Stockholm syndrome for two.

I want to have a gin and tonic and watch Captain Fantastic. Can't find any takers except Rocket-Locket but he's working and three hours out from getting home. I want to lie in the sun and not die from it, withering into dust under a gaze so intense it cooks you from the inside out and I want to call the shots.

All of them.

I want them to be lethal.

I want the devil to understand that the days of his quiet coercion are over. I wasn't made aware that these last couple of years I wasn't even his primary victim anymore in his own special brand of threats and promises, which are frightening and too believable for comfort, for easy dismissal. I didn't think he would stoop that low, and I didn't think Lochlan would remain quiet, failing to say a word when all this time he's been allowing himself to be crushed under the weight of Caleb's efforts to find a way to destroy us, any way he can. Loch wasn't going to be a rat but he's not going to be a martyr either. Not anymore.

While it was a soul-crushing revelation, thankfully I don't have a soul so it's also liberating. Game-changing. A relief for Lochlan now, a lesser burden spread amongst the rest of us. For that I am grateful. I'm also so much tougher than I look after all and for that I'm oddly thrilled about that. Out of the two of us I turned out to be the strong one? Yes, me, the littlest one who stood there and cried when she dropped her ice cream in the mud because it was dinner and it cost our last two dollars for those ice creams and Lochlan gave me his, saying he wasn't hungry, but his growling stomach kept me up all night that night and the next day I worked double time conning hearts (and stealing wallets) until we had enough money for food for a week. Then I could sleep. Then, so could he.

Now I'm going to make my drink and snooze in the shade while I wait for him to finish up, reaping the spoils of my war with this hollow materialistic victory of decadence. At least that's what Caleb calls it. I call it bullshit because I didn't ask for this, and Lochlan doesn't deserve to be punished for it. All the pools and expensive tile floors and big electric gates in the world can't make up for what the devil has done to us.

Fuck it all anyways. Claus leaves today. He said it's not going to happen until I make changes and find boundaries. He said what we've done is striking, touching and incredible nonetheless and if I'm going to lose my mind this will be the safest place in which to do it. He said Lochlan's tougher than I give him credit for, which I hope against hope is true in the end, because I want him to be, I don't want him to be hurt by Caleb any more, I don't want him to be second best and I don't want him to be hungry. I believe he's going to be the hero of this story and I don't believe it's over yet.

Um.... (yum!)

I fell in love with a sandwich today. It was on pumpernickel bread. Mustard, Swiss cheese, black forest ham, tomatoes, lettuce and bean sprouts. Sandwiches are second only to cake to me but frankly they're way more filling and they travel much better in a handbag than cake does. Also no one looks at you funny if you eat a sandwich while you're driving. Try that with cake. Try eating cake with your hands. Try eating cake and not having any dishes to wash.

Sorry, cake, I think you just dropped to second place. This was a really really good sandwich.

Fix one thing, break another.

So the mess is drawing forces
Outside I hear them say
Just come out with your hands up
So we can blow you away
And I walk out the door
Get blown wide open
By the things I put away
And I wasn't even warned
Just blown wide open
Now the mess is where I lay

Caleb is being as attentive in absentia as he possibly could. His ears must be fire. His life is not going to be the same from here on in. He called a few times but Claus has been working with us and the phones have been left upstairs on their chargers. He messaged and I finally had a moment and messaged him back late this afternoon. I'm sure he was expecting Miss you too or maybe You should come home sooner. 

Instead I wrote Maybe you should plan to move there permanently. I hit sent and I put the phone back on the charger and I went to join the barbecue. We're doing ribs, zucchini slices and endless chicken wings, with watermelon and homemade potato salad. Delicious. Later than I wanted to eat but better later than never. Like everything.

I forgot who was here this morning and came down late to breakfast in my customary and probably completely inappropriate bedhead, skintight baby blue lycra boyshorts and a fitted green t-shirt that says Pint-Sized Sex Machine on it. Saw Sam, August, Claus and Joel sipping tea at the island and turned around to go back up.

Good morning, Bridget, Claus said without looking up from the newspaper. Eyes shot all around the room.

Good morning, I tell the room as I decide to own it. This is my house. I head to the coffee pot and contemplate third degree burns to take the focus off my skin burning from Joel's eyes. I can feel them. But when I look back at them only Sam is staring at me like he's never seen a girl before. I'm not sure how to take that so I leave it.

Later, during a break Joel asked me if I dress like that all the time around the house. I frowned at him and said, Of course not. We have a pool now. Usually I just wear a bikini. 

Claus, for the record, has a military-issue poker face. Iron fucking clad. I want lessons.

***

Russian doctor today too. Double-bonus. Anyone else want to come visit me? I put on actual clothes because I don't need any more comments from him about how he can fix whatever he deems wrong with me via plastic surgery. My blood pressure is up a little but not enough for anyone to be sounding alarms and I've already stopped taking the anti-convulsants for my headaches. I gave them three months and fuck it all to hell. Debilitating migraines are a cakewalk compared to the side effects of the medicine, which were supposed to go away but steadily got worse.

I'm running out of ideas here.

Claus thinks if I 'reduce stress' the headaches would go away.

(here's. the. eye. roll. yup. do. it. slow.)

I just stared at him until he admitted he knew that it sounded ludicrous. I'm anxious by nature. Which puts it so mildly it's laughable, I'm a worry-knot of the highest order. Pills don't help. Booze helps but I'm not going to give myself more problems or stick a band-aid on a open fracture. Fuck it all. At least sex works. For now it's the only thing that works.

Hence the t-shirt this morning.

And I'm not sorry.

I could shoot for the moon but I have a hard time hitting the fence, you know?

It's difficult to focus on the conversation at hand this morning with thoughts of last night still so fresh, leaning back hard against Ben, who had one hand around my forehead and the other around my ribcage while I marvelled at Lochlan's wide shoulders, wedged between my knees. Had I been able to see his face I would have told him that's an angle I could surely appreciate but alas, he was very busy.

When I got too loud with my cries Ben's hand moved to my mouth and he laid me out facedown on the quilt and I don't even remember how many turns they took or how many times I was turned over but I remember waking up with hurting cheeks from smiling in my sleep. I remember waking up blissfully cool, as we left the balcony doors open wide and it dropped to twelve degrees overnight and I rolled back an inch and was pressed up against Ben, Lochlan high above me on the other side, my face against his chest, one hand over my head against Ben's shoulder, the other around my chin.

Caleb is trying to talk to me and has realized I'm not listening. He moves closer, tilting my head to one side, checking for the hearing aids I never wear.

You're staring straight at me and you can't hear me? He looks devastated.

I'm sorry. My mind is somewhere else. Then I crack up because like I said, I have no poker face at all and it's terribly inconvenient that I don't sometimes.

You think it's funny that I'm leaving. 

No. I think it's awful that you can't just live here and be happy without always turning the screws, frankly. 

I told you what I want. 

Then I feel badly for you. It isn't mutual. 

Sometimes it is and those are the times I want to exploit because I think we could grow it into something incredible.

Something incredible, alright.  Caleb, I-

I'm not going to fight this because I don't believe anything is going to change so there's no risk in going right now. Ben will cave in and need rescue. I'll be gone, your ghosts will be gone. Soon your team will be gone and Lochlan will prove himself as useless once again in taking care of you. When that happens, call me and I'll be on a plane. Otherwise I'll see you at the end of August. He gives me a hard kiss on the mouth and I almost fall over but he steadies me and then stares hard for a moment while I stare back. Then he bends down to pick up his travel case and squints up at the sun for a moment.

Bridget, I've never known you to push away love. Don't start now. 

And he's gone.

I waited many heartbeats to see if I would have a panic flutter set in but I didn't. I waited many more to let the realization that the exodus of this week includes three very central characters in my story sink in but nothing changed. Caleb will be back. The memory thief didn't take everything. I'll be okay. I've got my boys. There's lots of them left. No shortage, anyway. The touchable ones remain. The loveable and loved ones remain, the alive ones remain. Life remains. I hitch up my cashmere underpants, vowing to do so well while the Devil is gone that he doesn't recognize me upon his return.

Then I realize I have a cashmere wedgie and I'm incredibly predictable to boot so I dial it back a notch, readjust my outfit and go back inside for breakfast.

Exodus.

You want the good news or the bad news first? Bad news? Yes, I do it that way too. Always end on an up note.

The bad news is the lawyers can't actually do anything concrete. They can't even threaten. Privately, personally, they've told Caleb to stop it, already. That he's one step below harassment, and that he's being immature and obsessive.

He knows this. Everyone knows this. And of course he knows what he can get away with. He's a lawyer. He also knows Lochlan is legally the bad guy right now, still. Mostly because recently Caleb was the one who wound up at the hospital getting stitches, generously refusing to press charges for what was technically assault at the hands of Lochlan for the incident with the watch. While I didn't need stitches and was taken care of at home by the Russian doc. See how good Caleb is at this shit? Exactly my point. And I'm still not willing to blow our lives open and nail him to the wall for the past because it serves no purpose now. If he ever hurt Lochlan I would do it in a heartbeat but that would be the only way. So for now peer pressure from outside of the collective will keep him in check. They told him to back off already. They told him to leave us alone.

The good news? He's heading out finally. We've been struggling here since April. Since he admitted Henry isn't actually his though he continues to be the best uncle/liar/fake biological father in the world and they still spend a lot of time together, having thoroughly bonded in the past few years in a way that kind of humbles me. His legal rights have been removed but his honorary rights remain and no, they aren't conditional on his behavior. They're there as long as Henry wants them there. But Caleb and I have discussed the prospect of him taking an extended break from the point for a while now so that I can have time to deal with this without him here to interfere with the process and now is a good time, since Henry's birthday is now past us and Ruth's is a little over six weeks away. It's a perfect time actually.

I need this absence from him. I need to be away from Caleb to clear my head. To exist without his brainwashing. His powerful presence here always cutting into my thoughts. The odd kind of guilt I hold for him, taking responsibility for his loneliness, for his heart. For his own soul even though he has backup. Lochlan needs this break too, for Caleb has been on his back since he was thirteen without a break, up to and including when I asked Caleb for an extended break when the kids were very young so that Cole and I could try to sort things out. He responded by buying property within a few blocks of where Lochlan was living. He's never let up for a minute and I feel like we're just beginning to see the extent of his efforts, maybe it isn't just me in my mad efforts to keep everyone together. They said we can't get better with him here. So let's make him go and see what happens. Just for a little while. Just to see if it does make a difference.

His favorite part was the cliff walk at Capilano.

Today I took Claus sightseeing. I wore my big huge sunglasses and I cried as we talked the whole time, just me and him. I drove in places I've never driven before. I got lost seventeen or twenty-five times. I screamed trying to merge on an overpass that was particularly daunting and he was so damned encouraging I asked him to teach the boys to stop doing everything for me because clearly treating me like I'm still eight is only hobbling me terribly. We wore ourselves to smithereens, came up with a concrete plan for our sessions for the rest of the week (he's staying until MONDAY!!!) and then he took me out to dinner at the fanciest, most beautiful restaurant where everyone assumed I was his grown daughter and he absolutely delighted in telling them I wasn't and correcting them no further.

It was almost dark when we finally got home and he gave me a warm hug and told me he was exhausted but it was one of the greatest days in recent memory. I agreed. It really was. And now the work begins. He is staying with August in the spare room in the loft so at least he is close by in relative comfort.  I could feel my ears burning once he went inside so I'm sure he was sharing all of his observations with August but I'm really glad he's here.

He prefers the term 'Storyteller'.

I think I make them nervous with my big feels and half the time they don't even know what to do with me.

That's what I think. And slowly they'll approach, one at a time, as if I am a wild animal they think they can tame or perhaps a mental patient they feel they may be able to reason with, before realizing the folly of their way, retreating to the circle once more, the safety of their numbers.

It would be funny but it's sad.

Big feels aren't a strength and they're certainly nothing to be afraid of. They're a decided obvious flaw, an utter lack of dignity, a proof that any vestige of self-control has been stripped away and you now stand for all to see and judge without your skin, thick or thin. It no longer exists and everyone can see right through you.

Now, I've never been a liar. I've never been one to hedge or hold a poker face. I could run and I could steal but god forbid I got caught. God forbid you ever asked me a direct question in your lives, I would unload my entire conscience at your feet for you to pick through and disseminate. It's ridiculous and I envy people who can lie through their teeth, deceive and trick and pretend and cheat and fake their way through life seemingly without a second thought. It's a gift and payback comes eventually but in the meantime it must be nice.

I'll stand here while the wind sears my uncovered muscle and bone and bear it well.

Better? Loch asks roughly. He knew the salt would hurt. He's one of those people. An easy, seasoned liar who does whatever he's ever had to do to stay on the right side of a moment.

Yes. It's gotta hurt. That's how I work. What do I do now? 

What do you mean? 

Maybe you should send Sam down. I need to talk. The tears start again. Make them stop. Jesus Christ. I've got no ghosts and nowhere to hide and suddenly he's being stubborn just when I need him the most.

Talk to me. 

I would but you're not listening. You're busy being right all the time. Busy saying you told me so. 

I'm busy trying to keep you safe. 

This isn't safe, Loch. 

Why isn't it? 

I can get to myself. 

What? 

Nevermind. Just tell me what I do now. 

Let me entertain you. 

I looked up abruptly and he's smiling at me. It's not a big smile but it's there. The joke is so old between us it must have been covered with a layer of dust so thick it would have been virtually unrecognizable but he found it and hauled it out, cleaning it off, offering it up like a life preserver as I drowned in my own tears.

And I took it.

I just wanted to go to the beach. I wanted to go to the beach and I wanted to think and I wanted to spend some time watching the waves and unclenching my fucking fists and he said no.

What had come as no surprise to me was equally not a surprise to Jacob who suspected and probably knew deep down all along, paperwork be damned. The children were the reason he pushed so hard for me to leave Cole and let him in.

But they weren't enough of a reason to stay. Like me.

Bridget, I wasn't strong enough to stay. I was a coward and a loser and I let the three of you slip through my fingers. 

I sat and stared at him for so long he asked me if I was alright.

Alright? Am I alright? No. I don't think I am. 

You should go back to the house. 

Ben will come for me. 

You were hoping that had I known Henry was my own that I would have never left and everything would have been different and things would be okay and I'd still be there to this day. 

Something like that. 

Life is messy, honey. 

It's a nuclear holocaust, Jakey. 

And just as if on cue I could hear Ben yelling my name. I stood up so quickly I saw black spots in front of my eyes. I'm late for the party. I have to go. 

Bridget. Don't leave yet. We-

The door is open. If you want to go you can go. 

Bridget-

Just know you can go. You don't have to stay here anymore. 

Wait! 

But I left. I didn't say goodbye or anything else. I need to go celebrate how fucking ridiculously human we are. I really need that lobotomy now, Sam. And I need to go marvel at how wonderfully this child of mine has grown in spite of his tremendously fucked-up parents.

Ghost recon.

Back to the concrete room this morning, slipping out of Lochlan's arms as he dreams of the midway, away from Ben's cool skin as he sleeps heavily without dreams. He doesn't dream unless he drinks. I run down the long hallway, muddy water splashing up against my legs as I go. It rained last night. It's cold and damp. It's always cold and damp down here. Why I made this place I will never know.

When I get the heavy door spun open Jacob is sitting in the centre of the room cross-legged, praying. The room is empty otherwise. My brain starts to wonder if Cole went to heaven or hell but then I realize I know better and I stop myself.

Jacob looks up and smiles gently, crinkling his brow in confusion.

Why are you here today? It's Henry's birthday. You didn't have to come today, Princess. 

I did, actually. There's something I have to talk to you about and I wanted to wait for today.

What if I need you? 

I'm sitting on the floor just inside the big airlock door shivering. The floor is damp, the room is downright icy. The single bulb hardly gives off enough light to see much of anything and Jake flatly refuses to move out of the way so I can talk to Cole in private.

Close enough, Princess. 

I've been talking around him for the better part of a half hour and I'm not getting anywhere. Cole won't respond anyway. He's not chatty like Jake. He's never been determined to be helpful or anxious to work with me to see them through this purgatory in order to make it to heaven. I don't know if I even believe there's a heaven anymore.

You can just keep going to the Devil until there's nothing left of you. Jacob interjects again, answering for Cole (he does that a lot) and I finally address him.

Could you not?! 

Oh but I can! This affects me as well. You keep putting me in here. Which means I've spent the better part of the past eight years stuck with him. I wouldn't exactly call that the purgatory of your brain, darlin'. I'd probably just skip to the chase and call it hell. And all the while I get to watch my best friends take turns holding my wife. 

If you have a complaint about conditions then maybe you should have TAKEN THE ELEVATOR DOWN, JACOB. 

Oh, there's the fire. Light it up, Baby. Watch it burn.

Let me finish with Cole. Before I implode. Please. 

FINE. But after today, I'm requesting a transfer. Anywhere he isn't. 

That's what I'm trying to do. Move him along and then you. So you're not stuck here with me anymore. 

He bristled and then softened when he understood. It doesn't hold the same weight for him that it does for me. The joys of being a figment instead of a fragment, I guess.

Forget the lake, let's make it a sea.

Ben walked right through the wall of flames round about four-ish and picked us both up by the backs of our necks. Like kittens.

You guys done? Can we have some dinner out on the patio? Maybe straighten up a little? Because every time I step aside and give you two a chance you both or someone else comes along and squanders it. It's hard to watch. I may as well stay right here. 

Yes, you really should. I'm so drunk right now I don't know if I remember what Cole looks like but I'm not going to double check with his big old doppelganger down in the boathouse. Who threatened Lochlan into giving me up for the week.

Harsh. Christ. Someone fix this please.

Must have been one hell of a threat, I said as I passed Lochlan the bottle.

You could say that, he said, white as a sheet. I never got the bottle back. Yes, it must have been one hell of a threat. Probably payback for the stitches necessary after Lochlan drew a line across his face with the watch after the last time Caleb hurt me because they don't seem to ever learn. Probably payback because Caleb thinks it's Lochlan's fault that I fell in love with Loch instead of Caleb in the first place.

I could make this easy and cut off all contact with Caleb but he fucked me up so bad I can't. 

Why. Why is it even possible for someone so smart to think he can order someone to love him?

The children had been dispatched to spend the day/evening out with Daniel and Schuyler and the army still had a lovely wall up. Joel skulks on the wrong side of it, thankfully. Claus is near enough but more on call than anything and since I only have the plaques in the sea that they took away because they were too dangerous to look at and the memorial trees that are trees and kind of boring and no benches or anything else I looked through some of Cole's photos and his voice came back to me, not like Caleb's at all. Lower. His radio voice. Smoldering, simmering. I took out his guitar. The one I never let anyone touch, still with his fingerprints all over it. I put on his big grey sweater and for fifteen terrible awful seconds I contemplated joining him and then I took the sweater off and I put away the guitar and the photographs and I filed his voice away where the memory thief won't be able to destroy it along with everything else and I ordered a stack of pizzas (the usual, for the Point) and August caught up with me, kissed the top of my head and I think Loch's so drunk and so relieved we're going to have to put him to bed early to sleep it off and Sam's looking after Claus and keeping an eye on everything and Ben is finally back where he should be and I very carefully climbed up above the lake of blood and fire when no one was looking and I unpinned Cole's wings from where I had imprisoned him and I put him back in the concrete room behind Jake for safekeeping.

Just for a little longer, I promised as I closed the door against their protests while they both looked at me with accusing blue eyes.

I turned and smashed into Ben, bouncing off him, landing on my ass, hard. Jesus! He's the only one who's not afraid to follow me all the way down here.

You can't keep them locked up forever, Bee. Even Cole deserves better than this.

I need to deal with them later. Right now I have to tend to the living.

I think we need to tend to you.

Possibly. Little drunk right now. Can't do it. And I swayed and bailed on standing up altogether. He caught me up in his arms and carried me back down the corridor and up into the light.

Set them loose, Bee. Soon. It's been way too long.

Don't push, Benny. Please.

I sat at dinner, profoundly sad. I wanted to stick around, to see where Cole goes when I'm not there. I wanted to see how Loch feels when I don't take up his whole life and I want to know why Ben does pretty much everything Ben does.

How are you doing, Bridget? Sam asked me finally as I picked up my blood-soaked coffee cup full of whiskey and drank it all, again. Someone's keeping it full. Remind me to thank them.

This is a zoo. 

I beg your pardon? 

We live in a zoo. This is the monkey house and down there is the apex predator. I point to the boathouse and start to laugh.

Jesus, she's still drunk. Loch puts on his glasses. Mr. Perfect has sobered quickly. Must be the extra sixty pounds he has over me.

You know when you do that you distance yourself from who you are. You're suddenly civilized. You're Clark Kent. I tell him.

Monkey indeed. He smiles at me. You're so fucked right now, Peanut. It's bedtime. 

But I'm hungry. 

If you eat now, you'll be sick. 

Wait, maybe she should eat and get sobered up. If she goes to sleep now she'll just feel worse. 

I don't think there's worse than this, Sammy. This is Bottom Rock in the monkey house. I tell him and keep laughing. I watch PJ turn sideways and pour the rest of the whiskey into his own glass. Then I watch Lochlan catch him. Oh SHIT.

There goes the table. There goes the food. There goes Ben to save PJ from the red monkey and there goes Bridget, off her chair because the table was the only thing holding her up.

So this morning, I feel GREAT. Because I didn't get any dinner. I didn't get any water, I didn't have any aspirin or good ideas. Cole is still dead. Caleb is still the apex predator of my nightmares and Lochlan is angry that I called him out for distancing himself from helping me and from being who he is instead of trying to be someone he's not. He should be happy that we found out he was being coerced within an inch of his life into giving me up, to the point where I can't even describe it here, instead detailing it to my baby lawyerlets to see if they have any insights whatsoever because you can't tell me threats like that aren't at least punishable somehow, and yet at the end of the day he's still there with his back against the wall watching me fall apart and refusing to pick up any of the pieces.

That's the problem. Right there. 

Bridget, look at him. Look what the Devil did to him. Don't think he isn't just as damaged. 

That's just it, Benjamin. It's not a pissing contest. 

Are you holding him up? 

I can't! 

Exactly my point. Maybe he can't hold you up either. That's what I'm here for, stupid.

Decemvirated.

My heart has stained my sleeve red. Blood drips down my wrist, forming a pool around me until I can no longer stand on my feet and have to tread, kicking to keep my head above the surface.

Big feels, PJ says. He swims over to hand me the biggest cup of contraband black coffee I've ever seen.

What's in it? I ask him.

Courage and foolishness, he assures me and I float it nearby so I can throw myself at him for a hug. He's a great life raft. As I said before I'm a mostly terrible swimmer.

In the cup is eight ounces of whiskey with a shot of coffee for color. That's the foolishness part, I'm guessing. Works for me. I'll be on the floor before lunch.

August had other ideas and swam past me, pouring the cup into the pool, diluting my blood anyway and making it work even faster.

Well, shit, that wasn't what I had in mind, he laments, but we'll get it over with and get you back to rights.

I float on my back. Again, it works for me. I didn't want to feel any of this. I open my eyes and my angel Cole is pinned to the ceiling by his huge black wings. He smiles kindly at me. He's not frightening anymore but I'm so scared anyways because I can't remember the sound of his voice.

Just listen to me, Caleb whispers in my ear, and you can hear him through me. 

Fuck this, Lochlan says. He pulls his zippo out and lights it, throwing it into the pool to make a lake of flames. Let them burn, Baby. Let it go.

At least I can pay for the damages.

This morning I received a text congratulating me on receiving my share of the sale of the marble monstrosity which closed this week and is not my problem anymore. I'm so glad. Besides, even after we moved the gate that house was too far up the hill and the gate's been moved back and well, he spends money like water so no matter, right? Besides, it's a really good time to have real estate to unload here in the GVRD.

A really stupidly good time.

Caleb's timing is great if he thinks he can butter my ass with cash. Unfortunately he can't because money can't buy actual happiness. Only stuff like new alternators, camper tires and stove parts. We need all of the above but that only actually came to $312.72 at Canadian Tire yesterday so the rest can sit in the bank.

I get half of everything the Devil profits from. That's the deal. Which is great if you don't mind dealing with the fun prospect of being me. Which as Claus puts it, is like trying to heal a burn victim while she's still on fire.

To top it off, Lochlan is the one who sold me out to Caleb and I don't know why because he did that and then within hours warned me not to go over there this week and that there is indeed some sort of cut-off time limit on grief.

I DON'T EVEN.

He made himself the bad guy, and then made himself the bad guy and then yup, made himself the bad guy. 

Fortunately for both of us, August and Sam are WAY ahead of everyone because PJ made sure they would be. He has all the major holidays planned out far in advance, deathiversaries being right up with the rest. So Claus is here. Joel is here (URGHHHHH). Pretty sure they just backed up a truck full of tranquilizer guns/tanks and helicopters to the house and the army is all geared up and ready for battle. I should probably run now before they tie me down but I'm so curious about Lochlan's motives, I'm going to go find out about that first.

I'm also really calm and relaxed and happy so YUP. They're already drugging my food. I've got to hand to PJ. He's getting way good at this shit. He can see me falling a mile away. And weirdly I think if I look beside me Lochlan is falling too. No other explanation to be had, frankly. Unless there's a really good one I haven't heard yet.

My shallow heart.

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

He worked doggedly, stubbornly through the night, torches burning all around us in his efforts to pin me to the dark, to keep me right there in that place where he knows where I'll be but no one else can find me easily, if at all.

He steps back and wipes his forehead across the back of his arm and staggers slightly against the uneven ground. He takes a sip of his drink and points at me.

Now you don't move, Peanut. His eyes are so glassy, I can't even see the green, just the flames reflected in them. Flames and fear and rage. Don't you go anywhere. You stay right here where I can see you. Don't even move a hair's breath or I'll...I'll...

You'll what? I duck down out of the first set of ties. I'm smaller than he realizes and better at this than he remembers. This was part of the first act. Tie me up, close the doors and set the box on fire. Outside he's hoping to God I can get out. Inside I'm getting the fuck out and going through the door in the floor, dropping seven feet into a dusty crawlspace hoping to God he remembered to put the padding on the cement floor so I don't break my legs.

Here I'm hoping to God there's a fucking door in the floor so I can escape but when I hit the ground it's solid and the fire's getting so hot we're burning alive.

Read between the lines
Of what's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

He turns around to pick up the bottle and I duck behind the night and I wait. I hear him swear and the bottle smashes into the dark, shattering into a million stars, showering me with whiskey and tears, bathing me in his terror, breaking my hiding place wide open.

There you are. He says it but it isn't nice.

I nod. I'm afraid but I refuse to show it.

Come here.

I shake my head.

Now.

I shake my head again.

NOW, BRIDGET! He screams it and I take one step forward and the flames from the torch nearest me jump to my skin. I burst into flames and he smiles.

I'd kill you so they couldn't have you anymore. 

No you wouldn't. 

That's the sad part. I would. I would because I can't take it anymore. 

I woke up screaming. I woke up screaming with the sound of that stupid ominous chugging guitar sound at the very beginning of Boulevard of Broken Dreams in my head. Loch said he would have woken up screaming too if he had Green Day stuck in his head and didn't take it seriously but underneath our easy dismissal is a slow moving river of pure dread.

Ten is a number I suddenly hate with everything I've got. 

CYOA.

All of the distractions in the world aren't going to keep you from me this week, Neamhchiontach, the Devil reminds me, and with that statement I see the ground beneath the cart as the Ferris wheel tips us over the top and comes around clockwise once more, gaining speed.

I nod into his shoulder. His arms tighten and I take a deep breath and let it out.

Caleb adores my tattoo. He traced it with his fingertips in absolute awe, as if it were in reverence to him, as he shared Cole's initials and appetites, and has appropriated his life and efforts with ease, without permission.

You're glorious, he tells me.

I shouldn't even be here, I tell him and he nods.

I know. We'll finish this midweek. He kisses my cheek, smooths down my dress and pulls me back up with him.

I don't know if I can get aw-

It's already arranged, Bridget. He tells me. I wonder what the cost was and who arranged it. Just no more near misses with your poet or your thief or any of your other keepers in the meantime. I've got big plans for you. Ten is a big number and we will mark it appropriately. 

I already did. I pull my dress up again to show him my giant X over my periwinkle blue cashmere underpants.

I meant together, but I do love that. He has an X as well but his is a beautiful script and he's had it for almost as long as Cole has been gone.

He lifts my face up with one hand and plants a gentle kiss underneath my chin before letting go and looking into my eyes. I can see why we love you. What I can't see is why they let you go. 

He didn't. They made him. 

He should have come to me. 

He should have done a lot of things, Diabhal. 

If you could go back, Bridget, knowing what you know now, would you have left him? 

The answer snapped my brain like a rubber band, so instantaneously that I cried out in alarm and Caleb stepped in close wondering if he had broken something else with a sensitive question. I brushed him off with some excuse about him being cruel, and that I really did have to go. I pushed him off and left rather quickly. I don't know why it didn't cross my mind before or maybe it's just that I take so ridiculously long to sort through things. Most people take a few days. I take a decade or so. Always. It's maddening.

Would I have left him knowing that it probably is what killed him? Would I have gone with Jake knowing that I would have had seventeen incredibly painful months ending in Jacob's flight too? Maybe had I never done that Jake would still be here and then I could have gotten a sane, slow divorce and eventually married Lochlan on my own time frame. Maybe things would have been vastly different, no one would be a ghost and the only thing to deal with would be the endless inevitable stockholm syndrome that only ever bothered everybody else and never really bothered me at all. 

Worst/best conversation ever.

Duncan is trying skip rocks on a roiling sea this morning in the rain. I'm balancing on a rock nearby with my teacup and we're somehow not mortal enemies.

Because hope still exists, Duncan says.

For what? I ask innocently, but I know better as he winks at me.

I'm teasing you, Bridget. And frankly, I don't know what I would have done had you invited me into that room. Part of me would have grabbed you on the spot, the other would have sent you upstairs with a lecture and a smack on the arse to make you cry for being tough on Loch again. I'm here but for the grace of his generosity and nothing more-

No, you're here but for the grace of MINE. 

Damn. Wish I'd known that yesterday. And he smiles a rueful smile and I smile back really big and we're okay, we're just plain awful.

It's raining, Duncan. We should go back and make coffee. 

Yeah, we should. Think they hate us?

The plebes always hate the beautiful people, I tell him and he laughs harder.

For the little fragile miss, you've got a 'narse streak a mile wide. 

It's an act. 

That's the sad part, but you're a great actress. 

I know. Suddenly the levity is gone.

I wouldn't of turned you down, Bridge. 

I would have offered, Dunk, but I couldn't. Are we good?

We're always good, Babe. I think somehow keeping ourselves on our toes works. 

You do realize they had a pool going. 

Bridge, there's one for every guy you haven't slept with yet, my brother included. 

Wow. Nice to be known as the point whore. 

Well, you are the only woman here. Slim pickings. Not like there's much of you to be had even if you did go around. 
 

They had a pool going. PJ said he's out hundreds. He was sure. SO SURE that I would cave in and sleep with Duncan. But that he's so glad I didn't that it was worth the money he lost. That I can pay him back in sexual favors. And they wonder why I'm so fucked up as an adult. Seriously.

Rails.

Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

I'm fucking up my entire life.

Miss? Pardon me? Do you have an emergency?

You know what? I think I may have this, sorry to bother you. 

That's how it plays out in my head. In real life I sent two words to the message group on all our phones we labelled 911 that is reserved for the all-time worst moments of our life. The words?

Dalton's room

I heard a chair knock over one floor above me. I heard a door fly open and hit a wall and I heard feet on stairs as they came running and I lay there and cried because I'm awful but I did the right thing.

Or rather, I didn't do anything.

If you could only let your guard down
If you could learn to trust me somehow
I swear, that I won't let you go
If you could only let go your doubts
If you could just believe in me now
I swear, that I won't let you go

Duncan took my refusal of breakfast (or company) as a sign that I wanted to be left alone and made himself scarce, heading back to his room, closing the door probably long enough to dress and then the door opened again and I heard the front door open and close. I heard an engine start and he was gone.

I sent my text. He would have received it just like everyone else. I'm not sure who is more relieved or more crushed. It's a road you can't turn back from. You can pretend you didn't see what was down that way. You can try but it's never quite the same. Ask PJ. Ask August. Duncan's always going be a weapons-grade threat to me but he's never going to be enemy number one and I'd really prefer to have more friends than enemies at this point, on this point. He would laugh and tell me he'll take that chance and that's exactly what I'm afraid of.

Lochlan's angry regardless. No one's going to blame him.

Stay upstairs. Stay out of people's beds. Jesus, Bridget! Boundaries. This isn't hard. Right and Wrong. It's black and white. It's easy, Peanut. For Christ sake, you've been through so much and you just keep finding more trouble. Just stop. Stop it, Bridgie. Please. You don't have to do this anymore!

I'm staring at him while he shakes me and it's like he's grown taller and blonder. Possessed by the soul of a preacher or maybe it's the other way around and Jake wore Lochlan's soul and maybe they're so much more alike than I ever realized before. Life is so simple to them. Cut and dried. Part and parcel. Black and white and it wasn't until Lochlan said it that I realized he's operating from the same place. Blind and deaf to everything I feel. Unwilling to understand why it's so hard. Why I can't do it. Why I can't just cooperate. Why I can't just stop. Why I can't get over it/knock it off/fall in line/smarten up/straighten out.

It's definitely not the first time I've ever been let down by someone but it's probably the first time I've ever been disappointed by someone and allowed myself to actually feel it. Now I know how he feels every damn day of his life.

I keep feeling like we fall apart
Better than we fall in love
I can’t seem to shake this feeling

Really I would have been content to spend all morning lying in Dalton's warm (empty) bed playing Owl Simulator and watching the rain pour down the glass. I hijacked a second phone too, just like the bed so I can listen to Shake This Feeling in one ear and The Grace in the second because I'm insane like that but it works.

Alone
Where I'm not alone

Duncan comes the doorway with a towel around his waist, freshly showered. Did you eat already or would you like something?

Kill me, please. Make it quick and painful, make it exquisite and whatever you do, donate my brain to science and tell the world I'm sorry.

Sam said it means Christ. "Oh boy, Bridget. What have you done?"

They didn't actually put me down in the grass. Jesus, people. Can you use your imaginations? I'm pretty sure they just drug my food as needed. It's far more fun to be facedown in my dinner plate anyway, isn't it? Especially if it's tacos. Ouch. That would hurt. I imagine taco cuts are like paper cuts, you get all sliced up with stingy corn cuts in your cheeks, unless they're soft tortillas in which you wind up with a big squishy cheese mess all over EVERYTHING and that would be just-

What did I come here to talk about? I forgot.

Lochlan runs his warm hand across my stomach early this morning. He hates this tattoo. (You look like the end of a pirate treasure map, for Pete's sake.) Hates it but he understands why I have it. Honestly he's glad I have it as much as he hates it. As he said on his way out the door while Mark was finishing cleaning it up, One down, one to go. 

The open vitriol surprised me so much I gasped. Mark's face came up over mine. Okay, there, sunshine?

I nodded.

Give him credit. I would have blown Caleb to kingdom come years ago.

Jesus, guys. My eyes water and Mark passes me a piece of paper towel. I ball it up and hold my fists against my forehead. Count to fifty, Bridget. Let it pass. Explore a city you don't know inside your mind. What's around the next corner? What would you put there to find?

Sam was teaching me self-control, emotional control before they took him away from me too. Not literally but figuratively. A 'break', they called it. Because I'm so intense I can break people from twenty yards away. He was breaking. I was breaking too.

Lochlan got a tattoo while Mark was here as well. Dóiteáin (pronounced doe-chane.). It means fire. (Surprise.) Across his back.

[Oh, you want a Gaelic lesson?

 Neamhchiontach is pronounced nav-shun-toch. Diabhal is said as doe-vol.]

But yeah, a week from now is the date that ten years ago I watched as the light went out of Cole's eyes and let me tell you it's the most frightening thing I think I've ever seen. Certainly the most profound in that you have no control. You can't stop it, you can't change it and I had to mark it. I had to do something about it. I had to find some way to have some power over that moment or it would continue to eat me alive. Maybe it's never going to stop. Maybe I am doomed by my ghosts and by my living alike.

Maybe the X is perfect. It does mark the spot. But I'm not going to write much about Cole today, I'll save that for next week but I'm deliriously happy with the tattoo, in spite of Sam's teasing. It's just a big fucking X. It can mean anything. It can mean everything. It can mean nothing. It's just perfect.

Something I'm not.

Chemical capture.

Today is less insane. I think they had a meeting after shooting me with a tranquilizer dart in the yard on my way back into the house and August warned them all that I need consistency, support and patience, not endless arbitrary rules, jealousy and infighting.

Actually what I need is sleep, food and booze, I told them with a laugh as I hit the grass face-first. Fuckers didn't even catch me. In my dreams it felt terrific and when I woke up I felt like me again.

I'm actually not a pot-stirrer. Habitually I don't throw dishes. I don't yell. I don't even talk back. If anything I stop talking. I stop reacting, I just plain stop. I turn into a shadow, a statue. I don't do anything. Lochlan says it's possibly more frightening, more maddening, more difficult than plate-throwing, yelling Bridget. At least then she's saying how she feels, what she needs, what she wants.

I realize that but it's too out there, too bratty, too out of control for me and I feel ashamed and immature and awful. But they're all cheering me on, for fucks sakes. Until they want to turn it off, I mean.

So I didn't get any of the beans I grew for dinner, I got medicine and a hot shower and a clean warm bed and it was lights the fuck out and I was gone and I didn't dream until early this morning and then I was up early and I was starving. Still am but coffee seems like the only thing my stomach can handle. My brain loves pills. My body? Not so much.

Onward and upward now, Princess. A voice cuts into my head in the dawning light as I sip the bitter gold. Too much sugar, not enough caffeine, as usual.

I nod. Working on it, Preacher.

Good girl. 

Oh, don't you say it too.

Ten degrees isn't t-shirt weather and I need some sleep, I think.

Cold and rainy today and I've had my lecture for heading out with Sam without technical permission. John had his lecture and kindly told Lochlan to go fuck himself, though he means it as a friend, because in order for this to work Lochlan needs to let go a little bit, especially and most importantly when it comes to people who know Bridget's head and how to keep it on straight better than the magic man himself. Besides, John was there. Problem solved. Bodyguard in place.

I'm not going to let anything happen to her, Brother. Never have, never will. 

Lochlan thought long and hard about continuing to push against this logic but ultimately decided John was right and he shook his hand and apologized. He came to apologize to me and I stared at him with my best steely-eyed child's disappointment, picked up my colander and went out to the garden to get beans for dinner.

He didn't come after me. Ben came out eventually because I was taking too long and said supposedly now we're surround by not only men and bears but also those coyotes now too. Many of them. And it's getting late so maybe I should come in.

They're like dogs. They sing because they're afraid of the dark. 

They sing because they're hungry, Bridget. 

The fence is live, I'm not worried. 

Loch is worried. You daydream. I've heard the stories. 

I don't do that anymore. Yeesh. Next he'll be wiping my ass for me. 

That's what I said. 

But you don't say anything to him. 

How do you know I haven't? It's taken you close to two and a half hours to pick a pound of beans. 

I'm thinking! 

About what? 

Why you only come when there's trouble.

Danger, he corrects me.

Whatever. I'm tired and soaked to the skin. I'm cold. I don't even fucking care anymore. This isn't Utopia today. Today it's prison and I got yard duty.

Let's go inside and get a fire going. You're shivering. Give me the bowl.

He reaches for it and I take whatever strength I still have and fling it about ten feet away. All of the beans spray out in an arc across rows of tomato cages and the colander comes to rest against a pumpkin plant beside the fence.

I don't want to! I tell him. Maybe it's not even his fault, maybe a lot of it is but I stand there staring at him and he stares back and finally he turns and goes to the fence, picks up the bowl and heads back toward the house without another word. I would feel bad about seeing him go alone but he's left me on my own for months now.

I pick up a bean and eat it. 

When I turn to see if he's gone he is standing at the gate waiting. He looks at his watch.

I've got all day, Brat. he calls. He's smiling.

Asshole. I call back.

A real hungry one too. Better pick up those beans. Dinner's in an hour. 

You took my bowl. 

Fill your pockets. 

I don't have any pockets. 

Fill that gaping hole in your face that all those stupid lies come out of. Like me only being here when there's trouble. Is there trouble right now? Nope. Only rain. Only beans. Seems pretty low key for a Monday actually. Could you hurry up, Bee? I'm fucking freezing. 

No! Fucking do it yourself. 

I'll pay someone to do it. 

No one TOUCHES my garden except me. 

Then get to work. He frisbees the bowl at my head and I scream and duck down into a ball, losing my balance. I sit down in the mud hard.  

ASSHOLE! 

WHAT? 

I fell! 

Then pick faster so you can go in and change. 

Help me. 

What's that?

Can you help me? Please?

Are you asking for me to help you? 

Are you fucking deaf too? 

No, I've just been waiting for this for EIGHT FUCKING YEARS, BRIDGET but you're too goddamned stubborn. Just wait right here. He takes off his hoodie and slides it around me and heads into the garden, scooping beans into the colander as he goes. He goes up three different rows and somehow comes back in seconds with the full bowl that I threw and kisses me hard, almost knocking me off my feet, shoving the bowl into my arms, smiling at me gently, waiting until I hesitantly smile back.

There's dinner. All's well that end's well. I feel like I have to get you to some sort of incredible level of rage to reset you, almost and then you're you again. Except your lips are grey and the rest of you is...very dirty. Let's get inside.  

Three steps forward, Five steps back.

Sunrise service by the sea this morning as Sam baptized a small group of new members who alternately shook with nervousness, wept with joy and smiled with an adoration only reserved for these sorts of events. I had the lucky position of playing helper in that I was right at the edge of the action taking photo and video, and holding bibles, phones, handbags, wallets, glasses, anything they didn't want to see ruined by seawater. Most wore swim trunks and dress shirts (men) or swimsuits with an old dress over top for women, and sandals so it wasn't a huge deal.

John played towel boy.

Remind me to have some small totes printed up so we can put their things into totes they can keep as a memento. Way more fun than a new bible. No one needs those.

Bridget-

It's true, they really don't, Sam. 

I'm driving his (Kia) Soul home because he hates driving in his wetsuit. Too restrictive, he says.

So change, I always tell him.

Takes too long.

For a minister you're very stubborn. 

I think it's a job requirement, he winks at me.

You know? You're right! 

Thanks for all of the help today. Only the morning people can hack this lifestyle. 

I don't mind. I love watching people's faces. 

You want to do it? 

Do what?

Be baptized? 

I was when I was eight in the United Church. 

But Jake didn't do it? 

No. 

That really surprises me, Bridge. 

He probably would have eventually. 

Hey, we're home. Let's make some breakfast, I'm starved. 

His glaring subject change does nothing to wash away my sudden debilitating doubt. Why wouldn't you want to save your own wife? Why didn't he do that first? He baptized both children before they were a year old, by my request.

He knew it was already too late, that's why.

(Here comes my memory thief.) Bridget, don't think like that-

But it's true, isn't it, Sam?

I can't speak for Jacob. He isn't here. 

And that's the problem, isn't it?

Ow.

Oh my God. I would post but I just finished this...gigantic club sandwich with double bacon and an entire plate of french fries and I can't even breathe.

It was the best.

I think I love food more than boys. Loch said he's sure of it. He says the look on my face every night on the Midway at supper in the diner when the waitress put my plate down made him so jealous he didn't know what to do with himself.

I said if he was a real magician he would have turned himself into a freaking sandwich and solved all our problems, obviously. We tried to have a giggle but it hurt too much. Still does. I need to go lie down. He said he'll remain standing, thanks until he burns enough calories to bend again. I think we found a winner of a greasy spoon with portions so big they're clearly enough for maybe three or four people instead of one so now we know for next time and can protect ourselves, at least.

So good.

The red and the white.

Happy Canada Day! This year marks our 149th birthday. Holy!

An amazing day today. A huge nonstop all-day all-night pool party (still going, guitars are coming out now) here and it's just warm enough in the sun without being too blisteringly hot to enjoy it and still wear earrings and a sarong with my pink bikini.

Caleb, Christian and Schuyler are manning the barbecue pit, Batman, Lochlan and PJ are the bartenders (Lemonade, pop or slushies) and Henry and all of his friends are taking care of the dessert station AKA lingering close and eating all of it. I'm keeping salads, fruit and veggies refreshed as required. Christian, Duncan and August are lifeguards. Sam is keeping mixed groups of teenagers out of the sauna and in plain sight, and Ruth and her friends are lounging on the big double chairs or in the hot tub, snapchatting just about every second of the day to each other, which is weird because they're all here. Together.

John is throwing people off the cliff as requested (only if you are twenty or older, much to the kids' dismay).

Daniel is sleeping up at his house. He'll do teardown by himself tonight.

Dalton and Andrew, Gage and New Jake are playing water polo on each other's shoulders. They invited me to play but it's far too rough so Ben said no. He is standing with a can of pop watching the kids enjoy themselves and he just looks so happy with everything. He looks like a vampire too, in that he is so pale it's striking.

We have a sunscreen station where you get sprayed to bits before you can go poolside. That is immediately at dropoff in the driveway much to the delight of 90% of the parents who forgot to equip their kids before bringing them over. I have waterproof sport 110 SPF spray sunscreen by the case and zinc for noses and lips and extra sunglasses and hats too.

The kids call it running the momlet (as in gauntlet) and roll their eyes. I tell them they'll be so freaking happy not to be snapchatting each other their lobster selfies tomorrow it will be worth it.

Now when is it cool to send seventeen-year-olds home so I can go to bed?

Mood ring (or maybe it's moon ring).

Had a lovely drive this afternoon with Caleb in his freshly detailed R8. This car is sexier than he is. Wait, I am still angry with him except there's the car and I can't be angry with the car. I also can't reach the pedals without sitting on a whole pile of things so he has to drive and it's just a really sweet package deal.

Besides, he always takes me for really expensive ice cream. Millionaires don't care that you are lactose intolerant or they truly believe it has something to do with that peasant ice cream you buy by the tub at the grocery store. If only you bought the twelve-dollar glass jars of hand-mixed locally sourced gluten free vegan whatever you'd be fine. 

Well, no, but-

Trust me, I have money.

At least that's how I imagine the conversation goes in my head.

I got salted caramel paleo with man buns and weekend hiking plans or some such creative something because 'chocolate' was nowhere to be found. He got organic hipster tech startup probably drives a car2go because they didn't seem to have 'maple walnut' either. We had to pay with gold bars because it came to eleven thousand, six hundred and eighteen dollars and then to top it off he wouldn't even let me eat in the car.

I just had it detailed, Bridget. 

But it's freezing! 

It's ice cream! 

No, I mean outside. 

Would you like my jacket? 

Sure. 

He draped it around my shoulders and fastened the button in the front. He always thinks that's funny, telling me once that he couldn't get it around Sophie and close it in the front.

That's 'cause she's a man, I told him that day and he snorted coffee into his napkin in surprise.

I suddenly can't lift the ice cream cone all the way to my mouth so I lean way forward to try and bring my head to it instead (always thinking) and he swears and undoes the button again.

Must you be so silly? 

Um, yes? Must you not? 

I brought you out for ice cream, didn't I? 

And yet you stand here and eat it like you've got a fucking cone up your ass, Cale. 

So he starts to sway. All the way toward me and I scream because I think he's collapsing and then suddenly he dips away in a circle and then he's back but his feet aren't moving and he's carrying on a perfectly normal conversation while he oscillates around crazily. People are beginning to stare at him and he waves at several and then apologizes to a few more, saying it's the damnedest thing but that he thinks I have my own gravitational field and he can't resist. They all smile sweetly but suspiciously and keep walking and I keep getting a brain freeze from taking huge bites of ice cream with a big smile on my face.

By the time we're finished our cones I am dizzy and he has slowed to a stop. We take a seat on a wall near the ice cream shop.

Better? 

Still cold, still vaguely angry and disappointed but very relieved to see that the funny guy I know so well is still in there. 

We had to grow up, Doll. Sometimes you don't have a choice. 

And just like that the wind blows cold again and the mood is changed.

Diez. Dios. Dio. Piedad.

Mark flew out for the long weekend, bringing his tattoo kit with him. I had him set up in the library after we rolled up the big fuzzy white rug. He put a big huge letter X just above my belly button. I've never had much of a want for stomach tattoos. Mostly because when I was pregnant I gained fifty pounds each time and also they hurt like the dickens (stomach tattoos AND babies, I mean). But now I have a huge hollow X filled with beautiful filigree scrollwork around the inside edges of the letter itself with a splash of teal winding through and around the whole thing and no, I'm not sharing because every time I post a tattoo photo I see it copied later and not in a flattering way.

X stands for ten. Ten years ago this July 13, Cole died of heart failure at the ripe old age of 38 39, already corrected, thanks Diabhal. It also stands for Xavier. His middle name.

The tattoo took two hours and fifteen minutes. I only needed a five minute break because I let it get the best of me but then Andrew came over and put on a movie and I was okay after that with minimal fuss and a lively debate on the terrible state of our university Spanish credits.

Mark asked what happened to my hardcore self.

She died. I told him.

Too bad, he said. She was the best. 

I'm not bad either. 

You're a weakling. She was a warrior. Maybe I should flip you over and put a W on your back. 

My back is full, I remind him.

It's okay. I'm saving the W for Loch anyway. He's the other way around. Used to be a weakling, now a warrior. It's like you guys have traded places. 

It's hard to believe you've flown all this way just to bust my balls, Mark. 

If only you had any, Bridget. 

Shots fired.

Caleb's having the stitches taken out of his face later today if all goes well. He's mightily impressed by all this. When I point out that he is lucky, that it could have been worse, he looks at me and says it still could be.

What in the hell do you mean by that? I ask him and throw my empty coffee cup at his head.

Jesus Christ, Bridget! How much damage are you two going to do to my face this week already?

Not enough, apparently because there's still stupid noises coming out of it! GOD! I turn to head back inside for a fresh cup and walk right into Ben. Ben the stranger, who has all but moved into the second tinier suite of rooms off the studio downstairs that wasn't ever supposed to be used for anything but has seemingly become his home.

Okay, Bumblebee? His arms go around me and the mixed messages leave me wishing for a rockstar translator. Or at the very least some sort of impulse generator.

Okay what?

Are you?

Am I WHAT?

Are you okay?

Define okay.

Not fatally wounded? I guess. 

Ha. Whatever. Is there coffee left? Bye. 

I head around him and hear him ask Caleb what's 'wrong' with me but I don't hear Caleb's response. I don't want to hear Caleb's response. I pour a new cup, find sugar and milk for it (curse you Sam) and head straight through the front of the house looking for that alone time that saves the boys this kind of mood from me. Mercifully no one's on the porch so I head down to the grotto where the sun is streaming in between the branches making everything magical. Maybe not quite dry yet but magical anyway. I haven't spent enough time here. Everything is covered with moss. I curl up in the chair and take a sip and scream when a voice behind me speaks.

Can't a guy get a little privacy anymore? 

It's Dalton. He's sitting on the rock wall directly behind me, coffee cup and empty plate beside him, nose in a book.

I'm sorry. I didn't see you. 

That's the point. You stopped using this place and it's too nice to let it go to waste. 

It's all yours. I'll get out of your hair. 

Not if you need an escape. 

I need a lob-

You've got to stop saying that. How about instead of running, you stand up for yourself? 

I look at the ground. I think I did and they don't like that. 

Good girl. 

Don't say that. 

Sorry. I just don't want to see you get railroaded. 

Please tell me that isn't sexual. 

What? Oh, God, no. What I mean is this is your house and I see you struggling to find a way to fit into it sometimes. Someone is always watching you and following you. 

They kind of have to. 

Why?

In case I hurt myself. 

You're not going to do that. 

What if I do?

What if you don't? 

Yeah. What if I don't?

Then you live happily ever after. 

Where is the happily part, TJ?

It's coming. Gotta be patient, Bridge. Geez. 

The most atypical Monday.

Yesterday I feel like I posted as if every day is some flippant pool party. It isn't. Two minutes after Lochlan climbed out of the pool he and Caleb were engaged in yet another perceived slight, shoving each other back and forth, up in each others faces, Caleb tall and stronger, Lochlan more agile and braver than anyone. They wouldn't have noticed had I drowned at that point, and eventually I went up to the house, bringing all my things. That's how you know I'm not coming back.

***

I spent this morning by myself getting dirty, weeding the garden, spraying the tomatoes with copper, moving statues and concrete blocks around until I was happy with the arrangements of the day, hanging windchimes and bells, eating radishes straight out of the dirt and collecting enough basil leaves to dry that I'm not sure I'll ever need the rest, actually.

How long is it before you can subdivide a lavender plant again?

I have so many plans but not enough energy or patience. I also am bound by the weather. I've taken to doing just as much gardening in the pouring rain, in my raincoat and my rubber boots because I hate the heat. I don't want to be in the sun and yet the warmth of the soil is what is going to make everything grow.

The corn is almost as tall as me now. I'm so excited I could burst. I have a freezer full of cherries I don't know what to do with and every time we turn around there are more ripe strawberries. We're eating them as fast as we can.

When I ran out of energy and things to fuck with I came inside and PJ passed me a cold lemonade. I showed him the basil and he said he watched. I asked why he didn't help and he said it was my thing, that maybe it's good for me to just get out there alone. That he had a good eye on me, only losing me once when I went over the hill near the swing to check my experimental trees (one olive, one lemon, thank you) but I was right back because they seem okay, so far.

He asked what I wanted for lunch and I told him he could decide so he picked Mr. Noodles and I wondered if somewhere in Japan there's a ridiculously unpopular Mrs. Noodles and he said that's the shrimp one because of the pink package and we laughed until we cried. It wasn't even that funny so it must be the heat. Maybe it's the tension. I don't know. I need sleep. The coyotes kept me up last night and no, that's not a euphemism. They howled all night with their tiny high-pitched plaintive wails that always make me wonder if they are babies but then I am told that's what they sound like, even full grown.

Sunday.

It was hot this morning before I finished breakfast (homegrown strawberries and raspberries and coffee) and so I changed into my pale pink bikini with the ruffles and a gold tiny horseshoe necklace and skipped church in order to worship at the house of chlorine and concrete.

Seems fitting, as the weather recently has been terrible and this week is supposed to be hot sun, so I broke out my new bottle of SPF 150000000 and a big floppy hat and have plans to hide out under the covered lounge chair every day.

Sam understood. He said consensus seems to be in favor of us spending some time apart. He returned to church today in his board shorts and a flannel shirt (because he's adorable like that), planning to talk about being perfect imperfect. I know that sermon. I've heard it before. He isn't worried about us-us. We'll be okay. He said me throwing myself to the wolf to take the pressure off probably wasn't the greatest idea but I think now that it was as I lower myself into the stinging blue water, my scrape screaming through the rest of my flesh, Caleb watching from the side with concern, his bare chest a rainbow of bruises in the shape of Lochlan's fists and the odd stair-step. We look like catastrophic accident victims at summer convalescent camp. We look tough, like survivors.

That's what we are.

I do one lap on my back and stop at the ladder. Caleb says I should do one more and I swear in his direction and get out. I'm a weak swimmer. I'm not a warrior. I'm not a fighter. I'm a withstander. I'm a with-stander. I'm a shadow sewn to the heels of a Peter Pan with red hair and freckles who I see step out of the patio doors suddenly. He walks down the steps and shields his eyes from the sun and I lift mine up to shield them in case he signals to me, one band in place today on my finger because he is indecisive and took the other one away again upon suggestion. He takes off his shirt, and empties his pockets and then begins to run across the lawn. He does a handspring over the fence and then cannonballs into the pool with a holler, showering both the Devil and I with lovely cool water.

He surfaces, shaking his head hard, his curls coming loose from their grasp on his skull, forming big circles again before they get soaked again when he floats on his back.

Literally. This is the best, he says and it's very hard to disagree with him, in spite of everything.

He looks it over carefully as I talk.

It's Swiss. You can probably take his initials off the back if you have access to a small grinder. 

Or I can repurpose them with other words. What should I use? You are the wordsmith.

I only know one other name that starts with X. 

Which is?

His brother's middle name was Xavier. 

I was thinking xenagogue. Do you know what that means, Bridget? 

No. I feel helpless and small standing near Skateboard Jesus. I feel transparent.

It's a tour guide, a person who conducts a stranger, as it were. 

(Oh, perfect.)

So you bring me an expensive watch, and in exchange I will give you priceless advice. Watch your memory thief. 

Why? 

Do thieves only take the things you want them to take? 

No. 

No, of course not. They take the things that are precious to you. Irreplaceable, valuable things. They violate you and leave you with holes that can never be filled. You ask for your lobotomies, your do-overs, but you don't know the price of these things, Bridget. Think hard before you let the thief in amongst the gold. 

What if it's too late? 

I don't think it is. What if the Devil comes looking for his watch? 

He won't. I'm sure he's already bought a new one. How do you know it isn't too late? 

The carnival girl is alive and well. Takes the watch off a rich man to give to a poor man. That's exactly something you would do and something a blank slate wouldn't do. And now if you'll excuse me, he checks his watch, I'm late and I gotta go. He jumps on his skateboard and is gone against traffic with a wink, hair flying out over his shoulders, worn backpack snug against his shoulders. I try to follow his progress but I've already lost him in the crush of trucks and lights.

(A very) Civil war.

I fell asleep wrapped around Ben. I found him in his big chair in front of the board, doing nothing really, not even listening, and I climbing into his lap and shoved my knees down the sides of his seat and wrapped my arms around his neck and fell asleep like a festival-weary four-year-old without a word.

I woke up in a Lochlan and Ben sandwich, safe in my own bed, two bands stacked on my finger, Ben's arm across my head, his hand wrapped around Lochlan's head.

Sigh.

Mentally this morning I am exhausted. I have concrete in my veins. I called Caleb to make sure he was okay and he asked if I was okay first. He said he got hammered a second time in one day via the stock market thanks to Brexit. Loch took my phone and hung up on him. Loch figures there will be another Scottish referendum now but first there has to be a Bridget referendum. We've got to sort this out because he can't go barging around using his temper as a weapon.

Oh, like you're using sex? He asked. He's clipped and tired too this morning. Everyone else holds their breath. You could reach out and pluck the point like a string this morning and play a lead that would break your heart.

August reminded him oh so quietly that this would be difficult if only for exactly these reasons. Sex is a weapon. And a tonic. And a curse. And a drug. And a reason. And a nightmare. And a panacea too.

(I'm amazed at how open these discussions have become. Like breakfast table conversation, all casual-like. Christ. Shoot me please.)

I want her back the way she was. 

Which year? 

Jesus. He thinks. 1981. 

(Before. Before everything. Everything except him.)

I burst into tears again and he folds me into his arms and says No, don't, Bridgie. No more. I don't think you've got anything left. You're going to dry up and blow away.

Sam asks if we'd like to come and have a tea out on the porch. Sort some things. Get a refresher, as it were, with he and August together. Joel called to come but we turned him down. Lochlan nods. I lost my cool. 

You didn't have any to begin with, Red. Ben tells him. And I don't blame you. She is worth more than anything on earth to me and I don't know how you do this as it is. 

I didn't get a choice, Lochlan says.

FUCK.

Got my ring back. Got my Ben back.

Only took fifteen hours of intense negotiation, hostages included.

Utopia indeed.

Update: Nevermind. Loch says I misinterpreted a concession that Ben didn't coerce me into going to see Caleb, and that the ring is back, the Ben will not be and that I need to listen better. That we can pawn it with the watch and fund the future, probably, if either of us survive the present but probably not because we'll probably both explode from stress and heartbreak. That Things have to change, Bridget. This isn't working. It's killing both of us and we've come too far to let this happen now.

I'm going to bed. Alone. Somewhere where he isn't. I can't breathe. I can't think anymore. I just want everything to stop for a while.

Breitling for sale. Cheap. Well, maybe not. CXC engraved on the back, though I can sand that off.

We're just home from the hospital this morning. Let me choose my words carefully here. Lochlan knew I was relatively intact and safely locked in our wing and so he went right past Ben and over to the boathouse. Word has it Caleb came out to see him and took a tumble down the steps, ironically raising his arms to protect his head and scraping his face quite badly with his watch, which he then gave to Lochlan, because he no longer wants it, it is cursed or dangerous or something and so it will be pawned off cheaply. Loch said Caleb told him to sell it for a hundred bucks. I think we can do better than that but he won't see any of it.

I got off easy, my leg is just one big long scab this morning and it didn't even actually bleed ever. Caleb required fourteen stitches and the attention of a plastic surgeon. He also had a host of body contusions from his fall that were not in need of medical attention but they put him on an EKG and kept him for observation for a few hours after the fact. He will be resting for a few days and is never allowed to see me again because I shouldn't be around people so clumsy.

That won't hold but I appreciate the sentiment.

I don't appreciate Ben's banishment though. He's gone. Done. Lochlan said it's over. That whatever goddamned games Ben is playing with me have ended now. The absences. The drinking. The sharing. The psychological warfare. The oneupmanship. All of it. Finished. Take off the ring. You've now had three marriages end now, call it official, this is done, kiss him goodbye, he's over, no, stop crying, Jesus CHRIST, Bridget, kind of order that I don't even want to think about right now.

I could have said no before we left the house. It isn't all Ben's fault.

(They will tell you it is because of the damage, because I'm not responsible and that ruined people don't have to be accountable for anything. I don't think that's quite right.)

You'll change your mind later. You love him too. 

I love him, Bridget, but I love you more and I can't do this anymore. 

I made him go. 

That doesn't matter. 

It's me you can't trust. 

I understand that. 

You chose poorly, I think. 

You let me worry about that. 

It was a real bad fall, was it? 

The worst. I felt so helpless.
 

(Oh that? That's not the mark of the Devil. It's the mark of his ten thousand dollar watch.)

DON'T. Just.. I know.

(I think I've been branded.)

Neamhchiontach. You're here.

I don't know why. I'm not ready to forgive you or start this again. I'm still so angry with you and we haven't really dealt with any of -

He takes my arms and walks me backwards gently until I am pressed against the door. Ben doesn't say a word but he hasn't missed a move, watching from just inside the alcove. Caleb's fingertips slide around my head, behind my ears as he bends his head down for a kiss. Pinned like a specimen moth. I can't breathe. He slides his fingers flat underneath my jaw, lifting me up by my head, sliding me up the door until we see eye to eye and then he stops, leaving me pinned there, one hand still wrapped around my neck, cutting off my air before sliding the other down around my hip, underneath my thigh, his Breitling scraping deep against delicate skin. He steps in even closer and brings his other hand down under my other thigh and I can breathe again but not for long.

Another kiss and he asks how long we have. This is the routine. It's hardly changed in decades.

People in my family live forever, not so sure about yours, I tell him defiantly, sadly even as he removes one hand again, this time to pull my dress up further. I scream and the hand comes back up, not over my mouth but around my neck, squeezing just enough as his mouth presses against my ear.

Hush, baby. No screaming. No noise. You know how to do this. Ben won't let anything bad happen to you.

And he pushes my chin up away from his mouth, kissing along my throat as he drives against me. I can feel Ben's eyes crawling over us like darkness and it hurts. I can feel everything and it hurts. The betrayal. The permission. The violence of this. The same way it always is. I try to leave and he keeps me here, his hand still around my face, now centering it right in front of his, nose to nose while he almost (but not quite) loses his breath.

Stay with me, Doll.

I wrap my arms around his neck and he takes us to his bed. I am not tied down but instead left comfortably on my back on the mink blanket I love so much. His elbows frame my head as he kisses me softly.

Do you want Ben here?

He decides.

Caleb lifts his head and looks back toward Ben. I can't see him from here. I hear him say he's fine where he is. He never pushes me too hard. I get overwhelmed easily.

If you change your mind, you tell me, okay?

I nod and my eyes well up almost involuntarily. Caleb scares me more when he is understanding and generous, kind, almost. It would be easier if he had left me up against the door and choked me into submission. Then I would know exactly how to feel.

What's wrong, Bridget?

Ta tu fos ar an diabhal, ta me fos an neamhchiontach!

(Lochlan's been muttering it under his breath for weeks now: Ta se fos ar an diabhal, ta tu fos ar an neamhchiontach! He is still the devil, you are still an innocent! is the gist. I'm just repeating it back to Caleb. You are still the devil. I am still the innocent!)

You haven't done anything wrong, Baby. Ben is right there. Caleb sits up and they look at each other and I lose my mind.

I need to go. I want to go home now. Benny- I start to struggle and Caleb holds me down.

Soon. 

Now!

Not yet.

I push against his hold but I know better. He loves the fight. Eventually I settle back on the fur and stare through the skylight at the trees. At the strawberry solstice moon. It can't save me either. Not from this. My only defense is to pretend I don't care.

Ben settles back in his chair in the dark (crisis perverted) and Caleb resumes our show. I'm not moving but I don't dare fall asleep or then there would really be hell to pay and I can barely afford the portion I get now.

On the way out Ben swears and asks Caleb if he's capable of ever sending me home without injury and Caleb asks what the fun would be in that, truthfully. That he does it to remind Lochlan who's boss.

On the way across the driveway Ben asks me if the cut from the watch hurt and I tell him with Caleb it's better to feel pain than fear. I don't wait to see the look on his face and head straight inside.

On the way upstairs Lochlan finds us (he's holding my phone) and asks me where the hell I've been for the past three hours. I direct him to Ben and keep walking.

I hear yelling as I close the door to our room so I lock it for good measure. I keep locking doors as I walk through rooms and down halls until I get to the bathroom and then I lock that door too. I strip out of my dress in front of the full length mirror and turn. His steel watch strap has cut a deep gouge across the outside of my thigh and underneath my leg. I think I need stitches. I don't know what I need.

Feels like a Wends-day.

Today was the last day of classes proper and now suddenly I have a child in grade twelve and one in grade ten. I don't know how that happened. They are still technically writing exams and a week and a half away from report cards and the official end of the school year though so I will save my momgobsmackishness for that day. Until then I will remain in denial because it's nicer here, isn't it? The good snacks are right where I left them, no one's taken all my money and I don't spend all my free time ferrying teenagers who don't even belong to me all over town.

Sigh.

I know, the next time I blink they'll be in their forties and jetting off somewhere exotic so for now I should enjoy the dirty jokes they can actually tell now at the dinner table without repercussion and the fact that they bring me an Internet digest each day with all the news I actually want and funniest bits so I can avoid the terrible parts. They suggest new sushi restaurants and movies we might like and teach me how to get places I can never remember how to go because I'm directionally useless and they have discretion the likes of which few people even understand, let alone possess. They are protective of the collective (We should have shirts made. I think I love that slogan) and I'm so proud of them that when I open my mouth and talk about them glitter and rainbows just fucking beam out everywhere.

But I don't do that on the Internet because PRIVACY.

***

Lochlan worked for a couple of hours this morning while PJ, Gage and I did heavy chores and then I met him at New Jake's borrowed bike for a freezing cold and rain-threatened drive up into the mountains and lunch at a found picnic table of expensive french food far too nice for an actual picnic table, though we both refused to admit we were frozen solid, leathers or not. We cut the trip short and came home and stripped down to swimsuits and then hit the sauna, something I rarely use because I am my own hot flash lately. Loch loves it because it keeps his bad arm from throbbing when it's about to rain, like on days similar to today. He cranked the heat right up and I lasted maybe seven or eight minutes before I felt like I couldn't breathe and had to leave, opting instead for the hot tub. I can do at least ten minutes in the hot tub but mostly I like to lie in the freezing cold air in one of the big double loungers beside the pool, wrapped in a damp towel like a forgotten wet burrito.

He was in the sauna for over an hour. I think that's like brain-damage duration levels. When he came out he looked at me wrapped up in my wet towel, feet sticking out the bottom and said we should have Mexican for dinner.

Definitely brain damage. Lochlan hates Mexican food, truth be told. But he was just happy that we were there together, just me and him for the afternoon, no one else to weigh in on what to do, where to go and what to eat. Compromise is hard enough with two, incredibly tough for three and virtually impossible with eight or more, usually seventeen on average.

We're not having Mexican for dinner tonight. I'm making grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken noodle soup.

NOYB

House is empty
Fade out slowly
Go out your own way
Go out and get what you need
For if you don’t stay
There’s nobody watching you bleed
Ghost is what you are now
Out there where no one can see you
Gone out in the dark
Somehow I could still feel you

Lunch with the Devil, and he pulled my chair too close and he stared too hard and he spoke too harshly and he was a little too cutting with his thoughts today and I choked on my cold soup and hardly touched the salmon course. By the end I wouldn't look at him at all and he softened and ordered gelato from some invisible childs' menu and he asked if Lochlan had become this much of a pushover, finally, after all of our exploits.

(What a word.)

We've always been freaks, I tell my ice cream when it arrives. You haven't been paying attention. 

***

A walk with Batman to inspect the grounds. He's kind of amazed at how green my thumbs are considering the simple facts that I can't walk and breathe at the same time and that the moment I cease all movement I fall asleep and that includes and is not limited to floating on my back in the pool and receiving oral sex (but not at the same time).

Bridget, I don't think you need to complicate your life any further with trying to change any perfectly good relationships. 

I would say the same thing to you. And I continued to show him the cherries, grapes, corn, carrots, raspberries, strawberries, beans, tomatoes, peas and pumpkins that show such promise to come, all the while completely ignoring the very cautious and gentlemanly avarice that he was trying so hard not to reveal.

***

August is candid, transparent. He takes two chairs facing each other and then pins my knees in between his once I am seated. I call this the Trapped position. He calls it the Paying Attention position. Either way awful unorthodoxy always works.

What happens when you and Sam move to a more intimate level? What happens when his feelings get in the way of his ability to counsel you? What happens when he can't separate his personal from his professional opinion? 

You tell me. I am grim but fierce. I think sometimes August forgets he's the original Judas to Jacob's Jesus.

That's different, Bridget-

Afraid Sam and I might be closer than you and I?

Not really. The dynamic of your relationship with Sam, sexual or otherwise is completely different than ours. 

Right so can everybody stop worrying now? I'm glad everyone thinks I go from 0 to 60 just like that. I wouldn't hurt Sam! I don't need any more complications in my life and I'm not looking for trophies or redress so I don't think you should all be standing around holding your breath. 

Lochlan practically rolled out the red carpet for you.

He's done that so many times, August. I don't usually write about it. I try to keep him pure. He's my golden boy, I never ever want people to think poorly of him. Maybe I goofed. Everyone thinks Ben is the permissive one but really they both are. Lochlan just worries more about my feelings. Or maybe it's that he worries about his own. I fall in love too easily. It's dumb. I would worry too.

Do you want to talk about it?

No. 

If you change your mind I'm here. 

Are you still here-here or have you changed YOUR mind?

Whatever you need me for, Bridget, I'm here. 

***

Duncan was crass as always.

Don't ride the Preacher, Baby. Keep it sweet with him. Take it out on me. 

This isn't open for discussion, Poet. 

It's just a reminder that I'm here. Nothing complicated about it.

You're so complicated it's sick. 

I don't see how?

Of course you don't. You aren't already married to two people. 

Somehow I think they would prefer me over Sam. 

Then go sleep with them! I slam the door on my way out. Objectification is much better as an idealization than full realization. I know nobody thinks that but trust me, it is.

Infinity wars.

A lovely slow morning this morning. No one rushed to get up and get ready for church since Sam is off this week and possibly next. We're scattered around the kitchen and great room area reading papers, phones and talking. I am facedown in a cup of coffee that Duncan passed to me ten minutes ago and loving every sip.

Sam comes in and heads for the coffee pot. Everyone greets him warmly as we do when each person arrives to the kitchen each morning.

You get some rest? Gage asks him.

Not really, he says. I got so used to having Bridget there, I couldn't fall asleep without her.

I looked up sharply just in time to see the looks ping-pong around the room between the others.

Lochlan tells him, you'll get unused to it quick. It was only a couple days. He leaves the room.

Oh, yeah, I didn't mean..I mean, she saw me through the storm. She was great. But she isn't mine to keep. His eyes land on me and I smile briefly at him.

PJ swears. I think, Sam, that you should go find Loch and then come back for breakfast.

Yeah. Sam turns and goes and PJ glares at me before Dalton cuts him off at the pass. She doesn't do this. We do it to ourselves.

I know it, Brother. 

I can hear you. 

That's good. Then maybe you'll mind your actions a little better. 

I was invited-

He doesn't know what he's doing! 

Sure he does! We've- But I stop, because I know what I'm going to say. We've been close for years. I head outside to join Lochlan.

He and Sam are sitting on the dry step at the top of the patio under the roof, watching the salt in the grey sea dilute from the rain.

There she is. 

Sam and I are having honesty hour. 

Is it a sharing sort of honesty? Can I stay?

Matt has a new lover. 

I figured as much. 

And Lochlan isn't very happy with me. 

Ah. I figured that too. 

But he's willing to share. 

I'll take the light over the dark any day.

Sam shakes his hand and gets up. I need to eat before I keel over. Thank you for you candor, Loch, and your generosity. 

Loch nods and Sam goes inside.

Now you're giving me away. 

Cole was right. You're a pain in the ass. 

I was hoping you'd be more possessive. 

Serves no purpose. Not like you'll change. Just don't fall in love with him. Because if you fall for him I won't forgive you.

What if I can't help it? 

Then we'll be in trouble. 

I'm already in trouble. 

Or maybe you can just do what you do best. Soothe the worried boys, get whatever it is you think you can't get or won't get from me and then come the fuck home.