Home.

Back late this evening. Caleb sent the plane. Huge tidal shifts in life keep washing over me, threatening to drag me down before lifting me back up on a swell that seemingly comes out of nowhere. Such is the sea. Such is life, I guess. A deep storm-teal, ice-cold with pockets of tepid, a rush of fury tempered moments later with stillness. Doldrums stirred up with hurricane-force might before you blink.

She's glorious, isn't she? I cry, begging an easy answer.

Just like you, they say, but I shake my head. It's not the same. Not to me anyway.

Sundown but I'm on dinner-time.

Lochlan always has the cure for being cold or miserable. A beach bonfire and a bottle of whiskey. Ben already outclassed him though. Ben knows every single bit of dialogue from Eternal Sunshine. Puts me to shame.

And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.

Denial is a river in Massachusetts.

Ever the escape artists, we jumped at the chance when Ben offered a little side trip after he was done in New York. It was a reassurance visit for his people, who don't like it when he goes off to what we're affectionately calling Spring Training Camp. They want promises that he'll carry out his contract terms. He will. Hasn't missed any yet, has he?

Once we were done there we flew to Cape Cod. Something about Atlantic saltwater is so much more necessary than Pacific. We've got the big cold house again and we brought Loch too so I can play Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind to my hearts content. It's fucking freezing here though and while I have wifi I don't have clothes that are warm enough. Going to fix that with a little shopping trip shortly but the rumors were already circulating so I thought I would check in.

I didn't have my head-meeting with Sam anyway. I bailed. Denial is fun. I know what the Devil did. I know he steered Lochlan's efforts to see that I was looked after (when Loch walked away due to Caleb's threats in the first place) by setting up Cole and then he's engineered everything since, right up to and including Jacob leaving without knowing he was Henry's father to this entire Collective, which was some sort of incredible attempt to continue to wield control and make restitution at the same time.

I know all this.

And now I'm going down to the beach.

Maybe brunch tomorrow. Or maybe a lombotomy instead.

I can't convince anyone to take me for smashed potatoes and eggs benedict this morning. August wants to have a Prince dance party in the kitchen. That's cool. Yes, let's do it. Turn that shit up.

(Fun fact: Lochlan wouldn't let me listen to Prince. I was twelve when Purple Rain came out. I'm guessing he figured I was corrupted enough. I was. We also couldn't afford too many tapes and he had already bought the new Yes album and we didn't have time to go to the movies much that summer anyway. We had a radio so I heard some of the songs anyway.

It's kind of ironic now, that we went away and worked our fingers to the bone day in and day out so would have money to eat, something that wouldn't have been an issue if we stayed home.

But that wasn't the point.)

August and Sam would like to have a meeting with me later. To get a barometer, see where I am with everything now that history is falling into place. They want to know if I've addressed things in my head. About Jake and how things would have been different all the way around if Caleb hadn't done what he's always done and engineered my life so that things would be this way.

I haven't. I haven't addressed a thing other than making sure Henry chose better the moment he had a chance to. But Jacob?

I can't even go there. I can open the door but there's a monster there so I turn and run. He yells Wait! but I don't stop. I don't even slow down.

Burning off and on.

(You ought to see the trouble I get into when trying to avoid the Devil. Or maybe that's you ought to see the avoiding of the Devil I do while trying to get into trouble.)

I am a new day rising
I'm a brand new sky
to hang the stars upon tonight
I am a little divided
do I stay or run away
and leave it all behind?

The pool is covered until the warm weather comes back. Duncan did it in spite of my protests. Not like it's warm enough to actually swim in the Pacific instead, however. Ever. I will persist because it heals everything. Every bruise, paper cut and emotional bullet hole I've got.

Don't give me that face. You're killing me here, Bridget.

I flash him a huge fake smile instead. I don't want to cause any further deaths in my circles. Two is two too much.

That might be worse, he frowns and watches the cover feed out, a huge blue screen turning my pretty little pool into a big ugly rectangle.

Once it's done he hooks his index finger through my hood and we head back to the house where I offer to make him a fresh pot of coffee if he promises not to tell them I started coffee-on-weekends-only-mostly early. He agrees easily. Duncan has a weakness for Bridgets, though I don't exploit it.

I mean, I could.

We'll see where the weekend takes us.

Please. Before you freak the fuck out, Loch's only outrage is Caleb-centric. As long as it's not him, I'm gold. Just like my blood when I swim in the ocean.

Gold? I meant cold.

Cold.

Fucking freezing.At least Duncan's hands are warm.

The most amazing Knight.

LIFE. CHANGING.

I could be incredibly jaded at this point when it comes to artists but...just...naw. I screamed with the rest of the room when Paul McCartney walked out onstage and pretty much cried through every song. And then I got up this morning determined to share a tiny bit with you via a frustrating crash course in working the internet. So here. Enjoy. I sure did. I would have panned out or tried to steady my phone or something but I was too busy freaking out, okay?

(Note: the woooooo! at the end is from people behind us. I do not woo.)

(Well, I ain't no devil and I ain't no saint.)

Deliver your children to the good good life
Give'em peace and shelter and a fork and knife
Shine a light in the morning and a light at night
And if a thing goes wrong you'd better make it right

Paul McCartney is never ever ever in a million years going to play my favorite song of his: Deliver Your Children, off London Town, that came out when I was seven years old, later cemented as a clear favorite from Lochlan's late busking days (Jesus, if you've heard him and you paid afterward, well, thank you for that, we ate well those nights). It's okay, I already saw the setlist so I know for sure but there's a lot of Wings songs in there nonetheless and basically this is one of those shows I'm going to where I don't care if he stands up there reading the label on the inside of his guitar, I'll be crying and going full fangirl for all to laugh at. Go for it. I really don't care. 

And GUESS who's coming with us?

That's right, Caleb. Because curse this shit of making plans as a group when things are great only to find months later things have fractured all to fuck and so he flew home this morning and met me at the front door at five a.m. looking rested and refreshed while I looked like a tiny tornado of bed-head and tea-stained pajamas, a frown six miles deep on my face, eyes only half-opened, mouth forming every swear word I know to greet him. He's interrupting my olympic-skill-level reunion sex fest with my boys. He's just...here at my house where I wish he wasn't.

Hello Motherfucker.

Good morning to you too, Beautiful. I see things remain the same here. It's too bad your pyromaniac didn't have the guts to make the moves I would have while Ben and I were both away. Guess he can be the King of Cowards, Prince of Missed Opportunities, the Gutless Wonder-

I reached out and slammed the door on him.

I'll see you tonight then for the show, he called through the three-inch-thick wood.

Great.

Eight by ten, the size of a photograph to be framed.

Eight years to the day after marrying the most difficult, juvenile, fucked-up person on the planet, Ben still says he'd do it again in a heartbeat. He came home this morning with open arms for us, a huge bouquet of those amazing multi-colored roses and three weeks of intensive self-work under his belt because as he says, he is serious about keeping his sobriety instead of always being on the edge.

The minute I went into his arms I lost it. Fell apart in great wracking silent sobs and he finally let go of everything and everyone else and sat down on the floor and just kept holding on. Apparently I put on quite a tough face for everyone else but Ben is one of those people who, when they ask you how you're doing, instead of answer you just cry. There's something about his eyes. His voice. His arms.

Don't go away again. I hate it. I hate it. I blubbered at him but he just held on, squeezing gently, not saying a word.

***

He was nervous. I didn't realize how much. Coming home seeing all the renewed loyalties and blown-wide-open allegiances and he wondered if he had a place now that Lochlan seemingly holds all the cards again at last.

He said I put those fears to bed pretty quickly for him. I asked him why he didn't call and he shrugged. He's loathe to subject me to his darker side. He wants to be strong for me. He wants to be whole for me. I reminded him I don't care which parts of him are here, they're all good parts.

Some more than others. He winks.

Well there's that, I laugh and get another hug that ends in a kiss that makes my knees jello and my heart knock so loudly against my chest wanting to get out and fuse itself to him that we both step back, startled by the sound.

***

Eventually we had enough of each other and went and got Lochlan, who was given the afternoon off (yup, still working for Batman) so we could enjoy a micro-reunion together before the children get home from school and monopolize Ben with all the things he missed in the past three weeks. His Easter chocolate waits in the cupboard. His brother waits for his own reunion next door but here it was the three of us locked in yet another hug that was again, too long in the making. We needed this tiny moment. This breathless grip on the stairwell in the sun. This quiet reassurance that we're still the three musketeers and we love each other fiercely and with abandon. None of that changes, no matter what happens. 

***

Lastly, April 19 seems to be a fresh-start kind of day for me. If you go to the sidebar here to your left and scroll alllll the way down to 2006, a mere decade ago, it marks the day I first began to write about Jacob. It was our first full day today together. Ten years ago today. Of all days.

Seems like a lifetime ago, because it was.

Save the lizard, save the world.

Today I sent the kids off to school with PJ in the jeep and then I did my chores fast and by twelve sharp I was beside the pool with Duncan, who has a nice set of board shorts in a green pattern that matches my green bikini. He's got the Doors on the stereo for full Lizard King effect and he's optioning a lunch date of his own by suggesting we go in briefly to make up a nibbly-plate.

What the fuck is a nibbly-plate, Poet? 

Olives, cheese, crackers, fruit and such. For nibblies. 

I laugh. I can make that but I don't call them nibblies. 

What do you call them? 

Whore-doovers. 

He bursts out laughing. What is that?

Ben's french. 

Oh yeah. I forget he's American sometimes. He's been here so long. 

Been where?

Sorry, Bridge. Is he back soon? 

Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe if you call him he'll talk to you. 

He doesn't come to the phone when you call?

He's always conveniently busy even though I always ask if it's personal time and they confirm. 

Ben's got a lot of personal shit that he deals with, Poem. I don't know why the bikini doesn't liquefy his mind and fix it all but he's trying. 

I know he is. 

Maybe if you just wore that all the time it would be easier for him. 

Easier for who, again?

Mankind. 

I stare him down over the tops of my sunglasses until he gives in and goes to make us lunch. Works every time. Implied disapproval. It means I don't have to lift a finger.

Snort.

Everything.

Lochlan asked me out for a brunch picnic on the lawn, with one caveat. Could I ask that PJ help carry out the tray precisely at eleven? No sooner, and no peeking.

The kids are out with friends, roaming the neighborhood. Half the boys are still asleep. PJ is wandering in his namesakes around the house. Caleb has called a dozen times, Ben hasn't called at all.

That's a deal but only if I can make whatever I want.

Done. See you at eleven. He jams a kiss against my face and smiles and is gone.

PJ mutters under his breath. Elevensies and I laugh. We're the hobbits. The smallest.

At eleven sharp I collect PJ and the trays. I made breakfast. Fried eggs, sausage, toast and fried potatoes with apple slices and grapes. There's even a tiny vase with daisies on one tray. Napkins too and PJ has the big beach umbrella tucked under his arm with the worn quilt.

You're the best. I kiss his cheek as he opens one of the patio doors and then backs out to hold it for me. I have the lighter tray but it's still heavy and there are a lot of stairs involved. At the last second Keith swoops in and takes the tray because I would have dropped it anyway when I stepped outside.

Loch towed the camper all the way around the top of the point and brought it across the yard to rest parked at the edge of the cliff just west of the telescope platform on the rock wall dividing our property from Daniel and Schuylers. Technically the pool is in their yard as well. It's huge, all grass, stretching hundreds of feet from the house toward the cliff. Ours is smaller and juts out straight, forty feet of grass past the patio to a steeper, more abrupt cliff. Caleb has no backyard at all, for the boathouse is perched overlooking the cliff on the steepest side.

He did it so carefully you can't see tire marks. The truck is gone, parked back in the driveway. The door of the camper and all three windows are open, and he's set out the tiny bistro table and chairs, though we will spread the quilt and eat on it on the grass instead. There is room. The lower rock wall affords a better view than the tall wooden fence around the back of our yard.

We walk down. The food is probably cold. I don't even care.

PJ and Keith excuse themselves the moment they let go of their items and tells us to enjoy the afternoon. PJ winks at Lochlan. He is so glad I haven't lost my shit yet.

(Yet.)

We get the quilt spread out quickly, umbrella set up easily and Loch begins to unpack the food. I dish up brunch and he asks if I like the view.

I nod. I'm focusing on getting the food on plates. Getting coffee into mugs. Making sure we both have napkins, forks. The same amount of potatoes.

He takes everything from me and puts it down.

Peanut. Look.

I look at him.

No, look at the water.

I look.

Look behind you.

The camper.

Yes. The camper by the sea. What else?

You.

Yeah. Me and you. Complete with rings. And what else?

A girl and a boy.

A girl and a boy, you got it, Baby. (His voice breaks here. He's been so tough up until this minute. Henry is going to be signed over to his guardianship, at Henry's own request. Second generation, no less, to be in the care of this man. Hard to believe.)

I let out a long breath and burst into tears.

Let it out, and let it go, Bridgie. We made it.

Oh, the places you'll go.

(Incoming. Rare Henry post. For all you well-meaning folk, thank you. We have intensive counseling ongoing but kids are more resilient than Bridgets, thank fuck.)

I can hold Henry's face in my hands while he stands in front of me and I see glimmers of Preacher in him. Things I can't explain. Things I didn't want to see because I was so sure. Henry's temper is slow but fierce, like Caleb's. His humor easy and sophisticated. But there's something in his eyes. The way he moves. Big and graceful. The way he considers his words before he lets them fly. Nurture, nature, I suppose.

He looks like me. Same strangely-ashy blonde, same green eyes, same pale skin prone to furious blushing. But he's big. Six feet now. One hundred and fifty pounds of fourteen-year-old awesome that I refuse to expose to Caleb's evil ever again.

I'm sorry about all of this. 

Mom. Let go. It's fine. 

Fine? Fine isn't the right word for this, Bunny. How do you want to proceed here? You're fourteen. You get to decide. 

Can we just have Ben and Lochlan be.....uh... look after things?

Ben isn't , well, he can't-

Lochlan then. He can have twice the trouble. He grins at me. Oh my God. His big white teeth. Why did I let that monster talk me out of what is so obvious today it's heartbreaking?

It's a deal. 

Talk to him?

He already brought it to me. 

What happens to Da-..Caleb? 

Maybe he'll find an avalanche. 

Mom-

I don't mean it. Things are going to change. 

I don't want you to be alone with him every again. 

That won't be an issue, Henry Jacob, I promise you that. 

Hey mom? Is Jake- I mean Dad, actually in the garage? 

Depends on who you ask. I like to think he's there. In spirit. You know.

Why the garage? 

It's big enough for his wings, but dry so he can be comfortable. He never liked the rain. 

Henry nods but doesn't say anything. Probably trying to decide if it's okay to think your mom is crazy. But he smiles abruptly. I don't like it either.

Caleb has gone to Lake Tahoe indefinitely to stay in the big new house in the hills. He's called no less than thirty-eight times since he left.

May I fall apart now?

Barrister Outlaw.

He says he did it to protect Henry from being the only child without a living father. He did it to gain access and provide both children with stable parentage, time, resources and lineage. He guaranteed their futures, gave Henry confidence without doubt and provided himself as a role model for what hard work can accomplish. He insists it was for the best interests of the children and nothing more.

I want my paperwork, I repeat. The actual test results. I want to see them.

They're in the safety deposit box.

And you're going to get them this morning, along with anything else that pertains to me, my children or to Jacob. And while you're at it, maybe take some time to book a long vacation because I don't think I want to see you for a while. 

Bridget-

No, we're done here. 

Part II: Placeholders and placetakers.

I have a headache. Chiro care isn't working, I actually think it's making it worse. Ben isn't coming home, he really needs his program so he's asking me to have faith that he will come home strong enough to take over (just two more weeks, Bumblebee) and in the meantime, well, Lochlan continues to have some freakish, sudden magical knack for making this feel like just another sunny week here on Point Perdition.

Besides, he's only had to peel me up from my facedown position on the floor of the garage six or seven times so far. No biggie.

But I'm not worried about me. Maybe he's right. Maybe somewhere deep down I knew all along, though I got abrupt confirmation when Henry charged into the living room and shoved Caleb away from me. It became so clear. His movements. His words. His face.

(Henry had come back to get a book and walked in on Caleb's threats and he didn't like what he saw. Not one bit.)

He's not yours, I said. And Caleb was so surprised by Henry's sudden out-of-the-blue aggression that he agreed with me.

Patience, please. (This is not Part II.)

I should have listened. Should have tried harder to pay attention to the sounds all around me. Should have followed my instincts. Should have given Lochlan and Batman the attention their concerns deserved. I should have pushed harder, should have fought louder, should have followed through.

I should get Ben home, for this probably constitutes a family emergency if ever there was one but at the same time I'm paralyzed by the Very Big Things, whether I knew, whether I suspected all along, whether I wanted to admit it even as I don't understand how one person can continue to be so cruel.

It's been in front of my face the whole time but I've learned not to trust myself and that is the worst part of all. How can one person be undermined to the point where they no longer believe their own thoughts. So easily molded, scared into a shape that I never fit into. Threatened into a life that didn't have my name on it. Abused from scratch. To become this.

I look in the mirror and shake my head.

I don't know who she is, sorry.

I need to give credit to Lochlan here for finally stepping up and taking control. All the times he folded when I needed him was probably an act of reserving his strength and resolve for this.

I should figure out how I'm supposed to mourn the loss of someone who isn't dead, because I've lost one more here, The Devil slipping through my fingers as I tried to look the other way, and failed to pay attention to the fact that he was standing here unraveling my whole life, one ribbon at a time.

I had other plans and he took that from me and then he took everything else. Things would have been so different. Things would have been okay. Writing here would have been fun instead of painful. Life could have been good.

It would have been good.

It should have been good.

It will be good. 

Come to monster (Part I).

Take my life
Take my faith

He took hold of my resolve in the dark and stripped it off me in one fluid motion, stinging me with a sudden cool rawness that took my breath away.

You held out a little too long, Neamhchiontach. That takes the game aspect away and turns it into work. There's a price for that.

He drops the resolve on the floor and I watch it roll away into the dark. I won't find it easily again. He knows this. He steps in close, pressing his chin against my temple, his hand sliding up into my hair to hold the back of my head. He breathes in.

You smell like Loch. 

Fancy that. 

A shove lands me hard on the couch. He puts his hands on the back of it and leans down into my face, waiting until I raise my eyes to meet his.

Two days. Make your arrangements in the next fifteen minutes. 

I have two hours. 

You have what I say you have. I get one day to tear you apart and I'll need one to put you back together. 

What do I say to him? I say it thickly, words of molasses dipped in panic. I can't understand myself, choking on tears and shock. He's going to brute-force time spent. Worst possible outcome.

Tell him you miss Cole. Not like I haven't been a proxy for him my whole life as it is.

What'll you say to her? I ask him, looking for accountability. He has a soft spot for twelve-year-old me that doesn't exist with me now. Maybe I can save her even if I can't save myself.

I'll tell her what I told her before. If she makes it easy it won't hurt. If she fights back, I hurt Lochlan. Bridget, I'm reaching the point of no return here anyway. There's bound to be some collateral damage besides you.

So the minute Ben is gone you call in your cards?

I've waited MONTHS for you. It's in not only your own best interests but also those of your friends. It was foolish to think you could try and ghost the living.

I let out a shaky breath and say nothing, nodding while the tears keep rolling.

Thank God I get off on your cries or this would be more difficult than it needs to be. Now make your calls or whatever you need to do because you won't be sleeping in your own bed tonight, Princess.

Still ringing.

Iron Maiden was unreal. Loud as fuck, entertaining as all get out even as they didn't play Aces High.

They played Fear of the Dark, though, which made up for it in spades. I'm pretty sure Bruce yelled LET ME HEAR YOU VANCOUVER at least a dozen times, if not more. My head exploded only slightly before Eddie's and my ears are still buzzing hard and loud.

I seem to be making a habit of traveling around Canada watching rock shows that feature large inflatable critters. It's hilarious.

I got searched twice and patted down once, with apologies. Apparently I look exceedingly dangerous. I ate very awful concourse food. I rocked my face off but I didn't get a shirt because they were hideous. I was told that is the point but I still couldn't bring myself to do it. PJ told me I lost all my credit as a metal fan and Caleb picked that exact minute in the merch crush to bump into Lochlan and deliver a great elbow which saw a magnificent effort not to begin a brawl in the hall. They were separated like kindergartners by the rest of the boys and then Caleb proceeded to spend every break in the show angling to invite me over.

I didn't go.

I fell asleep with an incessant ringing in my ears, eyes burned by pyrotechnics, lips repeating lyrics, neck sore from doing over-forty headbanging, which is actually more like very enthusiastic nodding and zero dreams. I did not, however, fall asleep during the show, which is a first.

I'm kidding.

Okay, well maybe not.

(Admit it, you're still stuck on the image of Caleb tightly packed into the center of a huge crowd trying to buy t-shirts. Yes, I am as well.)

I should really be throwing books off the cliff but it seems wasteful.

I finished Child of God. Nowhere near on par with Outer Dark or The Road, it is presented as a shocking, edgy drop-you-in-the-middle of a moment in time with a serial killed story. In reality it's a lazy write, a snippet Mr. McCarthy didn't know what to do with so he published it. It's neither shocking nor edgy nor compelling and features a whole one delicious line compared to a watershed of beautiful prose as evidenced in the other two. I flung it across the room at the wall just as Lochlan was leaving the bathroom. It missed his head by about four inches.

Didn't like it, I see?

Nope. Not in the least. 

Now I begin House of Leaves (Not McCarthy. Danielewski, I think). I'm so excited to finally read it. I had to wait as it made the rounds to me. One of the sheer joys of an intentional family is that we have an endless library of books and media to pass around, only in addition to being the smallest human of the bunch I'm also the slowest reader so I get every book last and demand no spoilers. Duncan just grinned and said It's really weird but very, very good, and that's enough for me.

***

Yesterday's tally was two hundred kilometers, three spare owls and that Monte Cristo sandwich I longed for, minus the bourbon because we were on a bike and a good amount of different scenery to squash the insular nature of our intentional family. Sometimes weeks go by and I don't leave the point except for a quick lunch out or a trip to the grocery store. Everything else comes to me. PJ even suggested we have groceries delivered a couple of times a week to make things easier but I feel like if we do that I may as well kiss the outside world goodbye.

I could so easily, you know. I could give away my car keys and burn all my shoes and live an idyllic existence here on the cliffs without ever driving up that road ever again, cut off from the pedestrian daily existence. But then Sam would bitch about how little time I spend in church (as if he doesn't already. I get half my sermons in the kitchen now) and we still don't have that personal Ferris wheel required to actually cut ties with the outside world. (Oh and concerts. Can Ed Force One land on the future helicopter pad? Somehow I doubt it.)

Once I get those two things sorted, I'm all in. Duncan will buy the books, PJ can smuggle in the whiskey and Lochlan can do the burning. It's perfect.

Right this moment, absolutely no cares. None. Happy. Breathing.

Light a candle, blow the world away
Table for two on a TV tray
It ain't fancy, baby that's OK
Our time, our way

So hold me close better hang on tight
Buckle up, baby, it's a bumpy ride
We're two kids hitching down the road of life
Our world, our fight

If we stand side by side (all night)
There's a chance we'll get by (and it's alright)
And I'll know that you'll be live
In my heart till the day that I die

Cause you were born to be my baby
And baby, I was made to be your man

Lochlan has borrowed the Sunbeam for the day to take me for a ride. New Jake is generous, moreso than Lochlan would be if given the chance but they somehow didn't go down that road even Ben, Caleb and Batman went to string up New Jake for something that was my fault. Lochlan gets it. He should have been the one to burn down the point, and yet here we are borrowing motorcycles instead.

New Jake oozes cool. Almost as much as Duncan, but in a completely different way. Neither one of them could hold a candle to Lochlan though, because it would melt instead of burn. He's the coolest even when he's hot under the collar or just hot and bothered or completely dorky. He could never be as dorky as Ben so he's better at the other end of the spectrum.

(Caleb told me a few weeks ago: In the beginning I had planned to ask him if he wanted to be my partner and we would grow the business from the ground up and he'd be rich too, but then you got in the way and that was that.

I'm always in the way. Because I can't hear you when you tell me to move.)

We're going to go look for owls, Peanut. And get a picnic. Sound good?

Sounds like heaven.

It's not. We're here. We're alive. So let's live. He puts on his helmet and then he puts mine on me, fastening the strap, checking the bluetooth by singing a song he's been singing to me since I was seventeen (and he was twenty-three. He's FIFTY now. FIFTY and he still looks just the same). I nod and sway.

Say something. 

Stop talking and let's go, Locket.

With lungs full of acetophenone.

I am not what you have waited for

It's four in the morning and I can't sleep. Can't settle. Can't soothe myself, can't find anyone awake to do it for me. Lochlan's in a dream, in his own joyland right now, so deeply asleep I was able to pull his arms away and get up without him even breaking his breathing. The dog didn't lift his head up from his spot on the floor. The motion sensor lights didn't come on and there's no one around who would normally be awake at this hour to ambush me. I'm on my own in the dark and it feels unfamiliar, a stranger to a girl who, believe it or not, prefers the sun.

I made rounds first. Checking each room. Doors, windows, thermostats. Boys. Cats. Children. Lights in the other houses. Alarm last. I get some orange juice and head back upstairs, rushing just a little bit because the lady from The Conjuring 2 movie trailer just landed on my brain reminding me of what happens when you walk around in the dark alone. I make it back upstairs without being haunted, crawling in from Ben's side since I don't have to climb up the middle when he's away. I put my hand on Lochlan's forehead and consider waking him up.

I'm awake. He startles me and I peep really loud. He bursts out laughing as we shush each other.

Sorry.

You're supposed to wake me before you leave the room, Peanut. Why are you up?

Just checking doors.

Trying to escape? He frowns in the dark.

I smile bitterly and throw my hands up. Nothing I can say to that.

What would make you happy right now, Bridget?

A Monte Cristo with fries and a bourbon.

How specific. I thought you would say Ben.

I'm hungry. I shrug. I'm also full of shit.

How about for lunch later but sleep for now or you're going to be a little maniac later today.

Okay. 

We settle back in, Loch pulling the quilts up around my back, tucking me in underneath him where it's warm and I can't breathe. He is back asleep in what seems like seconds and I lie there in the dark, eyes wide open, watching the ghosts stare back at me over his shoulder but longing for the living like you wouldn't believe.

An albatross that grows bigger by the hour and heavier by the second.

My mistake was I thought I knew you
Caress
Bleed through

They finished the wall.

In a bid to be crowned Most Useful both Batman and Caleb worked hard at perfection. The lines are straight. The paint? Flawless. The trim around the door replaced so that you'd never know it was ever splintered beyond repair.

The great front hall is the palest of greens now, a sage so faded it's close to white but not quite. Almost an antiquey-beige but with a greenish cast. It looks beautiful. They did well. I did the final inspection just as fresh flowers were delivered from Ben because it's been a long couple of weeks, truth be told. That's probably all I'll tell for now on that front.

I put the flowers on the table, kept the card for myself and dismissed both titans, who angled for lunch and dinner, respectively and whatever else I have that I might give them but they both left with empty hands and free afternoons. I already have a lunch date with Sam (who I found at church, facedown in the sanctuary at on the floor listening to How to Save a Life on repeat and it took far too long to change the Jakeness about him), and a dinner date with Lochlan, who quit once again and says he meant it even as Batman refused again to accept it, and went as far as to change into his painting clothes, tying his hair up in a knot and heading out to the camper to work on things he likes working on. Things that pay little but mean he can be outside working with his hands and not cooped up in a stuffy building in a dress shirt and pressed pants wearing shiny shoes being a yes-man for someone he doesn't even like and owes nothing, frankly.

I don't know but things like that seem to destroy these guys faster than I can. They won't admit it and continue to blame me but I know better and try to encourage them every chance I get to do what, and be who they want.

My plan is to ask to go for Thai for lunch and Vietnamese for dinner because I love noodles. And chopsticks. And taking forever to eat. That is the best part. Then we can come home to this newly intact but achingly empty house and figure out what's next.

Whole conversations right in the middle of fucking each other. I shit you not.

(I'm never sure if I love it or hate it, truth be told but it's certainly different. Like he is. Okay, well now it makes sense when put that way.)

Come on down to the Mermaid Café and I will
Buy you a bottle of wine
And we'll laugh and toast to nothing and smash our empty glasses down
Let's have a round for these freaks and these soldiers
A round for these friends of mine
Let's have another round for the bright red devil
Who keeps me in this tourist town

I wake up falling or drowning, I'm not sure which as my arms flail through the dark looking for something to hold. They find what they're looking for and I open my eyes but he doesn't.

You got away from me in your sleep, Fidget. I won't let that happen again.

I reach up and stretch out a long red curl, tucking it behind his ear. He frowns, pushing my hand away. What're you doing?

Admiring my prize.

Thought that was my job. Still with eyes closed, he leans forward, kissing my shoulder, rolling his weight onto me.

Here for your admiration. I surrender to him, letting him pin my hands above my head, arching my back to share his heat, coming away with a kiss and a smile as he finally opens his eyes but they're already awake and smiling.

When are we going to talk about it?

Never and keep this perfect day. 

Peanut, it's an albatross.

Everything is. Leave this day, please. 

Tomorrow. 

Maybe something will change and we won't have to.

You sound like you dread this. 

I don't, I just don't want to close doors. You always told me to be damned sure before I closed a door or burned a bridge. 

I burned you every night once.

An illusion. 

Same result. 

Not hardly. 

Have you made any decisions aside from what we talked about? 

No surprises, Loch.

Oh, yeah? That's good. Maybe my hair will stay red a bit longer instead of turning white.

I'm not the cause of your stress. 

Tell me more stories. I have all day. 

Yes! I'll tell you the one about the little girl and the sugar tornado. 

I wish you'd share that stuff instead of stupid moments when I was fifteen and so clever I pissed in the lake and you believed that I could warm it on command. 

Maybe I will. 

Eventually you'll be sharing photographs of my junk, I bet. 

No. I have a classy blog. 

It isn't. It's porn and angst and nothing in between. 

Just like me.

Yeah, just like you. 

No swimming today, it's six fucking degrees.

One of the most satisfying parts of raising children is in teaching them that their actions will always have consquences, i.e. a hug will help to comfort someone, or if you put a hole in a wall, you're going to fix it yourself, even if involves a lot of dust and a day week of work lost somewhere else.

It was incredibly satisfying to teach Batman and Caleb how to hang drywall, how to tape, mud and primer it properly so that it blends in seamlessly to the rest. Since the hole they made was too big to patch. Sigh.

How do you know how to do this, Bridge? Batman always seems so surprised when I exhibit actual, useful skills, outside of playing sugar baby or giving blowjobs or something. Caleb damn well knows I can do this. He kept flying in to check on the progress of the castle I sold in 2010 since Jake had torn apart several rooms that remained unfinished when he flew. I finished it all alone. I had never drywalled a fucking thing in my life before then.

(I actually do give a mean blowjob too. Though no one..would...call it......mean....exactly...)

ANYWAY. The two titans get to spend a few days working together. I get my wall back. Life will continue on. Just now with drywall dust everywhere. I may go live next door for the duration, except that they need constant supervision from the bickering and PJ refuses to referee.

(What they don't know is it won't be a patch paint job either. Once the wall is fixed they're going to paint the entire foyer a new color because I have decided there is too much white in this house, so it's going to be a pretty pale green, then I can keep a huge vase of white flowers on the table with the lanterns and the driftwood and it will be really pretty without being so stark.

They should be done by the end of the week if they work hard.

And hopefully they've learned something, like the others. If you've got a bone to pick, take it OUTSIDE.

Like I need any reminders about how well the Leafs are doing.

I stared at the monitor on the wall for a good ten minutes before he pushed the button again.

Bridget? Are you still there?

Yes.

Can you open the gate, please? Joel is sitting in his car at the end of my driveway and I don't feel like letting him in. Come on. We can watch the demise of the Canadian side of the NHL. 

None of our teams are going to make it to the playoffs. No bets have been made. But still I can't bring myself to buzz the gate open.

Today isn't a really good day for a visit, Joel. 

Duncan said it was. I turn and shoot laser beams from my eyes at Duncan who smiles lazily from the kitchen door because he follows me everywhere sometimes. Especially on days after Caleb seemingly does everything right. He takes guarding my body far too literally and I should know better but I don't. I know nothing but Duncan knows even less this morning.

He might not have all the information one needs to make that determination. I tell Joel and I can see as he rolls his eyes.

Bridget, I'll just jump the gate. 

You'll get shot by the turret guns.

Jesus Christ. You have guns now?

Jump the gate and find out.

Put Duncan on the speaker, please.

He isn't here right now.

Bullshit. He's behind you.

Duncan laughs and reaches over my head and in front of my face to hit the button that opens the gate. Let him in, Poem. He's a good antidote for Caleb's poison. 

He probably just heard about the bikini and wants to see it. That isn't going to happen.

I'll just show him the photos.

You took pictures of me?

I'm not a monk, Bridge.

You might be after today.

The Devil and the pink bikini.

The really stupidly expensive one that Caleb bought for me last year that I told him to return? He didn't and I tried it on this morning and decided I would go and check out the pool, which we had checked and filled the moment the roofers left and I figured it might be finally warm.

It was so why not? It's April third in Lotus land which is totally pool weather, even though the rest of the continent is still having winter. We've got the seeds out for the garden. We're in shorts.

Except for me. I'm in that pink bikini.

Which is nice. It fits well. It isn't see-through when wet (I showered in it to check) and it doesn't gap at the back above my tiny little behind like everything else I own (even the cashmere underpants). It just fits. And it's beautiful, a ballet-pink that somehow enhances my paleness and endless ability to blush and yet also makes it striking.

Hey, freckle-face. He is already in the water when I walk down, a stack of towels in my arms for the tiny poolhouse (a glorified shed they put in next to the new sauna, which holds a whopping eight of us) a light kimono wrapped around me, tied with a pale pink ribbon that matches the swimsuit perfectly.

Hey, yourself. How is the water?

Come in and find out. He smiles, gliding away from the edge into the deep end.

I take off the kimono and do a curtsy. It fits.

I knew it would. I had it made for you.

How do you know my sizes so perfectly every time?

From decades of touching you.

Oh.

Oh is right. Come in while you can. It's supposed to rain this week.

I walk down the steps into the warm water. Goosebumps announce my presence. His eyes mark my path. I walk until I am a third of the way across the pool and that's where my feet leave the bottom and I need to swim. I turn and go back to where it laps against my shoulders and he frowns.

Swim to me? It's warmer over here.

Did you pee?

Pardon me?

Lochlan used to pee in the lake to warm me up when I'd be cold. He told me it was magic. It was years before I realized he was peeing around me.

That's disgusting. And also genius.

I know, right?

I have a different idea to warm you. I reach him and he puts his arms around me, pulling me close. I put my arms around his neck and hold on so I don't have to try and stay above water.

Better?

Yes. But it isn't better, it's worse.

What makes it worse? (stop reading my mind.)

It's you.

I'm not so bad, Bridget

You're not so good, either.

Time won't let go/Sorry/Not sorry.

Would you have come to work for me if he hadn't had reservations?

Reservations? Such a mild word. I have come to get a cheque from Batman for the damage caused. Caleb already covered the other half. They made a new door from the front hall to the library. Avengers assemble.

Sorrow will find you
Its voice has given way to mine
Heart pumps death into our heredity
Who wants to come with me

Bridget- I have failed to pay him attention.

Sorry. I have to try and keep this straight.

You can do whatever you want. Does he threaten you?

When?

Now, Bridget.

Not really. I just know my place.

I don't think you do or you would be with him. You're not.

There are issues.

Is he fixing them? Is he the end game?

No. He's not because he can't fix what he broke.

What did he break, Bridget?

Me. Her.

Jesus. You can't hold this together.

I'm fine. It's probably for the best.

Who's best. His? I'll do more than put him through a wall.

Don't touch him. I didn't ask you for help.

No. You didn't. Others have.

Others being Cole? Have you noticed he's been dead for almost ten years?

Oh. Wait.

When did that happen?

I made a hasty goodbye and walked up around the front of Batman's house, walking along the road, turning off far past my driveway to the locked gate by the orchard. I use my key, I always have my keys in my pocket, and I come in, following the wall along the cliff until I run out of cliff and have to cross the driveway. I use my key again and let myself into the boathouse. He is surprised but not surprised as I put my keys on the counter and ask the Devil if he knows how long it's been.

Since my only brother died? Yes, I know. It will be a decade soon and I'm not prepared for that kind of milestone. 

Teach me to survive it? 

I'll do my best, Neamhchiontach. 

Crawling all the way back.

Oh Jesus, don't bug me, this song is on a loop. If you preorder Katatonia's new record (I did! I was probably first in line too) you get Old Heart Falls as a giftie to tide you over. It's like a very cold bleak Toollike song but with more emotion. Sigh. Kill me to this, please.

For every dream that is left behind me
I take a bow
With every war that will rage inside me
I hear the sound
Of another day in this vanishing life
Returned to dust
And every chance I've pushed away
Into the night

Asher also turned out to be otherwise engaged and so Batman will have to make a new plan altogether, unless he reoffers to Jasper but really I think that ship has sailed. And I am still busy. Busy juggling fire of my own in the form of men. Busy dealing with the crushing guilt of Caleb's outward loneliness and inward promise to not be the man his brother was. Busy caretaking my ghosts. Busy welcoming spring after a winter of crushing headaches and other issues that diverted all my energy into not spending the day screaming Fuuucccccckkkkk at the top of my lungs long and loud until the dark fell back down over us. Busy trying to keep this perfect balance, so obviously weighted down on one side. Busy watching Ben fight his demons, watching Lochlan fight mine. Busy watching my children grow before my very eyes. Busy not finding shoes I like enough to buy and living in my docs. Busy buying shingles and labour because I won't let the boys do the roof themselves. Too high in several spots to be safe and they are too proud to tie in. Busy considering Caleb's request of a helicopter landing pad and a new kitchen on my side of our line, drawn in the brick. Busy wondering why he needs helicopters here. Busy wondering about everything. Busy keeping up with them, and falling behind, as always.

It's been a bit crazy here. March break was so nice and now it's done and the kids had a short week back and I'm playing catch up because I was busy spending time with them. Next week should be back to normal though from here it looks like a clusterfuck of chiropractors (because headaches. I need to fix them) and car appointments because I'm the dealership queen or something.

I need a vacation but if I say anything four different people will book one. Yes, first world problems, I understand that but what you don't understand is that loyalty is a shell game and I've never been a very good politician.

For every dream that is left behind me
I take a bow
With every war that will rage inside me
I hear the sound
Of another day in this vanishing life
Returned to dust
And every chance I've pushed away
Into the night

A chance encounter between the titans in my front hall knocked over my goddamned roses which I didn't appreciate very much, especially since neither one of them live here. Besides, in a fair fight I am instructed to side with the Devil instead of the Batman because things work better that way.

So he was pleased, and I was not.

Loch and Benjamin were both vaguely pissed. PJ was overjoyed. New Jake seemed disappointed and Keith said we were all fucked in the head.  

Of course we are, I reminded him. Otherwise this doesn't work at all.

Because everything that hadn't turned black yet had moss growing on it.

I pressure-washed the entire point today or at least every hard surface save for the obvious ones so any meaningful words will have to wait til tomorrow until my hands stop shaking.

Caleb's response to Batman's plans? Absolutely not.

Shoot me. I like poking at his sore spots.

Batman's office in London is up at running at last! And he finally gave up on his efforts to secure a personal assistant there and so he changed his mind entirely and modified his plans significantly.

(this upset Caleb and just about everyone else. I'm kinda thrilled though, truth be told. And I rarely tell it so it must be special).

Instead of one imported assistant, he's fashioning the job into something for three people.

Me, New Jake and Asher.

Remember Asher? Batman gave him to me as a gift one Christmas, so that I would have my very own hot young butler except that Asher was outrunning his own problems and no one wanted a stranger in the house even though he is one of Batman's relatives.

But he'll be at Batman's. And he will function as butler there. Head of household, cooking, errands, organizing cleaning staff, drivers, deliveries and social functions, which is funny because Batman hardly ever entertains. He is one third.

The second third is New Jake, who will function as security and general maintenance/landscaping/vehicles/outside everything. But who gets a sparkling raise and odd complete veto powers over Asher because Asher's a tiny bit flighty so we're going to watch him grow into this position. Both of them, maybe.

The third-third is me, though the extent of my duty will be part-time (maximum ten hours a week. I can do ten hours a week) coordination of lawyers, accountants and temps to deal with all the things I today refused to do, sliding down off the chair from where I sat listening, with a rather dramatic and childish whine of despair and Batman laughed at my actions, pulling the 'coordinator' idea out of thin air, on the spot.

I can do that. I climbed back up into my seat and straightened my sweater, smiling like nothing happened.

On one condition.

What is that?

You have to spend the money I pay you instead of hording it, and no fraternizing with the other employees.

When have I ever fraternized with Jasper?

It isn't Jasper I'm thinking of.

Asher's a little young for my tastes unless you want me to go full coug-

Bridget.

Hey. Jake and I are adults and we got it out of our systems. I think.

Keep it professional.

You're SO boring.

Bridget-

For Christ's sake, I'm kidding.

But you're not and you have zero shame.

I give zero fucks, there is a difference. I'm always vaguely ashamed, if you want the truth.

Then why don't you change that?

Look at him. Would you?

Probably not. But I'm also not his type.

Lucky for me then. 

Flocked.

There is SO MUCH CHOCOLATE in this house. I might need New Jake to test my blood sugar. Caleb tells me I have no actual blood, only milk and glitter. He's weird. Once peeled off the ceiling, my color came back and everything, proving I do indeed have fast-moving blue blood in my veins. Not like you can't see them underneath my skin. Proves I'm real, proves I'm royal. Proves I probably shouldn't have had Lucky Charms for breakfast after eating chocolate all weekend long.

We retired the bunny head. Not only was it heavy, hot and relatively painful to wear but for as much magic as it gave the kids at Easter they pointed out it also gave them nightmares to see someone loping around the woods wearing the thing. A grim sort of scary-magic. They also proclaim to be too old for this shit (their. literal. words. because I let them swear as long as they use the words properly and not just toss them out in a thick layer. I keep forgetting Henry will be driving in sixteen months WHAT THE FUCK.).

The head was also was in surprisingly poor shape this year, as someone (not naming names-starts with P, ends with -eej) didn't store it properly in a rush and it was all dried out, stiff and disgusting. Ben offered to wear it anyway and so I ended the tradition on the spot.

Because gross.

Now the kids will need therapy for decades. FUN FACT, they've already had a metric shit-ton so they helped us burn the head and that was that. Tradition spent. On to the next. It was beautiful while it lasted but thinking back I think the boys did it for me, not the children.

In the dark the sand sparkles like stars, scooped from an earthen sky and released from my tightened fist into a galaxy patterned on a dark damp rock masquerading as the universe. In the dark the saltwater stings a cold dance against my skin, baptism by sea, clarity via the elements. The sea is my giant crystal ball, it helps me see everything and what it misses I can find in those stars as I touch them and let them go. The sound rushes in to fill my head, muting everything else until the focus that remains is distilled down to the purest form.

Sea, myself & sky.

It's a game I've been playing inside my head forever, a play upon learning grammar in elementary school. Me, myself and I. Subjects. Objects. Pronouns. Intensifiers. I look up sharply at the teacher. Intensifiers? I've got intensifiers. My half-formed little eight-year-old brain smiles as she thinks of her boys and returns to her daydream in which it's not even day, it's night and it's not even in town, it's at the beach, and it doesn't even matter because the sea will still be here waiting for you even if your brain is full and your mind is harried and your grammar is wrong and your dress is still too big, Bridget. She's there and she keeps the stars on full reflect and she will drown all your fears and she will show you a different way to predict your future if only you let her surround you. Lean your head back, spread your arms out wide and tread the sea like the longest journey you can imagine and at the end, there you are.

No spoilers!

Oh my gosh. The movie was freaking GLORIOUS. Ben Affleck looked great in Gucci. Don't ask how I could pick out so much of his wardrobe as Bruce Wayne. He's now my favorite Batman of all time, forever. I cringed, I cried, I spent half the movie thinking Doomsday was Colossus with a skin issue and there were bagpipes, for the win.

Worth the price of admission. Grim as all hell. Destructive to a fault and I wish it never ended. I'll go back and see it again with the rest this week.

Damn.

My money's on Batman (no, not my Batman, the Ben Affleck one. *DROOL*)

Sam is PISSED that we're bailing on Good Friday services (on the beach, no less) because we have tickets to see Batman V Superman this morning. Whoops. He nailed me to a cross and put me on his schedule which means I get fiery-Finnick service later alone because I need to be saved or something. Because I'm the chosen one. Because I've been crucified. Because I'm fucking Wonder Woman and so I made an executive decision and bought the tickets before the internet arrives to spoil the outcome of the movie for me. Not going to happen today, folks, and I promise I won't spoil it for you either. Wish us luck, it's always a logistical nightmare to take more than a dozen people to the movie theatre.

For everyone else, not for us. We're good. But the rest of the world hates being stuck in the long lineups for popcorn just before it starts.

White flag.

Batman called to clear the air before we see each other tomorrow and asked what the nightmare was about.

How did you know I had a nightmare?

Bridget, we do a daily group chat before your feet hit the floor each morning. Tell me. 

I dreamed you came down the arrivals hall and you had Jake with you. That you found him and were bringing him home and my head exploded. 

If I could do that I would, bridget. 

Best to leave that alone. 

I am bringing home someone I think you'll get along with just fine, however. 

Oh? How did things go. 

Got it straightened out. Thanks to your boy, there. Also, tell him I found the job he thinks he lost. I'll bring it with me. 

Thank you for that. For all of it. 

Bridget, I'm not as black and white as you seem to think. I understand the difficulties you two face. 

Really? I don't think anyone does. 

I think everyone does. That's why they surround you both. Everyone just wants the best for you.

Remove 'the best for' and you've got it. 

Stop. I can't wait to introduce you. Please be on your best.

When am I not? 

This. THIS.

Behold, some schoolwork my mom sent in with a box of Easter treats. This masterpiece was created when I was ten. Hard to believe I was the most artistic kid in the whole school, thankfully since I certainly wasn't the most academic one. The boys are having a field day, remembering little Bridget, when she was too small to have much sway at all, let alone a fully-formed opinion.

At least I knew what I wanted from an early age. Except Lochlan isn't in the drawing, he had tied me to the wheel and was running it from the ground. He didn't want me to leave him.

Maelstroms and motives.

Thought I would die a lonely man, in endless night
But now I'm high
Running wild among all the stars above
Sometimes it's hard to believe you remember me

The way it was told to me, Batman got halfway through lecturing Lochlan on the whole idea of not being able in life to just stop what you're doing and hide or leave or escape, that bad things happen every single day and business doesn't just stop for every tragedy or news story. He said it sounded heartless but the show must go on.

Same quote Caleb used on me, ironically and it had the same result on Loch that it had on me. A swift correction and a ceasing of any sort of mutual effort to get anything done at all.

Then I quit. Loch told Batman out of the side of his mouth in his half-angry, half-bemused lilt and got on a flight and was home late last evening. He flew commercial because as he told me, I got the bonus-bonus but I guess it'll have to last a while because I lost me job. 

I pointed out that he knows where it is, he's the one who left it there.

No matter, Peanut. I'll figure something out.

I smile, half from exhaustive relief and half because he's been saying that for thirty years. If ever a soul needed a net it is this one.

(Batman will be back on Saturday. Brace for impact. Dalton and Dylan aren't fazed and will be continuing their itinerary until the fall unless I get too spooked and extract them with more exciting means. It could happen. You'll see.)

He opened all the windows so that the smell of avgas and panic would dissipate overnight and then after making sure we had enough love to see us through the dark (Oh, we do. We have enough for the rest of this life and the next because we're not sharing anymore.) he passed me my headphones but he picked the music and I was asleep before the end of the first song.

Ostrich millionaires and the girl who cried wolves.

(Jesus Christ. I'm the Queen of Hearts today.)

Do you know if your soul is removed early for whatever reason (like in heated negotiations with the Devil for permanent ownership of it) that the remaining stalk can be replanted and sprout a new one? It grows slowly and you have to change the water every day, like celery, but then you have a new bargaining chip with which to negotiate when you are trying to spend a hundred thousand dollars on a jet for a one way flight home for three people you care about so dearly it's criminal.

Yes, Dylan. Even you.

I might have promised my new fledgling soul to the Devil for his contacts when he stepped in at the last minute of my call to the Russians because I want a fucking plane and I want Lochlan, Dylan and Dalton on it and I want it in Vancouver by tonight.

Not gonna happen, Princess. These things take time. 

Money makes it happen faster. 

He can fly commercial. 

(I can fly commercial, Peanut. Don't waste the money.)

I don't care.

(I don't care, Locket. If you get blown to pieces there I won't survive it.)

(But you're safe.)

(Not without you.)

Did you talk to Batman? 

He's busy. He told me life happens and if he ran and hid every time a threat played out in the world he wouldn't get anything done. 

He's right. The show must go on.

The show is rescheduled if the whole motherfucking tent is burning down, Cale! If you're going to use a quote like that on me at least understand what it means! 

Bridget, calm down. 

I'll calm down when he's home! 

Sugar up to my knees.

Thanks to the mild weather Caleb had my Porsche brought out of storage (put away last November) a few weeks early. He had it detailed, delivered and then told me to come out to see it, to have a seat and reposition all of the seat and climate controls the way I like them.

I turned on the fan full blast and glitter came out the vents.

I squealed and he laughed and said it was payback, but since it's clean glitter in a very clean car I plan to leave it all. over. everything.

They can pick it off their tongues for the next six months, like I do. My car looks like a snowglobe on the inside and that's just the way I like it.

Weapons-grade feelings.

Yes, I love you

Lochlan on speakerphone last evening, warning us it will probably be most of the week until he gets home.

Go outside and listen to the record I sent you, he instructs. He sent me Oceans of Slumber's Winter the other day, which is a masterpiece so underrated it's almost criminal if you're a progressive rock fan or a music fan at all, frankly.

Not now, Bridge. It's dark, John tells me. User override. Lochlan's time difference is excused. It was very very early in the morning for him. It was daylight.

He said he saw the album art online and went down a rabbit hole. I'm kind of stunned by the way we find music sometimes. I can identify with that. The rabbit hole, I mean, though the artwork is neat, too. I already had put that album in my skull from my perch on the wall at the end of the yard, as I do, in the rain. I'm good. I'll do it again today. Just because.

I'm good, I repeat to him but he never believes me. Doesn't believe Ben has retreated, doesn't believe I've resorted to sleeping on Sam's couch, doesn't believe I've even had time to listen to his offering as I've probably been busy lining the boys up and picking them off, one by one with my cold naked charm.

They only love me when I'm good.

It's Saturday morning and they seem to be on a relentless mission to spoil me. I love this. I could get used to this but I probably won't let myself because in there somewhere is the voice of a twelve-year-old telling me I don't deserve it.

Ben woke me at fiveish this morning. Not gently, no. Instead I was lifted off the bed until the only thing touching it was my heels and my fingertips on one hand before I grabbed onto him because as always I am afraid to fall. He was rough but sweet, sleepy but awake and ready to wind me out, letting his own wants stay on the back burner. He put me back down, turning me over first, one hand sliding underneath my abdomen and the other covering my whole face. This was nothing short of glorious and we somehow got perfectly synced, achieved nirvana together and then collapsed on top of the sheets, out of breath, perfectly warmed and smiling, Ben moreso while I practically dozed because he loves the noises I make. He loves everything.

No offers this time to go to the Devil?

I only do that as a front for the fear. 

The fear?

Of not being able to make it the whole way. 

So Loch is libido backup?

Naw, he's your lover. That's a turn-on too. 

Then what is Caleb?

Risk. Darkness. Ever feel like you just need to do things that are more out there? Just to feel alive? Watching the Devil take you over makes me feel alive. There's no jealousy, no regret, just hunger. It's amazing. 

So today?

Today you're mine. I have no intentions of sharing you. 

A delicious little tingle of bliss runs up the back of my spine and I shiver.

Until Loch comes back. Then I get everything I need. 

Same danger?

No. Lochlan's too hippie to be scary. 

He can be scary, Ben. You didn't know him back in the day. 

I would have loved him just as much as I do now. 

Yeah, you definitely would have. I stop talking, relaxing my body one part at a time until the next thing I know it's hours later, the sun is streaming into the room, the curtains are open and so is the door and I am tucked neatly, thoroughly under the quilts and it didn't hurt to open my eyes. First time in two weeks I feel as if I've caught up on rest but could still always use more.

A knock on the door and there's PJ's shoulder hovering just outside. Decent? Ben asked if I could take care of a little project for you. 

I am. Where is he? 

He and Dunk went to a meeting. 

Again? 

I think he'd rather stay sober than take any more risks, Bridge. Anyway, here's breakfast. He wanted it to be perfect. He comes in with a tray with coffee, an omelet, toast, strawberries and a tiny rosebud in a shot glass.

I don't think my brain can take this level of spoilage, Peej. 

Try yourself. You're a little too austere about shit, Bridge. Just enjoy it. Relish it. Maybe even ask for it once in a while. 

Who brings you breakfast in bed, PJ? 

Your husband, you little blind tart. 

That's deaf tart to you, asshole. 

I poisoned your food, FYI. Ben's mine.

Seems to be a lot of that going around lately, doesn't it? 

How about you just eat? I want to run the dishwasher before I go out and it's getting late. Some of us have things to do. 

I have things to do too!

Like what?

Well, I have to eat! So either sit down and entertain me or get lost and I'll ring you when my dishes are ready. 

I should negotiate for some butler pay. 

Yes, you should. Want me to talk to the boss about that? 

No, Bridget. I've been asked to keep you away from him until Loch comes back. I'll have to enlist Sam because I have to go out.

That's probably a smart move. 

It is, because I'm like that. I'm definitely going to ask for a raise. 

Hey. 

Hey, what, Princess?

Can you stay and keep me company while I eat?

Only if you share. 

Here's a piece of toast?

That isn't what I mean. 

PJ! 

I'm kidding! Christ! Well, I'm not but the joke was begging to be told, you know? 

Crucible Cove (Or, How I spent Saint Patrick's Day).

Beauty I'd always missed
With these eyes before
Just what the truth is
I can't say anymore

'Cause I love you
Yes, I love you
Oh, how I love you

I get worn down. I erode like the cliffs along the shore at high tide, wearing layers off, picked at. Anticipated. And so when he offered a late-night holiday celebratory drink (oh God. Another?), I took it because I'm tired. I'm still drunk.

Is it poison? I asked Caleb over the rim of the glass.

Only as much as that swill Padraig's been feeding you all day. You're almost pickled.

He wanted me to have a happy day.

He was positioning himself for a happy night, I think.

PJ doesn't angle like that.

Sure he does. Like I do. Like everyone does.

I really am some sort of shared prize, aren't I?

Maybe. Or maybe you're just the one girl who seems to be appealing to a large range of men with different tastes.

You're not all very different, actually.

How are we alike? What brings us to this space and time, Neamhchiontach?

Intensity.

Seriously?

Yes. And empathy. You all connect with each other and with me on a much deeper level. Those who don't live here aren't here for a reason. It's kismet, or ardor. Chemistry. Sexual tension.

Oh. I'm disappointed. I was hoping it was just me.

No. I scowl at him and we laugh.

I think as a group we are extraordinary, actually, Bridget.

You do?

Yes. For so many of us to be together like this as friends through life is a blessing.

Was it a blessing for you and Loch to be knocking each other's teeth out the other night?

He doesn't work well with boundaries.

Who does?

He needs to understand the rules.

They're difficult to follow.

They shouldn't be. He has no trouble with his end of things.

He loves me. That's all.

And you love him.

More than anything.

So then why are you here?

Good point. Actually I think I've overstayed my participation in the day. I've been up since four. 

You don't have to go, Bridget. He puts his hands on either side of my face and bends down for a slow kiss, the likes of which he rarely bothers with. It takes my breath away. It pits me against myself, battling gravity for light. It makes it hard to leave but I'm about to.

Yeah. I do. 

My very own butterfly effect.

Gamble everything for love.

The weird stasis of unfinished business and a hesitant sunrise saw me back at the airport this morning because something went completely south on Batman's efforts to escape the UK and so Lochlan has to go back, sent home some impulsively, prematurely and now with an almost doubled bonus because of the inconvenience.

Only Batman would call a ten-hour plane trip an inconvenience. I'd probably be dead on the floor, but only because I have toddler-level maturity when it comes to being trapped in a seat and forced to amuse myself for hours on end with nothing to look at but the back of another seat. It's hard to make up stories about people when the only parts of people you can see are a couple elbows across and up the aisle slightly. Fuck that. I'd rather take a boat and have an adventure! But then the trip would take weeks instead of hours and I'd like it if Lochlan wasn't gone that long, thank you.

It's difficult.

Or maybe it's just strange now when he's not with me and it's one of the reasons Batman has to pay him so much, or he would probably just quit because he likes to be here at home and pretend with me that we are norms and we're doing norm things. Like backflips in the kitchen and fire-throwing in the driveway.

Wait, what?

People don't do that?

Huh. Too bad.

But hey, if nothing else (excluding Loch's big fat bank account), Ben and Caleb get a do-over this weekend on the whole How To Convince Bridget to Fuck Up Just A Little More.

It'll probably work, because it's Saint Patrick's Day and my very own Saint Patrick not only gave me his flask again on the way home from the airport but offered to make me coffee this morning only there's no coffee in this and I could probably light it on fire and throw it without much effort seeing as talent is contagious and so is drunk.

Whatever.

Functional spirit.

I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
Your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone

Back across the driveway around eleven, before risking falling asleep in the wrong place. Heart rate back to normal, brain hung on a hook, askew inside my skull, thrumming a worried cadence of its own. My skin still feels phantom fingerprints, lips against my throat, legs against my knees, arms around my waist. He's a living wraith representing both a ghost and a friend and he's wrong but he's right and no one seems to notice. No one even cares.

I do.

Flat on my back, eyes open wide in the dark looking for the moment when he makes that change and missing it, kicking myself. I bite my lip and breathe his name like a prayer. He doesn't answer because that's not his name but the arrangement calls for things that aren't properly labelled and we're each getting something out of this so that cancels out who's fault it might be. When in doubt I'll step in front and they can level blame straight upon my bare shoulders.

If it comes to that.

Sometimes I feel like this is the only thing that keeps me alive. Sometimes I think this is the only way they remember who we've lost. Sometimes I think this is the only way out of this mess. Sometimes I think this is wrong but if I think too hard my brain throbs because it isn't properly set in it's place and sometimes I forget things, left on the bed or the table and they make their way back to me a few days later in the laundry or the sideboard or sometimes on the piano. But this isn't a game between us, it's a vow to not let him go if we can help it but it goes against absolutely everything August says out loud to the others.

Forgive me, he says in the dark, every single time for years now and I still never know if he's talking to me, God, Jake or himself. I'm afraid to ask.

Hyperpathetically speaking.

That cold wet grass served as a good cushion when Loch and Caleb took each other to the ground last night in the dark, in their endless multi-decade struggle to be whatever it is they think is best/first/most important/right/just/perfect.

PJ stood, dry and warm, just inside the double patio doors with a beer and watched. I asked if he was going to go outside and break them up and he said Naw, Bridge. Let them go at it.

So I stood tucked just underneath his arm, my forehead pressed to the glass, watching them slug it out and fall only to use one another as a crutch to get back up only to hit the ground again. PJ will step in if it looks like someone's getting really hurt. It doesn't matter who.

Loch finally stands up and backs off, putting the back of his hand up to wipe the blood from his nose, tucking his shirt in. Caleb gets to his feet and stands with his hands on his knees, staring at Loch while the blood from a cut on his cheek and one on his lip mingle into a thin rivulet down into his collar. He says something I can't hear and Lochlan laughs, nodding at Caleb as he stretches and then turns to make his way back up the steps to the house. I watch Caleb leave via the side gate.

What did he say to you?

Lochlan laughs again. He said 'Same time tomorrow?' but the mirth never reaches his eyes.

This is how I know we're getting old, when they don't even finish a fight due to ridiculousness, disinterest or other plans and that even the act itself is a source of (heavily guarded) amusement for both of them. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow we'll get somewhere.

Or they'll ruin two more shirts (and another Adirondack chair).

Cartoon-level villainous, this.

(Bonus round for you today because I need to put it somewhere that isn't in my head, alone to wreak havoc.)

The quick meeting was outside, by request, but also by request within the confines of the immediate backyard/patio so that PJ could keep an eye on me. Lochlan's already gone back to work (still mightily hungover, if you can believe it), Duncan and Ben are at a meeting of their own and Sam has been sleeping all day. Monday is his Saturday this month. Dalton is away in Europe (LUCKY) and August is running errands, I think. So that covers the house. The kids are at friends' houses. They are always here with a dozen kids or always somewhere else with the same crowd. It's great.

Caleb is standing in the yard under a huge black umbrella. I join him but remain just out reach of the shelter of his offering and therefore out of his reach as well, watching his face change from delight that I'm there to dismay at the condition in which I present myself. That is, bare feet on the cold wet grass which simply can't absorb any more rain and so it's soaking up the legs of my ripped, faded jeans like liquid through straws. My grey Leafs t-shirt is already soaked, outlining the navy blue camisole underneath it. Wet hair. Wet bracelets. Goosebumps. I am accessorized by my reaction to the weather but I love the feeling of cold wet grass under my feet almost (okay, not even close) as much as the feeling of damp sand.

And I still hate shoes. The Louboutins were gifts. I don't give a shit about them. I only wear them when he asks nicely and even then I scowl the whole time. Red soles for a soul's ransom, I guess, only if I pay the price I'm still never getting my soul back from this man.

Lochlan had a good trip, I'm imagining? I saw the presents on the table. 

I nod. He did. 

He should be less cocky and more grateful. 

Maybe you can fuck him into submission too. 

I never thought of tha-

DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM! 

Oh, well. There's a nerve. 

I'm just stressed. 

Why is that and what can I do to help?

It's because you're pressuring me. Stop.

I can't. I'm growing tired of waiting and lonely from being alone. 

Then I guess you'll have to find something or someone new to do. 

Right. That's where picking on Lochlan comes in. 

I swear to God, Cale-

And what does God promise you?

That if you touch Lochlan I will kill you. You've already hurt him far beyond what a normal human can withstand. 

Thank your God he's not normal, then, Bridget.

I do that every day. 

Lit from without, lit from within.

That's how Lochlan described himself once when I caught up with him at the lake. I was eleven, and we hadn't yet gone our adventure that year. We were busy swimming with everyone and watching Caleb roll over from teenage to adulthood, like a life odometer. Like a boss.

What's wrong with you? I asked Loch as he struggled to navigate the path to the tire swing.

I am, how do they say it? Lit from within! He announced with the typical bravado of a sixteen year old boy.

Did you drink the gas from your torches? Are you poisoned?

No, it means drunk, Bridgie. It means I've caught fire on the inside with the help of a little juice and I'm burning up. 

Juice?

Not that kind of juice, sweetheart.

***

Sunday afternoon was much fun after I greeted Lochlan with my violin roundabout noonish, playing an agonizingly slow, frightfully loud rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star but he grinned with his eyes closed and bore it, saying he slept more Saturday night than ever in his life. I wasn't sure if I get credit for that or if he was just happy to be home so I ruined the good humor of the day and asked what the fuck he meant when he told me I should have gotten it over with. He wins so he concedes first place? Wants to share his trophy out of goodwill? No longer cares? Come on, what gives?

I didn't say that. 

Yeah, you did. You said I should have done it while you were away and Ben was around, in case. It's the stupidest thing I ever heard. 

Most stupid. 

Yes, that too! 

No, I mean-nevermind. What I said was I thought you had gone and done it while I was away, and that Ben was there to protect you. That's why I came home lit from within to get through having to hear about it. The emotion was relief that you didn't, not regret that you didn't. Jesus, Peanut. What kind of monster do you take me for? You need to put your ears in. 

No, then the violin is too loud. 

But if you don't, you're going to get your feelings hurt and it will be your own fault. 

I'll think about it. 

And Caleb can wait for you for the rest of his life and then some. It's called Hell on Earth. He brought it, now he can live it. 

Oh you came back in fine form.

Actually no. I came back in shameful condition. I won't do that again. 

But it was a good trip? 

Very productive. Got my bonus. And wait until you meet Alfred. 

What?! Alfred isn't his real name, is it? 

No, but neither is Batman's, so we may as well keep with the theme. 

Monsters come in many forms.

Lochlan did make it home yesterday, alone and drunk from the plane because Batman had to stay behind and finish up and Loch was ready to leave. He drank the whole flight away to combat boredom, exhaustion and fear.

I get that. I drank on the ride to the airport.

(No, I actually did. PJ had a flask. No one tell him it's empty now, shhhhh.)

He's home now and that's all that matters, and not the fact that Caleb is now tapping his watch, reminding me I've crossed over into borrowed time and there will be interest to pay. And not the fact that Loch actually told me last night that I should have gotten it over with while he was too far away and too busy to worry about it and while Ben could bounce Cale if he crossed the line.

Wait. What??

Broke my brain, that did and so this morning I skipped church and went with Schuyler and Daniel to see 10 Cloverfield Lane. 

It was great. Really fun with perfect sound design and a breath-holding plot, the kind I like best, rooting for the heroine to see if she's tough enough to make it out alive.

(Or taking notes in case it comes to that.)

AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

LOCHLAN COMES HOME TODAY.

ALSO WE GOT TICKETS TO SEE PAUL MCCARTNEY.

Why am I yelling?

I'M SO EXCITED!!!

Keeping the peace (away from you).

(STOP FUCKING ANALYZING ME.)

I'm not one to waste my time
Searching for some silver lining
But somewhere out there past the storm
Lies the shelter
Of your heart

(I love it when a former grunge/heavy hitter quietly matures into someone who has to be one of the most prolific and under-acknowledged singer/songwriters of my time. I say this because this morning I tripped over my ears and fell in love with Chris Cornell's new album, Higher Truth. Especially Before We Disappear, but really the entire album is perfect. I've had it on repeat all day.)

Caleb, to his credit concerning yesterday simply pointed out it's been barely three months, thanks, but who's counting? 

He's a wee bit ragey that I failed to take a direct invitation and Ben and I continue to enjoy our mini-honeymoon together with fun pastimes like enabling, sabotage and demolition. Ben actually does this regularly and often and usually we ignore it because Ben is impulsive and thoughtless and a little bit removed from reality at the best of times. All things I can't actually fault him for. Whatever he didn't arrive with was taught to him by the rest of us and sometimes the idyll of a Utopia such as this is clouded by the feelings that sometimes get in the way. Sometimes we get jealous. Sometimes we get wild. I didn't say we were perfect but I'm also not going to make excuses for myself even as I make them for Ben. Ben's only endgame is sudden perfect happiness. Why do you think he's had issues with substances? He'll never understand that happiness isn't real or that if you always do what you want the rest of the world becomes a miserable place to exist and people have rules for a reason.

Bridget has rules for a reason because Lochlan tips the other end of the scale in that he always has his eye on the prize and any deviation or momentary comfort might fuck that up and so we continue to deprive ourselves for that contented almost-happiness where all truly is right with the world, or the world as we know it, I guess.

Everyone else basically went apeshit, including John, who took great offence to any real or perceived danger, in bed or otherwise and took a piece off of Ben for that. John may be slightly shorter than Ben but he has a great way about him that makes him almost scarier and God bless him for giving Ben that extra perspective.

Ben is trying to learn but again, there's that shitty impulse control that makes him so much fun. It's not like anyone actually feels sorry for me for having to put up with him, rather they give him all the sympathy and support in the world for his weird ability to put up with me.

But the true amusement of the evening is left to Sophie, who got wind (don't know how, geez. LOL) that Caleb might be..lonely...again...and managed to get her arse on a plane this morning to invent some reason to 'stop by'.

She came down the driveway as I was standing there with John (bodyguard duty until Lochlan dismisses him and no, I don't get a say). We were eating chocolate pudding, standing on the bricks with little silver spoons and everything. She got out of her car and smiled at me really fakely and crazy/excited and headed straight for the boathouse. John looked at me, spoon in mouth and raised his eyebrows in horror. I winked as I watched her come back just as fast.

Is he in your house? 

I shake my head and remove my spoon from my face. He's not home.

I can see that. Where is he? 

John's face is killing me now and I burst out laughing. I don't know. I'm not his secretary. 

She stares at me for a moment and then remembers why she came here again* and tells me she'll find him after her meeting. She gets into her rental A4 and drives out through the gate as I finish the last of my pudding. Or, you know, you could phone him.

*(Money. The answer is always money.)

Caleb calls me a half hour later. If she comes back don't open the gate, just leave it locked and pretend no one is home. 

What if we're outside?

Then pretend harder. This is something you're good at, Bridget. Don't play dumb. 

You really don't want to see her? 

I don't have time to waste on complications. 

Maybe she's as lonely as you are, Diabhal. This seems like serendipity to me. 

Then you're as impulsive and immature as your husband if you think the only interest I have in you is physical. 

All this time and it was spiritual? You actually took my soul so that it would be saved instead of destroyed? All of this to protect me? From what? But the minute I said it I knew and whatever heartless banter we were having was over.

From all of them because they don't deserve to have what should be mine. 

First of all, I'm a who, not a what and secondly, how dare you decide what another human being deserves-

I would have said more but John took the phone from me and pressed end.

Just don't get into this with nobody here. Please, Bridget. It's Friday and it would be nice to have a quiet weekend instead of a war.