What would Bridget do?

I just noticed Sam is aging. I was looking at the lines around his eyes as he sat in the chair gently tearing strips off me, constructing a straw man so we could argue pointlessly into the night.

I never said Ben couldn't have faith.

You said it was Jacob's thing. Or maybe it's my thing. But why can't it be Ben's thing too?

Because Ben is..

Scary? Shallow? You don't like being labelled, categorized or marginalized, Bridget. What makes you think Ben would feel any different about what you're trying to do to him with this subject?

It's too late for Sam's difficult questions and I am busy looking at his caramel brown hair for grey.

What are you doing?

Admiring your face. 

That's a mutual activity. Not too late for us to run away together. 

Sam, I can't make you happy. I don't like it up the bum.

Me neither. 

Ah. Pitcher?

Depends on the day, Princess.

You play all positions!

What sport is this?

Uh. Baseball. I think.

Can we change the subject, Bridget?

Yes. Where did you want to run away to, exactly?

You pick a place.

Hmmm..okay. My parents house, circa 1976. The kitchen appliances are avocado-green. I'm wearing a brown turtleneck and jeans with Scandinavian embroidered trim. I'm helping my sister bake cookies. It's already dark out. We're excited about Halloween the next week. There is snow on the ground already. I'm going to be Bugs Bunny. I had one of those epic flammable plastic masks and bag printed with a bunnyesque visage...

Sam's in stitches now and I'm not sure he's even listening. He's dissolved into hysterics.

It actually isn't funny. I could have burned. Not like everyone didn't smoke back then, on airplanes and at the bank and in movie theatres. 

Did you plan on wearing your bunny suit everywhere? 

Of COURSE. I was five. 

Bridget, I think the highlight of each of my days is when you present to me the contents of your mind. But we should get back to my lecture. 

You know, just because they sent Ben home with a temporary Jesus Freak stamp doesn't mean I have to change. I accept Ben the way he is, just like I do with everyone, even you. 

Even though I'm a pitcher?

Now is the part where I break your heart and tell you all men are technically pitchers. 

All of them?

Yeah, except Daniel. He'll always be a catcher. 

I'm sure it should bother me that you even know these things but it seems perfectly normal. 

I know everything, Sam. Quiz me. 

How long until Ben returns to the Ben you know best?

Except that. Don't ask me that. It isn't fair.

Smashberries.

We might not starve. Schuyler's bringing Lochlan on as a partner. Schuyler executive-produces...things. Which means that he works for Caleb, mostly keeping an eye on his money. So I can't wait to see how this translates into Lochlan working for Caleb but I've been told to just wait and see.

Ben will be going back to work as a creative consultant for Batman but he won't be starting that role until after Christmas. For a lot of money. 

(Because Batman fixes things with money. Neat. I use super glue. Sometimes Hello Kitty duct tape.)

All of this was told fourth-hand to me by Daniel via Sam, who has thrown himself into playing peacemaker because it excuses him from planning his own wedding. I sort of knew about Schuyler's plans. Lochlan's weirdly good at people-things because he's a showman, an actor and Schuyler's been trying to convince him to come on board for years. Problem is Lochlan actually hates people now.

And Ben, I still don't fully comprehend what's happening with him. Was he even ready to come home? Was I ready for him to come home? Is Batman really going to take another crack at him so soon? Wait, you think it's my fault Ben can't stay on the wagon?

I'll have you know he had problems long before he met me.

Otherwise we're doing really well today. We grocery shopped together this morning, which was fun, the most fun part being where he carries all the bags at once into the kitchen and I don't have to carry any. Usually I make fifteen or nineteen trips and bitch very loudly to anyone within earshot for not helping faster.

Then we went out for a coffee for lunch before his next meeting. I swear he's been to eleventy-four billion meetings since he came home. But he actually reached across the filthy little table in the cafe and held my hand. He squeezed it. He said to ignore the weirdness, that he will level out. I finally found some bravery laced in my caffeine and asked him about the bible-thumping.

What do you want to know?

Are you recruiting? Do I have to-

No, it's just something that works for me right now. 

Is it going to work forever or fade after a fashion?

I'm not sure, Bridget. Why? Does it bother you?

Yes. 

Tell me why. 

It feels like you're taking a page from Jacob. It feels like that's his page and it's not for you to take. It also feels like you're going to become someone different and I liked who you were before. 

A mean introvert riddled with addiction issues. 

My Ben. My big tough crazy Benjamin. 

The only person it's not safe for you to be around. Well, aside from the Devil, I mean.

Most of the time it's okay. I lost this fight before I even picked it, I think.

No. It's never okay. I made a promise to you to not saddle you with my flaws. I promised to give you a stable happy life and I haven't delivered. 

So what happens now?

I work my ass off and deliver on my promises to you by getting and staying better. It's a day to day thing right now but I feel good. 

Because Jesus took the wheel?

No, because Jesus took the fucking bottle away. 

He snorted and laughed with his mouth open so I got a lovely view of pulverized blueberry muffin. So maybe a few changes would be good. I was hoping for better manners, anyway.

Yesterday, today and tomorrow.

Listen to the silence, let it ring on
Eyes, dark grey lenses frightened of the sun
We would have a fine time living in the night
Left to blind destruction
Waiting for our sight

That hug went on so long people started to wander off, maybe planning to catch up with Ben later, and then my stomach started to growl and he laughed and said at least my guts are talking to him and don't hate him.

Lochlan wiped his eyes and said something about allergies and reached one hand out to shake Ben's hand. Instead Ben leaned across the top of my head and kissed him square on the mouth. Then he got down on his knees in front of me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He pressed his head down against my shirt and apologized. Quite formally. Mostly for being away so long but also for trying to balance on the wagon so recklessly that he fell off, for giving me away, for not calling more often, and for leaving us high and dry with the household bills. And for the future grilled cheese he's about to request, because he's starving and no one makes grilled cheese like Bridget makes grilled cheese.

Then he stopped and waited for me to respond to his outpouring.

So I did. I can't believe you kissed Loch first, I told him and crossed my arms.

He was closer. 

I was in the middle!

He was still closer. Sorry, you're short. Jesus, sometimes I totally forget how short. 

Enough! Let me see you. 

He stood up and just waited, hands hanging loosely at his sides, shoulders squared. All six feet four inches of him. He looks pretty good. I smile and he returns it easily and that pushes me right over the edge and I begin to drop pieces of my composure all over the patio. He tries to pick up a few and then gives up quickly and opts for something different.

There's my kiss.

Finally.

I waited all summer and it was worth it.

***

Ben's routine is freakishly busy but incredibly peaceful at the same time. Up early. Meditate. Walk miles and miles. Eat a proper breakfast. Go to a meeting. Go to therapy. Eat a proper lunch, followed by tea and reflection. Then another walk. Another meeting. Writing, probably introspective journaling if you ask me (but no one has) and finally when I asked him if he wanted to come with me to the store, he hesitated. It's not part of his routine. Also, I interrupted his prayers.

His. Prayers.

Prayers.

Ben. 

There's no room for me. Jesus takes up all of my space.

***

Caleb is neither charitable nor gentle this afternoon when I get so disillusioned I send myself to the Devil's lair for a dose of hardbacked reality.

He's never been much for my romantic notions of the way things should be, nor does he ever have patience for my hand-wringing over the others. I figured if anyone could set me straight and tell me to smarten up it should be Satan.

Maybe the whole world has gone insane. He's not much help at all. He is standing at the counter organizing his new tea chest.

Because...I don't know. Teas need their own drawers, I guess.

What did Lochlan say afterwards?

Nothing. He says over and over that he's glad Ben is home now with us. 

That doesn't make any sense. 

I know this. What's happening to everyone?

We're getting old, Bridget. Maybe it's as simple as that. Maybe we all need each other. Maybe some of the drama is unnecessary and we need to stop fighting it and settle in. 

To what, exactly? Nothing is worked out. 

Sure it is. We carry on, life goes on from this day forward. 

What do you do?

I dabble in a few projects and help you raise my son. 

Is it enough?

Where you are concerned, Bridget, never. 

Okay, so at least you're still normal.

Adorable illusion and I cannot hide.

PJ put his hand on my shoulder. I was reading and I guess I didn't hear them when they were calling me. I probably did and thought I was sleeping, in dreams but that's because I don't like to admit I can't hear them from out here on the patio and that's mostly why I come out here to read. I turn and he tells me they have a surprise for me. I fold down the page and get up and when I turn around, there's Ben.

There's everyone. Waiting to say hello to him but he wanted to see me first.

The pieces of my heart fly together like magnets in space, fixing themselves back to a facsimile of a heart. It works, anyway. It thumps lustily once or twice. I hear grating noises and then wait as it smooths into a steady hum.

Seventy-five days, Bumblebee. You look smaller than ever.

I open my mouth but my throat is rusted closed. Finally I croak out. Tilt. 

What?

You...you're up there. I'm in tilt-shift to you. 

You're not doing so hot, are you?

I let my hands flutter. No attempt to save anything here. You left. 

But I came back. 

No one comes back. Everyone dies. Oh God. My brain won't engage and my heart won't shut up. I put my hands over my mouth and shake my head.

He finally comes down the steps onto the patio and pulls me in tight. I'm alive. I came back for you, for us, for them. Only I need you to be the brave one here for a little while, can you do that for me? Keep being brave and I'll get stronger every day and we'll be a family again. One arm leaves my shoulder and then another pair of shoes appear and an arm slides around my waist.

It's a three-way hug.

I lift my head and look into Lochlan's eyes. They're glassy, he looks relieved. What a strange world this is. He's holding on to Ben for dear life. It only serves to make me press harder into their arms while I start planning Ben's resurrection party inside my head.

Yay! Leafs win and the boysfixed my sads with drunkenings! Shit hahaha 

Prone to wander, prone to lash out.

This is what it looks like when someone's slipping.

So you lost yourself
So you lost your way
Found life through someone else
But you threw it all away

A whole morning without power or wifi gave me enough courage to sort through some boxes in the storage room.

All the boys seem to be working this weekend, or otherwise occupied and so I put on headphones and tucked my phone in my pocket and hit shuffle and I let it play for several hours until I had sorted through Cole's things and then Jacob's too.

I kept too much.

I tried to keep everything as if it would be some way to pretend they were both still here. I kept it in case I needed it. I gave away a lot, though. Books, clothing, vehicles, snowmobiles. Hockey gear. DVDs. And then the rest I taped into boxes and I put them in the dark at the very back of my heart and I kind of left them there until I could manage to do a little better.

I think I've decided I can't and may never do better.

 Opening some of those boxes was like ripping off a scab or ripping open stitches on a wound that isn't even close to healing. I can deal with thoughts of Cole. God bless him, he made it easy. He was so beautiful and terrible and now I have Caleb in Cole's image to fill in the hard parts when I actually do miss him. That was twenty years of my life, you know.

But Jacob's things I started to pull out and a whole slew of forbidden songs seemed to flood my ears, one after another, and my knuckles turned white and my eyes started to sting and I wound up curled up in a chair mostly paralyzed and I shouldn't have picked a time when Ben isn't here to do that because Ben is the one who's always been best at bringing me back around but maybe there is no going back now. Maybe purgatory isn't where someone goes as they wait for their soul to be assigned, maybe it's where the person who is left behind goes to spend the remainder of their own life. It seems so much kinder then moving on, don't you agree?

I gave it a good shot but I don't think it's possible. I don't actually have any courage after all, it must have been a reflection.

I put everything back and then I jammed myself in there beside my Jacob-boxes and I will turn terrible now and refuse to 'get over him' because he meant more to me than that.

So fuck you.

I think they switched brains.

He tried not to laugh but gave himself away. I had my head in the cupboard, trying to dig towels out of the back. I was singing along with Titanium.

You're not titanium, you're copper. You're soft, expensive and you turn green in the rain. 

Gee, thanks. Can you grab these? I hold out a stack of towels.

He takes them and gooses me. I shriek and smash my head on the inside of the cupboard.

NICE, LOCHLAN. 

Ha, I wasn't going to pass that up. You were helpless. 

Then you be helpful! 

He sticks his lip out, chagrined and then he smiles. Sorry, Midget. 

Yeah, yeah. Just wait until I get you back. 

Argh, shit. Never thought of that. 

***

Ben calls early and says exactly nothing. He won't say how he feels, aside from Meh, alright, you? He won't say when he's coming home. He won't say all the things he should be saying. We're stuck in purgatory here while I get goosed by the court jester and flayed by the sadomasochist.

Can you call back tomorrow when you can talk?

Huh? I can talk. There's no one here, Bee. 

Then talk, because you're not. 

It's hard to hear your voice. 

Want me to put on someone else? Or impressions. I can do those. So it won't be me. Who do you want?

What impressions can you do?

I can't do any, actually. 

Then I guess I'm stuck with you. 

Well you were, but then you left too. 

Too? 

Like the others. 

Bridget-

I have to go. Take care, Benny. 

I fucking hung up on him and died a thousand deaths on the spot.

Ón lá seo amach.

Before sunrise I get up, pulling on jeans and a warm sweater.  I tie my hair back quickly and follow him outside, down the path. We don't talk much, except when I confirm I hear him when he warns me of a slippery spot where the rain has left pools of water turning the boards slick at the top of the steps. It's not as if I can fall, I'm on the inside holding the railing. My left hand is held tightly in his right. His left hand carries the bottle.

When we reach the bottom he lets go. It's much more difficult to balance along the tops of the smooth wet rocks all the way across the upper beach at high tide but if anyone can manage it, we can. As long as it's not on an incline I will stay steady. Sometimes it's a blessing being an acrobat but mostly it's a curse.

When we get to the higher ground the sun brings the light forth. He tugs his top hat down a little tighter over his curls, untwists the wire holding the cork down and aims far out to sea. The cork shoots like a cannon into the waves and he lets the foam pour into the surf for a quick minute before taking a long gulp of champagne.

He turns back, giving me the bottle. I take it with both hands around the bottom and take a sip. He waits until he thinks I have had enough to make it a proper toast and then he says something I can't remember the translation for but I know it's a wish for good luck from this day forward.

I smile, passing the bottle back. He takes another sip and reaches down with one arm, pulling me in close against him, turning me so that we are forehead to chin. He looks down and I look up.

Happy forty-eighth, Locket. 

Thank you, Peanut. It is, indeed. With his bottle-hand, he indicates the sun now rising steadily into the sky, blinding us, turning the water from pewter to gold.

(I wrote this all down last night.)

Post-teenage-birthday, post-mind-implosion, post-shock at Lochlan's refusal to even discuss the issue of paying him back for his coverage of our bills through Christmas. It isn't his bill to pay, you see, we invited him to be here with us. I have great and terrible plans to verbally hash everything out with him tomorrow but for tonight there's a single tiny votive candle on the table, two untouched brandy snifters on each side and a flat refusal to accommodate any more guests, former housemates or FOJ on the point, no exceptions.

(FOJ= Friends of Jake. Funny how that never applies when Joel shows his unwelcome face around here.)

I stare down the Devil with my eyes and he returns my gaze so wearily I wonder why he even bothered to pick this fight at eleven at night when August has already crashed out and everyone else has scattered to the four corners to do that late night reading/brainstorming/unwinding thing they do. I have no plans to wake him and make him leave until he's good and ready, for in my mind he's been nothing but an absolute godsend to me in the months and years since flight. I understand Caleb's desires to not add anyone but in my mind that doesn't include ostracizing someone's who's left but then come back.

That was an awkward way to phrase it but I'm tired.

I don't want any brandy.

I just want to go stare at my sleeping daughter and marvel that she is as old and wise as she is at an age where I thought I was most certainly doomed, jaded and ruined already.

Little did I know.

And now here comes Lochlan's birthday next.

Okay, I want some brandy now.

Satan's mood lifts as he sees me drinking from the glass. Good. Confirmation that he poisoned my glass and not his since he knows sometimes I switch them if he leaves the room. He doesn't look like he's going anywhere and I'm not going to debate this so I dump the remainder of my brandy into his glass and stand up.

You know what? August isn't staying anyway. Wishful thinking and reality are two different planets and I promised to keep my orbit free of anyone who ever had a hope in hell of crawling out from under my weight. I'm just going to enjoy him while he's here and then kiss him goodbye. And then everyone will be fucking happy and right and vindicated. Goodnight.

PJ has a bunk mate tonight but at least this one isn't a) a golddigger or b) John.

Where you going
What you looking for
You know those boys
Don't want to play no more with you
It's true

You're motoring
What's your price for flight
In finding mister right
You'll be alright tonight

My righteous Jacob-Doppelganger walked in during breakfast and said he didn't have his phone so he couldn't call and let us know he was coming. What a sight for sore eyes. I made him go and strip down and shower and borrow some stuff from Duncan and then he came back and asked if he could make tea.

No, I'll make it for you. 

I hear you're sick. I'll pull the tea together, you sit up here and ask me questions. 

So he did and I did and the others arrived one by one, heading straight to August for those big, slapping, painful brother-hugs they give each other. Soon it was tea for everyone and we discovered that this was the final Burning Man for our August. He won't be going back.

The stories may or may not have curled my hair to the point where I alternately felt sorry for him and became very glad he's hanging up his burner hat after all.

After tea and then lunch and then dinner too, I asked him if he maybe wanted to stay on for a few extra days, maybe change his flight, maybe never go home again and just stay here with me, that Ben is coming home soon and we can all be a family again. He wiped his face with his hands and nodded and said he was thinking about it. Really really thinking about it.

Still sick.

Today we played a rousing round of Peanut versus the Tranquilizer Dart Gun and sorry to say that Peanut lost. Then she stopped moving and you all know what happens when she stops moving..

Zzzz.

(Because stop moving? ME? NEVER.)

PS I don't have TIME for this! I have two birthdays to get ready for!

Misgrace.

I can't find the secret to survive
To grow old safe and sound
Life is sifting through like the sands in the hourglass
There's not a moment to relive my time and space
There's not a moment to undo anything

Feverish, exhausted and still I get up at dawn and shrug into one of his favorite dresses, a plum-colored raw silk halter dress that makes my skin look like marble and my hair like hard rain. I frown at my face in the mirror, and sit down to put on the shoes with the ankle bows. Jesus. What a stupid getup for a Saturday morning.

A Saturday morning should be flannel pajamas and cartoons and coffee and Lucky Charms but it's not. It's my own personal Devil, looking to collect dividends on hos ownership of my soul. I square my emotions and decide against jewelry. Not like he ever leaves it on anyway and Ben, over the years, has eaten all of my favorite earrings. I don't care to replace them.

I walk quietly downstairs, through the kitchen and out the side door. There are a few lights on in the boathouse and when I reach the door I put my hand up to knock. Caleb is already at the door. He looks tired too. Maybe he's getting sick. He doesn't say anything, he just holds out his arms. I've never refused a hug in my entire life and I'm not about to start now. I run a deficit and I'm never discriminating. A hug is a hug is a hug.

It's a good one. He holds tightly but not too tightly. He puts his head down on mine. I rest my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to a relaxed cadence and then eventually I pull back, coughing, taking a step back to wait for instructions.

He frowns as he fetches a large white envelope from the counter, passing it to me with a look on his face I can't even describe. I open it. Inside is a small bottle of antibiotics with a handwritten label.

Бриджит

Caleb tells me to start with two and then take one each day until they're gone. That he went and picked them up after describing what everyone was suffering from in the main house, treated with the same pills I see in this bottle. 

He takes the envelope back and withdraws something else. A piece of paper from his desk with his heading on it, addressing me, confirming that he is in receipt of full monies up to and including December. 

So instead of worrying about the next few months we can breathe a little or maybe he'll find some other way to torture me to pay for this. I don't know. I kind of panic either way because I don't want this hanging over my head like it does. I'd rather just sell all my things and pay him cash because cash is easy. 

He puts his hands on my face and forces me to look up, shut up and pay attention. I didn't write it off, it was paid for you. So go home and get better. That's your job right now. 

Then he lets go and opens the door. I'm just about to leave when I remember to bring my medicine and my proof with me. 

Who paid it? 

Lochlan.

Where did he-

I don't know, Bridget. We don't have normal conversations anymore. He brought me the money, I wrote you a receipt. I gave him a receipt as well but he's probably already set it on fire like he does with everything I touch. He's got a long way to go in learning people skills, you might want to help him with that. Or better yet, cut him loose. He weighs you down, if a few payments left you both willing to settle into old habits to pay your way. 

Don't even start, you don't know-

I know you're a very sick little girl and you need to go lie down and get better. Call me if you need anything. Take the pills. Do you remember what I told you? Start with two. 

Yes. 

Good girl. 

Please stop saying that. 

He only loves me when I'm perfect.

I'm only happy when it's complicated.

I'm feeling a little better today. A little less nauseous, a little more tired and my sore throat seems to have been swallowed by a raw chest instead. Maybe that's the evolution of this illness and if so I'll probably be presenting to the Russian not-a-Doctor sooner rather than later because you-know-who is anxious for my precious time but he refuses to be needlessly saddled with unnecessary germs and unwell princesses.

The rest don't seem to mind, telling me I'm a lot more fun to be around when I don't talk so much or resist their charms since I'm now too weak to fight back.

They lie. If I don't talk they get nervous and hell, I don't fight back. Never have.

Oh my God, I'm kidding. Relax.

The only thing I did today was finish Matt's juice when he stood up to prepare to leave for work, apologize when he turned and looked very surprised and then I faceplanted into the couch, where Lochlan sat with a guitar because work? What is this work-thing you speak of? I think he's holding out on Batman because we're not all that sure Batman is all that sane right now but I'd like to keep the peace until Ben's bill is settled.

Ever the stoic and observant Sugar Baby I am, until the bitter end.

But I'm not the baby in this case and I'm not sure how Ben intends to settle up when he's promised me and everyone else within a hundred mile radius that he's not going back to work when he comes home. So basically, at this rate everyone's going to be unemployed and yet the bills keep coming. Rent is due on Sunday and uh...um...

I text the Devil that I'll see the stupid doctor tomorrow and then we can maybe have a movie or lunch or something as long as I'm not still contagious, if I feel well and good enough.

He texts me back immediately. Good girl.

Right here at home.

WHOA.

It just dawned on me. Sam sounds just like Steve Miller when he sings.

I can't wait to tell the others. But the singalong is getting loud and late at this point and I've already been sent to bed. :(

Filthy Thursday Circus.

After a few false starts my body chose to give out spectacularly last night as I sparked through what was left of the evening, setting the sheets on fire. I woke up in flames and smoldered through breakfast and now I've decided it's time to pack my (non-flammable) things and head back to the sideshow, where circus people go when they have enough talent left to fake something interesting as long as it doesn't involve the real world.

I'll be the Incredible Self-Immolating Girl. Watch her burn! Step back now, don't stand too close, folks.

The rest of them are on antibiotics. I'm pretty sure a liberal helping of bourbon and then the one of brandy last week somehow insulated me from the bacteria on the point or maybe my physiology instinctively doesn't get sick because I am the primary caregiver. I just know that I fight to exist normally even though clearly today I'm out of my league.

Everyone else is back to work today. We finished the Walking Dead. We considered some other shows as well and haven't settled on the next one yet. We ordered pizza and we lazed about but it was as if it never happened this morning in the rush to get going and now I sit alone in the kitchen wishing I could go back to sleep.

But I won't. Too busy planning my act. I've decided I'm going to be famous.

Cruciferous maximus.

Caleb invited me down for dinner the other night. Mostly because he said he wanted to go over the receipts for Henry's school clothes and supplies, haircut, shoes, sports fees, student fees, etc, etc. (Actually Henry said no haircut this year because haircuts are dumb. Hahahahahaha. Also kid with no interest in clothing suddenly wants Adidas! DONE.).

But mostly he wanted me to just be there, with him, instead of anywhere else so he handed me a cheque for the right amount before he finished cooking and there, business is out of the way, now how about a nice romantic dinner?

Sure, I offered. You didn't tell me you invited Loch too. Or is Ben home already? Is he a surprise?

But the look on Caleb's face said with those comments I clearly stepped over a line and was being difficult.

I'll have dinner and then I need to go home. I promised the kids a movie.

He demurs. Fine. Let's get to the food.

Lobsterrrrrrrr. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.  Wine. Melted butter. Bread so good I missed it when we ate it all. Scallops and collard greens. Fresh lemons. Fried potatoes.

I think I died and went to a restaurant in heaven because wow.

Then over dessert (brandy and warm chocolate cake) he starts right in. I'm getting sick because I hang out with a filthy carny. Dirt doesn't come off those kinds. It becomes part of their genetic makeup. They just aren't right, or worthy or sanitary or clean.

What the..

FUCK.

Then he asks me to think really hard. Had nothing ever happened, would I have married Lochlan and lived in a trailer forever on appropriated land, churning out babies and tricks, singing old gypsy folksongs to a screaming ginger brood forever? How long would we have stuck it out once we were saddled with children and debts and hardship and routine, not the good circus kinds that take place four times a day, six on the weekends, either?

I sat there, thinking. In silence. For a good long time before I realized I had no answer for this. Or did I?

I laughed. I laughed until I cried and I dabbed at my eyes with the corner of what had to be a Porthault napkin and then I got up and left without a word.

Because I'm learning ever so slowly and over many decades indeed that his judgements and litanies, his lectures and namecalling don't necessarily deserve an audience or a reply for that matter, and if he continues to slam what would have been an exceptionally amazing, dirty carny life with every facet of every dream I've ever had about it firmly fixed in place then he'll get no more time with me.

I don't need that. There's little out there that's worse than someone torching your unrealized dreams of a filthy brood and a happy home and a whole lot of tricks and singing and abject poverty and love. Maybe it's romantic but it's a hell of a lot more warming to me than the thought of Caleb's perfect, sterile life in which everything is cold and grey and quiet and dignified and carried out only because people love people with money and latch on to that lifestyle like lemmings, bloodsuckers who see nothing but dollarsigns in the blood they draw.

I don't fit in to that. I think it's finally dawned on me precisely how obvious that is.

Black Rock City.

August just arrived at Burning Man and sent me a selfie. I should be congratulating myself that I don't have to be planning the huge decontamination ritual for when he comes home but instead I miss him so.

No one from the house is going to Burning Man, either. I think I've gotten a little too princessy for these sorts of things, frankly. If I deviate from my standard routines all hell breaks loose.

For example, yesterday. I grabbed the nearest body wash in my rush to get a quick shower, using a tiny bottle Lochlan brought back from our trip. Had a huge allergic reaction it and went to bed last night softly whimpering and jacked out on allergy pills and calamine because hives, inside and out.

So somehow I don't see myself living in a dusty tent for a week, in spite of the fun it must be.

August loves it. I think he does a lot of drugs while he's there and only while he's there. I think he uses it as a place to have some sort of spirital out of body experience/awakening and I've learned not to ask too many questions about it because it sounds amazing and horrifying all at once.

This from us, the crew who can't even seem to get to the Chinese night market. Because meh. Too far. Too late. In my pajamas. Concerts are pretty much the only reason I leave the house anymore.

That and trips to go get more cake.

I bet they don't have cake at Burning Man. I mean, the kind that would be safe to feed your kids.

(If you need me I'll be in my ivory tower.)

Half-formed points.

Today, I:

• Found Humans of New York and read as many stories as I could. It's fascinating. I love people, really I do even though I also hate them. I always hope everyone has a story and that they are actually willing to step out of their comfort zone and tell them to me. That's how I make friends, you see. 
• Ordered the Christmas Wishbook because I'm a holiday masochist and because I can buy things from it, unlike the Neiman Marcus fantasy book, even though that's infinitely more fun.
• Crave Thai food and won't be getting any because we're all sick and there's a quaratine so no one's going out and delivery of Thai food is suspicious and unpossible. 
• Used the wrong body wash in the shower and now am one big little itch that needs to be scratched. 
• Did not sleep in even though I should have. A lot. A whole lot, if you want me to tell the truth (cranky face).
• Helped Ruth go through her closet, realizing she's outgrown exactly half of the contents inside. What remains is all Dauntless, all the way.
• Have three big garbage bags full of clothes to take to the donation bin by the Hardware Store. 
• Watered the lawn and changed the beds all by myself. I call it gym-time. Since I'm far weaker than I should be and I refuse to join a gym. Changing beds is sweaty and requires strength to lift mattresses to put on new sheets, so there. 
• Decided I need to go through my clothing too and weed out all the things I no longer wear.  Did I mention I hate shopping for clothes? I'll shop for anything BUT clothes. Mostly food. Okay, only cake. I'll shop for cake and then I'll just eat it naked. Then everyone's happy. Especially me. 
• ran into a timing block and have not see a single Walking Dead episode since last Tuesday. So close and yet so far. 
• Am patiently waiting for the first minute of Divergent footage during the MTV Video Awards tonight. Then I'll turn it off because they don't do good music (metal or seventies) and I don't ever know who anyone is anymore. I'm kidding. Get off my lawn. (Update: it's up right here. OMG *fangirls*)
• Have the worst sore throat + headache today but I'm hiding it because others are sicker and they need to be looked after. I'm such a mom sometimes, geez. 
• am having dinner with the Devil tonight because I like to visit my soul. Also, maybe he'll venture out for some Thai food for us. That I won't eat naked because boundaries, people, I obviously have none.
 

News I can use.

Today I'm listening to acoustic Motorhead songs on Youtube, and I've bitten off all my lipgloss as I fight a growling stomach, a really bad cough and the urge to laugh as Lochlan quotes William Blake and juggles and tries to keep his rhythm in spite of so much distraction.

So..who can juggle to Motorhead? I think it's probably a thing, like licking one's own elbow.

I talked to Ben this morning. He's going to be home next month. He says it all casual-like, as if we are talking about the weather (we did that too) and then he pauses and asks if I heard him because I'm sort of dropping the phone and running around in circles in super fast-forward mode because coffee + good news.

I come back and he's all self-conscious and silent.

Did you say next month? Is that like three weeks early?

Yeah. Look, can I talk to Loch?

No! Talk to me! Jesus, you're always so fast to get off the phone, Ben! 

There's a lineup of people I need to talk to, to verify that you are doing well. 

So ask me instead and save time.

You tell such sweet little lies, Bee. I never believe you. How are you?

Fine, I lie. My lip starts to quiver.

Sweet, tiny little liar, he accuses gently. Talk to me, Bee. 

I think you fucked up, Benny. This would have been easier if I had aligned with the Devil while you were away. 

He lets out a long breath. No, Bridget, it wouldn't have.

Status quo then. Why didn't we leave it alone?

It's a natural inclination. I'm secure in my beliefs that you needed this time with Lochlan as much as I needed it to myself. 

Great. 

It is, actually. You'll see. Want to put Sammy on for me, babe?

Sure. Fine. 

Hey. Don't do that. September something. I'll be there. I'll be home. Love you. So much, Bridget.

The thought makes my head all jello-y-weird like it always did when Ben would come home after a long absence. As if I couldn't place if it were dread, excitement or just sheer joy. I'll go with a mix of all three.

I'm going to spend the rest of the day trying to lick my own elbow. My luck is changing, so you never know.

Black Sabbath.

Benjamin, you missed a good show.

Burning the lot.

(You just watch them. Watch as they never change, seeing opportunity to take around every corner. That's what those career carnies do, you see. They take. They take it all when you blink and when you open your eyes again you just feel stupid for having been robbed because you thought, like everyone always thinks, that it wouldn't happen to you.)

Fearlessly the idiot faced the crowd, smiling
Merciless, the magistrate turns 'round, frowning
and who's the fool who wears the crown
Go down in your own way
And everyday is the right day
And as you rise above the fearlines in his frown
You look down, hear the sound of the faces in the crowd

When I brought my hands up to touch his face he smiled. I leaned up on my tiptoes and pulled him down until my forehead was pressed against his, his earnest eyes looking right into me, past the harm we bring and the lies we tell to ourselves, never mind to each other.

I reached down, taking the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his chest, shrugging it over his arms. He helped. The smile is gone from his face now, replaced by something better. I bite his bottom lip and go to work on the button on his jeans. He reaches down and unfastens it with one hand. I slide my hands down his hips inside his waistband as his hands slide around my back. With a shove his pants hit the floor just as he pulls off my dress. We are undressed, exposed. Raw-form, with no preparation or alteration.

Me with the tiny white check-mark scar under my nose and the larger cesarean scar besides, he with the long straight lines on his hips where he rode the pavement like a wave not once but twice in his life falling off motorcycles and the little crescent moon divot on his right shoulder where he hit the net hard during practice and someone had left a bolt lying in it and we had to dig it out of his shoulder while he bit down on a facecloth backstage. He always maintains that it was lucky it didn't happen to me, for the bolt would have gone right through me and come out the other side and that wouldn't have been pretty. I trace the small pink line on the right side of his temple where his eyebrow is cleaved in half and won't grow anymore because Ben got him with a hockey stick and he had to have six stitches.

This is not a love story. There is no happy ending here. Just moments strung in between life events where we affirm that our souls are one in the same, if only the pieces could find one another. We come to each other beaten, broken and scarred and we see right through the marks and the damage to what used to be innocent and whole.

He steps out of his pants, tossing them on the chair along with his shirt as I step in close again. I pick up his hand and kiss his palm. He cups my face. His other hand comes up and smooths my hair back out of my eyes.

I don't lead very often. I mostly let him direct me. I always have because he was so much older and I had no idea what to do. I didn't learn about sex at home or in school. I learned everything on the road in the Midway in a tiny airless camper. The good and the bad.

I push him down and climb under the covers next to him. I pull myself in against him and kiss him so hard he fights to breathe. He flips me down onto my back, thrusting into me hard, no waiting, no foreplay. He rises up on his elbows, my head in his hands, driving so hard it hurts all over but it's so good. I dig my nails into his shoulders and he dips his head down to mine for another kiss. We can't keep it together, he's pushing too hard so he moves so his head is just over mine, chin bumping against my forehead, arms locked tight around me.

Then he sits up, pulling back on his legs, pulling me into his lap so I am lying in front of him, watching him as he hooks his arms under my legs, hands around my hips, finding more force to draw from. When I cry out it serves only to send him further into the dark. He collapses on top of me, smothering my cries. He begins to take his sweet time. Hours pass in the dark as we retrace familiar paths.

This is what I know.

His skin. His red curls in my mouth all the time, his chin against my nose, his kind eyes closed, his rough-healed hands capable of fixing the Ferris wheel or a broken heart, if given a chance.

His voice, the narrator inside my head as he teaches me everything from algebra to astronomy to army-caliber first aid, used later when I put those stitches in his eyebrow myself because he didn't want the police involved, or the hospital, or the others. He held on to my thighs while I stood in front of him and stitched him back together. He squeezed so hard I added the marks to my scar-inventory.

His voice in my head as he explained to me in excruciating detail how to rob a mark. His voice in my head as he reminded me never to do so but then seemed so touched when I did and brought him a little fistful of reckless, hard-won cash.

His ruined words in my head as I tried to disappear somewhere far on the inside when things went so very wrong.

Don't you go anywhere, Peanut. I love you. You stay right here with me and I'll stay right here with you and we'll stay together because I'm going to love you and look after you and no one's going to take you away from me ever again. Just talk to me, please? 

And I'm afraid. I'm afraid of an intensity that began when I was nine years old and had no idea what it meant. Or what it would mean later on when I was old enough to use it as a weapon as we choose consistently to leave deep gaping wounds in each other, wounds that can't be stitched up or covered. Wounds that fester and ache.

We flatten history between us, a wedge suddenly made of only air instead of feelings that vanish as all our promises fulfill themselves in one beautiful, giant bloom of fireworks and flames.  Flames that heal.

In that brief time we forget the wounds hurt so much and we forget whose were worse and we resolve to remain intact. I sit up and kiss him hard, I kiss him for forever, it seems and he doesn't let go. He reaches out with one hand, grabs his t-shirt and puts it on me, pulling my arms through the holes, gently pulling it over my head. I get cold afterward. He's so warm all the time the minute I let go the cold rushes in and fills up the new unwelcome, empty space.

He cradles me in his arms, kissing me hard again while reaching for my left hand. He takes off one band but leaves the other. He says he feels almost sorry for Ben and for the others because they will never know love like this.

Disturbing the fleece (going dowwwwwwnnnnn in a blaze of glory.)

I'm a devil on the run
A six gun lover
A candle in the wind
When you're brought into this world
They say you're born in sin
Well at least they gave me something
I didn't have to steal or have to win

Another random Wednesday, another noise complaint. I think I've tied with Sam now. (If you want to tell me I'm tying up resources please remember *I* didn't call them.)

The police were out front when I made it around the driveway. Caleb had already gone out to meet them. Idiot called me his girlfriend and said that I am deaf and like to turn up the music.

I showed them my hearing aids and laid it on really thick. I like to hear the singers breathe! I proclaimed. They looked at Caleb and then back at me. I giggled and bounced around the pavement. They figured he was a lonely rich man with a bubbly twit for a girlfriend, who was probably a gold digger soaking up the rays at the mansion because it's Wednesday morning and she doesn't have a job, of course.

(WAIT. WHAT?)

I pouted and apologized and offered them iced tea and we didn't even get a warning this time, just a plea for consideration of the neighborhood, where the property taxes are so fucking high you can't hear the music anyway for the throngs of homeowners crying into their breakfast cereals, that they bought on sale because yeah, wheat prices are HIGH.

When they left I waved and blew a kiss and once the gate had closed behind the car Caleb looked at me and said,

Tell the rat to turn the fucking music down. And if you ever give another performance that embarrassing I'll throw you off the fucking cliff myself.

You wouldn't. I pouted and swung.

You want to test me, Bridget? Don't test me. You'll lose.

I stuck my tongue out and ran. He made a move like he was going to lunge and I shrieked and he backed right off. I don't think he knows how to have fun, to tell you the truth. And if we're being honest, Lochlan wasn't the one who put the music on so loud, but what he did do was give me a copy of Bon Jovi's Greatest Hits. Not like I was going to play it quietly.

(Yeesh. Don't you people know me better than that? Lochlan does. Pretty sure he's got a plan now to drive Caleb insane in slow motion.)

Update: It appears NO ONE has a sense of humor today. Lochlan just told me not to have any fun with the Devil whatsoever.

Or what? I countered. I'm pushing, yes, I know.

Or.....or...Just keep close to me okay? Jesus for once in your young life listen to me. 

Cold shoulders.

Caleb's honesty breaks me. I think I like him better when he's just evil.

(Don't invite me over there with one of your envelopes and then put on music I like and start talking about how alone you are. Just don't. Don't tell me you feel a thrill when I walk into the room. Don't tell me you can't take your eyes off me. Don't tell me it hurts when I leave.

You took my soul. So sorry it doesn't keep you warm at night. If you hadn't been so greedy someday I might have come to you in my own sweet time. That will never happen now so stop forcing it.)

***

It's been raining since you left me
Now I'm drowning in the flood
You see I've always been a fighter
But without you I give up

Now I can't sing a love song
Like the way it's meant to be
Well, I guess I'm not that good anymore
But baby, that's just me

I let myself back in through the side door just after midnight and Lochlan is sitting at the island staring into a whiskey. I thought you weren't coming home tonight, he says.

So you were going to drink yourself to sleep?

No, I was going to drink myself into paralysis only, so that I wouldn't go over there and beat him to death. He touch you?

No. I had a drink. He talked. I left.

And?

And...what?

He's buying your time with this house. This...life. He's using all of it to guilt you into seeing him. Those envelopes-

Mean nothing to me.

Then why won't you just stay here, Bridget? With me. Please. This is killing me. 

That's what I'm afraid of. 

Explain yourself, he orders.

We're staring each other down suddenly. He's shitfaced off a glass and I'm not much better. God, what a pair.

If I chose you and give up everything else, you'll die. Or leave. Or break.

You've done it a couple times already. Did I die?

No. 

Did I leave?

Yeah. You did. 

I didn't. Not really.

Okay, fine. You didn't. 

Did I break?

Pretty much. 

Want to know something? You can fix me. Then I won't be broken. Then we can be happy. He comes over and takes me by the hand, pulling me tight against him. We could start a fire with our breath, I think.

We have to stay here though. In this house. With the Devil watching over us. 

Fuck the Devil. He's no match for us. No one is. It's you and me against the world. Always has been, always will be. No matter who gets in my way- He stops when his voice catches on a ragged feeling and he just keeps staring. I don't think he can see me anymore, there's a lake in the way. Bridget, I-

I can't risk you. I could risk pretty much anyone, but not you. So don't ask me to. I can't. 

So you're just going to keep this up forever?

Don't be silly. No one lives forever. No one even comes close.

Miss (in a moment, pick one any one oh how about this one).

Right now, this second, I miss the Winnipeg Zoo. I miss my leg warmers from 1981. I miss my mom's chocolate-chip zucchini bread and I miss my Right Coast.

Right now I'm craving chocolate and bourbon and ice skating and James Bond movies.

Right now I'd like to fall asleep for two or three hours and try again later.

Right now I'd like to finish the book I'm reading.

Right now I could use a hug.

Right now I'm cooking dinner. Baby potatoes, green beans, baked chicken and rolls. Milk and water to drink, cookies and tea for dessert.

Right now I have a very sore left hand, same issue as before, staring down surgery, fun fun.

Right now I realized I forgot to wear my hearing aids again today.

Right now Ben is at an evening meeting. He gave me his 60-day medal the day we left.

Right now I just set the table with the silver service and wondered why everyone isn't helping.

Right now the sun has finally come out and the wind has died down.

Right now Cole is dead.

Right now the dog is asleep and so are both cats, Duncan and Schuyler too. I only know this because they haven't answered the group text chat AKA dinner call. Not the pets, the boys. The pets don't have cellphones.

Right now Lochlan is upstairs shaving off his beard in a hurry before supper. He's the only man I've ever met who looks worse with a beard instead of better.

Right now Jacob waits.

Right now it feels like fall.

Right now the tide is coming in and a silver envelope sits on the table in the foyer. Again.

Freebird is now stuck. in. my. head.

(That doctor turned out to be a veritable anomaly in the day, as everyone else I met was warm and accommodating, open and helpful. They were patient and kind. When I saw the mean doctor again outside, he ignored me. Ben said very quietly that he's actually really good at what he does, he just isn't all that amenable, okay he's terrible outside of his office. That none of what he said about Ben being off-limits holds, Ben just doesn't want to play out any of our issues here. This is a different form of sanctuary for him and the doctor was mindful of that and doesn't know me from Eve so there you have it.)

I actually had fun yesterday. They have a wee baby zip line on the wooded trail and I did it twice. I squealed and Ben finally cracked his face into a laugh when he caught me at the end of the second trip.

Later on we sat in this big sunny room that was all windows and talked. We talked about so many things including pressures and the dynamics of living with so many strong and flawed personalities. We talked about not shutting down. We talked about ways to be supportive and we talked about Ben and what he's going to do. Then we talked about unrelated things like IKEA and horses. They have horses here. I didn't see them.

The hugs got infinitely better as the day wore on as well. PLUS.

Ben still is hugely uncomfortable with me seeing him like this. He would hide from me, remove himself from me and generally always keep his struggles from me. It's going to take time on both our parts to deal with this and weirdly, WE'RE DOING IT.

That's why I had to come here.

I see that he's still alive. I see how much work he has to do, how much we all have to do and I finally understand the whole one day at a time logic, of not crowding up a list of worries, pressed against the day as if it were a door and they are blocking it from opening. I see how he lives in the moment and I can say for certain that there is no certainty in life so I had to step back and simply watch him as he tries to get better and learns to live without anesthetic.

And I must be flawed because all I can think is since that's how I live, on a white-knuckle emotional thrill-ride that never ends, I wouldn't wish it on him because he isn't as strong as I am and he probably never will be and the only way I manage is to divide myself into make believe to save myself from reality. No one does that like I do it.

I know that doesn't make sense but in terms of Ben's new Big Picture, it's as clear to me as this day. We're heading home midafternoon. First I didn't want to stay and now I don't want to go but we'll go home and muddle through many more weeks until Ben comes back with us, renewed and ready to take on..absolutely nothing. His projects have been closed down or shifted to others. He is officially retired and I couldn't be happier.

(Special note: I believe they are putting Benjamin to bed around eight o'clock each night. Which is really good but also funny. They must have tranquilizer darts for him like they do for me at home.)

On keeping a paper bag in the rental car to breathe into.

I chose wrong. I watched him bearhug everyone and then I was shoved to the front and he did not hug me.

Ben put his hands in his pockets and looked at Lochlan and asked, Are you guys okay?

He meant something else entirely and I knew what he meant, I just haven't actually acknowledged it yet.

Yes. Lochlan said it like a challenge, he's trying to own the moment and I stepped back behind him slightly. PJ shoved me back in front.

Ben's eyes flit to me again. You okay, bee?

No. I say only that. I don't feel like doing this with an audience. Ben's assigned family weekend facilitators are standing there, both with practiced poker face. It's awesome. I'm getting madder by the nanosecond.

Can I speak with you privately?

I can't, Bridget. I don't have much privacy here.

Oh. I see. 

Hungry?

Not anymore. 

For brunch, I sit between Ben and Lochlan at this giant round table that precludes conversation. I look at Ben as he eats slowly and sips coffee and smiles and laughs at the stories the boys tell. I watch him as he answers questions easily. He isn't laid back but he isn't tense either. He seems really glad to be with his friends, and touched that everyone came down to see him.

Almost everyone.

I ask him a question and he answers with as few words as possible and then smiles without his eyes as he turns to field yet another topic-change across the table. I was answered professionally, in his work-voice, that he uses with people he hardly knows in a business capacity and nothing more. I was relegated to the sidelines with that voice.

I sat there pushing food around on my plate and tried to tell myself all sorts of dumb things like he's just having a hard time letting me see him like this and he's worried I might doubt his ability to follow through. He's doing his best. Etc. Etc. Etc.

I let myself get mad because it's easier to control the inevitable tears that way and I would be damned if I were to let him see me cry.

When breakfast was finished we walked back to the area where we will be participating in some therapy later today, late afternoon. First he has a meeting and then we're going on a group hike so we are to change and then meet up and I turned to him and asked if I could have an actual hug. He looked pained but I got another eight milliseconds of contact.

Then he was out the door and I was left standing facing it, my back to everyone else as they chatted with some of the people looking after Ben and each other. No one was watching me.

So I followed him.

Down hallway after hallway, I watched him hunch over lower as he went, hands shoved in his pockets, watching the floor pass beneath him as he made his way back to his room. People said hello to him and he answered kindly. He knows everyone here. All of these people have a hand in helping him, but he people thin out as we walk. Finally there is no one for two hallways and I am just about to make my presence known to him when a doctor or someone important steps out of a side door and says hello to him and asks him something. I stop and wait. Then the person leans out and looks at me.

Can I help you?

Ben turns and looks back. His eyes widen and I see his brow go up, but only on the left side of his face. He smiles slightly.

No, I just need to have a word with my husband, thank you. 

My hopes are dashed. I'm sorry, Mrs...uh... we don't allow for much private contact on family-designated days. We want to keep our residents emotionally level during these times. I understand it can be stressful-

Stressful is an understatement. Who are you again? 

My apologies for not introducing myself. I'm Dr.______.  I oversee Ben's treatment. 

Then why did you pretend you didn't know my name?

Bridget, I want to assure you we will have time for guided conversation this afternoon in family session. I don't want you to feel as if your needs and questions are not being met. However, it's my first responsibility to see that Ben is-

I have no intentions of sabotaging my husband. 

I think you know what I mean. 

Maybe. 

Then may I ask that you work diligently at following the rules while you are here as our guest? We all want the same thing for Ben, and he's doing well. If he seems a bit removed, please understand how overwhelming this is. 

I raise my hands up and let them fall. Tears. Fucking tears are rolling now and he softens slightly. Ben stands there staring at me without moving or speaking as the doctor softens further.

I understand this is hard. From what Ben has told me you and he and the others have an incredibly close bond and live within an highly unusual set of circumstances, and I have been made aware that you have been through a lot in life. I want you to know that we are here to help facilitate all of you in creating a healthy environment in which you will all thrive and move forward. You're not going to get left behind. He isn't going to be someone new, he'll be Ben but with better tools to utilize to cope with stress and challenges. 

Do you think you can fix him?

He is fixing himself. We only guide his efforts and support him. The same as you do. 

I nod and wipe my cheeks and Lochlan's hands close around my arms from behind. His voice cuts through the weight of the air in the room as he apologizes to both men. She got away from me. She's so quick. 

The doctor looks at Lochlan and nods. It's fine. I think I've eased her mind a little. Have I...?

Bridget. My name is Bridget.

Bridget? If there's anything else I can do, we will have time this afternoon in our session. I look forward to having some time with you to discuss your fears and maybe connect you with someone you can work with as well. Is that okay?

I don't know. Is it?

He looks at me curiously and then looks at his watch. I have to leave, but we will reconvene at three forty-five. See you then. And he shakes Lochlan's hand and then heads down the hall away from us. Ben tells me he will see me for the hike and comes back, thrusting a kiss onto my forehead so hard I lose my balance and bounce off Lochlan. He steadies me and Ben smiles. I see a briefest twinkle of bullshit in his eyes and he turns and walks away.

We are back now at the hotel to change. I put on my docs, skinny jeans and a Coney Island t-shirt that Batman got for me and I put my hair in a ponytail. I didn't put on any makeup. I expect to cry pretty much all afternoon. I know now why Ben didn't want me to come here. This is too fucking hard.

Checked in.

Another week, another suitcase. Hopefully this trip will be as successful as the last one.

Ben doesn't know I'm here.

Every weekend families are encouraged to come and participate in workshops and activities and therapies and so yeah, here I am.

Ben expressly said he did not want me here. Not sure if he did that to protect himself in case I wasn't planning on coming anyway or if he's going to be really unimpressed to see me. It could go either way but frankly I really really want to see him so I don't care.

Wish me luck. Tomorrow at six in the morning (breakfast) will either be amazing or terrible. I hope it's amazing.

Fierce auras.

The bursts of uncontrollable psychic energy continue, in which I demonstrate handily how to kill a four-month old iPhone 5 and a fourteen-month-old perfectly good vacuum (fuck you, I figured out how to spell it finally, I think) in the span of no less than nine hours. Simply by being in the same room with both objects, neither of which showed any damage whatsoever but were unrepairable.

Thank you Apple genius for the new phone. Wish you made vacuums too.

Better angels.

Batman is not affectionate. Never was. His hand-holding fetish is control only. Direction. Containment. Proximity. He's all business vertically and horizontally too. It kept things simple, I guess. It made decisions pretty easy. Sort of like his formal, cold demeanor that hardly cracks except for now and again when I stomp my feet and demand that he feel something or show something or be something else. He'll refuse, amused and continue being aloof and I maintain my close distance, wishing he would soften or thaw or something.

He doesn't. He acts so pleased with my recent attempts to convince myself of the least of all the evils. I just can't figure out why.

***

Caleb passes me a mug of coffee, handle towards me so that he can burn his fingers and I have something to hold.

Speaking to me today? He smiles, letting his bottom lip slacken, and oh God, it looks good.

Maybe. I say it with a small smile, because I have Stockholm syndrome and he is all ears and eyes and time for me today.

Glad to hear it. Did you sleep?

I roll my eyes at him and sip the coffee. He's heavy-handed with the grounds. It's strong.

Do we need idle chitchat? 

Maybe we do, yes. 

No, we don't. 

Whatever you say, Bridget.

***

Ben calls my phone and I stare at the number for a long time before it hangs up. Shit. It rings again almost immediately and I hit the button at the same time that I jump out of my skin.

Danny says you're punishing me for leaving and I should be wise to know that you might not come back to me when I leave here. 

Danny has a big mouth for such a little boy. Wow. We haven't even said hello yet.

Is he the one with the big mouth? I'd say it's you. 

Those are fighting words, Tucker.

Maybe I feel like fighting, Bee.

I hang up.

He calls back.

Don't do that, Bridget. 

Do what? Make myself unavailable and hard to reach? Oh, I'm sorry. Did you need me and I'm not there? Feels great doesn't it, Benny? Only eight weeks? Jesus FUCKING Christ.

You know what? I'm trying to steer you towards Lochlan because I know how to get you back from him. If you drift toward Caleb instead I don't know what I would do. 

You come back and be a man. 

I'm working on it, Little Bee.

I know you are. 

How are you doing?

Fabulous.

No, really. 

You know where I am. You come see for yourself. 

I'm halfway through, Bridget. 

And?

This is bullshit but I'm doing it. 

Who are you going to be when you come home?

I don't know yet. Hopefully the old Ben. 

Jesus, no. Anything but that. 

He laughs and it's the best sound in the world. You know you miss that guy. 

Like hell I do. I liked the Ben I had. 

Naw, Bridge, he was a fake, a joke. 

He was mine. 

You were mine once. God this sucks. Wish I could convince you to hole up with Danny and Sky until I get back. 

Great choice of words, Ben. 

That's my girl. 

***

We've cleared late evenings, me and Loch, and have been staying up til all hours watching The Walking Dead. It's fantastic.

Slow to the party, Dalton tells me. He's all caught up. What do you like best?

The tension between the characters. The gore. The part where the dead are shown eating the living and ripping their stretchy skin off makes me squeal.

God, you're a sick little fuck. Every other girl thinks it's gross and horrible. What makes you so different?

I was raised by wolves, remember?

Oh, yeah. Good to know who to blame. 

I know, right?

Not a great day.

His hand is under my head when I wake up, his nose against my jaw, breath hot on my throat. He's so far gone into dreams his muscles are tensed and it takes me a few tries to slide out of his arms without fully waking him. He wakes up anyway and opens his eyes briefly to ensure that I'm still there before turning over, and taking the sheets with him.

Be up in a bit, he mumbles.

Just sleep, I whisper back.

***

I win permission from PJ to go have breakfast on the wall. He gives me a curious look and hesitates just long enough for me to blurt out a time-limit promise and then I am off with my coffee tumbler and a wax-paper wrapped piece of toast with cinnamon sugar, which I will forget about the minute I get there.

Jake. I invoke the name that still hurts to say out loud. It makes ache-pangs in my heart that echo in waves all over the inside of my body and the only way I can stop it is to hold my elbows tightly at my sides and bite the insides of my cheeks.

No one answers. The wind blows.

JAKE. 

Jake died five years ago, Princess. He stepped off a fucking roof in a fucking far-away city and he's not coming back. Caleb is following me around the property lately. Wish he'd stop.

Not sure I believe that all the way, you know. 

Yes, I'm aware. Your doubt is staggering, under the circumstances. Like the rest of us, Bridget, do you think he would stay away if he were still here on this earth?

You told me once that he was indeed still here.

When you hurt me the urge to hurt you back is fierce. I got a very good look at where your loyalties lie, Bridget. 

It never mattered if I hurt you first, Diabhal. Don't make it seem as if it's equal. 

What did you plan to talk with him about?

Ben. 

Ben's gone and traded you again, hasn't he? 'Align with Lochlan and I'll be back soon and we can figure it out'. Is that what he said? Batman has done a number on Ben's mind. Do you really think he's doing that for Ben's benefit or for yours, for that matter? Bridget, you're not keeping up very well with your own games. 

Ben hasn't factored in the aspect of me punishing him for leaving. 

I see. 

Maybe by the time he comes back there won't be anything left to figure out. 

Because you've let yourself get closer still to the rat. 

Maybe because he doesn't try to stand on everyone else to reach me. 

He's the master, Bridget. Don't think for a second he isn't acting, here. 

I know every aspect of that man. Don't even presume to tell me otherwise. 

He surprises you often. So that would be your first lie of the morning. 

I climb down from the rocks and turn back to pick up my coffee and toast. The wind is stinging my hair against my eyes but I stare evenly at Caleb.  

Don't wreck my breakfast. I have plans and they're not with you. 

Where are you going now?

None of your business.

You're going to sit on the filthy floor of the garage and eat your breakfast and hope that Jake shows up in your head? What if Cole shows up instead? What if you have lost your little mind? What if the fucking sky opens up and eats all of us whole? Bridget, I think it's time we got you some help. You're more than a little bit stalled here and I don't think having tea with Sam every day for five months fixed what's wrong with you. 

There's nothing wrong with me. 

He stops abruptly, ready to say more but not doing so. Push too hard and lose so much ground, right? I challenge him with my eyes to keep going but he's smarter than that and he gives in. Don't you dare tell me I'm crazy until you've seen what I have seen and felt what I've felt. Toast is a fucking accomplishment, as are words and feelings and trying to reach out with my arms and grab life rafts as they float by me as I drown here.

Follow me and I'll never speak to you again, Diabhal.

Threats work too.

Tofino + Ukee.

Many of you wanted to see the offerings we found on the edge of the world. The larger sand dollars are six inches across! Mutant sea monsters, well, they be here.

Give me things that don't get lost.

Lullabies, look in your eyes,
Run around the same old town.
Doesn't mean that much to me
To mean that much to you.

I've been first and last
Look at how the time goes past.
But I'm all alone at last.
Rolling home to you.

I stood sunburned and sand-fidgety for inspection. My hair is still tangled and dry, my skin raw to touch, my grin unending. Lochlan knows how to show a girl a good time. There's no Eiffel Tower or canals or priceless artwork or Malibu cliffs. Nope, there's just an endless beach (with free parking), a watch removed from my wrist, and an invitation to walk for miles, days, even until I've had enough and I want to go back to the truck.

We shared a bed, a cheap bottle of wine, and every single shower, hot or cold. I don't think my skin is raw because of the sunburn, I think he wore the top layer of me off just holding me.

Exclusivity seems to be the most valued commodity of all. I knew this and yet I ignore it. I can't make promises with a fractured heart. I don't think it's possible and yet my mind knows. It just knows and sometimes it doesn't tell the rest of me.

..? 

Oh, shit, Caleb has asked me a question and I didn't hear him, I was too busy thinking about skin.

Pardon me?

I asked if you had enough time to be selfish. 

Never. A wicked, defiant grin spoils my face, and also makes it awesome. No one can resist a happy Bridget, even when she is a brat.

He stares. His face is so handsome and so scary too. His face is pure jealousy wrapped in self-control with a sprinkling of exasperation on top. Bridget came back and she's twelve again.

What was the best part of the trip?

The time-stoppage, Diabhal. 

You always like that best. 

Yes. 

So when can I be selfish?

I shrug. I'm not the one in charge.

Where is he?

Sleeping. He did all the driving. I cuddled the dog and looked out the window and played old Canadian rock songs in my head as I counted trees. I couldn't count that high though, same as the time I tried to count the loops on the scrambler and then threw up right outside the gate as we exited the ride.

So maybe you can stay and have a drink with me on the boat?

Now?

Now. You can tell me all about your trip.

Sure? I shrug again. No one is keeping tabs today. They've forgotten I am to be watched. Well, all but one did. He was waiting for this moment, when everyone scattered back to the post holiday ennui and dropped routine and rigid emotional rule.

Gin okay? I have some olives and bread and cheese too. 

I'm actually starving. 

Good, I can look after you. I'm hungry too. A week is a long time to be without you. 

I don't think he means food anymore and the conversation has blown out the sun in favor of the shade but I pick up my phone and follow him down the steps.

Hey, Bridget, maybe if everyone is busy tonight you can stick around and we can have a sunset, he offers, ever the opportunist.

My mind knows more than I do and she's tight with her plans. I shake my head. I have to get back and wake up Lochlan before that. 

Well, see how he does. Maybe he'll want to keep sleeping and if so you can come back. 

Maybe. 

Dumb that he knows. He knows Lochlan falling asleep during the day is a huge odyssey of wasted hours spent because we're all incredibly certain that Lochlan never actually slept on our trips, either on the amusement circuit or in the circus and so he has many, many years of sleeping to do to make up for it.

I used to sit and watch him sleep though, he didn't seem awake, he seemed so far away when I needed him sometimes and I would sit and feel alone in such a tiny room. I would sit beside the bed on the floor with a stolen book about whatever I was supposed to learn and he would wake up when I sneezed or exhaled too loud or got too despairing. He would hold out his arms and promise me something wonderful and I learned to believe that if I waited long enough, he would come through.

Oh shit.

What is it, Princess?

I have to wake him up.

I have to see this through.

Nothing. I just don't think I feel well enough tonight. I'm sorry. I pass Caleb the container of cheese and slip past him. I'll try and come down later. 

It's a lie. Well, I think it's a lie but I tell it anyway and decide not to care how it's taken right now.

I go back to the house and walk the labyrinth of hallways until I reach my room. Our room. The room that seems so empty sometimes without Ben but that seems so small sometimes when stuffed with deployed memories, nostalgia spilling out into the hall. I open the door and Loch's eyes open. He looks sleepy and alert at the same time and I see how he's managed to survive. He's exhausted, aged and content all at once. He's burdened and on guard and resentful and repentant. Capable and prepared and hopeful, now.

Come lie down with me. Where did you go?

I just had a walk. Figured some things out.

What things? But then his words slur off and he's asleep again and I lie against him with my burning skin and it feels like home, just now. Yes it does. It feels like everything I need.

And it doesn't cost a thing.

The circus returns.

The best kinds of vacations are the ones in which you are so far from civilization that your phone says NO SERVICE and your GPS tells you it can't manage turn-by-turn guidance because it doesn't know where you are and when you tilt your head way back until your neck bends in half and your sunglasses (that you don't need because it's Fogust) fall off, you still can't see the tops of the trees and the dog falls asleep on your lap in the car somewhere during hour four but you keep riding and looking out the window and waiting for adventure that is all around you. You find it easily, handily and you wish you were someone else, living there all the time instead of sticking out like the outsider that you are. You wish life were a vacation punctuated with small spats of work here and there instead of the other way around. You wish you had some clean clothes but actually you don't really care. You wish you had comfortable shoes to walk in or some conditioner but you didn't bring either so you resort to bare feet and tangled hair and you reacquaint yourself with the things you always forget in the crush of real-life that chokes away the make-believe. Then you blink and it's over.

We're home now, in other words.

Yes, I did succeed in making him more ornery than usual with writing that he withholds my wi-fi when I don't cooperate. He used to withhold things like rootbeer and chocolate. It's always age-appropriate.

 I think I'm going to have to start pretending I really love beets and Nascar and then he can withhold things I don't give a shit for. That would be sublime. I'll work on that.

PS. I withhold things from him too. No worries. It's not like Lochlan actually has the upper hand.

In other news, guess who called?

:)

(I don't know why I'm smiling, it wasn't the best phone call I've ever had but it was nice to hear Ben's voice.)

Groundling.

In the past forty-eight hours I sobered up, sprained two fingers on my left hand, discovered a flat tire on Caleb's car, decided Jim Caviezel should be the next Batman (in the movies, not IRL) and found the best sushi restaurant on planet earth.

I also lost my internet privileges for two whole days but it's okay. Lochlan locked me out by changing the password and the rest of them told me anyway because they felt sorry for me.

I was good though, I didn't try and use it, I just wanted to have it, that's all.

Hi, Stupid.

Last night I drank an entire glass of brandy on ice. Not a proper snifter, neat but a big-old dinner water glass with two ice cubes and the rest filled up with the finest cheap French burnt wine you can find on the point (AKA Daniel's hidden supply of Emergency Anxiety Reliever).

I walked out of the house next door, down across the grass into the darkness until I reached the midpoint of the lawn. I closed my eyes, thrust my arms out and spun around and around in a circle until I fell down.

And then I stayed down.

Because, wow. Cheap brandy and spinning isn't something anyone should indulge in past the age of oh...fifteen or so.

I lay there and thought to myself, I don't think anyone knows where I am. Then I laughed because it's nice to sneak away sometimes and not be constantly watch-

Oh, there's Caleb's face bending over mine now. Never mind.

What are you doing, Princess?

Being young. 

Why?

Go away, handsome man. No one should see a lady like this. 

I can't do that. 

Sure you can. You just turn around and lift your knees. Let them carry you away home. Leave me be. 

Only if you come with me. 

I can't feel my knees, let alone lift them. Save yourselves!

Then I'll carry you. He bends down and scoops me up. I relent because again, I can't feel my knees and I'm way the hell down the lawn away from anything and there's no bear fence on this side of the point.

I hear shouting and voices as the others see Caleb walking up the lawn holding me and I pound him on the shoulders and laugh, Drive it like you stole it! I shout, but no one thinks it's funny.

That's okay. I think it's funny.

PJ takes me from Caleb and puts me back down, steadying me in his arms. He begins to walk, half-carrying me to the house. I'm not drunk! I insist. I just wanted to watch the stars. I just want to think with my eyes open and not worry at the same time. 

You drank too much, Bridget. 

Well, I had a lot of worries to drown. I held their little worrywart heads under the surface until they stopped moving. You should have seen it, Peej. I'm a worry-murderer! A wormurder! A Murrier! Oh, just nevermind!

We get inside where the lights are on, and it's overly warm still and the kitchen is a disaster from dinner but then I see Lochlan with his sleeves rolled up and he practically drops the pile of dishes he's carrying from the dining room and rushes over. I'm pretty sure I could feel PJ just rolling his eyes quite violently which is code for Bridget's gone and done something dumb again but I didn't look up at him, I just squared my shoulders and pushed away from him to stand tall or at least just stand.

Lochlan got right in my face, smiled so kindly and said Hi, Stupid, and my knees went out from under me again.

Princes who adore you.

I'm pretty sure Ben's embarking on some noble attempt to set me free and not tie me to him if he's going to be away forever and if it's 'meant to be' then I will want to be with him when he comes back but in the meantime he won't add guilt, regret or sadness to my life by contacting me.

Yeah, right. Fucking GAG me.

(No, don't, actually, this is neither the time nor is it the place.)

I'm so dizzy from rolling my eyes I can barely walk a straight line at this point. I'm prone to cynical laughter and bursting out with my Princess-Tourette's:

Bullshit!

Fucking whatever!

and my all-time favorite explicative, MotherFUCKER.

Look, I'm glad he's straight and narrow and working hard and getting healthy and learning some coping mechanisms FOR ONCE. I'm glad he's contemplating his future, not being selfish but being pragmatic about life, serious in his thoughts, for once.

But I'm no one's fucking experiment.

Besides, at this point I have spent weeks getting my information second-hand, because apparently the six-foot-four monster metal god is frightened of the little five-foot-nothing blonde sometime-sideshow freak and has to relay all of his messages through people who probably don't have his best interests at heart when it comes to said freak and might spin information to suit themselves, and so with that said, from here on out I will continue to live, continue to love and wait for him and when he comes back, I wish unleash the holy hell of myself on him because this lack of contact is DRIVING ME FUCKING CRAZY.

Am I composed? Acting like a lady through this?

Nope. Sorry.

Forge welding.

Somewhere safe.

He's called already. When you were working. Lochlan says the word 'working' like it's filthy and frowns at the floor. His hands are jammed in his pockets and I hear the lighter clicking and clicking furiously. I wonder if I should fill a bucket and carry it around behind him for when he fumbles and sets his cargo shorts on fire.

Is he going to call back?

No. 

Did he want to talk to me?

No. 

Wow. The look on his face is getting worse instead of better.

What did he say?

You know something? I'm like the cleaner. Someone makes a mess of you and you default back to me, get yourself together and take off for someone new. You're making a habit of this and you get burned every fucking time but you don't learn, Bridget. So here's the thing. I'm not the back-up guy, okay? You get that? If you're with me, you're with me and there's none of this...this BULLSHIT that goes on all around me. You are mine. You got that? I'm sick of watching this. Stop running to these broken ones and JUST. STAY. HERE. 

I watch him as he melts down. He shines brighter and gets hotter as he goes. His cheeks turn pink and his eyes blaze and he finds a conviction that is generally too slippery and hard to hold on to. He finds his own worth in these little moments where he doesn't just up and shut down.

I watch him because he has me clutched in both hands like a rag doll, shaking gently with the emphasis on each word deployed like a challenge.

Just stay with me, Bridgie. 

I AM! 

He lets go but keeps staring and I burst into flames. Self-immolation is totally the new self-destruct. We're so doomed people run from us in the streets when they see us coming. In case it's contagious.

But are you? Don't answer me right now, just think on it and I'll ask you again later. You've got some hard choices to make here, young lady, and it's time you made the right ones. There are no fairy tales here, just horror stories.

Straight/forward.

You got me. I always spin you a buried memory instead of keeping up with the present when I feel kind of boxed in.

It's no big deal, really. Lochlan was vaguely annoyed but not too concerned by my trip down memory lane and I felt a little better because I could at least think about something besides the quiet phone in the pocket of my sweater.

Ben didn't call. Daniel went to spend two and a half days with him and is home now. He said Ben looked wonderful. He said he was in great spirits, very upbeat and sociable and healthy and well-grounded in his wellness plan. It was all the things Daniel didn't say that seemed to be the most telling and eventually I let him off the hook, much to his relief.

I'm sorry, Bridget. 

Don't be. You didn't do anything. 

I should have made him call. 

Oh, well that wouldn't have made me feel better if he had only called because he was forced to. Really. It's okay. I'm just happy he is doing so well. That's all I want is for him not be crushed by this.

He could still be a man and call you, Bridget. Did he call Loch?

Not that I know of. 

Daniel eventually was ambushed by Schuyler, who missed him and had all sorts of plans for the two of them for this afternoon, and I stood there in shades of green, wishing things were that un-complicated in my life.

I don't think they've ever been easy, to tell you the truth, when instead I would much prefer to lie.