Saltwater seasons.

It was a special treat. We parked the camper on the bluff overlooking the campground and I wasn't doing any chores because I couldn't stop staring out to sea. It was hypnotic. It was colorful. It was everything. Lochlan looked after everything for those three days, including my chores and for the rest of our trips thereafter he parked in the woods, under the trees, making sure I had to walk to find the view.

What happens if you swim all the way across? 

You'd be in Ireland. Maybe Greenland if the currents take you North. 

What about if you swim out but then down?

You mean South. The tropics, the Caribbean. Where it's warm by the equator. 

We should go there. 

We can't take our camper. 

Why not?

It doesn't float, Peanut. 

Then we should buy a boat-camper. 

That's just a boat. Anything bigger than a rowboat we could probably live on. 

Let's go where it's warm then. 

Are you cold, Bridgie?

Freezing. 

Why didn't you say something?

Because yesterday you yelled at me for whining. 

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Yesterday was a bad day but I should never take it out on you. 

He puts his hoodie on me and zips up the front all the way, being careful not to catch my hair but also not putting my arms in the sleeves. I am warm just watching him as he tucks all of my hair into the hood when he pulls it up around my face.

There. His eyes land on mine again and he smiles. Better?

Almost. 

He hugs me close. That better?

Yes. 

But Bridge. 

What?

I can't wash dishes like this.

If we had that boat-camper you could wash them in the ocean. 

That would be gross. 

No, it'd be awesome.

Levitate my packages to me on a wave of enlightenment and fix my friends while you're at it. I think I broke them.

I did have a lovely day yesterday, right up to capping the whole thing off with a bourbon on the rocks onboard Caleb's boat. Caleb's albatross, I mean. He leaves it moored against the dock down there and it sits. It sits. What a waste. I would pack my shit and take off for Europe but I'm not sure there's room for everyone.

There is, he tells me. But who would you bring? 

Ah. He's looking for comfort. A test of my loyalty.

Everyone. You free? I wink at him and smile through the glass. I know what it's like to wonder where you stand and I don't play those games anymore, just most of the other ones.

Charades. Trivia. Poker. Poke-her...

Nevermind.

Today I'm fighting with the postmaster. Anyone have an in with Deepak Chopra? I thought he was a new age inspirational author and it turns out he's our postmaster general. Who knew? Canada Post insists they've delivered my new Motorhead hoodie but they didn't and I'm getting angry at them. I've been chasing parcels all fucking spring here.

Today I cleaned all of the bathrooms by myself and have that beautiful contact high from Pine Sol. I played Demon Hunter loud enough to drown out Matt, who left eventually and then Sam too, who stood his ground, waiting me out and eventually went and got some cleaning supplies and did mirrors and floors while I did everything else.

It's supposed to be his day off. I told him to find Matt and do something wonderful or at least return the stuff that wasn't right to the hardware store but he said he had a job today and that job was seeing how I'm doing. And making sure that in spite of my assurances, I am okay.

I assure him that I am and tell him again to go play and then I realize he's not here to provide comfort, he's seeking it. I stop and sit staring at him until he caves in and then suggest we drop the cleaning since this whole floor is finished and go get some tea. He practically leaps at the chance and tells me he's had a rough few days with Matt, that they've been fighting and he feels a little out of his league. Matt isn't predictable like a woman. I stand there and frown at him until he realizes he's being sexist and ask what exactly Matt is being like that has him so upset.

He's just quiet and noncommittal. Sam shrugs.

Oh, you mean like a man. I laugh and then stop instantly. Sam, it's only been a few months. The honeymoon part wears off and you see your hazy, ethereal love in a harsh fluorescent light. It's so fun! That's where you dig in hard and the light softens exponentially over months and years and the ethereal view returns eventually. Everyone has doubts that crop up after the cards stop coming in the mail and you stop feeding each other breakfast. 

That's very apt. I suppose you do have more experience in this area than I do. 

I've possibly been married a couple of four times. But I'm not good at this stuff either. I pick people who are though. 

Yeah, Cole seems like he must have been a real romantic. Oh, shit, Bridget. I'm sorry. It was there and it just flew out. 

At least I picked a side and stuck with it. 

Huh. We can't say the same for Lochlan, now can we?

This is why Matt is mad at you, Sam. You're cheeky and fresh and you need to know your place. 

As the little woman?

Hell, yes.  Join me. Clean some toilets and at the same time balance on your pedestal. It's a talent and an honor, you see. 

HA. (K, mom? Don't read.)

I heard them calling me halfway up the stairs so I pulled the quilt up over my head and tried to hold my breath. Depending on how messy the bed is I can sometimes hide in it. I'm not very big.

Ben walked in singing my name, using the song from Bear in the Big Blue House only instead of Shadow, he sang Where oh where oh where is Bridget? And he started crawling across the floor, looking under things. Lochlan's footsteps moved to the side, and I could feel him standing up at the top of the bed near my head. Then all of the sudden Ben's hands grabbed my ankles and pulled and I shrieked as I came shooting out the bottom of the covers.

He says to Lochlan, It's a girl!

Lochlan said, Good! This house is a sausage fest. No more guys! And I laughed and laughed and then I tried to crawl back up into the bed but Ben was having none of that. He draped me across his lap, still holding tight and Lochlan came down to sit beside him at the foot of the bed.

What would you like to do today?

I want to have a good day. A good life. No more fighting. No yelling.  No bad feelings. I gesture to Lochlan's head with both hands, upside down as I look up at both of them. I want the glitter. The magic. Music. Cake. Love. Let's make it good. This is so good. We need to keep it that way. 

So back to bed for a while?

I have to say goodbye to the kids. They leave for school any minute.

Caleb already took them up. 

Oh, really?

Yes, he's being helpful. 

What did you do?

Just gave him a couple chores. PJ is really enjoying the break. 

Oh wow. Guys. Really?

You want to go back to bed or not? Loch pulls his shirt off over his head and grins at me.

I nod and Ben stands up and throws me on the bed.

I thought I told you to stop doing that! 

No way. It's fun to watch. 

So I'll throw you. 

I will wait here while you try. 

I may need help. 

Who shall we call? Ben says as he pulls his jeans off.

Okay! Nevermind! 

I think you've got your hands full anyway. 

I will in a minute, I'm sure. 

Polyscandalous.

I sent the boys outside to fight in the sun. PJ and I are inside trying to catch up on chores, playing Bon Jovi and trading off vocal licks like you wouldn't believe. After all this time we have it down to a cold habit. Duncan already expressed his admiration for our talent and Dalton complained (again) that he HATES Bon Jovi.

I reminded him he saw them twice and then asked him why he wasn't outside reffing the argument. He said Ben was out there, was I actually worried and I said I was, about everyone else. He said not to be, they weren't worth it and I reminded him who owns this house.

He tells me he thought I did now and I said technically I do but it's complic-

Oh, Bad Medicine is on. Let me go let my inner fifteen-year-old out. I'll be back.

***

Ben is understandably ragey at everyone. Mostly because we glossed when he was an absent friend once upon a time and we never went back and fixed that. There's never a good time to say, yeah so there's more to that thing you knew of. Maybe I should have sat him down and told him when he proposed but I was so busy being insane I barely stopped to remember he's been there so long, within reach.

He said he probably didn't give me a chance to have any solid brain matter left. I've told him so many times that day he said to me, Maybe you'd feel less like his if you were mine my insides liquified and haven't been the same since.

So he isn't angry at me.

He's angry for giving Caleb access. He's angry for giving Loch an unintentional pass. He's angry at the world right this second and not even Daniel can get him down from the black cloud he's climbed up on, and I gather he'll sit up there until he's good and ready.

He did clarify he isn't as angry at Lochlan, that he loves him, he just thinks that everything should have been put out there so that he wasn't in the dark. Lochlan acknowledged that, in tears and they had some sort of moment. It still floors me when they're affectionate with each other. Ben swings whichever way the wind blows and Lochlan doesn't like boys in that way so its phenomenal that he takes this beyond a brotherhood and into a whole new experience.

Caleb didn't even try to defend himself. I think he's just waiting for news to percolate down through the ranks and then the pitchforks and flaming torches to come out in force. He's sent me a dozen heartbreaking messages on my phone and I haven't responded to a single one but I'll give him credit. He isn't running.

I wonder if he should be.

Home is where the wi-fi connects automatically.

I've been a mom for a decade and a half and it feels like it still isn't real. I was still a little girl in my brain, playing house, playing dolls, seeking stereotypes and forging ahead with my plans for the perfect family when Ruth was born, even as I stood in lineups at the bank, at the grocery store, at the hardward store marveling that people actually thought I was an adult. Then I blinked and suddenly the children are taller than me, so sure of themselves where I am not, navigating the world with ease while I remain behind scared to death of everything yet mindful of nothing all the same, careless as I careen from one day to the next, outrunning my own adulthood with the same speed that I outrun my shadow.

The children are my greatest achievement and my fondest wish, the biggest love I will ever experience but in a different way for this one that can't be killed, fought away or shut down. They are voracious, ridiculously sophisticated readers and just about as stubborn as me. They are argumentative, selectively forgetful and effortless in their plans to move ahead and see everything that's out there, knowing that I'm right here when they get hungry, when their hearts get broken or when they run out of money, means or mayhem to get into.

They watched American Hustle with us last night and now call the microwave the Science Oven.

Happy Mother's Day.

Perpetual redemption and sliding back into sin.

Ben looked across the table at Caleb this morning and said, You know what? You can cover shit with money but it's still shit. 

Caleb asked him if he had something he wanted to say.

Ben nodded. I just did. You're a piece of shit. 

Caleb nods, looking at me. I see you told him the rest of your tales. 

It's ongoing, I say, sipping my coffee. If the table is going to go over I really want to finish my coffee first.

What made you think you could do that? Ben is not holding to his agreement to be calm.

I was twenty years old and I thought the way to take the world was by brute force. That's why I've spent thirty years trying to make it up to her. 

Sort of trying and sometimes not trying. 

She told me to go away and I left. Jacob had her through the awful years. She was a lot more stable with me. In face, she seems better than ever now, with me right here. 

OH my God. You're not going to take credit for that. You know who gets that credit? THIS GUY RIGHT HERE. He points at Loch.

So Caleb points at Loch too. This guy? The one who took her out there and put her in the middle of a fucking carny nightmare? That's no place for a child.

It was fine until YOU showed up. 

HEY. 

They all look at me. I was loud.

Stop it. The only reason it's coming out now is so it's out and we can move on. Otherwise leave him be. He's literally paying for his crimes. He's worked hard. 

He got lucky. We don't need him. 

I do. I need him. Henry needs him. This isn't going to turn into a war. No one touches him. 

What about you, Loch? You're fine with this?

Nope. I never said I was. I don't want him anywhere near us but it's necessary. Sometimes I think he purposely got you pregnant just so you'd always be tied to him, Bridget. 

Caleb laughs. That's exactly what I did. This is a multiyear plan. 

There goes the table. I don't even know which one of them flipped it. I just know he was smiling when he said it and that means it's a lie. He's seeking forgiveness from me and me alone now.

Safety off.

Well the rain exploded with a mighty crash
As we fell into the sun
And the first one said to the second one there
I hope you're having fun

Band on the run
Band on the run
And the jailer man, and sailor Sam,
Were searching everyone
For the Band on the run

Yesterday Caleb put Lochlan's money back into my hands and told me to put it wherever I wanted, though he recommended all sorts of offshore holdings and local market GICs in rotation. He's not dumb and he's not giving up easily. I've told him to drop the whole thing even as I work to set up everything he's suggested. This isn't coming from a place of rivalry, it's coming from a shared fatherhood. They're freakishly respectful of each other as fathers. Sometimes I think that's the only saving grace we'll ever have here.

And Joel's position without tenure means he is still in danger of losing his job but Caleb has made a safety net for him too and at least for the meantime he leaves to go to work and I don't have to deal with him. I haven't invited him for any meals nor have I done anything other than be ambushed by him in the driveway a couple of times as he says hello. We've managed to weird each other out completely. It's great. I live for those moments where people walk away from me curiously unhinged and shaking their heads. It's the ones who stare and wait for me to disappear from their view that unnerve me in return.

Ben stands twelve feet away, watching everyone watch me and I ignore them all. His shadow blocks the sun, shields the rain and keeps me ever so slightly removed from the tsunami of memories that licks at my heels.

I knit my brows, concentrating. Forward. Which gear is that again? What if there's something blocking the way? Oh, right, it's my own self standing there holding a handful of ladybugs and daisy petals and completely unsure that it's so safe to be on this path after dark but it's the only way home so I brush off my hands on the skirt of my dress and follow them all.

Last night Ben gave us a time-limit within which to be one hundred percent sure we have told him everything because at this point he knows he's standing in the dark as much as anyone and he played a card he's never played before with Loch. He reminded Loch of the gift he gave him and that in return he wanted trust and transparency and truth.

So eloquent and fearful of the unknown but sure in his efforts to navigate into the future, using honesty as a beacon because as he's now reminded everyone, what we've done so far hasn't worked. He grabbed me up very tightly off the ground, into his arms and I wrapped my arms around his neck and agreed to everything he asked for. It's a first. A milestone if ever there was one from which to mark the distance we've travelled because I think maybe we're finally going to get somewhere.

I hope it's a good place but that remains to be seen.

Word-selfies.

It's amazing how subjects of importance ebb and flow here, like the tides. For months, I've wanted to transcribe Lochlan's wedding vows because they floored me. There were no funny poems or vocabulary lessons, just the most beautifully arranged words.

For a long time I've wanted to tell you I'm only marginally happier now that we've left the Prairies, trading months of bone-numbing cold and violent news reports for being further still from my Atlantic.

So many times I wanted to tell you something amazing or hilarious that Ben did only to have him say at the last minute not to write about that. We've struggled with the words. He wants to be anonymous. His issues became public (not by me) and he's decided that he doesn't like to be thrust into spotlights he doesn't walk under voluntarily. It's ongoing.

I wanted to tell you that I would resurrect Jacob if I could because he talked to me like no one else does. He listened. He didn't teach and preach endlessly. He didn't push me off in favor of getting things done, he didn't rush around and have no time. He didn't ever seem impatient or frustrated or busy.

Some days I want to point out the obvious, that my knees are destroyed and I can never run again. Bring the crazies in now, I have no means of outrunning my own thoughts. I'm sure running at some point was the only thing that kept me from turning around the bend into some sort of cartoon character in a straitjacket. I'm sure running emptied my mind, a trail of words bouncing off the road behind me every step. I'm sure that I've tried since and it's not going to happen and yet I can't find a replacement short of drinking and that's not a thing I wish to do with any regularity.

I need more time than I have. I've always been greedy with time, wanting the attention, the focus to never end, sucking the life out of whole men to the point that they perish for lack of replenishment or maybe it's just so horrific to watch me twist in the wind feigning solitude and abandonment when they're right here that it kills them slowly and then it kills them fast.

Maybe I can shift things back. Find a replacement for running. Cure issues that only exist inside my thick little head. Respect Ben, and Lochlan and the others and bury Jacob already, for he isn't coming back. Tell you the touching, important things and let the rest go. Learn to love where I am, where my children and my boys are and know that the place or the proximity isn't as important as the people even as I tell you all to leave me alone, for I only need the sea.

 

Joel's co-worker Oliver came to help him unpack for a couple hours. I think Oliver was a plant to help assuage my fears over Joel being here. I was brutally honest with Oliver. I think he thought the whole thing was desperately serious and completely ridiculous at the same time.

He said I should have a bodyguard around the clock, because he can see being alone with me would cause problems for some people.

I asked him why that's supposed to be my fault and he said he didn't know if it is. Then he revealed in the next breath that he's a Saint Louis fan so I pretty much wrote him off right there. Of course, he's American so they're fickle like that.

I would keep Oliver if he wanted to move in but Caleb's no-more-boys rule stands. Asher and Joel are not friends and were not to function as friends. I already told Joel that I'm not going to let him pick through the remainder of my brain and he said he had no plans to make things worse for me by being here. I responded by holding up his watch, wallet, keys, phone and pocketknife and told him I would make things worse for him, that he's been warned. He just laughed and asked me why I never did that when Jake was around. I said I did but only to Jake.

Then I cried again because stupid, stupid brain.

The boys aren't all that upset about this. They come from some strange place in which they commiserate with each other because Bridget does things to you. 

And they prefer to have trained counselors handy for emergencies. Even though his credentials and his public confidence are both long gone, he still knows what he knows. With August gone and Sam's skills as a counselor being more rudimentary they will welcome the break from needless second-guessing and the worry about whether or not I am doing okay, because Joel is supposedly magical and all-knowing.

The sad part is he did a very good job with me when I lost my shit. I still wish it had ended differently.

He says he's hoping to spend some time with me changing that but with him all my alarm bells went off because all I heard was he's hoping to spend some time with me.

I'm not afraid of him but I still don't know who was manipulated. Him or me? He should have had safeguards in place to prevent what happened but instead he YOLO'd it and put my well-being at risk and if he's going to be here, helping me, helping us and we'll be helping him (Caleb found out Joel was struggling to keep up with the cost of living here and also the victim of soon-to-be-cut budgets), then I have to be able to trust him and I don't anymore.

I think Caleb is stacking his deck. I think he wants to clear the air and he's going to do it with brute force and what I wanted a week ago and what I want right now are worlds apart. I wish he'd stop this. I wish he would just let sleeping dogs lie and I wish I could have a five-minute break from walking this minefield that is my life.

Lochlan has already been to see Caleb and told him there will be no forgiveness and also he doesn't want the money so here, take it back, it's all there. He told Caleb he has everything he needs and that's all that matters to him. He told me Caleb didn't say a word, that he didn't even look his way when he came in, nor when he left after dropping the envelope in front of him on the table.

Fuck right off.

Oh, hey.

Had a lot to talk about, wanted to tell you about my birthday proper (the one yesterday, not the one when I was nine, I already told you about that) but then Joel arrived with all of his stuff and will. be. living. above. the. garage. Caleb invited him.  This is not the twist my life was supposed to take today. Even Sam was all like, He's going to be living here? On the point? With us?

We should have kept Asher and then maybe this wouldn't have happened at all. Is it too late to have him come back? 

Honorary boy.

When I was nine years old I walked up the street, giving out invitations to my birthday party. Cake, games, treat bags. My mom liked to keep things simple. I had chosen Strawberry Shortcake as the theme, even for the invitations and I tucked each one carefully into a pale pink envelope that I wrote the boys' names on as neatly as I could.

LOCKLEN.

CRISTYIN.

CALIB.

COAL.

DILAN.

My mother bit her tongue and probably planned a back-up event, because the youngest boy was Cole, at twelve years old and no way would a bunch of neighborhood teenage boys want to come to a Strawberry Shortcake-themed birthday party for a little girl.

But they did. They wore their church shirts and pants and good shoes that they took off at the door and they handed me presents and they played the games I had picked and sang Happy Birthday to me and and ate cake and helped clean up when it was over. At the door they thanked my mother and collected their treat bags and we all agreed to change and meet up at the baseball park, except for Lochlan, who said he would come get me in five minutes because at that age I wasn't allowed to walk the path alone.

I watched them play pick-up baseball for the rest of the day and in between his turns Lochlan took a big stick and taught me how to spell their names in the mud the correct way. Oh. Lochlan. Christian. Caleb. Cole. Dylan.

I took the stick and showed him how to spell my name. There's a D in there. Bridget. Everyone else got it right on the cards except for him. He wrote Briget.

As we walked back when it got dark they sang Happy Birthday to me again and lit their lighters and it was the most magical thing I've ever seen. I opened all of their presents after dinner that night and all of it was hockey and baseball safety gear, in the smallest sizes they could find, though still slightly too big for me. But none of it was pink. None of it was fruit-scented. None of it was a hand-me-down.

My parents were confused but I was the happiest little girl on the block. I packed away all of my Apple Dumplin', Apricot and Strawberry Shortcake dolls in a box, shoved it far back under the bed and never played with dolls again.

Fight club.

How can I believe when this cloud hangs over me
You're a part of me that I don't wanna see

Jacob used to bring all of his paperwork and books into the dining room to work when I played piano. Sometimes I would be very serious, burning through Beethoven, Vivaldi, Borodin. Other times I would hack away at jazz standards or alternative rock songs. Sometimes I played Heart & Soul about five hundred times in a row. It didn't matter what it was, Jake would be smiling every time I stole a glance.

Sometimes I would turn around on the bench and yell WHAT? at him and laugh but he would just chuckle and keep making notes, books spread all over the table, his lap, the floor.

I thought he was happy.

I picked out a few notes on the piano in Caleb's living room this morning and wondered if he truly appreciated Scott Joplin's compositions as I started to play The Sting but I have forgotten how to play it over the years. And he won't stay on the subject anyway so what does it matter, so I cheekily switch to Chopin's funeral march and try to look very fiercely up at the Devil as I play.

Very funny, Princess. Caleb breezes past me, phone in hand. He shows me a photo.

Nice dog, I say and keep playing and he finally closes the lid on my fingers.

It's a horse. No games today, Bridget, I'm trying to get some things accomplished. They can deliver him tomorrow.

Delivered? Like a pizza? That's what I'll call him. I'll call him Pizza.

So yes? You like him?

I know nothing about him! Thick or thin crust? Pepperoni or chicken? Anchovies? Extra cheese?

It's a horse. If you don't want to be here then why are you here?

I want to know if you're going to rat yourself out or if I'll have to do it for you. That's the topic, Diabhal.

The topic should be the ease with which you roll your sordid words around on the internet like a wet finger in a sugar bowl. Your fucking blog-

That was the worst metaphor-

BRIDGET.

He picks me right up off the floor and pulls me in close to his face but then he doesn't know what to say. It's only when there's no space left that he sees how small I am in comparison. It freaks him out.

Your jealousy is showing. I tell him point-blank, false courage blowing a hole through his torso, detonating his heart too (since it runs in the family), knocking him down to writhe in front of me, a victim of his own clear intent. I'll morph into a helpless bystander, rushing away while his life soaks into the wet pavement in the glare of a pool of light from a streetlamp above.

What's gotten into you?

You're trivializing something you have no right to measure the importance of and I think for once you should just let me run this show so they don't kill you.

Ah. The fake courage of a little girl who had to be in charge because everyone let her down. I can smell your fear from here.

Just like a big dog, like that one in your picture. It's a bloodhound, is it?

We're not finished here! Don't you walk out that door! 

I'm walking. Watch  me! Rolling out the door, just like a finger in a fucking sugar bowl, Caleb! 

I'll talk to you later, when you've calmed down a little. 

I'll send for you when I want to see you. Don't hold your breath waiting, you'll die.

Ben's favorite sort of homecoming after being away for any length of time is to have us perform. He wrapped his hands around my head and kissed me hard and then pulled my head in against his mouth and told me what he wanted. He deviates a little but nothing I can't handle.

Well, mostly.

Loch takes you first, he whispered. Ben likes to watch. He can almost get off without being touched, it's extraordinary. I rain a chorus of mewls at him in protest. I haven't seen him in almost a week. I need him to touch me. They can work something out, I won't wait for him.

He just smiles and I get one more rough kiss before I am dropped into Lochlan's lap. Loch's a performer, he no longer minds. By the time Ben is spooling up Loch can disappear and sleep or he can hang out and watch. We've got this down to a casual science.

Or rather a lottery with the same winner every night. Jackpot. Bridget's a gazillionaire if sex were money. It's currency, that's for sure.

When Loch's arms slide down around my hips Ben pulls my arms back hard. I arch my back and he kisses me again. He's going to stay so close we can touch him, or rather, he can touch us. Loch swears at him and lifts me up, bringing me back down into his flames. I cry out. There was no foreplay, just need dealt all the way around. I fight to slow him down but he's hammering into me. He's putting on a show. He spoils Ben without even realizing it sometimes. Ben sits back in surprise. He doesn't want to miss anything. He reaches out with one hand and grabs my hair, twisting it up into one hand, keeping me up in the air until the tension threatens to tear my skin and he loosens his hold, running his hands down my throat, across my shoulders and down my arms to my wrists, which he takes and pulls hard once more, up over my head.

Loch's hands slide under my hips and I'm no longer touching the earth at all, I'm suspended here in the night on the moon, which glows white hot and hums with a electric current I can almost taste, a sweet metallic flood into my mouth.

Loch loses his nerve three-quarters of the way to heaven, pulling me close, shoving Ben's hands away, fighting off guilt and regret even as his limbs begin to shake as he grabs the edge and flings us over. His lips press against my forehead, his fingers tighten around my hips and he cries out, a harsh exclamation of joy followed by a grin of relief. His face finds mine and his hand comes up to hold my chin level with his as he kisses me. It's a long one. I can't catch my breath. He asks me how many and I say three and he laughs and then Ben pulls a little harder and I am in his arms at last. Loch lies beside me, smoothing my hair back off my forehead, tucking it behind my ears, telling me I am beautiful. Telling me to let go.

Ben gives me a longer kiss still and I wonder if they're trying to kill me. I get early confirmation when Ben leans up on his elbows and flips me face down, sliding one arm around my hips, lifting me right up off the bed, driving in so hard I scream. His other hand comes up to cover my mouth and he asks me if I like it. I nod. I do. I'm awful, evil, terrible. He laughs against my ear and tells me to let go and I nod once more as adrenaline and waves of euphoria threaten to knock me out. I can't breathe and he's forcing me into blackness and he likes it so much I trust him and I do let go and just at the moment I relax he loosens his holds on me and Lochlan steers my head to one side. He kisses me and then Ben kisses him. It's quick and perfunctory, though, nothing passionate. 

Loch strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. Then he gets up and leaves. Ben turns me back over, parking his elbows on either side of my head. He begins to move harder, faster, shoving me right up away from him on every stroke and I wrap my arms and legs around him just so I don't get hurt. He holds himself up with one hand and wraps the other arm around my back, lifting me up close against him.

I love you, Bee, he says as his grip on me tightens. He grunts and then cries out my name when he comes, slowing to the barest aching crawl. He brings me back down to rest against damp sheets and collapses against me, his thumb rubbing my forehead, fingers against my cheek.

I love you, Benny. I say it in my sleep for I have already gone to dreamland. It's right on the other side of heaven. Lochlan returns, pressing close against my back, pressing yet another goodnight kiss against my skull. Love you, Peanut. Sleep, Babygirl. I turn over and echo my words to him. Love you, Locket. Sleep, boys. Sweet dreams. And I'm out.

Home is where your Ben is.

Fuckers, all of them.

Lochlan and the rest spent a lot of time talking me into dinner tonight. I'm so tired. I didn't want to go but he convinced me that a bourbon and some chicken wings would perk me up. I think it would perk him up, he means.

We walked in just as the Blackhawks scored on an empty net and there in the booth with a cup of coffee in front of him and his carry on bag beside him on the seat was Benjamin.

What a sight for my sore eyes. Ever cry in a pub? Someone walked by and tried to console me, telling me I shouldn't put any more effort into rooting for Minnesota.

 

Thirteen hours with the Devil.

I staged a bit of a sit-in last evening and had I known it would run past an hour or two I would have planned better and ordered food, kissed the children good night and told Duncan and PJ not to sit in the kitchen waiting up for me. Lochlan sat out in the driveway for most of it but he doesn't mind the hot sun and then the cool moon.

I had to pinch myself to stay awake, at least four times Caleb yelled at me to stop fidgeting so much because he jumped every time I jumped and basically we never even talked, we just sat and stared each other down.

My vote is all or nothing. Everyone is to know. Come clean. Fess the fuck up already and then the questions will stop, take whatever punishment they have for you and let's get on with our lives. Maybe things will be better, after all. Because all the things we've tried so far, time, money, absence, didn't work. What do we have to lose?

Everything, is the answer. I don't like his answer. I go back to being quiet in hopes that he, too, will shut the fuck up.

His vote is to continue to the course, to find out what it will take to win absolution from Lochlan.

You can't ask for absolution from Loch. Loch can hold a grudge forever. Loch is an elephant, he never forgets. He's loathe to forgive and stuck in his ways. Be kind, be quick and be good. The thefts, the bad things we did were so we could eat. He always told me it was only for enough to eat, or pay for a safe place to sleep and I believed him. His pride is larger than his brain, trust me.

So I sit back, sipping a bourbon watered down by an ice cube that disappeared an hour ago. I sit and watch the Devil and I think about the things I do that drove him to show up and ruin things and then to have him stand here and tell me he thought it would be the worst thing I ever went through and that I was young and resilient and would soon forget and move on and life would be a fairy tale, just as soon as he got rid of Lochlan. Once we were apart, once I was Cole's or anyone's just as long as it wasn't Loch, that everything would be okay.

His brain is smaller than Lochlan's, apparently.

Watch here now as I fire up my flamethrower and leave a path in front of me that reaches a hundred miles in every direction because that's how I feel and that's what Jacob was. A break from this. A break from Cole and from Caleb and from Loch and from everything I know and everything I am.

God has other plans for me. I wish he'd drop a note. I don't know what they are.

Caleb asks if I want a refill. I wake up and snap at him that I don't, I want an answer. 

I don't have one for you. 

Then I guess I'll wait some more. Until you do. 

Oh, and in case someone is about to call me out on this, no, I don't expect some of the boys to take up my defense even as I leave them out of the loop.

I don't expect anything except for maybe the hope that things will smooth out a little for all of us if we finally put our cards on the table but at the same time I expect men to be men and volunteer their mistakes and wait to be judged, punished, ostracized or absolved. I don't know what will happen if he tells them. I don't know if he will tell them. At this point I don't think it even serves any purpose, to tell you the truth. It's a dance we've been performing too long to change the steps now.

I don't know if Loch will ever forgive him. I don't think I would (if I were him) but there's nothing conventional about us and maybe that's how we've survived this long as it is.

bawk, bawk.

Lilting grace.

(A brief excursion to the boathouse as I am passed around, evaluated and comforted. I'm doing much better today. Yesterday seemed to be some sort of minefield I couldn't navigate without blowing my limbs off every step I took. I remember that she was ready and it's easier now.)

Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails, across the sea of years
With no provision but an open face, along the straits of fear

Caleb reaches up and smooths my hair back behind my ear as I sit on the edge of the couch and he lounges on the floor.

Zeppelin today for the devil and Skyping with Ben to keep him in the loop at all costs, by my own request because I'm tired of everyone dismissing him because he's not around a lot. He is to be kept informed of all developments or issues and his input will be sought before decisions are made.

So there!

That makes things difficult, everyone tells me.

For you, maybe, not for me, I reply.

And Caleb, well...Caleb would like actual, functional forgiveness. From everyone but mostly from Lochlan. This has gone on long enough. That's his bone to pick this week.

Interestingly, I don't believe it ever once occured to him that I didn't tell everyone what happened. For some, it's none of their business. For others with a vested interest in helping me cope/survive/thrive, it's an incredibly important piece of information that can't be left out.

Some of them have asked, mind you. Out loud. Up front, with their naive curiosity exposed in a way that made me cringe and then further dissolve as I said it wasn't my place to explain.

So I told him if he really wanted to clear the air/make amends/seek forgiveness he should apologize to the whole point, en masse.

They will rip him to pieces.

While I balance this tiny thimbleful of composure, oh, nope, there it goes.

My grandmother died last night. My mom's mom. I now have one grandparent left and he's a century old. I have one baby tooth as well. Who says adulthood is a specific path taken? Mine meanders, it doubles back, it charges forward in a rush that takes your breath away and then the phone rings.

She taught me so much. How to milk a cow, grow carrots, radishes and peas. How not to pick blueberries. How to sew, embroider and crochet. How to work a dual-fuel kitchen stove and conserve well water during a drought. How to find pennies in the dirt under the post office window for Pixy Stix (Ha, you thought that was Lochlan, didn't you?) and where to grab the leeches to pull them off my legs in Ponhook Lake. How to pull the chains for the furnace to make the house warmer and why sliding down the bannister is a bad idea if there's a large glass-fronted cabinet at the bottom.

She taught me that she braided hair far too tightly, had no patience for night terrors or homesickness but had time to cook everything from scratch. She taught me you can love someone but not show them until they realize the difference. I inherited her migraine headaches and her birthday and most likely her osteoarthritis.

My regrets include not getting home more often to say hello, even though she would not have known me this past while, and never really figuring out her secret to making perfect cinnamon rolls from scratch. She could do it without a recipe. I can't even do it with a recipe. My stitches will never be as even as hers were but my house will never be cold.

I have absolutely nothing to report except I stuck a paring knife under my thumbnail when I was cutting mushrooms and I'm beginning to think my blood doesn't want to clot but whatever. It's Tuesday. At least it's not Monday anymore right?

We thought Caleb was going to make a formal pitch to bring horses to the point, now that the stables are complete. Or maybe he would bring up high school football for Henry again. Because that's been a very sticky point as of late and I keep waiting for him to appeal to the boys to convince me that it's a good idea.

NOPE.

(Henry doesn't even WANT to play, and if his father would listen to him instead of deciding for him, we'd be all set, don't ya know.)

I didn't get much out of Lochlan at all, except that he now thinks Caleb is an artless thread-bolted miscreant. The more he sputtered and grumbled, the more colorful the insults became.

Sometimes he can be so glorious.

Caleb called and asked told me to come down and see him so we could discuss things and I said I couldn't (because I'm not allowed presently anyway but I didn't say that to Caleb), that I was going to church to help Sam by sweeping and spring cleaning and listening to music loud, with good acoustics. Also I'll be roped in to folding bulletins. I fold them all. I think Sam just likes the company, frankly but I'll go and at least make myself useful. Indispensible to someone. Sam will turn around often and tell me I have God's grace but I didn't get it by cleaning His house and I'll yell Liar! and keep working. We're a team.

Me and Sam, I mean, not me and God.

Loch gave me another bone-crushing squeeze on my way out the door behind Sam and told me to come straight back. Yes DAD. He's working on a thing or he would have come too, he says. We'll talk tonight, he says. No worries, Peanut, he says.

ARGH.

I'm actually sort of anxious to know what they discussed, if I'm being honest. Curiosity is my biggest character flaw. I'm pretty sure that's why Loch makes me wait an entire day. He's trying to frustrate it out of me.

If he's only doing this for me, who the hell am I doing it for?

Loch shows me a whole pageful of SMS on his phone. Invitations from Caleb to go out for breakfast. Or lunch. Dinner? He scrolls down. It's been going on for days. He hasn't replied once.

At least politely refuse. 

I got no use for anything polite when it comes to that fucker. 

That fucker owns this house. 

Hey my house is out in the driveway, Bridget! The minute you pack your shit and get out there I won't have him holding anything over my head now, will I? 

Loch-

Just nevermind. I'll phone him and find out what he wants if it means so much to you. 

He disappears and comes back five minutes later.

We're having lunch. 

In public? 

Sure? If he doesn't say anything stupid I won't punch him, okay? Is that good enough? 

Yes. What does he want?

I dunno. He said we could go over some investments he thinks might work for me and he said there was something he wants to clear up. 

Well, have fun. 

What are you going to do for lunch? 

PJ and I will eat here. 

Okay. I'll be home as quick as I can. 

Take your time. 

He kisses my cheek and pulls me right up against his chest so hard I grind against his ribs and then he lets go and heads out. I wish I were a fly on the wall. I'm tempted to send a chaperone but it seems like they actually can manage to get along when I'm not there.

I mean, once upon a time before I moved to their street, they were best friends for five years straight. That's a long time in kid-years. I know they miss each other. Well, I like to think they do but I don't think a shared lunch is going to change anything. Not today, not ever. They've been enemies now for decades. They both want to just move on and forget history so it's ironic that they keep each other from actually doing it.

Maybe death actually will trump betrayal. I didn't think it did but I'll find out soon enough.

YVR to LHR

Ben, Dalton and Daniel went off to London yesterday, they'll be home at the end of this week. Ben had been hoping to roll that trip into our trip to Venice that never happened but since he had to go anyway, Dalton's always up for an adventure. Daniel went with them to see a little more of the world and I cried at the airport, blubbering like a fucking three-year-old, standing behind PJ because I didn't think Ben was going to go at all anyway but he did because he's an adult, fixing his shit and moving on with his plans and I am a child, stuck forever in the past that feels like quicksand and loathe to let him out of my sight because he's one of the few people in this world that I love more than anything.

Dalton picked a fight at the gate to try and make it easier (ASS). Daniel looked pained. Ben tried to make jokes and promised to be quick.

PJ translated for me as I tried to pull myself together but couldn't. She says she'll miss you...she loves you too...hurry home...bring home some hot chicks from Europe...oh wait, she didn't say that, I did. 

Waves.

Every star is on its way
You're the only one that stayed
All the time you could have saved
All the time you gave away
You know the heart beneath the waves
The one that I was trying to save
The one that almost slipped away
Was mine

I got my first (early) birthday present last night!

Loch preordered Thirteen Senses' new album for me. A Strange Encounter. They put out an album every three years and a bit and it's always far too long for me. I'm not huge on British pop like this generally but this band has had a heavy hand in the soundtrack of my life, at least since Henry was born, and seems to be the most delicious sort of music to have in ones ears if you are lying in the grass watching the clouds play chase or sitting in the dark, attempting to fix a broken heart with scant supplies. Loch introduced me to them. He walks around singing their stuff any moment he isn't singing a Pink Floyd song, mostly.

So they're totally magical to me.

(Or, Bridget tends to absorb the musical likes and dislikes of her boys, part 473628246246. Yes, we know this, get on with it.)

Caleb asked what I wanted for my birthday so I told him I wanted to lie on a beach for an entire day without interruption.

He clarified. In the sun?

Yes, I said. Maybe in Fiji.

And he shot it down because he said I would burn inside of four minutes and also their political state is a bit tenuous and I turned away because he asked but he was prepared to not like the answer before I even opened my mouth. I would still like you to have those earrings.

No thank you. Big expensive rocks secured with half-assed butterfly backs doesn't sound like fun to me.

Hoops would be better?

No, they just get caught in everyone's shirts and fingers.

A trip, then?

I'm not allowed to travel, remember?

With me, you are.

Of course.

Subversive Princess today, I see.

Every day, Caleb. Every day all day.

What can I do to make it a very happy birthday for you?

I turn and stare at him.

Except that.

Go away then please.

Bridget-

I'm busy.

Can I see you later this evening maybe?

Maybe.

He plants a kiss on top of my head and disappears.

Loch walks into the room from the other direction and asks me why I lead Caleb on. He's annoyed at what he saw, what he heard because I make no attempt to conceal anything, least of all my half-assed efforts to tick off things on my bucket list that will never ever be crossed off.

He's right, though, we're foundering a little here, Peanut. You haven't given us a list. We may all be three and a half decades in, in knowing you but you're still the pickiest little thing that ever lived. 

Easily frustrated by things that don't do what I want them to. Not picky. 

Well that explains why there are so many of us, you're collecting parts to make the perfect guy. 

Shhhhh. You really weren't supposed to figure this out. I'm afraid I've kept you around far too long. 

Bridget, knock it off. You're scaring me. 

Sorry. What a neat idea though! 

Huh! Is it now? Maybe I should do the same! I know I won't be keeping your ears because they're busted and your mouth, because it runs, and certainly not your scrawny little arse because it's not big enough to grab and well, seems like there's not much here, come to think of it! 

Oh my God! Take that all back! 

I'm only teasing! Peanut, I wouldn't change a thing. Well, maybe I'd get that creepy millionaire who follows you around to disappear but I swear, that would be it. 

HEY.

Don't do that thing where you ASSume that my philanthropy consists only of making sure women with tight household budgets can pretend to dress designer.

Yeah, just don't do that. Okay. We're good again.

PVC.

I had a weird epiphany today.

I was standing in the vintage store, waiting for Daniel finish up (he was trying on blazers). I was slowly working my way through the long rack of purses. I found three fake Louis Vuittons, two real and seven fake Coach bags, one real Prada and a very pretty, albeit completely counterfeit Burberry.

Two women came along behind me and one positively squealed. I glanced her way and she was holding the Burberry bag up to show her friend.

Oh my God, she said. It's fifty dollars but I'll never find a better price! 

Geez, fifty dollars? That's really expensive! There go your groceries. Her friend said. Maybe you should think about it. 

I love it! What a good price though, this would be two hundred in the store! 

(More like twelve hundred, I think to myself,  if it were real.)

I'm going to get it! She hugged it close. I wanted to turn around and tell her it was a knock-off, show her the cheap leather trim, the painted zipper, the imperfect stitches but then I thought to myself maybe fifty bucks is the price for her happiness.

She'll be so happy with her faux designer handbag it won't matter if it's not real, or if it cost her a week's grocery money, or whatever. Maybe that's all it takes.

When Daniel was ready to go I followed him to the checkout, and I told the clerk the cost of the Burberry and said I wanted to buy it for the woman but I didn't want her to know it was paid for until we've left. Daniel just stared at me and I looked at him and said,

I used to be her. 

We walked out into the sun, and I realized it's completely true. Happiness costs fifty fucking dollars.

Feed and keep her and call her yours.

I must be a mermaid, Rango. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.
             ~Anais Nin, The Four-Chambered Heart.

Lochlan is sleeping this morning as I trace his features. Actually he's holding his breath while I draw circles around his nose and chin and each eye. I write bits of poetry across his forehead with my fingertip and I write IMPOSSIBLE in block letters because that's what we are. Eventually I get bored trying to wake him up and I start to hum while I draw shapes around his lips and cheeks and then trace the tattoos on his arms for good measure.

Abruptly his eyes fly open and he grabs my hands and pulls me in close with a yell.

Jesus, Lochlan! I'm going to pee my pants!

Thank God you're not wearing any, then. Save yourself some trouble. He lets go and flops back into the sheets. Why can't you just give me a shake to wake me up like normal people?

I knit my eyebrows. What's normal?

That thing everyone else is. 

That's ridiculous! Who would want to be normal?

Good point. Can I please sleep some more?

Heck no! We need to go find some things. 

What?

Coffee.

What else?

Breakfasty...things. I'm starving.

Okay. Give me ten minutes to take a shower. 

Why can't you spend the day in your pajamas?

Because then no one takes me seriously. He stumbles off to the bathroom and I'm left cold, sitting in the middle of the bed and surprised at what he said.

That's the whole point, Lochlan! 

XXX (SFW)

Tell me that your final home is not a shot in the dark

I skate into the room, just a wee bit buoyed by his choice of music.

You're listening to DEMON HUNTER! JESUS CHRIST, DIABHAL!

I was hoping that would get you over here. 

Why? More things to sign? I'm going to have a stamp made. Or start using an X. Maybe I'll use three of them, I mean, let's be realistic-

Bridget. 

Where is it? 

Where is what? 

The papers?

What papers? 

Why am I here? 

I wanted to know if you're about to take on yet another boyfriend here. 

Look, just because Duncan finally admitted that I get under his skin doesn't mean-

Of course it means something or you wouldn't have written about it. 

Since I'm heading toward a future where I'm demented I intend to record everything of use. I knew he had a thing, but he'd never admit it. He's gone back to denying it, for the record. Says he misspoke. I roll my eyes for great effect. Also what do you mean by 'another' boyfriend?

Well, you're quite open about your visits to me. Also there is Sam.

I don't write about half the altercations I have with you! And leave Sam out of this. Wait. Are you sure you meant to say Sam?

That's what you call them? Altercations with me? And who else should I be worried about?

Did you mean something else? Also what was I supposed to sign before I forget? And who?

Nevermind, Neamhchiontach. Would you like some lunch? 

I forget if I had a lunch date so yes. 

Cheese sandwiches? 

Sure. If you leave the record on. 

Different but not new.

I missed you, Poet. 

I am packed in tightly beside Duncan on the couch. I don't want to move. Ten weeks was a long time, even though it was barely nine if you're being picky. And here now Gage has just begun to rumble about heading out for a few weeks and I just want to keep everyone inside and bar the door.

Duncan nods. I missed you. I missed everyone. You know? I got out there and the whole family dynamic was completely different and I decided I would just float through it and they called me on my shit so fast I don't think I had even settled in. But I'll give them credit, they did it. They supported me through the whole thing and here I was supposed to be support for them. 

They're good people, Dunk. Good Humans. 

Yes. They saw your pictures and thought I was missing you. Since they know about the setup here they made assumptions.

So you set them straight?

No, he laughs. Not really. I just left it because I can't explain it so why the hell not? (At this point Duncan would lift a beer bottle and take a drink but since he's not going to do that anymore he just sat back and looked at me.)

Duncan-

Hey, why don't you make some tea? That would be good. Planes are dry. Then I have to give the kids their souvenirs and I want to crash for a day or so. The stuff for the big people I shipped separately. It'll get here next week.

Okay. 

I reluctantly get up and go to the kitchen. Over the years Duncan has become what Caleb always was when I was little. Cooler than everyone else in spades. If you had his attention or approval it was a warm flood of awesome inside and you became briefly invincible. People would hang on his words, look to him to wardrobe and opinion cues. People would feel rewarded if he spent time with them.

Basically he's the God of the Shallows over here. He writes poetry and cares little for things he can't change and he had his shit together when he left.

And suddenly he missed me too much to cope with it reasonably? Oh. Oh no. Not you too. You're supposed to be cooler than cool.

Now that he's back I see the light spilling through the cracks and he's not together, he's a mosaic of a beat poet/lizard king. He's shaken and weakened somehow and I find it more than a little sad that everyone suddenly deals with life with Bridget by keeping themselves topped up until they can't face me anymore and then they take off and get cleaned up and come back total strangers.

Fuck this. I want my lizard kings.

Dalton comes into the kitchen to help. I'm relieved that he's back. If I had known he was that bad off I wouldn't have let him go out. He looks vaguely worried. It's never fun to have the roles reversed, little brother looking after the big brother. It's unnatural and scary.

I shake my head and rub Dalton's hand. He had to go. Maybe he needed the long break to get sorted out. He'll be fine. 

I know. He's tough. I just hate seeing him...what's the word?

Vulnerable.

Yeah.

He's always been that way. I lie. That's the only way the poetry has to get out. Through those tiny hairline cracks. 

I love the way you spin things, Bridget. 

Me too. I'm glad I'm home. Duncan's in the doorway, smiling. God. Amazing how much you miss someone when you think you were doing well pretending otherwise.

(I don't know if I'm saying that about myself or about Duncan. Not sure it matters.)

DUNCAN'S HOME!

DUNCAN'S HOME!

DUNCAN'S HOME!!!

Happy Easter, from our house to yours.

Hush now baby, baby don't you cry
Mama's gonna make all of your nightmares come true
Mama's gonna put all of her fears into you
Mama's gonna keep you right here under her wing
She won't let you fly but she might let you sing

This morning the rain cleared up long enough for us to have Easter breakfast outside (far too early) at the long barn door table in the orchard, the table freshly pressure-washed and freakishly splintery on my end, at least. Sam stood up and said Grace, Christian took most of the bacon when the plate was passed and John took the rest, and Henry complained loudly that he was too old for an egg hunt anyway (cancelled due to weather) and then almost in the same breath said he missed the egg hunt and huge quantities of chocolate the Easter bunny would bring before he was too old.

Not to worry, the Easter bunny made his annual appearance anyway, coattails flying, shoes shined, eyes freakishly glossy and huge in the full bunny-head costume that has been shared duty between the boys for the past fifteen years. Henry saw him first and shrieked with excitement, making the rest of us laugh when his voice cracked.

We watched as the giant bunny scurried around the table, spilling eggs onto everyone's heads/plates/laps, then ran up to the house, throwing eggs into flowerpots, shoes, under chairs, balancing them on the door sills and on the gazing balls and then finally coming back and dropping the final egg down the front of my dress.

I fished it out with a frown and gave it back. The bunny took it, mimicked wild gut-busting laughter, and set his basket down. He walked over behind Loch, manhandled him up out of his chair and stuffed the egg in his mouth. Then he grabbed the basket and ran like hell across the lawn and through the gate.

Back home to the boathouse.

Sugar baby never ever learns.*

*(This will not be a tale of Ben's romantic endeavors because I think I broke my pancreas and cannot properly tell stories right this second.)

So...growing up mostly on a tiny peninsula in the second-smallest province in Canada, we were fucking sheltered and I've always read about but never had much opportunity to try some of the holiday candy Americans cite as tradition in popular culture. So the quest to try all those American chocolate bars and such is ongoing and ridiculous now that I have moved around a little and live fairly close to the border.

(And you all sit down there and lament the lack of Kinder eggs. Really, the chocolate tastes weird and the toys have sucked for years now.)

So this week? I found Peeps at the grocery store. Fucking yellow marshmallow peeps. No one wanted them so I only bought one little box of ten.

Opened them tonight. Passed the box, but even the kids didn't want any. I touched one and it was really soft. I thought they would be brittle and hollow and taste like chemicals. I bit into one with everyone watching and to my delight it was only a sugar-coated marshmallow!

So I ate five more after the first. So delicious and sweet!

And now I want to die because my stomach hurts. I think the last four remaining peeps will be paired up and forced to joust to death in the microwave with the little plastic swords from the bar because I don't think I can eat anymore.

They're laughing. Not the peeps, the boys, though maybe the peeps too. Sugar makes me hallucinate. I don't even know anymore.

Maundy Thursday.

Last night we had a rainy, windy, positively wild bonfire down on the beach for three. A bottle of sparkling water, fancy wine glasses that wouldn't remain upright (we resorted to passing the bottle) and the driftwood shelter that also threatened to collapse before Ben and Lochlan spent a few minutes reinforcing it. It was pouring rain. We brought a couple of pizzas and a stack of blankets down there too. We had grabbed a bunch of candles too but at the last minute I took the big LED lantern which they said was a good idea but I had only brought it because I knew the walk back up the formidable steps would be in the darkness so I'm not as together as they think. The candles were useless.

Ben called it an early picnic to celebrate our anniversary weekend and he very specifically included Lochlan because we are the Three Musketeers. The three wet, cold and well-fed musketeers. Lochlan was so pleased to be included and made an incredibly touching speech about how humbled he has been by Ben's generosity and my open-mindedness and then Ben trumped Lochlan's speech with one of his own and they both made me cry and so I couldn't say any words at all lest they come out in one small strangled sob.

When most of the pizza was gone and the rain got even heavier we stowed everything in a pile as far back as we could where it seemed...dryish and made a run for the cliff, Ben with the lantern and my left hand, Lochlan with my right hand and a good grip on the railing the whole way up. It's not a climb you can rush and so we were soaked to the skin by the time we reached the gate.

Once upstairs Ben ran a hot bath and I was first in, dunking my head under the water. Oh, so warm. So so warm. I would have fallen asleep underwater but he lifted me out of the bubbles, wrapped me in a towel and threw me into the bed (why they keep. doing. that.) and I was asleep before I said goodnight, I think. I don't remember.

This morning we made the long trudge back down to the beach to collect the blankets and pizza boxes and candles. Loch smashed the glasses and the bottle at the far end of the beach to make future sea glass for me and Ben rung the excess water out of the blankets because he's the only one strong enough to do it properly. I just hunted for pretty shells until they were ready to make the climb back up.

Ben said that last night marked the beginning of what is to be the Most Romantic Weekend of my life.

Oh, well. Okay then! I have the happies all over the place.

Learning curve.

(I deleted yesterday's entry. He made amends. Well first he made threats but then he made amends.)

Caleb's apology came in a little blue box, weighing in at around one carat each, I think.

Pretty earrings. Who are they for? I push the box back across the table. He frowns.

They're for you. Because I feel awful about the way our trip ended. 

I bet you do. I look out the window, because the view is better.

I'm sorry, Neamhchiontach. I'll make this up to you. 

Then you can start by being nice for once in your life instead of trying to fix everything with more money. 

He sits and stares at me with nothing more than an expression of familiar interest. I get restless under his microscope and finally he speaks again. Point taken. I'm guessing you will be fairly busy over the weekend so I wanted to get a chance to speak with you early and explain that my remarks were not so much about you but about my life experience, age and means putting me in a position to look after you. 

Oh, was that all?

Yes, and it came out all wrong and I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?

Will you take the earrings back?

If that's what you would like then that's what I will do. 

I'll think about it. 

That's all I can ask for. Do you like the meal?

Once again he ordered a catered breakfast for two without even asking what I wanted. No. He looks crushed and it's worth it.

McDonalds, right? It would have been better. 

Always. 

I'll remember that for next time. 

Who says there will be a next time?

If I rang you super early and described a....a...Mcmuffin thing you would be in the car before I was finished. Probably still in your pajamas. 

That's not a flaw, it's a perk. 

I'm lucky to have you in my life, Bridget. 

I nod and finally stare straight at him. Yes, you are and don't you ever forget that. 

When no one was looking I put my head down on my toast, butter soaking through the bread and coating my cheek, my hair and one unfortunate hearing aid. My new t-shirt was spared. This one says RUN YOU FOOLS.

Tell me about it.

We got home at four this morning. If you ask me my name I don't think I even know it right now. I couldn't chew until PJ reminded me to eat the toast in front of me. Well, in front of me being now stuck to the side of my face, honey side up.

Lochlan spent from four to five this morning swearing at me, stripping me, firing questions and not waiting for answers. Ben told him twice to cool it but let him slide about fifty times more and I finally burst into tears, yelled at both of them, telling them about the chair under the stupid knob. About how difficult I made things, about having some kind of confidence in me being able to look after myself for once and Mr. Cynical Logical only laughed and said if the Devil had wanted to get to me he would have and I wasn't safe with the chair or with anything else and I shot back that I must have been because the Devil relegated himself to simple requests instead of force and if Lochlan was so worried than maybe he should have come with me. In fact, I asked him to come with me and he couldn't because he had meetings here and WOW. Convenient that business is suddenly more important than my supposed safety.

Ah, yeah, but only if it's his business. Not mine. Not the dealings on behalf of the collective or the trust. Nope, that's not important at all, Locket.

It took us until almost six to stop arguing and forgive each other and by then I'm pretty sure I was near quiet hysteria. Second night zero sleep. Death is fine, I'll take it. Nothing matters any more. Lochlan grabbed me by the head, rocking me against him and reminded me he yells when he worries, as if I could ever forget. I did everything right outside of staying home, it has to be enough. He knows. He nods against my head and it hurts. I'm starting to hallucinate things and my knees buckle hard. Loch scoops me right off the floor and tosses me into the unmade bed and that's pretty much the last thing I remember until lunchtime, when hunger woke me up and I tried to catch a little bit more rest on my plate.

My head hurts. I'm dehydrated and Lochlan, apparently is next door, full of confidence and shit, as usual.

I send the rest over to get him and tell them if anyone needs me, I'll be asleep until the kids get home. PJ tells me he'll bring dinner up but no. I want to see my kids so I'll be back at four.

And now I can't sleep. FIGURES.

(I didn't know about this until he knocked on the back door and asked if I could spare a work day for him. He waited until I agreed to point out it would be on the East coast.)

He ordered coffee and fried potatoes for me for breakfast this morning, knocking on the door of my room, plate in his hand at six-fifteen. I took the plate, thanked him sleepily and closed the door in his face again. I didn't put the chair under the handle again like I had it over night but I think he got the message, after he failed to understand why I upgraded our room using charm and his credit card to a two-bedroom suite, quickly found out which room had the nice view and threw all my stuff in there and went in and locked the door. I yelled through the door that he could just text me the meeting times and I would show up and he finally yelled back through the door that he had a car arranged and not to be ridiculous.

Oh, okay.

Who's ridiculous? His imaginary emergency meetings all over the world or my twelve-year-old maturity level?

Well, okay, both. But I'm making an effort to be a better Human and he's just wrecking all of the efforts I make.

Not to say I didn't have a wavering at around three this morning when he pressed his head to the door and called for me. I wasn't sleeping. I don't sleep when I'm alone and everyone knows it and so I really wanted nothing more than to tuck myself in his arms and pass right out but that never works and isn't fair to anyone so nope. I can wait and sleep when I get home.

I've had fourteen cups of coffee so far today. I can make it seventeen minutes without having to pee and I've given myself a reverse manicure over the course of the morning, chipping off all of my nail polish, biting my fingers down to blood and then finally resorting to sitting on my hands not to gnaw on glistening white bone.

I keep checking the time and the weather as if we'll have time to try Coney again this evening but I asked my evil magic eight ball and he said that all signs pointed to no. He isn't in the mood for favors at this point as he hasn't gotten any in a while and apparently that is my fault.

Nevermind he could buy whomever or whatever he wants at this point. The only thing he wants isn't for sale, never sleeps and lives on sugar and childhood dreams and has no business zipping around the island of Manhattan in a too-tight (Jesus, nachos and Joseph) too-warm boucle dress and stripper heels because I can't pack worth shit under duress and had no idea what to bring so I defaulted to his executive assistant dress code which was just another bad idea here.

Five more hours. Gotta go. One more dinner meeting.

So. Fucking. Tired.

Because the Devil coerced me, making me travel to New York today, I turned the tables and blackmailed him right back. If I had to come all this way for two stupid meetings tomorrow then we were going to make the opening ceremonies today of Coney Island for the season, or at least get there in time to enjoy it before dinner.

But planes and airports and traffic. They suck and we got in very late and everything is closed now for the night. And I'm spooling up to be far more difficult than usual. So is he, though. Great.

Twenty-nine hours left of this shit and I'll be home.

Beareal forest.

Bear sightings #1,#2, #3 and #4 tonight as we came across a mother and three very tiny cubs climbing trees and playing beside the driveway. They were scared of the noise of Caleb's car and took off into the greenbelt before I could take any pictures but they were cute! I like to keep track of how many times I see bears living here. It's a sport now.

On getting bent back into shape.

Sam is indulging himself in his favorite curiosity of all. My brain. I think he absorbed that from Jacob, who, by the end of his time was alternately horrified and fascinated by the things I would say, think and do. It's okay, I was too. Nothing changes much except Jacob isn't here ever again and it stuns me on a daily basis how permanent and life-changing death is for those who stay behind. It's easy enough to distract me from that and Sam is doing his best, asking questions when he should have taken warning already. Or maybe he should have taken cover. That's what I really mean.

Surprising, how?

That the world keeps going around. That I can be happy when I was given reason to cry forever and maybe disappear too. 

No one wants that. 

You don't know what the dead want. They don't spell it out so easily. 

He tells you. He warns you. 

I think that's my imagination wishing to relinquish control of my surroundings. I parrot back things I have been told and Sam frowns.

Maybe it isn't, maybe he wants to protect you and has regrets. 

There is no regret in heaven. At least, I certainly hope there isn't but he gets to know and we don't until it's time. What are your biggest regrets, Sam?

I'm not sure there are enough hours in the day for this sort of list today, Bridget. 

Sure there are. Have a go. 

Maybe I regret not pushing harder for things, taking chances. 

Every decision you make in life is a chance taken, Sam. 

To what end though? 

PJ comes out and does a quick turnaround. If it's existential breakfast, I'll eat inside where I'm not forced to confront my incorporeal self so fuckin' early, he says to me and winks. I wink back, my eyes burning. Lochlan didn't let me sleep but staying awake with him was harsh and beautiful and I feel like every nerve ending is singing this morning. I couldn't sleep now if I tried.

To a bullshit conclusion that never actually resolves, Sam. We just drop it and become distracted by something else while it floats in the background. Only those who die have the guts to confront it head-on. 

Confront what? Ben walks out onto the steps.

One's regrets, to the point where they would be able to resolve them before death so they don't have to carry so much baggage around in heaven. 

There are no regrets in heaven. There's no fear, no anxiety, no wistfulness, nothing. Just happy shit. Pretty girls. And really really good hot wings. 

I turn and glare at him, my hand over my eyes. He turns and goes back into the house too. I'm losing fans left and right with this but I want confirmation still. And I want Sam to open up because he hardly ever does and the day is ripe for confession. We don't do confession. I'd be there all damn week.

I regret marrying Lisbeth because she wasted so many years on me and I should have stopped playing games with her, pretending I could be a good husband to her when I couldn't. 

Does she know this?

Yes. 

Well, that's healthy. What else?

I regret trying to kiss you when you were in my office for help, not innuendo. 

Forgiven. 

Loch comes out. He has a bowl of cereal. What are we talking about?

Sam kissing me trying to see if he was gay, I lie. 

When was this?

Right after Jake. 

Jesus. You're all a bunch of vultures! 

Sam smiles so painfully at Lochlan. We didn't know how to comfort her. But we tried. We were there. I'm busted. Sam's smile turns to a frown. (No, no, don't get into it today. Lochlan can't deal with Big Awful Things. You wouldn't blame him if you knew. He mostly disappears now if something goes wrong. I wish I could change it but it's part and parcel of why we all stick together. It's mostly just in case. They could nail us both to the floor. They'll probably have to.)

Loch lets it slide. He's very open with his own flaws. And?

Nothing. Well, a longing for a longing, I guess but no. I love Bridget as a very good friend or family member. She's like the little sister I never had. 

Did you want a little sister because I have one and she's always been a royal pain in the arse! He takes up residence behind me on the lounger. I am done my food and starting to sunburn. I lean back against him and he complains. Augh! Let me eat my breakfast first! 

I'm going to go in and get ready for the day then. I am tired. I've decided I don't want to be a science or religious experiment today and Sam needs to be let off the hook for whatever comfort he tried to give me. Some things are better left in shade. The point is, he's happy now and that's all that matters. Maybe we're finding a new plateau here. Everything seems like it's getting better. Routines, family dynamics. Emotional outbursts. Suffering.

Maybe it's spring fever too. Or maybe I'm hallucinating all of it because I'm just so fucking happily tired.

One little slice of cheese (good days).

We are fire
Burning brightly
You and I

We light the sky
When we ignite
When we come alive
When we come alive

Last night I stirred my halibut around on the plate and listened halfheartedly while Batman and Caleb conducted the most gentle of arguments over my head during a late dinner in Caleb's kitchen because it's still too cold to eat outside. I would have continued to fill my own wineglass but I really wanted to leave the moment I got there. After dinner, Batman offered to drop me at the house on his way past and I took him up on it, asking for a raincheck on cleanup. Had I stayed I never would have left, for it's far too easy to pick sides when one is dark and the other darker still.

Caleb did clarify a lot of things for Batman, and for me too. CP does stand for contingency plan. In case his efforts fail and Lochlan doesn't abscond with his unrequited windfall as planned. I laughed when I heard that. Lochlan might run but he'll always always bring me with him. Nothing has changed since I was barely eleven years old in that regard, and nothing ever will.

And boy was Caleb unnerved when I left so willingly.

I was handed back to Ben who is surprised that I am sober. That made me mad. Batman says goodnight and we head down to the theater to watch something silly. We wound up hanging out with Daniel (who was equally lost, without his Sky), watching musicals. Ben fell asleep instantly, Daniel within thirty minutes. Surprise is now on me. I extricated myself from Ben's arms, turned off all components and went to bed. Fuck it. Ben can come up when he wakes up.

When I woke up this morning, I was pressed face first against Lochlan's chest. I laughed and he woke up. He smiled and said he took the evening flight out, that he didn't say anything because he didn't want me to wait up.

Ben was pressed against my back. I don't care if I wake him up. Loch laughs and puts his fingers up to ruffle Ben's hair and then to touch my face. Ben doesn't wake up, even though Loch's fingertips are rough and bitten. He's bitten his nails as long as I've known him in spite of all efforts to help him stop, including dipping his hands in kerosene, thinking he would burn his tongue on the taste. He didn't. It didn't even slow him down.

He smiles at me for so long I may or may not have zoned out and his own smile got sloppier and meltier and then finally he said Fuck it, we need some more sleep. 

I got up at quarter to eight to kiss the kids goodbye as they left for school (letting Ruth know her dad was home and sleeping and she would see him after school) and then I went back to bed, crawling up the center of the bed and then back down under the blankets. Loch is sleeping hard. Ben is not. Ben reaches out and smooths Lochlan's hair. The curls bounce back up and Ben whispers to me, Where did he come from? 

Heaven, Ben. Same place as you. 

Ben cracks up. Oh my God, what a little cheeseball you are. Someone got some sleep. 

Yeah, finally. 

Loch wakes up and grins his foolish face off, eyes closed. Nobody move. Freeze time right here. Right now. 

All three of us reach up with one hand and press an imaginary button in the air.  Done.

While the cat's away the mouse...windowshops at Louis Vuitton.

Lochlan had to travel with Schuyler (ironic but it's business. I could be travelling too, with Ben but that would be personal, god forbid.) and so I am being handed from one keeper to the next, it seems. Ben is busy. PJ is tired. It happens. The rest don't like children, I think. They're all suddenly burdened with things to do.

And so today is Batman's turn. He has no idea what to do with me but he's cleared his day so he suggests shopping.

Uh. Okay? I'm guessing he needs some things and wants a woman's opinion. I should have told him to bring Daniel because I don't have any taste, good or bad unless it's black or covered with words or skulls or even better, both.

We wander around downtown for a little while. He shows me things that are not masculine at all and I finally ask who he's shopping for. He laughs and tells me I have a birthday coming in a few weeks.

You don't..I mean..you're not supposed to...

If I want to buy a good friend a present, I should be allowed to. 

A good friend? I'm thinking...what in the hell does that even mean? It means we're still vaguely awkward. That's what it means.

This would have been easier before. 

When I was younger?

Yes. I still remember your ripped underwear when I took your dress off you. 

I turn around and walk back down the sidewalk because blushing. Because I was so young and clueless and didn't have nice things and probably had my shit together more than I do now. Take that, nice things. You're not helping matters. He catches up and steers me back around.

I just mean I wanted to buy you some things then but I knew that wouldn't go over well with Cole. 

So you opened the account instead. 

Yes. Do you still use it?

I've never touched it. 

He stops and turns pale. Bridget, that money was for you to get what you need. Or to get away from Cole. It wasn't meant to save. 

I'm figuring at this point everyone and their neighbor's dog had a bead on Cole and they all just either were afraid of him too or figured I would somehow magically get out on my own.

(Yeah. I did that. I did it. On my own. Okay, well, I stood behind Jake when I told Cole I was leaving but I still did it.)

If you want it back you can have it. 

Of course not. How much is there?

I tell him and he becomes angry. Did he keep you from using it?

He never knew about it. 

Why didn't you take what you needed?

I had money from Caleb. 

Ah yes. Had I known at the time-

Had you known what?

Had I known you were spending time with Caleb with such regularity I would have intervened. 

You know something? Maybe we should go home. I have a lot of chores to do and I know you're a very busy man. 

I'm not to busy to spend a day with you, Bridg-

Like I said. I have chores. 

Asher was supposed to fix all of that so you would never be too busy to spend the day with me. 

Life never works out how you plan for it to. 

No, no, it does not. 

What did you want out of life? What were your plans?

Twenty years ago I probably could have easily answered that, Bridget. Now I'm not so sure. But I think maybe it's time I had a little talk with Caleb and see what his plans are. 

Is there any point now?

Am I twenty years too late?

Thirty.

Loch sent this to my email this morning:

As sweet as Pixy Stix® taste, they are not produced from sucrose or regular sugar. Instead, Pixy Stix® are made from a cornstarch-based sweetener called dextrose. Dextrose can have a much stronger effect on the bloodstream than sucrose, so those who are especially affected by blood sugar spikes should exercise restraint when consuming Pixy Stix®

Pshaw. I could have told him that but he knew. He always tried to nail my fucking hem to the floor of the camper and I'd be out spinning through the trees in the darkness until three a.m., lit from within.

Really, come to think of it, nothing's changed. :)

Eat, stay, love (In which I get a rare turn at being the grownup).

I was happily drowning out the construction noise from the front yard with the television. PJ and I were watching Eat Pray Love. PJ leans forward pretending he's not tearing up but I can barely keep track of my eyeballs for they are rolling all over the place. Mostly I have confirmation that I'm unique and possibly a boy since I would be the target market for this movie and I hate it. Julia's got nothing to work with here. Julia's lipstick is smeared. Her character just needed to loosen the fuck up at home and stop being such a stuck-up bitch and then she would have known exactly who she was.

I was saved with a text message from Caleb. As usual between the hours of eight a.m. and eight p.m. he just says Need you and I can go without question. In the reverse hours I either have to sneak out (not so hard) or jump through flaming hoops.

(That's a literal thing I've done, jump through flaming hoops. It's not nearly as scary as you would think but if I were to ask to go across the driveway properly Lochlan would be sure to set up too many, or put them up too high or something to prevent me from getting through.)

So I walk over in the rain, taking my time, wondering if I'm supposed to be as wishy-washy, unfulfilled and easy to manipulate as the people in that movie.

And then I realized I just up and go right to the feet of the man who sends a two-word text three or four times a day so yes.

The boathouse is quiet. I walk around the island and into the living room and see Caleb sitting on the couch in front of the window. When the projection screen is up he has a wall to wall view of the Pacific. He's staring at the ocean and I stare at him, noting his quite serious stubble and the fact that he hasn't moved since I was here yesterday to initial a whole bunch of changes to a contract after another meeting, which he's had more of since he retired than he did when he worked. Same suit even, except his tie is off and balled up beside him on the couch and the top three buttons of his shirt are unfastened. The papers I signed are still sitting on the table in front of him.

Are you okay?

Some days are like this now. Some days I'm just...so tired. He rubs his face and doesn't look at me. He's looking at nothing. I go and sit beside him. I sat down to take a few minutes to regroup and it just hit me, you know? Aside from a few days where I have unlimited access to Henry I could literally sit here for days and no one would even notice.

When did you eat last?

He finally turns to look at me. I had a tomato and cucumber sandwich from a place outside the lawyer's before I came home. I ate in the car.

That won't do, Diabhal. Oh, I could have fixed him with the amount of food in that movie but we don't live in the movies so I got up and made him some cheese toast and a glass of milk. I made a piece of toast for myself too.

He joins me at the island. He is almost in tears. Great. It's the theme of today. Tears Tuesday.

Thank you, Neamhchiontach.

You would think you've been watching the movie that PJ and I had on this morning.  I tell him all about Julia. He's like a male Julia suddenly. Doubtful, unfulfilled. Questioning. Fed the fuck up. Just sad.

That sounds awful.

It was!

He laughs and tells me he feels a little better.

It's the cheese toast, Diabhal.

No, it's the company. You. You make the world turn, Bridget. I feel better, actually. Less desperate, at least.

I should write a book about my world-turning powers. They can make it into a movie and women everywhere will watch it on Netflix and roll their eyes too.

Some women will watch it and want to be you. 

Those are the cracked ones. Like bad eggs only the cracks are at the bottom so you don't realize they're broken until you pick them up out of the carton. Show a woman my movie and if she begins to immediately fit herself for a tiara, eats too much cake and moves all her friends into her house you'll know she's a total fucking wingnut. 

What about the ones who roll their eyes? 

You'll know they're okay. 

So you rolled your eyes at this movie. Does that mean you're okay?

I hope so. Can you imagine if I was running around trying to find 'myself', identify my power words and act like happiness was some tangible meal I could eat in order to be fulfilled? Because yeah fulfillment! It's right here in this cheese whiz. Caleb, I don't even think this is real cheese.

It's not. 

But you still buy it. 

Comfort food. He shrugs.

Exactly. Because we know who the fuck we are!

Damn straight!

Appy mare don't care.

This morning they broke ground on the stables.

I'm not fighting Caleb about it. He can do what he wants with his properties but you can bet your sweet ass I'm going to get some tenants for those stalls.

And maybe a llama. Because they're mean and then maybe I'll regret selling the spinning wheel because it figures, doesn't it?

I asked PJ what we can get from the horses besides work and therapy. He thought for a minute and suggested glue so I kicked in him the shins. He's not a horse person.

Yet.

For those who were wondering.

I know he's not real.

I don't think I'm crazy either, but for the three minutes I can conjure up the preacher in my head those are three minutes that the ache inside my chest doesn't hurt quite so much. That's all.

It seems as if there are as many people rooting for me sometimes as there are rooting for me to fail and be swallowed up by my own inability to cope with everything. I'm trying so hard. Unconventionally so and I was given a pass so I use it. Sometimes I feel like I need to be destructive and sometimes I feel thoroughly insane and sometimes I'm perfectly content.

Sometimes I even forget, can you believe it? You can thank Ben for that. Loch too. You can credit them all for the tight net of support I fall into every day whether things go well or not. You can hate them or blame them but at the end of the day you should thank them for everything. For throwing open the big garage doors (all three at once) and telling me to come out of the shadows, into the sun, that it was time to go inside, that wishes don't work like this, that everything will be okay.

That no one is mad at me for spending time with the Devil or with a ghost.

That I should sleep a whole lot more.

That downtime is actually a thing one can do every single day.

That I'm so hard on myself who else would have the heart to be?

They make me cry and that also makes the ache in my chest hurt just a little less too.

I wish I could be crazy. I wish I could let myself off the hook. I wish things sometimes would change but I wouldn't give any of these souls up the way I so hastily gave away my own.

Thanks for the sweet notes. I'm so touched. So humbled.