You'll never believe what I've been up to.

(When I'm getting tired at the end of the day I get cranky and start trotting out the Buzzfeed-style headlines because why the fuck not?)

Things move so quickly around here, it seems. I was so busy yesterday I just didn't have time to sit down and write and the headache made sure of it. We got groceries for the long weekend. Four people, three cartsful. These boys eat so much.

The good news is I have enough points from the reward program at my grocery chain for an aircraft carrier.

Well, not really but close. I'm waiting for the ipads to show up again. Haven't paid for one yet.

We finished the spring planting in the garden yesterday too. Soon we won't need grocery stores. Well, as soon as we find a chocolate chip cookie tree and a dairy cow or two and possibly a lamb that won't mind being slaughtered. A perpetual pig for bacon and a frozen gyoza bush to round things out.

Yup, just need those things and I'm probably good. Gyoza are like some sort of heavenly snack only everywhere I go they bring me five on a plate and I always ask if they have a platter or something. I can eat about sixteen in a sitting, I swear to God and I would but they only bring me five. Oh well. I will keep looking for that bush.

The grapevines and cherry trees are already fruiting, as are the raspberries and strawberries and we've planted peas, beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, pumpkins, corn, carrots, sunflowers and radishes in the big vegetable garden. I'm excited.  Every morning I go out and check the progress but the nights are still cool and there isn't as much progress as there will be next month, or so Sam reminds me every single day. In the meantime I will busy myself trying to keep the grass alive under water restrictions already in place. The boys tell me I care too much but it's such a beautiful place, I want it to look like the utopia it feels like.

I also put the ghosts to rest and possibly one more of the living.

Things change, people change.

People age. 

All of it a trial. Temporary. Let's see if it works. Let's see what happens. Let's see where it goes. Let's see how it feels. Presented as a idea we can change at any time but when I look back it's being carved in stone, sure hands wrapped around hammer and chisel, marking it down for all eternity, one more chapter written and finished in Bridget's own messy handwriting, there on the shelf for all to see.

Today I went back to the doctor for another round of demoralizing experimental migraine prevention-management with a side of sexual harassment. Young Russian MD didn't disappoint with any of the above and I ducked a few more offers of underground plastic surgery in favor of some new pills that might work better but sadly the big side effect is weight loss, which he doesn't like but if I am closely monitored we'll give it a try. Also I can triple my pain meds if I need them. I only allow myself one per twenty-four hour period, for a maximum of three times a week.

Well, that's probably not going to help, he pointed out.

Oh, I said.

Caleb just shook his head. He's the reason I won't take medicines very easily but boy is he happy to be here today and he was pretty great at deflecting the sexual harassment on my behalf. I'm pretty sure he would have taken a bullet (or an aircraft carrier) for me but I'm not going to ask. I just would like for things to eventually settle and we can figure out where we stand but for now being in the same room without throwing sharp things at him is an incredible milestone for me and I'll take it. I'm afraid the early part of this week wasn't nearly so pleasant.

Quiet the foundling/Feed the beast.

I gave them my body
Now my memory won't let me sleep
Now I lay beside you
And when you touch me
I feel I don't deserve you
That's when you remind me

I say how could you love me
When you know where I've been

Time caught up with me yesterday and I never made it to the pool. I spent a quick six minutes with Caleb, who is fine, just a little tired and zoned out from the new meds he's trying out. He doesn't like side effects any better than I do and so the search continues for something mild but effective to help kill the burgeoning anxiety he feels now that his life has shifted gears once again. He doesn't have work to throw himself into anymore to ride it out. Now he gets to feel every jarring bump.

Good.

I asked him to call if he needed anything at all, repeatedly refused his requests to stay with him or come back or make plans and then as I was leaving I was thoroughly and magnificently ambushed by August, who wanted to show me some photos. We went back over to the gatehouse and up the back steps. He keeps his home neat as a pin. He's happy Joel is gone, as he likes his solitary time, unlike the Devil. He's hung some beautiful tapestries over the skylights so the light is diffused and the tiny fairy lights are on all the time. He's a walking oasis in a lifetime of desert.

While he's showing me things on his laptop that is haphazardly set up on the island countertop, he hooks his thumb through the string of my bikini. It's such a habitual move to keep my attention until he's ready to release me. Finally he runs out of show and tell and walks me to the door. I ask him if he wants to come swimming in the clouds since the sun isn't coming and we have extra space as a a result and he grins and says it's too cold.

You're not cold. I look up at him just inside the door.

He swears and lifts me up against the door, hands wrapped around my hips, lips against my ear. Strings are pulled, wishes granted and he isn't gentle at all. I shift instantly into someone I'm not sure I even am anymore, gearing right down to pull myself out of the hole I just fell into.

Jake-

Shut up, Bridge. He wraps both arms around me and carries me back across the room to his bed. The beautiful bed suspended from the ceiling. More fairy lights. More tapestries. More Jake-time, I don't care if he lets me say his name any more or not. They do things the exact same way. Touch me like I'm a mirror. Kiss me like it's yesterday and nothing ever went wrong. Claw my brain back to the start and I'll never finish the race if I can't get anywhere. Best damn thing.

He pulls me up to meet him, sitting in the middle of that big hanging bed, arms strong, eyes open, beard growing in full now, wavy hair too long and wild, hands warm, lifting me up against him. Then he holds me out so I fly, touching nothing, leaning back against his hands as he bends his head down, kissing a line up my throat to my mouth. Brushing away the tears, giving me nothing to have, hold or keep. Bringing a memory within reach only to move it higher up again at the last second.

More, Jake.

No more, Princess. This ghost is getting too old to keep up with you. He whispers it as he kisses my ear. Now go. I think you're out of time.

I frown and get up, finding pieces of my outfit everywhere, bikini top hanging on the corner of his laptop screen. I tie it hastily in the easy bows Lochlan taught me when I was nine. He's going to be so angry. I can't seem to fix this.

Will you come for dinner later?

August nods but doesn't look in my direction. The bed sways gently against its ropes and as I watch he closes his eyes.

Slipping into pools of medium blue.

(I sound so devious, but I'm not.)

I was up in time to have breakfast with Sam, who got up when PJ did to see Bailey off to the airport. PJ planned to drive her but she ordered a taxi late last night to arrive this morning instead.

Lochlan is still sleeping. Ben is downstairs probably facedown on the mixing board. He didn't even come to bed.

Sam was off in short order to go to church, offering me a ride. Naw, I need to spend the morning in hell instead and find out how the devil is doing. I indicate the boathouse and Sam frowns and asks PJ to make sure he watches my time. I have a momentary tantrum, stamping my feet and pointing out I won't conduct personal business with an hourglass and PJ tucks me under his arm, squeezes my neck really gently and points out that I will do whatever he tells me to do.

I wonder how many days it will take for Bailey's influence to wear off this time? It's usually a couple of days max and then they collapse in the face of my helpless charms and the need to be rocks instead of soldiers.

Works for me.

Sam texts me once he gets to church.

I hope you know how much I love you and that I would never ever hurt you. 

It makes me smile. He's letting God speak through him so I don't believe him for a minute.

PJ calls out to Duncan as he heads out to his truck. He is going golfing with August (who surfaced shortly after Bailey was gone) and Corey, who hates me ninety-nine percent of the time and loves me so hard the other one percent that it's twisted as fuck. He tells Duncan not to let me out of his sight. The slyest smile washes over Duncan's face that had I not been expecting it I would have missed it completely.

Crank up the heater and go for a swim, Babe? 

If I can defer you for half an hour so I can check on Cale, I promise, no longer than that?

Sure. Okay. See you in a bit. 

I almost roll my eyes in delight at how easy that was but instead I bite my tongue until it hurts and smile as he kisses my forehead and heads back down the hall to brush his teeth and find his swimsuit. Duncan isn't good with keeping track of time. He's the most laid-back spirit that ever lived. I promise myself not take advantage of him or get him in trouble and give myself twenty minutes to make sure the Devil is intact and then I'll head back to change. Twenty minutes is not enough time to get in trouble anyways. I'll be fine.

History-lite.

Bailey is here. She's stripping off our skin, leaving us all naked and raw, or so it seems. She's come to get her pound of flesh as an Aunt from Caleb for hurting her nephew (Henry isn't hurting, really. The only thing that he's concerned about was Caleb's interaction with me that he interrupted. It was the first and only time that's ever happened and since then they've been as thick as thieves once more. Kids are resilient. I tell you time and again, brain, but you don't listen.) and beg me and Loch to be normal for once.

Ha. 

I don't think that's a distant possibility even.

Her concerns are interesting to say the least and though she was the same age as Cole, being in all of Cole's and Lochlan's high school classes while I foundered in elementary school, she doesn't know them past when they were teenagers. She disappeared into a world of tupperware parties and interior designing and we packed up and hit the road to sing for our supper.

No two sisters could have been more different and yet when she showed up on the doorstep to kick ass and take names I felt a relief like I don't think I've felt before, even knowing nothing will change when she leaves, which is tomorrow morning, because she has her own life which constitutes changing flower arrangements according to season and booking trips and being busy.

Caleb however, looks thinner and more haunted as the days go on. He got the absolute worst of her ire. Good.

Sam and Duncan were told privately to each back off. She worries about them. Sam the surprise outlier. He's your confidante, Bridget. He's a given eventuality. 

Well, I know that and everyone else knows that but I didn't think she knew that. And he isn't because I love him too much to wreck him. He isn't shallow. It wouldn't end well. It's not like any other relationship I have with anyone.

Exactly, she points out.

Duncan tells her point-blank over breakfast that he isn't into relationshits anyway. She laughs. He can charm her so he does and I think she's ever so slightly unnerved by that. It's understandable. I mean, look at him.

August understandably just...left for the day. Ha. He doesn't want to be under a microscope. It's a long story.

She and Lochlan fight like sister and brother. That never changed. They bicker and square off and then make lunch together.

Bailey and the others are highly civilized and get along well. She treasures PJ for his role here, and John. She and Gage and Keith got along very well. Andrew and Christian gave her a warm reception that she echoed and I think Batman might be in love. Should I tell him her custom draperies will be more important than his feelings?

She can be cold and distant. Not like me.

She's not a sex addict like me. I remind them all. She won't hook up with anyone. It's not contagious or genetic.

It could be contagious. Ben wags his eyebrows. He's actually been on his best behavior. She can't understand where I get my insistence that he's wild and undomesticated. I feel uptight and like I'm on review. She tells me repeatedly that since I won't invoke the powers that be then they (the boys) need to know that others are watching and they won't get away with things they think they can get away with.

I think it's too late for that, Bay. 

It's never too late, Bridge. No one here has any control over you. Nothing is keeping you here. You can leave any time you want but you seem to like playing commune. 

That's when things shift back and I know she doesn't think too deeply or care too much but it looks good. A feather in her cap if you will and maybe some decorating inspiration, as well as her big-sister-duties completed for another year.

I love you, I tell her in a rush of regret because had I gone to her in the beginning things might have turned out so different. I would have a tupperware collection to rival the housewives of Edward Scissorhands instead of a collection of fucked-up men caring for a fucked-up girl.

But she doesn't hear me. She's watching Duncan wash the trucks. She's in her own world and that world isn't here.

Whoever is making these, I seriously love them.

Dangerously close.

I hoard some weird shit. Ben asked for a bandage this morning after biting a hangnail while we sat in stupid traffic on the bridge and I pawed through my bag, eventually dumping it out in my lap because I couldn't find one. Amongst the usual suspects we counted fourteen lip products, nine guitar picks and a whole stack of unused giftcards.

DAMN. Sephora, I'm coming for you.

Also the Keg. Maybe this weekend?

I finished up my call with Caleb quickly. He called to tell me that the results of his heart monitoring show that he's only healthy when I'm with him. Flattering and frightening. My favorite.

Eventually I found the band-aids in the tin with the Cambia packets and several dozen bobby pins. I'm prepared. He won't bleed out on my watch.

He picked up a lipstick and applied it expertly. So not your color, Benny. 

Not yours either. Why did you buy this one? 

It was in the Give Me Some More Lip set from Sephora. You can't choose the shades. 

You should give me some lip, Bridge. 

Right now? 

Sure. I think we'll be stuck in traffic a little longer. 

Gimme a second to put all this stuff back. 

Leave it all out and we'll play hot mess. 

That's gross. Such an apt description though. 

It is. He laughed. So is that a yes or....?

I loaded the bag back up and whacked him with it but he just smiled and kissed the back of my hand, holding it up against his lips. Then he licked it for good measure and said maybe we should go be a hot mess at home with Loch.

Agreed. 

At least now I know where all my guitar picks wind up. You're like my little magpie. 

I smile at him but I don't say anything.

You know they're going to say it hasn't hit you yet. 

I know. I look at the floor.

Loch is really worried, Bee. 

When is he not?

True. But it's only because he loves you the likes of which I have never seen before. 

You seem so sure about that.

Why do you bust his balls so hard all the time, Bridge?

Eyes back to the floor. I don't like getting called out any more than anyone else.

We've got a lot of history, Benny. 

It isn't his fault. 

I know. 

So why do you shove him away so hard?

To make room for you. 

Instead of a rabbit, he pulled out a girl. Comte would be proud.

My lion uses his top hat for courage.

He puts it on and he's bulletproof, ten feet tall. Dark as night. Loud as thunder. Strong as steel. He holds my soul aloft in the morning sun. He stole it while the Devil was sleeping. Sometimes we borrow it. Sometimes he paints it gold and sells it for cash and then steals it back again. Sometimes it's counterfeit, a substitute soul left out by mistake but on purpose to keep the original safe.

It's a fake, he proclaims, turning it over. A tiny Made in China sticker on the bottom gives it away. He holds it up over his head and smashes it on the tiled floor. When it shatters a tiny barn swallow flies out, finding safety in the rafters. She begins to sing and is soon joined by others. I go to clean up the mess and Loch tells me to leave it. That we need to find the original and soon, because maybe this is the small window in which I may be able to get my own soul back for good.

But what if he wakes up and finds it gone? 

It doesn't belong to him, what's he going to do? Courage makes Lochlan cocky, bold. I reach up and take the hat and put it on my own head. I get it. It's striking. It's his armor. On me it falls down to my nose, covering my eyes and he takes it back with a laugh.

You can't even see with it on. 

I don't need to.

We do. We need to keep our eyes open, Bridget. 

For what?

The bad guys.

What do they look like? 

They look like him, he motions ahead of us. Caleb is standing on the steps of the boathouse. He nods in return as Loch nods to him.

Definitely a bad guy. But you're safe because you're with me. 

The hat is a weapon. It's a shield. It's a wall that neither the Devil nor the Memory thief can knock down and that's okay with me.

Princess Outlaw (something about grown men and Patsy Cline).

I think it brings out their inner outlaw, or something close to that, anyway. In the exact same way that Def Leppard brings out my inner stripper.

Yes, just like that.

Only to be an outlaw you just sit back and wish you were in your rode-off cowboy boots, threadbare jeans and a leather jacket, unshaven for four or five years and able to kill a man with ease. To be a stripper you've gotta move, though leather and cowboy boots are fine. You can be unshaven for an hour tops, though waxing is better, and you can kill a man with your gaze but then he'll toss a five dollar bill in your direction, wink, and walk the fuck out to his truck and leave. Because that's what outlaws do.

So we split everything down the middle around here. They can be outlaws but no strippers and no draws. I can be a stripper, but only after midnight, as Patsy instructs.

What was I here to write about again? Because I can't remember.

Oh, yes. That. The lawyer meeting yesterday that almost saw an Avengers-caliber level of destruction before my baby lawyerling managed to get the floor long enough to put everyone in their place. I call him a lawyerling because he must be eleven, tops. But he has expensive taste and encyclopedic knowledge and he's too naive to actually be afraid of Caleb. He has no idea who Caleb is (was?) which works well in my favor but he also has no idea who Patsy Cline is either so sadly, while this kid will always be the law, he'll never be an outlaw, that's for certain.

He advised me to sue.

I already did that, I reminded him. Look where it got me. 

He throws a net worth statement at me with his eyebrows raised.

There's more to life than money. 

The eyebrows turn to question marks. Sigh. I need a lawyer who at least was alive when the Challenger blew up. Or at least saw the inaugural broadcast of Muchmusic. Something.

He suggested a bond of limitations, similar to a peace bond except that I can contact Caleb at will. Or I could block him completely. The settlement would continue but with much harsher restrictions. Or better yet, follow the advice of every lawyer, psychoanalyst and professional mental rearranger I've ever met who all say the same thing: Bridget, you won't get better until you get him out of your life. Cut off all contact. Excommunicate him forever.

I can't do that.

Or rather, I won't. 

So the meeting as mostly to finish up extracting him from the remainder of Henry's official paperwork and mine and to reassure him that I'm not cutting off his access to anything. This is where Lochlan lost his mind. Lochlan wants this to be done. He wants Caleb finished. He wants me to save myself.

And I can't. 

There won't be any punitive damages this time around, except to me once again and like Patsy my heartbreak will swell up around us like a song. If I explained it any further you'd hate every last one of us and I have enough enemies these days. Most of them claim to be in love with me. I never know for sure. I guess that makes me the outlaw. I have the cowboy boots but they're pink and I have the killing part down cold.
 

All systems go, the sun hasn't died
Deep in my bones, straight from inside

I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones
Enough to make my system blow
Welcome to the new age

How do I go about making this up to you? He speaks softly into the top of my head as I sit in the crook of his arm in front of a roaring bonfire. It's freezing but I agreed to go for a drink. I was allowed on the basis of it taking place outside. Beach is fine as long as I am escorted closely down and back up. He'll agree to anything at this point and so off we went, his flask in his breast pocket of the jacket he put around my shoulders before we even reached the stairs.

Lagavulin. I'm warm on the inside, at least.

Except I've had Ativan.

FFS. One drink hits like three and soon I'm sleepy, easy to hold.

Be truthful.

I'm trying my best.

You're not trying at all. I scold him but my eyes are heavy. I'm nine again and he is eighteen and I'm falling asleep on the beach, in front of the warm fire and I shouldn't be here so late. He pulls me full into his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck. I rest my head against his shoulder and feel his arms lock around my back as he stands up. He carries me home, allowed to come right inside and gently put me in bed. I'm asleep the moment his lips touch my forehead.

I wake up to rain on the skylights. It's still dark and he's still there and then I realize we're sinking. The water is up to my knees and the furniture slides crazily down to the other end of the room as he grabs for my hands.

I can save you! He yells. The water is already up to my neck. There's no time for a fight. No time for reason and soon I'm treading hard, coughing up seawater, fighting his hold on me. He pulls me in tightly against him and exhales easily but I've already drowned. Water fills my lungs and I forget what I just realized.

It's not important any more anyway.

Everything is black. Everything is finished. All done. Gone. Over.

When I open my eyes it's still raining, the skylights making little effort for the clarity of the sunrise through the heavy tree limbs about the boathouse. And the Devil is nowhere to be found.

Complicated grief.

The Devil has called for me and I practically fly next door, pulling the starter on my broom so hard it snaps off but that's okay, it's running. Sam swears. He just got home from a wedding and I took his tie off him with such great ceremony before pouring him a glass of lemonade and asking for all the details.

He's a boy and so the details were the following: He wore a suit. She had a dress. I don't know. It was white. It's so hot out. I was just trying not to pass out. Yes, they cried. People always cry at weddings, Bridget. Hey, where are you going? 

When I arrive the doctor is packing up his things. There is a small bottle on the kitchen counter. Caleb is fastening his shirt buttons. The Holter monitor is back. Funny how their heartbreak is a physical response to emotional sanctions on my part, always.

Cut them off, they die.

I don't want him to die. I don't want to talk to him either though so I address the doctor.

He motions to the bottle on the counter. Mr. C____ said you both were having some profound distress. I went ahead and brought some Ativan for you. You know how to take it, if you need to. 

Thank you. I take the bottle and stare at it while the Devil stares at me, boring holes in the side of my head with his blue eyes. They don't let me keep this stuff. I could slow down my whole world with this. It's pharmaceutical quicksand.

Is he okay? 

We'll be keeping a close watch. Can you be my eyes while I am not here? If anything changes call me. I'll give you my other numbers as well. 

If something goes wrong I'll call 911. For Christs' sake. 

She's perfect for this. The old doctor grimaces at Caleb.

I know. Caleb is as reluctant as I am to meet eyes so we don't.

Is something wrong between you? I have people who talk to you and work it out. 

We have people- we say at the same time and stop short.

I will leave it. Take care of him and call me if you need anything. Hopefully you won't need to call 911. He just needs to take it easier. I'll be back on Monday for the monitor.

Thank you. I see him out and come back for the bottle.

Bridget-

Call me if you need anything. I scoop the bottle off the table and leave.

When I come back across and into the kitchen Sam is on a second glass of lemonade. Everything okay? What's that? 

Some iron pills. Yeah, he's fine. False alarm, I guess. I tuck the pills in my pocket and wonder where I can hide them but Sam pins me against the counter and takes the bottle. He reads the label and frowns at me.

I'll keep these and give them to Loch later. 

Fine. 

Bridget-

It's FINE. I was going to give them to him when he got home anyway so it doesn't matter.

Caleb isn't going to die, Bridget. The Devil isn't as fallible as the rest of us. 

Cole died of a broken heart. They're brothers so it would be a genetic thing, I guess.

Who told you Cole died because of that?

I saw it happen. I watched it happen! What if it happens to Caleb too? What if it's me? What if I'm doing something that kills everyone the same way?

Sam doesn't ever break his gaze as he opens the bottle and shakes one single white pentagon-shaped chip out into his hand. He passes it to me and I take it obediently, swallowing it dry and then sticking out my tongue so he can make sure I swallowed it.

Malafide.

Caleb was nervous. Expectant. Ever so slightly skittish but contained as I refilled his glass as he held it out. One bottle of Laphroaig, three friends divided. Their tug of war for my heart has been painful but he dug his grave and stuck one foot right in it and I still, up until now, haven't spoken directly to him since I realized that Henry wasn't his. Henry is Jake's. Sadly Henry enjoys his time with Caleb, got fed a line or two about how hard we try to get along and not to worry and now I'm still stuck in this weird place where I always am, somewhere hard and fast between euphoria and suspended grief.

His speech buckled my fucking knees. He was unequivocally adamant that I take his birthday gift to me as a symbol of his efforts to remember the bottom line of the collective. The common goal they all share.

Love her hard, keep her safe, it reads sometimes.

Sometimes it says Tear her apart and keep the pieces. We can probably rebuild.

Every now and then it reads Share and play nice.

I never know which creed he's using on any given day but I locked my knees and nodded and Lochlan squeezed my hand and stared intently at the sand and Ben thanked Caleb, which was generous but Ben doesn't give a fuck. Maybe Caleb is sincere. Maybe he tries, best he knows how. Maybe he understands at last the damage he continues to do but I don't know for sure. I don't know anything right now except I'm sticking close to whomever is safest and the Devil isn't on that list currently, as if he ever was, and he probably never will be. Not at this rate. I can take a lot but when he touches on one of the hearts of my children all bets are off.

I can't forgive him. I'm trying and I can't.

Sorry.

Collected.

I was woken up around five this morning, Lochlan turning me over in his arms, kissing my face, my mouth, bringing me up with him into what was left of the night until I fairly screamed with all of my nerves standing at attention. Happy Birthday he whispered as he pulled my hair back, making me submit to his strength, and then he let go and I fell back to earth where Ben caught me handily.

Oh God, I said, and they laughed and Lochlan went to get ready while Ben tasted the spoils of the night, bringing me back up for more, enjoying the control he wrought from my early spend of energy. He held me down. I never fought but he never let up and when he finally leaned down for one last kiss I was almost in tears from the overload and he said, Happy Birthday, my little bumblebee.

We got ready together, making round two (three?) a showery affair with shampoo in owie-places and hardly the strength to towel-dry after. By the time I made it out of there Lochlan was dressed and waiting patiently. Holding the new Laphroaig and pulling at his collar slightly. He hasn't put in all the studs in his tux so the neck is open. Hope he skips the tie. His hair is tied back in a low knot. Hope he undoes that too. As promised, no shoes.

Ready?

I'm naked.

That's fine by me.

I smile and head to get my dress. Forty-five is a travelers map across my being. Highways mapped around my eyes and maddeningly enough one deep line between my eyebrows but only on the right. Skin that's been bruised and kissed. Bones broken and set. Ears there for decoration only, to hold back my hair or sport earrings or hearing aids. Veins drained of their blood and refilled. Blood poisoned and renewed. Brain electrified and reset. Heart mended. Over and over and over again. But outwardly I am still me, stuck somewhere between twelve and seventeen in the place where I once had a soul, even though my drivers' license says forty-five,  newly today.

Still can't believe it. Loch says, as he mashes another kiss against my cheek.

Me neither.

***

Dinner is Monte Cristos and french fries.

How do you serve french fries on a beach that is a half-hour climb down a sheer cliff face with a staircase blasted into the brink? You pay a lot of money to have it catered, that's how, and they arrive in big insulated wraps that keep everything superheated.

I did not cook, I drank champagne and then I drank Laphroaig and then at some point I wondered if the scotch and the bubbly would either work in tandem to ruin me or cancel each other out (surprise twist: the second one) and I excused the kids after their dinner so they could go and do homework and finish gaming with their friends. John walked them up to the house and got them settled, for they are also not allowed to solo climb those stairs and then I sat back and listened to the speeches, knowing that cake is going to be on the other side of all that crying to be done.

I cry too much. Maybe I need a birthday resolution, a reminder inked in blue around the margins of this map I carry.

Cry less, it will say.

Fuck that.

***

There's something fundamentally exquisite about well-dressed men on the beach. Tattoos and tuxedos and hair pulled back or combed flat. Groomed beards and bare feet. The flutes in their hands, or tumblers. Scotch or juice. Moonlight and stars and waves and the ever-present heaven of the white noise of the ocean. I stepped back shortly after midnight and watched. Just for a moment, alone before being noticed. It usually takes less than .00005 of a second before someone is looking for me these days but every now and again the magic of their brotherhood is remembered and they close in and become taken with one another and I am a rewarded audience of this camaraderie. That's the best birthday gift of all.

Apocryphal dawn.

At five this morning, I dash back across the driveway, still in August's flannel shirt. It's pouring. It's barely light out and I hear the Devil before I see him, his cloven hooves scraping against the brick. I stop up short and the rain soaks through to my bones, the very same ones he is holding in his reddened gaze.

Bridget. The word comes out singed, streaked with soot.

Yes? I'm going to approach this showing no fear, same way I do with the wild animals that come onto the property that I encounter with such alarming regularity I should probably turn the electric fence back on myself but I don't because I was taught to love playing with fire.

I turn and his darkened wings are out. They are so much more magnificent than Cole's but I only see his in shadow so I'm not one hundred percent sure. Anyway, doubt is a weakness so I'll go with impressed disinterest. He smiles slightly. It's an angry smile. I'm aware. But my head aches with broken sleep.

Then I realize we're not alone.

Go inside, Bridget. Don't stop and talk to monsters. Just keep going. Hurry. I whirl around and the owner of that accented voice is sitting on the edge of the fountain playing with a flame. His fingertips are black to match his top hat, upon which the rain is beading around the brim, giving him a netherworldly appearance. His red curls stream out from underneath the hat. I can't see his eyes but he's watching the flame, which spits and sputters and blooms in the steady deluge.

Who's the monster here? You farm her out to whomever she wants. That isn't giving her a home, just an addiction of her own that she can't control anymore. And yet, I take that blame when I should reject it. The Devil's voice comes out double in his rage. An undercurrent of deep tones I can barely hear.

Go inside, Baby. Quickly, now. The flame speaks, drawing me in the right direction with warmth.

I cast one more glance back at those glorious wings and I run. I run up the steps and I fling open the door and Ben is waiting. I try to tell him about Caleb and Lochlan and he kisses the top of my head and tells me to go up to bed, that they will deal with this. That everything is okay. He squeezes my head between his hands and then lets go and I fall off the cliff into the sea.

It's so cold. So cold but I'm so sleepy and scared and paralyzed and waning. Then a hand reaches down, pulling me back to the surface and I take a deep breath when I wake up, a gasp for air and I open my eyes and August is staring at me.

It's five, Bridge. You gotta go home now. 

But I can't. I'm afraid to leave now. He winds up taking his shirt back and putting it on over his t-shirt. He walks me home in the nearing daybreak but the houses are silent and still in the steady morning rain and I think my nightmares might be the death of me yet.

Waiting for him to go borrow a movie and then I'm getting major cuddles.

(Though I'll probably fall asleep again here shortly.)

I brought leftovers up here to August's loft to leave in the fridge. I didn't see him today, figured he was busy so when I walked in and he turned the light on I just about screamed.

He jumped up and began to stack up photo albums quickly, as if being caught reminiscing is a crime or something. He must not have met the memory thief. He should. It helps.

August, I-

Hey. Thanks for bringing this over. I really appreciate it. He takes the food after sweeping the whole stack of albums under the coffee table and stands up as if we are casually discussing the weather.

How did the dentist go? 

He winces. It wasn't the dentist. I needed a top-up of my own, Bridge. 

The program? 

Sort of. Seeing a guy I can talk to about stuff. 

This is ironic. My therapist is seeing a therapist. 

Hey, we're all human. 

No. PJ's a robot. 

True. He never stops, does he?

No, and he said if you want chocolate pie you'll have to come get it yourself. 

August laughs. Like Jake. A great big loud guffaw with a grin that's so contagious you're stricken down midbreath. Noted. Want to stay for a bit? I'd like some company.

I would love to. 

How long can I have you for?

I have no plans for tonight other than being here.

I did Ben's toes with glitter too.

Things are coming together nicely for Thursday. They've already managed to carry the big table from the garden down to the beach. The chairs go this afternoon. I've got the meal plan all ready to roll and am not even allowed to ask about a cake.

I hope there is one.

*visibly frets*

I have a beautiful dress to wear. It's a black tie event because I'm awful. We're going to ruin our clothes but I also have specified absolutely no shoes are permitted on my beach. The tides will not be cooperating but I think there are enough of us to manage everything up and down the stairs quite handily even once we have to climb over the bigger rocks closer to the cliff. Oh, I hope it rains.

I wanted some white horses to run past us while we sip champagne and listen to speeches but Lochlan said if I didn't get my head out of this dream world sooner than later it might keep me there forever. But he smiled when he said it and that's how I know he was telling the truth.

For the occasion I painted my toenails with glitter. Ten different shades of glitter polish because I'm a very low-key rebel like that-

No, I'm not, actually. Because of the next bit you'll read.

I invited the Devil. That's the hallmark of a professional rebel right there. Especially since I'm still not speaking to him and this table won't be bolted down. PJ already assured me they would tranquilize the lot of them if necessary to keep the peace but I know they'll keep it anyway. It's my birthday on Thursday, you see, and everyone always makes an extra effort to behave. Or at least they try to play nice. It's right up there with Christmas in this household.

Smell the roses? I think I'll become one instead.

Yesterday we were getting ready to head to a thing, and were dressed nicely for a summer afternoon event. Not too dressy, not too casual. All in black as usual. Hair looking long as my little bob has passed my earlobes and is heading for my chin. Eyelashes for days.

(Sorry for boasting but I never ever look pulled together. I always resemble the haphazard almost-polished younger sister of a supermodel. The one everyone passes over with reassurances that someday she will catch up. It's maddening. So when I do look good I FUCKING KNOW IT, BABY.)

But the boys were taking too long.

Way too long.

So I grabbed the bag of recent purchases from the gardening shop and headed out around the side of the house. The roses we planted last year had some black spots on the leaves so I picked up some sulfur to clear it up quickly.

Lochlan said several times to wait, that we'd deal with it later but really what's the harm? I'll sprinkle some on. No need to get out the sprayer and mix it. Who has time for that?

I emerged back to the house fifteen minutes later covered head to toe with a moderate-to-heavy layer of yellowish-white powder. PJ swore and said I smelled like burnt matches. Lochlan just laughed so loudly I almost punched him. Ben said I won't get black spot disease and John smiled as wide as he could (bet his face hurt) and said simply Goths gardening.

Had to change. Then that turned out to be not enough and I had to shower. Then I looked as I usually do when we go out, not at all pulled together. I looked like the butt of a joke I played on myself because as usual I didn't listen.

At least I still entertain! I crowed to Loch who wouldn't let it go. Ever.

He leaned in and smelled my hair. That attempt at a burn you just made? I can still smell it, Bridget.

Never came close enough to consider getting away.

I never came back. After talking to Dalton and deciding it was too warm to hang out by the pool after all I went up to see August, as promised. He is awake and reading. Drinking coffee. Messaging a little on his phone and generally such a leveling force in my life that if I had any brains at all I would assign myself as his wingman and simply follow him around all the time.

Like a wife but without any commitment. August isn't into commitment. He likes to come and go like a leaf on the wind, he says, but he looks happy to see me anyway, even as I bust him for quoting freely from Firefly.

Leave it to Loch to raise such a little sleeper nerd, he says as he laughs. Then he gets serious. How long do I have you for?

Until almost lunchtime. We can eat together now though. If you like.

He smiles and holds out his arms. I get the best hug and then he leaves me to perfect his Monte Cristo-cooking skills while I stretch out full on his bed, under the huge fan. His bed is suspended from the ceiling at all four corners, a triple hammock but with more substance. He says it's better for his back and he gets a great rest. I just love the giant swing aspect of it. I brought him three cases of tiny white lights to string up everywhere and it's positively magical in here, pinned in by the trees in this hidden loft above the garage. Not hidden, so much, but full-fledged living quarters painted in shades of white and gray. Tiny kitchen. Walk-in closet. Office. Huge bathroom with a tub that rivals mine.

Before I know it he's waking me up, trailing his fingers from my shoulders to my fingertips.

I wave him away. Just leave me here for a few weeks. Come back when summer starts. I don't open my eyes but I feel him smile.

I would but we need to be sociable sometimes. He laughs. Come on. Brunch is ready. He pulls me out of his bed with both hands and I go reluctantly.

Try it and tell me it's getting better. 

Oh God. This man. He tries so hard to make me happy and then in the next breath he'll shove me right out the door. I take a bite and feign death. It's wonderful. You've got it. 

It's dipping the entire thing and then frying it. 

Yes. This is amazing. 

So are you. Now finish up quickly. You slept too long and I have an appointment. 

Haircut? 

Dentist. 

Want company? 

I'm fine on my own. 

That's the sad part. He totally is. I frown but keep eating. It's so delicious even mild rejection and abject disappointment don't alter the flavour. He eats his own sandwich in three bites.

I'm actually getting tired of these, Bridget.

Turncoat! 

I'll still make them for you though. 

'Life begins today'. It's a wooden sign in the kitchen just over the coffee maker.

My emotions are doing their high-wire act this morning and the boys are my net. I can hear the crowd but I can't see anything with the lights. I step out and pitch over the rope without even trying. Lochlan climbs up into the net to pull me out and gives me a shove toward the ladder.

Do it again. Practice makes perfect, Peanut.

I climb the ladder again and cross to the other side without hesitation. It wasn't that I couldn't do it, I just didn't want to and I was making a point. Like a child. Since I was one the entire time and might still be, truth me told. Disappointment still stings. Euphoria still overwhelms. Contentment is still the goal. Moments that get strung together to bring me all of it feel like flashing Christmas lights in every color of the rainbow when I wanted plain blue static. Always on.

But the sensory overload will continue sometimes and sometimes it will be oh-so-quiet and he is right. On the way to the ladder today to do it all again each of them were standing there, in a path that leads straight to the base. Each one had a crushing endless hug for me. Each one a kiss for the top of my head and at the very end in the dark with the roar of the crowd spooling up again was Jake.

Onward and upward, Princess.

I nod and grab the rung just about my head. I know, Preacher.

When I wake up all of the hugs disappear into forgotten dreams and Lochlan and Ben are both still dozing deeply. Things are different this morning. The Devil and I are going to take another extended break though he isn't going anywhere. PJ is back in charge. Lochlan holds all the legal cards and Ben is back to being the wall of a guy that I needed most, as I ran headfirst into him all week long and he would gently put out his hands and catch and deflect my head so it didn't crack open like an egg each time. He's fine. He's tough. He's doing great, like he said, and had he left his program early we'd probably not be so great right now, even though the timing was terrible.

Isn't the timing always terrible? Life never runs like the show, choreographed within an inch of its life, planned out to within a fragment of a moment to keep momentum, or suspense, or excitement.

On second thought, that's exactly what it is. I'm going to let the boys sleep. I've got a pool date with Duncan so we can facetime with Dalton. I get up, take a quick shower and put on my bikini and a really pretty new kimono. I'm ridiculously pale. Add a little lip gloss. Dry my hair and then when I come out Lochlan is up on his elbows, staring sleepily at me. He's out of it.

I'll be at the pool, I remind him.

Just have your call and bring Duncan back here so we can keep sleeping, he mutters and lies back down, turning away toward the window. Ben hasn't budged. I don't think Lochlan knows what he's saying, or maybe he does and he's anxious to make me happy.

Maybe I'll stop in and see August afterward, I remind him. So I doubt it. 

But he's already asleep.

Family orders.

I sat in the lawyers office and cried this morning. I cried for myself and for Jake, but at the same time he loved Henry like he was his son anyway so it's not so bad. We were lucky. I cried for Henry and I cried for the past and for the future too. Ben and Lochlan each had one of my hands and they sat and watched me and wouldn't you know it I couldn't even wipe my nose because I wouldn't let go.

The assistants ran back and forth trying to make things better. Two boxes of tissues. Coffee. Tea? Scotch? Xanax if I didn't tell anyone, from a purse stashed in a private office. A suggestion that maybe we keep this to separate offices, that it won't take long. It's just some paperwork amending guardianship and nothing more. We did everything else already. Caleb left the trust. He'll leave his will unchanged. He leaves everything in place. This should be easy. I rolled my eyes at that. I shook my head and so we moved forward uncomfortably, ten people around a conference table trying to look anywhere but directly at me. Like Medusa, except if we lock eyes you will turn into a river and I will drown.

Henry had a shift while we were away. He missed spending time with Caleb. Ice-cold cans of root beer and Red Bull TV. Fishing for nothing off the dock. Sitting in the kitchen working out essay  points and other homework while they cooked dinner for Ruth on Caleb's nights. Tracking global sailing races and the twice-daily messaging marathons where Caleb would check in with Henry and they'd exchange funny little things.

We came back in the midst of this and somewhere over Detroit or Wyoming I realized I'm going to put Henry first. Still. Always. I will coexist with the Devil until the end of time if that's what Henry needs. If Caleb can make things up to me through making sure this kid feels safe, secure and loved growing up then everything else can disappear.

 Caleb is now insisting that he made an executive decision to give Henry a living father and that I knew all about it. That he had the original papers all along and that I agreed to have him raise Henry as his own to make things easier on me, that my denial now is simply part of a continued long con, an attempt to take all of his money, the whole thing masterminded by Loch who has always resented Caleb for his successes. That any and all accusations I have against him I was coached to create and maintain. That we are carnival people and that's what carnival people do. We take your money and provide you with questionable entertainment. That he did it to protect me too.

WHAT?

He says the settlement he has paid out in installments consisting of deposits, real estate and maintenance payments are not an admission of guilt for what he did to me as a child but instead a 'good faith effort to see that his former sister-in-law has a comfortable life, as life with his brother was understandably difficult.' That everything he has done speaks to that end.

Caleb also talked to Henry early this week about how Caleb and I get along and how awful Caleb has been to me. Caleb apologized to him and said he would try so much harder.

(He didn't actually tell him anything Henry would have needed to know to make an informed decision but there's a huge effort here to protect the children from our monsters. Even as we carry them with us.)

He's a lawyer. I'm a carny. This is the story of my life.

I have no intentions of taking him to court. I just wanted the Devil to leave me alone. The settlements, the house, everything was his idea as a way to make his monstrosities up to me. I asked for none of it. The judge knows this. The lawyers too. I'm not trying to con him, and neither is Lochlan. I don't even want him to go away, I just want him to be here as a friend. I want him to stay and be a friend without the frightening pressure. I want him to make amends. I want him to cover the cost of what he did and in return he can keep my soul. I don't miss it. It has no value to me.

But he won't ever have my son.

Lochlan takes guardianship of Henry now. Caleb can play Dad all he likes, but he'll be leaving this world with nothing, and that's everything he deserves.

Lawyers tomorrow but for today there is sun.

He is magnificent and wanted and right, as always.

And if all of the teachers and preachers of wealth were arraigned
We could see quite a future for me in the literal sands
And if all of the people could claimed to inspect such regrets
Well, we’d have no forgiveness, forgetfulness, faithful remorse

Duncan's full beard and shoulder-length dark hair are putting him in hundred-percent-lizard-king territory and I stood behind him on the stamped concrete rolling up my tongue so he wouldn't see it as he rolls back the cover on the pool again. I don't care if it's going to rain tomorrow. It's nice today. Actually it's cold but the pool is heated. The deck is heated. We've succeeded in controlling our environment completely here so it makes no difference to me.

You can't run that charade for a pool.

It's not just a pool. Look around you. He's facilitated everything you see.

We managed before.

There was no hedonism in trying to cram everyone into my hundred-square-foot kitchen six times a week.

Sure there was. He laughs but there's no light in his eyes.

Let me worry about this.

I can't do that. Bridget, good things don't last.

I think I know this lesson, Poet.

Does Caleb?

Please don't get involved.

Someone has to. Lochlan doesn't seem to want to-

Hey, I threatened him with death too. Don't presume to know everything.

Sorry.

Accepted.

You swimming today or can I have a nap?

You can nap in the covered chair right here.

True.

See? Who am I to deny you this beautiful afternoon?

Bridget, we had just as much fun at the YMCA.

It wasn't nearly this nice. And we had to pay like two bucks each. This is free.

This is not free. Your soul is mortgaged to the hilt for this.

Hey-

Sorry, Bridget. I get tired of watching them chip away at you. What do you want? What do you get out of all this?

Whatever I damn well please.

And what pleases you today?

This and you. But only if you stop talking. 

The roles are reversed at last. 

Nice. 

Wouldn't know what to say.

He invited me for coffee and music on the beach and I didn't say a word but I went. Silence speaks so much louder than anything else. I want to flip tables. I want to scream and yell at him until he dissolves in the face of my legendary rage. I want him to feel like I feel. I want him to feel worse. I want to go back to a beach I recognize with water that hurts so much better than this and I hate coffee. It makes my stomach hurt and then I feel sick but I also don't fall asleep on my fate later today.

I said fate there, yes I did. Did I mean feet? It doesn't matter, actually. Controlling this rage keeps the collective together. It keeps Henry's bizarre but completely understandable change of heart rational and it keeps me in one piece.

And so for today I will enjoy this playlist made from Paul McCartney's setlist a week ago and very good coffee made in a regular pot by someone who has some decent-to-better coffee-making skills and I'll thank my lucky stars that our beach is so private and I will try very hard to remember all of the magic I've had in my life because it's better than the alternative. I'll just check out a little bit but keep my eyes wide open.

You going to talk to me today?

I shake my head but keep my mouth shut.

Well, the undertaker drew a heavy sigh
Seeing no one else had come
And a bell was ringing in the village square
For the rabbits on the run

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.