow for dinner and watch the game with me us.

Things are going to change.

In need of a prophet.

I opened the garage door and just barged in, hands full with the recycling bin, skipping the light, I don't need it. I began to sort things into bags-paper in green, plastic in purple, metal in orange, when his voice made my heart stop.

What are you up to, Princess?

I drop the tins and turn around and there he is, leaning against PJ's jeep, which had the soft top stolen off it two weeks ago in Burnaby and so it's been parked in the garage because we live in a rainforest. He ordered a new top from the dealer but it takes forever.

I thought you weren't coming back here, Jake. 

What's wrong?

Nothing. 

You haven't greeted me like that since that one time you tried to leave me. 

I'm tired and I have a headache. 

So then tell me what's going on with Lochlan and with Caleb and then you can go get an aspirin. 

Why? Not like you can fix it. 

Maybe you can talk through it with me and fix it yourself.

Channeling Ben today, are we?

He's not around enough.

He flew in to sabotage my trip and then he went back to work today.

Sabotage how?

I shrug. You know Ben. 

Jacob's whole face changes and his generosity is gone. What are you up to?

I stand in front of him and play with my rings, I feel very small all of the sudden. I stick my lower lip out unconsciously. It's complicated. 

Uncomplicate it. 

Gee, how? Apparently they are all evil. 

I think you're the evil one. 

Fight fire with fire, Jacob. 

Bridget, this isn't you. You aren't vindictive and shallow. You don't play people. You just need everyone. But it doesn't look like this when you do it. This is deviance. 

Defiance. 

Both, then,  from where I'm standing. 

You're not actually standing here though. I'm just crazy. Why make the effort to be anything else anymore? If I'm going to spend time with Caleb I'm going to take the rest of his money, clear and simple. If Ben is going to work around the clock and then demand my loyalty then I will punish him too. And I don't know what to do with Lochlan and that's why my head hurts so much all the time from thinking too hard. 

You're right. It's complicated. 

I can't fix this anymore, Jake. I can't even see which end is up. And now you're back and everyone's just going to freak out over that too. 

Bridget? Who are you talking to?

Lochlan's standing in the door. He still has that awful look on his face from when he confronted me hours ago with the rest of the money from Caleb. The money I tried to hide until I figure out exactly what to do with it, because I've never had this much at once before and I've decided that I have to come first so I'm not even considering giving it back. He didn't expect to feel this way about it. It's as if he's waking up finally. Motherfucker. I love him and I hate him. It's exactly the way I feel about myself right now.

No one. 

Jacob, you mean.

No one, I repeat and he dissolves into frustrated tears.

What are we doing, Peanut?

I wish everyone would stop asking me that. I don't know! 

Heavy traffic.

And tell them I couldn't help myself
And tell them I was alone
Oh, tell me I am the only one
and there's nothing left to stop me

I am sober, unpacked and rested when I am summoned back across the driveway for a post-mortem on the trip and also because Caleb can't decipher my drunken scrawled expense notes and he wants to on Sunday morning. Mother's Day for crying out loud.

I appear in the kitchen and he hands me a fresh mug of black coffee which I take, gratefully.

How is he? He, meaning Lochlan, who understandably doesn't do so well with these trips, or my absences in general.

I wouldn't know, I haven't had much time to see him yet. I am cross at Caleb. Good coffee doesn't change that. If he's going to monopolize my time then I'm going to let myself out of our contract so ungracefully he'll wish he never met me.

Let me know if he gives you any problems, please, Bridget.

What? No. This is none of your business.

It's my business, he assures me. Speaking of which, I have your renumeration here. He hands me a white envelope. It's sealed, monogrammed. Thicker than it should be for a single cheque.

Your wages plus stipends for each day plus a bonus for the short notice and the efficient work.

I nod, slowly. I don't understand, though.

I need you with me, Bridget. I work better with you around.

Oh. I'm around.

I mean when you work here.

Sorry, Boss. Not going to do that again.

Let's wait and see, shall we? Good luck with Lochlan. As usual, he doesn't deserve you, and you're the quintessential hybristophiliac, running after him anyway.

You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?

Yes. I'm aware. He grins. Take that back to him and open it together and someday you can tell me why I entertain this charade so generously.

He steps toward me, kissing my cheek roughly before opening the door for me. I hand him my still-full mug and he takes a sip. Thanks, he says. See you tonight for dinner.

(The kids planned a big Mother's Day dinner. Guess who they invited?)

I realize I didn't explain my notes to him the moment I stepped onto the deck. I go back to the house and find Lochlan. He is stirring slowly, still in bed, his tousled curls making him look chaotic and beautiful and insane. His hair grows like grass in the rain. I wish I had that problem.

Where'd you go? He mumbles, eyes still closed.

To get my paycheque. I open the envelope and pull out three cheques and a handwritten note. I look at the cheques and my eyes get wider and wider. Then I look at the note. 

Well? Loch says. He hates this but at the same time, this is the con, alive and well and executing perfectly, with everyone understanding who is conning who.

Except me, I've lost track.

I pull one of the cheques out to show him. The smallest one. The rest I fold back into the envelope, pretending it is trash to be thrown away.

That isn't a paycheque, Bridget, it's a purchase. I think he just bought you. What in the hell is this?

If only he knew.

I used to believe in Forever.

I suppose I could continue on with the whole phenomenon about how Caleb is only actually nice to me when we're alone and when anyone else is around he becomes a quiet psychopath, or I could talk about the fact that Ben had loaded his laptop with the most amazing Soviet Winnie the Pooh movies, that I didn't know existed! Jacob would have found these hilarious. I've always been sad at the Disneyfication of Pooh since they bought the rights and I was already pissed when Classic Pooh turned into wacky forties t-shirt Pooh. So this made me happy. I watched it the whole way home on the plane. And I'm only a little drunk now so there. A wee bit. Celebrating being in one piece, always. Still. Mostly. Ha.