You know what I love? That Lochlan and Schuyler have somehow managed to figure out how to compartmentalize their work relationship so that it doesn't make their personal relationship weird. Or maybe it does and I don't know because I don't go and work with them. Either way, we spent all of this afternoon in Schuyler and Daniel's cavernous bed in their cavernous room watching their giant television. With no clothes, champagne and air conditioning. We watched the entire first season of Indian Matchmaking on Netflix and hate-loved it. But sometimes no one watched the television and that was fun too.

What?

I have already navigated a month's worth of Mondays in less in thirty-six hours and I have earned a bottle of champagne on an empty stomach and a good old-fashioned round of pass the Bridget so I'm extremely drunk, extremely overtouched and have nothing of consequence to write about, save for an admiration that Loch and Schuy are like brothers one moment and lovers the next.

Except Lochlan always says it's not like that even though I'm RIGHT THERE. I told you he was the most affectionate person in my entire world. I wasn't wrong. I did good.

All hail the tiny bacon queen.

It's Monday. A fresh start. A new week. I've pulled down the remainder of the birthday ribbons, leaving them on the kitchen floor for the cats to play with. I'm excited to get my appointments over with so I can come home and settle in in a cool spot with a cold terribly alcoholic drink now that Henry's shift for tonight has been cancelled and I'll make a cold dinner at six. Maybe I'll finish my book. I'm already way ahead on chores thanks to two appointments in one day (no it's not anything salacious, just a trip to the vet for one pet and then a trip to the dealership for a followup on a vehicle) and that's a good thing.

(I love car shopping. I mean, secretly I do but outwardly no way.)

It's supposed to be the hottest day of the year today, too.

I head back to the kitchen to put my coffee cup in the dishwasher and Gage is sitting at the island. I pause just long enough for him to catch me hesitating before I head straight for the sink. Dammit.

Hey, he says. Casual. Like always.

Morning. You sleep?

He nods. You?

Never, I frown and then smile. No big deal.

Aw. Eventually, I hope.

Me too.

Hey, Bridge?

Yes?

Let's not be weird.

Trying my best.

Look. I've got this plate of bacon and it would be a shame if you didn't steal it.

Oh my God, I didn't even see that!

Right? Come share it with me. He pulls a stool over beside his with a grateful smile as if the sun rises and sets by my happiness-

Oh, wait, that's right.

It does.

***

Also, does anyone else see that A Perfect Circle's The Outsider is a good companion to Evans Blue's The Promises and the Threat?

God. It's the perfect blend, one seamlessly into another.

Your music taste is a force to be reckoned with. Ben's always been in awe of how precisely I weigh what goes into my ears.

Has to be, I say hastily. Blame Lochlan. Gotta go already. It's getting late.

Sunday boys.

Maybe sunlight burns off the last of the spent rocket fuel, the rainbow puddles drying to purple and green streaks on the concrete, a circle charred into the centre where I took off and landed again, easily. I'm good at this.

(Of course I Still Love You is the name of the floating remote barge that Space X rockets always land on. No, Caleb is not Elon Musk, but people ask me that Every. Single. Day. Caleb is his real name and he can afford a lot of privacy so I don't worry about being discreet save for talking about his Jekyll side.)

But like I said, it's daylight and instead of Jesus bench this morning in the lingering heat from yesterday I bailed on Sam and went kayaking very early with John and Lochlan. I could not keep up, they could not paddle slow enough stay back and eventually I turned and returned, back to shore to haul my kayak up the beach where someone can fetch it before lunch and lock it away for tomorrow.

I gave an okay-wave as I made it to the top of the stairs, if it helps. Sometimes the boys get carried away with their competitiveness and forget that I am small and not as strong or as fast. This hasn't changed since I was eight years old, the only difference being now that I can recognize when they're not going to wait or come back or slow down and I will sit on the sidelines instead.

The dynamic of that sucks but at the same time it's not a big deal to come back up and steal all of PJ's bacon while John and Loch finish their cross-ocean triathlon or whatever it is they decided to embark on this morning.

PJ is horrified that I eat all of his bacon and calls me out. A piece. You could have left me a piece.

Maybe you should go to church and pray for more, I tell him and he laughs.

Totally going to tell Sam you said that.

You go right ahead. He gives me a tight hug with one arm and then takes his dishes to the kitchen while I head upstairs to have a shower. Ben is awake. This is a rare thing.

Morning Bumblebee. He mumbles it but he's smiling.

Morning Sleepyhead.

Come here.

If I do that I'll never leave.

How is that a bad thing? The sweetness of his voice draws me in and I crawl into bed for a hug. He waits for seven or eight heartbeats and then lets go. You smell like a dead jellyfish. Go have your shower.

Nice.

I mean, not really. Were you swimming already?

Paddling.

Ohhhh. That's what it is. Sweaty lifejacket.

Huh.

Sorry.

It's fine.

Is it though? You look pissed. He laughs.

Hey. I got a paddle and a plate of bacon and it's not even eight in the morning yet.

Jesus. I thought it was ten. Why am I up?

That was my question.

I sensed you coming in. That's what it was, Bridge.

It was the bacon smell.

I wish.

Maybe cuddle PJ instead. He was the one who made it.

I'll get on that as soon as I'm done sleeping.

He's completely right but that doesn't change a thing.

My heart is a rocket ship, exploding in space only to fall to earth where the pieces are found scattered far and wide, brought back together to be reassembled and shot up over and over again in the cloying darkness, sparks heralding my departure from earth every single night. You can trace my path by the clouds, singed with black, burnt edges all along the way.

Jacob is a myth. He says it through the thick glass, wading through a fourth whiskey, up to his knees in flames by now, courage pulled up over his head like a blanket against the monsters that won't scare us but haunt us still. He is a little boy and my ghosts are his boogeymen, now.

Don't, Locket.

I have to.

No, you don't. We're reduced to half-conversations now. He just wants everything to stop but he's never going to be the one to bring an end to anything he hates, lest it backfire and I hate him for it.

I would never.

He does not believe me.

I could bring him up to space and show him there's nothing to be afraid of but he wouldn't believe me. Jacob may as well be breathing still for the risk he takes up in Lochlan's Big Book of Dangerous Things For Bridget to Stay Away From.

Let's go to sleep.

I can't sleep anymore. The minute I close my eyes everything always goes wrong.

From reckless to heavy and back again.

Why didn't you stop me from turning out this way?

I guess I'll have to do a list today, since it's Friday and it's raining and there's no pool time today (Caleb said so, Loch backed him up. I should have gone to August to split the difference but that just ends with all of my clothes on the floor and the happiest Newfie in British Columbia to everyone's absolute horror, so it's better if I don't do that so no pool time, okay, I got it) and I've got confirmation from Sam (who lies to be kind, they all do, I know this now in a bittersweet way I wasn't aware of when I was eight years old. Or ten. Or twelve. Or twenty-nine.) that I won't see Jake again until I cross the sea of glass and fire-

And now I'm obsessed with that. There are things Sam says, or any minister honestly, that sound so unlikely, so fucking magical they get stuck with me for weeks. Years. Months. He's said it a million times that the sea of glass is akin to the rainbow bridge for dogs but it's for humans and it's the barrier between earth and heaven, and that the only way to cross this sea is to die but of natural or unexpected reasons.

He always says unexpected, for clarification, because natural could mean fucking anything.

Right, so magical. Like that time he told me I was grace personified and I knew he wasn't lying to be kind then at all. He was simply calling what he saw, living what he knows, worshipping at the hand of this virtue that probably shouldn't exist and never will again-

This isn't a list, is it?

This is very fourth wall, back and forth but when Sam mentions the sea of glass now I can picture it and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, like Davenport beach glass but easier to get to.

(Remember my Coast Diaries companion blog to this one? Coast Dairies is a state park in California. Now you know.)

I've almost finished Practical Magic. Gary finally showed up two-hundred pages in. I've thrown out the remainders of my makeup drawer, keeping only my beloved Benetint and absolutely nothing else. It's been two years since I had a (major, I let Daniel keep it nice) haircut and I can pull it down at the ends now and tuck it into my armpits. I finally finished the Fifty Shades movie trilogy (read the books years ago, though I can't finish Grey because I read it in Caleb's voice and that makes it hard because Christian Grey is so much nicer than Caleb) and I am having my Friday morning second cup of coffee as we speak while I type, staying inside though I could be out on the heated covered patio with the others but Ransom came by again and I'd rather just stay in.

I'm plotting to finish this and then go crawl in with Dalton for a quick nap because Dalton sleeps all day when it rains and he won't be as...reactive as some of the others so I can actually sleep. 

But coffee. I could sit here all day in the dim light and drink coffee and read.

But Dalton. Not too warm, not too cool, a just-right bear to my Goldilocks and a comfort onto himself. He remembers the beach glass and lip gloss years, the drinking until we would forget everything bad that ever happened and all of the growing up we've done since because at some point you accept that you're going to grow old and get your great reward, and it's going to be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, a reason to wait in of itself. I only wish I could paint what I picture in my brain but there's always a shadow over the whole thing.

The shadow is Jake.

I know that now.

Milestoned.

It's the lie-by-the-pool and don't lift a finger part of summer. The triple-digits-weather part of summer. The naked part of summer (but with a handy wrap dress nearby in case of children or beta boys). The eat a tequila popsicle and listen to the Eagles part of summer. The part where Lochlan stops burning ever so slightly and begins to toast a light golden, hair included. The part where my hair turns white and looks terrible.

The part where I don't even care.

The part where I finish all of those popsicles while mowing through all of the books in my nightstand while I float in this year's new addition but the wrong way, while Lochlan floats on the other side. It's a chicken fight float where the chickens are attached at the beaks but as it turns out I still can't reach Lochlan's hands unless he leans way forward, which gives me far too much of an advantage to be fair.

It's so fun to watch the boys on it, though I then see right through them because they're savage with each other and far too tender with me. Or maybe that's good. I don't know. I've had five of these popsicles and tequila and I (especially in the hot sun) were never so much as friends but merely acquaintances. I know her name. I don't know her.

It's the last popsicle I'm having (I swear) and in an hour I'll go take an ice-cold shower and put on a pretty dress and host Henry's birthday dinner. I feel like this is part of a dream, where I have successfully raised two human beings to be adults and they're smart, healthy, motivated and determined and I want to pat myself on the back so hard this lime slice I almost choked on will shoot into the water and everyone will shout in dismay but at least I can breathe again.

This whole world that shares my fate.

I fought you for so long
I should have let you win
Oh how we regret those things we do
And all I was trying to do
Was save my own skin
But so were you

          So were you

The heat drove us in late last night, as the camper gets close and cloying when the temperatures hover in the thirties. The breeze off the ocean does nothing, we're too high up and the windows aren't large enough in the camper. We briefly contemplated open-air sleeping (done it a million times) before the mosquitos made that decision for us. And the coming weeks ahead are forecast to be super-hot so I think sleeping out there will be on a case by case basis for the remainder of the month.

I love camping. I love living light. I love not having a schedule.

I woke up this morning with Ben making a wall on one side, arm over Caleb (HA! It's aDORable), who bookended us at some point because the door wasn't locked (I forgot) and he takes that as an invitation. Lochlan is almost sideways, arms around my waist, head thrown back in dreams, hair in his eyes. I crawl out the bottom to go have a shower and deal with the pets and no one even stirs.

The more living, breathing men I can pack into my immediate area the less often I see ghosts. Besides, Caleb has somehow figured out how to be nice again, or maybe he ran out of hard drugs, or possibly he is mellowing, something we've been waiting for since he was seventeen and was so intense people would self-immolate under his gaze.

And still do.

But God he looks so cute when he sleeps. They all do. No one's advocating, fixing, fighting. Makes me happy.

Animal camp/Animal internet.

We made a huge painted orca mural for the side of the boathouse for our project for this week, rendered on sealed wooden squares as tall as I am. Lochlan forgot how fast I am at painting and we finished before lunch today and so he's got to parse out the remaining activities to fill this new space, thinking we would work on it for a couple of hours a day. Instead we powered through the entire thing. Tomorrow we'll screw it to the beach-side back of the boathouse and then admire our handiwork forever. It's very West Coast to me. It actually turned out really cool.

(Don't tell anyone where I live if you see it from the water. It will be visible if you come up along the coast on the water from the east, but only slightly.)

Remaining projects for this week include birdwatching and naming all of the local sea lions in order to catalogue them for funsies, because we see them and forget their names and every visit now is a fumble for a theme to name them within, like planets or present and former members of US Congress or kinds of cookies.

So this time it's hot cities around the world like Phoenix and Marrakesh, Bangkok and Kuwait.

(Kuwait City, proper. Don't @ me.)

Tomorrow it will be something else. As I said, we can't remember.

In the meantime, I had five minutes to look at my email today and there was an old password of mine in a subject line with someone who attempted to tell me they had video of me watching porn on my computer, that I had good taste and that if I didn't send them $1030 in bitcoin (how specific) they would send the video to all of my contacts from Facebook and my phone.

Uh...

They've been waiting for hours. SEND THE VIDEO!

Also I don't have Facebook or bitcoin. And I don't need to watch porn on my laptop. I am the porn on my laptop but go HAM already, would you?

Rabbit rabbit (run).

I don't feel foggy, fuzzy or dull this morning. I feel alive. Ready to fight back. Ready to push the darkness off the cliff, Lochlan beside me, Ben behind me for leverage, as I can lean against him and he won't move so I won't slide backwards.

Is that a euphemism? I doubt it. He physically does this and he mentally does this and somehow it's always been slightly easier to lose my shit on Ben's watch because there was never as much at stake, and only half the same amount of history to fight through.

Henry will be nineteen years old this week and I figured out that's why Jake is suddenly breathing down my neck, unable to hide himself or step back into the night, or hang out around the edge of the hole. He can't disappear away to heaven or mire himself in purgatory right now. It seems I'm not the only one who fights curiosity so hard I get myself in all sorts of messes when I ultimately give in.

And maybe that's what Jake wants to see. He wants to see this tall (six-two and still going, by the measure of his work pants which no longer come to the tops of his shoes) blonde handsome man, who has a steady job and is starting university in the fall after taking a year to do a few extra courses to prepare for the program he wants. He has close friends, easy humour and is ridiculously kind, sensitive and logical.

He sounds like Lochlan when he talks. The pragmatism shines. Nurture over nature, every time. And he really doesn't look like Jake except in colouring and stature. I'm grateful for that. He looks more like me and a lot like himself. He is an amazing man and I thank my lucky stars every day that my children are both well-adjusted, empathetic, smart people. Good humans, as I always say. Raising them I put values over rewards and honesty over laziness. I never took the easy way out. I demanded consistency and kindness because there were some major upheavals in their lives and I didn't want to ruin them.

And it's not over. My job isn't done. I'm still teaching Henry things like how to distract himself when he feels down or overwhelmed, even as I battle for a way to accomplish that myself. I'm still teaching him how expensive life is and how he has to save far more than he spends and how a plan and a trajectory is a good thing because there will be detours and fallbacks and huge strides forward along the way. I'm teaching him that he is a gift and that every time something bad happens, that's when you learn the most and a good day is there to keep you looking forward. That life is also a gift. That mental health is a precious thing and that we will all be okay, even when days seem dark or when things get really hard.

And that he will always and forever have the entire Collective to back him up and help him out. No matter what. For the rest of his life.

He's one of them now. One of the boys. He's been moving toward this and now they just include him when they're working on projects or going out. He has made it to this time and I am a proud mom. He only has one more work shift this week and we're celebrating after that. For days.

Requiem for the easily-startled.

I just feel dull today, as if someone has taken the point of my knife and ground it all along the pavement all the way out of my neighborhood, and when I hold it up to the light to see the damage it's now an icing spreader, just a rounded flat tin safe now even in the smallest of hands.

Church was ineffective. I slid into a bench between Lochlan and Caleb. Lochlan had gone through a drive-through for coffee for us on the way and once in he handed me my coffee and then took it away again just as fast while he watched Sam's sermon float right through one ear and out the other. Sam finally came over during collection and told me I should just go home and nap in the sun. That he will bring me some God later if I want. I laughed because I took it the wrong way but continued to doze standing up, eyelashes and hands fluttering, slack-jawed staring at the sky.

Jake just keeps watching me from the corner of every room. I know what it is. I brought him in. I brought him here and I keep him here and years and years have passed and I still don't understand how I fell so hard. How I mowed right over my boys for this incredible interloper who had no stake in us, no stake in the collective and no way of knowing how hard he would fall in return before he let it all slip through his hands.

You can't bring God over later. God isn't welcome here. Jacob moved right into my heart, fixed it up and redecorated and now I can't get him to leave.

I watch Lochlan as Sam mumbles. I can't even make out the words for Lochlan's curls spilling over his shoulders in lazy loops. The brilliant piercing red of early summer, before they fade to strawberry blonde, the sheer circumference of each single pop-can curl that has riddled me with jealousy my entire life, even as I can wake up in the middle of the night screaming from nightmares and ghosts that won't leave and Lochlan doesn't complain one bit as he lets me wrap those curls around my fists, falling back asleep right in his face, not letting go for hours. He does it right back, save for the screams, and it's been a thing for so long, long before Jake and now long after him.

Go away, I mouth at the man in the corner, in his rumpled invisible linen and bare feet. Leave us alone now. You've done enough.

I close my eyes and rest my head on Lochlan's shoulder and he squeezes my hands tightly in his.

This took a fucking hour and it's a story about an apple slice. Jesus Josiah Crackerbarrel.

Watching Lochlan cut up an apple for me and he asked me something but I am watching for the next slice to come off his knife and in my waiting, I forget. It's like being ten again and he wouldn't let me use our kitchen knife at all. He still cringes when I pick one up on a good day but on a stoned day I don't even have to approach the kitchen. I am seated at the table so he can keep an eye on me.

(Watch me, not wait on me, I remind him.)

Wait. What?

Would you like a hot chocolate? We'll take them in to the couch and watch the rain.

I would but can we go to the front porch?

Sounds good. Do you want to go and put the blanket out and maybe light the lanterns?

(They are solar but have always-on buttons too.)

Yes.

I head out and Ben follows me, in case I walk straight into a bear's mouth or something. It's not a stupor, but a big pause. It's harder to focus, hard to worry. Hard to take the time to point out Jacob standing in the corner of each room I pass through, a midnight albatross rendered in blonde, an elephant in the room who is the biggest fan of Jesus. Death, maybe coming for me, maybe purely unresolved.

Ben-

I'll just be a shadow, fragile miss Bee. He walks right through Jake, opening the door wide. I was sure they could see him before. Now, not so much.

Lochlan comes out with a tray and three mugs, plus the plate of fruit. Ben is grateful. I am not even allowed to hold my mug until it cools. Forever ten years old, or maybe I was just high right through those wonderful terrible years.

Hey, I tell Lochlan as I watch him burn his lips on his own mug.

Hmm? He is attentive to a fault. Finally. The only thing I ever want in life is for him not to be forever half out of a conversation, distracted or distressed.

Thank you. For looking out for me with Joel and for being here now. Thank you, Locket.

Where else would I be? He winks and passes me my mug, carefully. When I have it he rocks a kiss against my forehead and a little hot chocolate sloshes over the rim of the cup.

He takes it back and puts it on the tray. It's hot, Peanut. Give it a few. He squeezes my hand. I see it but I hardly feel it. I'm happy he's here. And Ben too. We can be the three musketeers again, forever, except one hardly carries her own weight at all.

And he shall be a good man.

Ben critiqued my piano rendition of Candle In The Wind this morning by pointing out some of my notes are off. I play by ear. If I can make the chords I'm fucking thrilled. If I can't, I chip away at it until I can.

He puts his big over-the-ear headphones on me and tells me to have a listen with those. He is 'helping' me. He hates the fact (they all do, I know) that I can't hear things.

Oh. Wow.

Right?

There's guitar?

Jesus. His face falls. It's the only way I can teach them it's merely hurtful to keep rubbing it in and that unless I live in these headphones and have all sound filtered through them this isn't going to do anything but continue to highlight a flaw I can't ever fix.

Hearing aids are awful. I've tried a dozen different ones at price points ranging from five hundred to twelve thousand dollars, trust me. I hate the way they feel. I hate the way things sound. I'm better off missing the noise if that's how I'm going to be presented with it. A rusted tin radio with terrible reception and almost-drained batteries.

Ben is still hopeful. Maybe an ear transplant.

I shrug. Maybe, turning my attention back to my keys and he plants a kiss on the back of my neck, headed downstairs to his own music.

I change the song to Levon and change all the lyrics to be about Ben. He comes back and leaves a second kiss.

***

Had a day off from my brain yesterday. It got a lot worse, Jake came into the house and they called Joel.

Joel is like Caleb but with more connections and now I'm strung the fuck out on ghosts and benzos and no one cares if I can play the piano or if I'm drooling down the side of my cheek because at least I'm not screaming. At least now I'm quiet and not fighting and not losing whatever's left of my fucking mind.

At least I stuck around to do the hard parts. Jake just comes back to make this harder.

***

Lochlan didn't want Joel here.

I got her. I got this! Get BACK. He insisted. I heard him pleading. Heard his voice break as he struggled to be heard over me yelling. Heard him pointing out over and over again that this is his fight. That he's in charge. That he can fix this if they just leave us alone.

But they won't. Too risky. They just want it fixed before the kids see me. Before it gets any worse and they can't deal with it at home. Before they're no longer able to send the ghosts away with a good nights sleep and a perfect high.

Before it's too late for anything at all.  If I could feel anything right now it would be sympathy for him.

Why didn't you tell me, Peanut?

I didn't want to hurt you too.

His face falls. Just like Ben's did later on the same morning over the music. It's just another flaw I can never fix and I wonder what the dealbreaker point is now for him.

There isn't one. He kisses my face. Oh. There are tears. I can't even feel them but I guess my body is sad (perhaps from memory) while my mind doesn't care about a damn thing right now.

Then I am crying for you, I guess, I tell him.

Barometric pressure.

What's on my mind today?

-A bit of amusement over many readers (not just a handful, a whole bunch) reading in the paper about the Rainbow Family gathering in BC going on right now and asking me if that's what our Collective is part of.

We are not a part of any other group. We're self-contained. Not a branch/division/offshoot in any way, sorry. We're not part of a polyandrous movement nor are we political or public. You can't show up and we'll welcome you or anything like that. We're just us. No name/banner/heading or defined movement. Stop searching, holy Lord.

-A wonderous moment listening to Jenny Gear and the Whiskey Kittens this morning on the stereo and wishing she would do a duet with Ed Sheeran.

I've been listening to Jenny's single album since the children were babies. It makes me sad she hasn't put anything else out.

-I'm on the hunt for a copy of Hoffman's The Museum of Extraordinary Gifts, a book that seems intriguing, and relevant to my life and I can't find any copies locally and I'm NOT buying it online. Mail has slowed to a crawl here and nothing's coming in that isn't weeks or months late. I can wait.

-What to make for supper. I took a huge tray of chicken out of the freezer this morning. I think it will become fajitas. Maybe with rice.

-Corey. He came out to return some things after isolating for a couple weeks after his trip and was mad that he didn't know Mark was here doing some tattooing. You know, while Corey was overseas for work. Was I supposed to keep Mark here? I don't know. It's been so long I'm already swimming again so not like it just happened. Corey and I don't get along. I try. He is aggressive and adversarial with me as ever. He said it's just our personalities clashing. I would say it's bitterness and humiliation over a business deal gone wrong. Because I'm right and I know that's why. He came right out of the gate and said I could sleep with him if I would be in his music videos. I asked for a cheque instead. He's never forgiven me. I've now been in a BUNCH of videos of his in twenty years. Every cheque he gives me I donate to an animal shelter.

-I'm wondering if Patagonia clothes will fit. I spent high school in an XL light jacket that came down to my knees because who needed fashion when there were boyfriend jackets to steal? But they have really cute skorts now. I don't know if they have petite sizes or maybe kid sizes will work but again, I'd be waiting three months for the package and by then summer is over.

-Jacob's been waiting by the swing for me for two days and I don't know how to tell the right people. He said I should follow him. I mean, I probably could just to see what's up but for some reason I'm afraid of him and that makes me feel ashamed. I know he wants to discuss the thing with Gage and probably the easy forgiveness of the Devil but if I don't have to answer to the living then I don't have to answer to the dead.  It makes me sad though. He still wants to advocate for me from heaven or purgatory or where ever it is that he rests and what does he get instead? Me ranging wildly between fajitas and the justifications for my ridiculous sex life. This is why he left. One hundred percent. They say he was profoundly depressed and I was a last chance for him to find happiness and look at what he found instead.

That's what's on my fucking rotten little mind. Be sorry you asked.

Fun fact: I still can't pee in the woods.

Skills week is drawing on and what have we learned? To be flexible, resourceful and cheerful even in the face of adversity. To not run or panic but stay put and problem-solve. To fix things with what we have at hand or can easily (steal) acquire.

I just stare at Lochlan as he talks. I think he's lost it. We've always been good at those things. We worked on the midway racket and then in the circus for fifteen fucking years. If I'm not inventive and fluid then I'm nothing today. Granted, the midway was far more difficult. In the circus we were just exploited and poor. So this is like the midway. Fix your shit, suck it up, get going, and whatever you do, don't cry where they might see you.

(This is where Lochlan did virtually all of his growing up and why he's a bit of a loose cannon temperament-wise but also the person you want beside you when everything goes wrong.)

(Unless it's death. He really isn't good with death AT ALL though he said he feared many times we would be killed on the road by a jealous boss or an angry farmer.)

My only actual skill was being cute on either circuit. I wonder if that will work here?

It won't, he barks and I go back to trying to help. Trying to be handy and useful but staying out of his way. I feel like I'm eleven years old again, desperately hungry and tired and the back waistband of my shorts is a little wet and uncomfortable from where I squatted behind the trees off the highway to pee and couldn't not make a mess of myself and I think he's angry at me for it but he's actually angry at himself for putting us in this position but the radiator leaks and he forgot to get more water at the last gas station.

He didn't want to admit he got distracted because I refused to use the disgusting bathroom there and so he lets me take the blame. It would be later that night after a soothing bath in the lake and hanging up our now-clean clothes to dry that he would admit anything at all.

(Gosh, we were so romantic.)

*Rolls eyes*

Fuck this. I throw the socket wrench that he is refusing to take from me and walk out of the garage into the bright sun.

He can put it back together himself. I'm going to go fire up Youtube and start a self-directed orienteering course, though as I've said before, he won't let out of sight, not like I'll ever be lost on a mountain. I don't mind being kept very close, but I do mind if you take all of your frustrations out on me.

That's MY department.

HEY. He comes bursting out of the garage into the light.

You know what this reminds me of?

That time you peed all over your shorts and I got mad at you?

Yes. AS A MATTER OF FACT IT DOES.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Bridget. I took my frustration out on you because you're a safe place to fall. I shouldn't have.

And what are you doing now?

The same...thing. I'm sorry, Peanut. I wanted this to be the most perfect, exciting summer with all of the things you loved about being on the road with none of the hardships and some moments, I swear it's as if the hardships just never stop.

Sure they do.

How so?

Now you just order everything online and you don't look at the prices, even.

He laughs. True. And I think that's enough work for one day.

Really? When do you think we'll be back in the camper?

A few days. In the meantime, I have a surprise.

What kind of surprise?

Let me show you.

He takes me upstairs, stopping at the sink first in the kitchen to scrub up and then takes my hand and pulls me up to our room and I'm like oooooh, "lunch" but when I open the door the room has been transformed. There are tiny lights everywhere. The furniture is gone and in it's place is the little tent that I bought ages ago to use as a shade for the kids at the beach when they were younger. It's set up with foam pads and a large double sleeping bag right by the fireplace. There is a cooler nearby.

And a Ben. Who is waiting patiently for camping to start because at least he fits in this room.

Where's my bed? I ask and they both burst out laughing.

I told him you would want to know that first.

Where is it?

On the balcony. Don't worry. We wrapped it all well so if it rains it's safe.

Okay.

Is it? Lochlan is suddenly concerned because he might be difficult when frustrated or scared but he also lives and breathes by making me happy.

Are there s'mores?

Right here. Ben holds up a picnic basket.

Just for a couple of nights until everything is ready.

I love it.

Do you?

The room is so huge! It echoes. Weird (weird) (weird)! This is perfect!

Wait a second. He closes the blinds and the blackout curtains and turns on a tiny projector. Now the room is a planetarium. Stars everywhere. Now it's perfect, Bridgie.

Sweeties.

I still have a blistering headache but I have engaged in a self-care day because summer camp appears to be on hold while Lochlan finds problem after problem with the camper he thought was ready to go and now he's questioning some of his materials and contacting some people he's reworked campers for in case they're having problems too.

So far they aren't, thank heavens so it appears I am the sole distraction that led him to mess up this one quite royally. It will be fixed by the end of the week though and watertight and dry and cozy. Also the heater will work because it's still really cold at night.

Not during the days though. It's twenty-seven in the sun right now so bikinis for the win. I can live in mine and I tend to because to me my tattoos are a suit of (relatively-squishy) armor and I forget the clothes part more than you would believe. But it's a pool day, so grab a bikini and nothing else, right?

My 'self-care' included lying on the top step of the shallow end of the pool eating honeycomb and reading while Daniel lifted up my elbow or leg periodically to spray me down with sunblock. Honey is running down my fingers and Schuyler points it out several, very annoyed times until I crawl out of the pool and give him a dirty look. I leave an oil slick in the pool from the sunscreen so he can fight with Daniel about that. I didn't get any honey in the pool. I'm not an animal.

They are jealous because I can enjoy my time outside, sticky-sweet but untouched by mosquitoes, while they get eaten alive.

Muhahahahah.

Jesus fucking headaches.

Church on the water this morning as Sam came down and saw us off on an early kayaking adventure, saying a little prayer for us as we are heathens and had no plans to go to church if it's finally sunny outside. I have my beautiful sunhat on and my gigantic life jacket, complete with a whistle and a light. Lochlan won't let me trade for something easier to paddle in like one of those low-profile vests that he wears, because I will never be a strong enough swimmer, and I'm horribly curious and adventurous, going way too far out and way too far away for his comfort, but there are things I want to see, or sea lions. Or whales. Or boys way out on the horizon because they can cover three times the distance I can in the same amount of time and I'm always and forever running to catch up.

Sam understands my need to be on/in/around the water better than most. Plus I get bonus points because I slept in really late (for me anyway) and I stood my ground about needing some rest and relaxation instead of being shepherded around doing chores or finding chores to do, which is a curse I bear far too easily.

I have a blistering headache that won't quit and I'm moving slow as it is. It got warm enough that I didn't want to be outside anymore and called for reinforcements to help me disembark and not to leave Loch with all the work. I probably already bit off more than I should, and plan to spend the rest of the day in pajamas in the shade or inside under the big slow-rotating fans in the great room being still. Maybe I'll go back up and sleep for a bit. Who knows.

Measures (not for you, for me).

Lochlan obliged. For that night and then for last night, too. He always does, if offered. It's a way to keep an eye on me, a way to keep an eye on Caleb's teeth. What was going to be a chasm of a summer is now a bridge (literally, thank you) and as I duck out to get another bottle of champagne, I don't even wonder if they'll argue while I'm absent or embrace. At this point they will talk about me, and my ears will burn.

It's okay, I need the light from them anyway. I'm venturing back downstairs in the dark for a drink and suddenly, out of the blue, I'm afraid.

But it's okay. By the time I close the outer door to Caleb's rooms I am swept off my feet into Ben's arms.

It's late, Bumblebee. Where's Lochlan?

I point to the door. I'm just getting champagne.

Alone?

I have to go or I'll never leave my room, you know?

I'll come with you. My relief swings away from the tower and lets go, landing softly on Ben. Never was there a bigger champion of my brain or heart, which is funny, as he used to cause some of the biggest heartache of my young life. Always leaving. Always fighting. Always staying on the outside. Always tough and silent and difficult. Always inebriated and looking for someone else to hurt so he wouldn't be alone.

We get the champagne (just one bottle, it's late and I already have had enough) and go back upstairs. There was no one up. Ben stops at the door and tells me he's going to bed, maybe I can come and snooze in the morning for a bit.

Come with me.

You've got your hands full, Bee-

I can manage. You know this. Please, Ben.

Seems that word is magic and the night shifts again, only Caleb does not have room for Ben as well in spite of an easy welcome and so we move the festivities back to our room and Ben takes over easily, wrapping his hand around the back of my head, pulling my bones up out of the night into his world, the only time his skin is ever warm. He takes what he didn't think he would be offered tonight and I am left a shuddering, drunken, overtouched mess by sunrise, definitely not needing that second bottle but glad to see it not go to waste as Lochlan passes it to Caleb and they toast the morning.

What a view.

What a moment.

What a life, I think and I start to giggle but then everything hurts and I fall asleep clutching Ben's hands, Lochlan's arms around me, Caleb disappearing back to his own room, taking the champagne with him.

If I climb into his lap and use my knees for leverage I can bite his bottom lip, driving him just a little bit crazy as his hands close around my back, sliding up to hold my head in his hands. A kiss. Slow and deep. Hurtful and dangerous. Wonderful.

Neamhchiontach. Stay here tonight.

Only if you put a fire on. 

We don't need a fire to get warm, he says, kissing my forehead, holding his breath there, then letting go as his hands slide back down around my hips. He picks me up and puts me down gently on the bed, pushing up the hem of my dress, kissing up my knees, up my legs, smoothing his hands up over the goosebumps as I shiver with delight.

He yanks me back down and kisses me hard on the mouth. Go find your joker, he breathes.

He's in the library.

Go find him before I keep you, he whispers.

Keep me, I plead.

Goddammit, Bridget. He puts his head down against my chest. He sighs, a long audible sound ending in a groan as he lets go of me. He looks rattled, hot and bothered and annoyed. He picks up his phone, hits a button and holds it to his ear.

Tonight. Yes. I know. It's fine. Everything's good. I just want to...keep her. Thanks, man. Yes. Check in in the morning, okay? Thanks.

He puts his phone on the desk and turns back to me. I don't know if he deserves you.

He does not. He deserves anyone better than me.

He loves you to the point of this.

I know.

Go home, Bridget.

Hmm?

Go to Lochlan. He's a better man.

How is the guilt stronger than the need, Diabhal?

He needs you more than I want you, Neamhchiontach.

You're going through a phase.

So leave while you can.

Caleb-

Bridget! Just GO!

I'm going to get him and bring him back with me.

You're going to be the death of all of us, Bridget. It's a flip comment and it burns.

I hope not.

Jacob, you would have fucking LOVED this band.

Did you, well, did you hear the chorus of Les Friction's new song?

I think I've died a thousand deaths.

Every night I die just a little

All this time we're caught in the middle

All your lies you fought with no ending

This is just the end of the beginning

I'm on the Devil's highway

I've travelled all my life

All the pain you see is here

This is not the end

At least I think those are the words. The second half of the third line in each is a complete mystery but I did my best and I'm always loathe to ask someone with working ears to help me.

I am stubborn.

And REALLY dramatic when I like a song. And this one doesn't even show you what it has for you until a minute and a half in, which almost makes it that much better.

What are you doing, Peanut?

Murdering my own soul, I say, lost on a sea of notes and letters.

What? Lochlan looks alarmed. What are you listening to?

Nothing. Just being...dramatic, I tell him. He hates this band. It hurts my little ruined brain, my poor broken heart and my very shattered soul and so it's on his Please Don't list, which like everything he embarks on is far too polite and accommodating to me but the rules didn't work so good either so this is what we're left with. I destroy myself and he watches, helpless from afar.

Snow in the forecast for +3000 feet. Happy Canada Day!

There's a deluge outside. They have closed the pool, put the steps to the beach and the sauna off limits and towed the camper into the garage to address the leaks and get it dried out.

Camp is officially getting a re-opening day this coming Monday, a week behind schedule, which is fine as Labour day is late this year too and we can extend a little bit into September, no problem.

Lochlan forgot to do the re-caulking on one tiny area and it wreaked a little bit of havoc but he pulled everything out in that section, pulled up the flooring and took off the wall panels (he makes built-ins) and he said it will be as right as this rain is by Friday.

I know it will because he's always done these jobs and repairs and it's not catastrophic or anything. Hell, it's a tiny little camper with wheels as wide as my hands and not much more.

It's also heater-less and it's ten degrees right now so if anyone needs me I'll be in the fireplace.

Okay so camp isn't so bad after all.

It turns out the camper has a few leaks, and we discovered this at three this morning when the heavens opened and rain began to pour in sheets from the sky all around us, but also down one wall indoors.

Lochlan saved his chargers. Um, yay?

We ran to the garage (holyyyyyy rainnnnnnn) and decided to crash with August (lights on, still up) and that is how all three of us got our sharing badges first. I may not be able to read a fucking map but I can read men.

(Besides, do someone a favour and they will return it so we'll have some help today waterproofing that one wall we somehow missed.)

Let her fail (Also lunch was grilled cheese on the barbecue! So good!)

Are you all packed?

I am.

Show me.

You first.

He gives me that half-smile, that one that makes me want to rip my clothes off and throw them to the floor. God. Kill me now so this is the last thing I see.

He picks up his backpack and unzips it. It contains a couple of neatly folded outfits, his chargers (which is funny but he never doesn't pack them first) and a blanket. He's got another big beach bag with towels, food for a few days and two huge water bottles, plus sunscreen and bug spray.

He picks up my bag, and opens it, next to his. Inside is a tub of sour soothers, my dogeared copy of Practical Magic and a flashlight, my favorite hoodie (Breaking Benjamin pullover, XL, from the Dark Before Dawn tour when I finally got to see them live and cried the whole time holy fuuuuuckk) and two cans of Margaritas. Because campfire drinks. Oh, and fifteen packets of Mystical Fire. Because I like my fire pretty like my boys.

Lochlan laughs. This is exactly what I expected.

Right?

You got the Devil in there somewhere?, he says quietly.

No. He doesn't fit and he's not an appropriate type of baggage for this trip.

I am rewarded with a wide smile. What are you going to wear?

I put my arms out. Bikini underneath, I confirm and he nods.

Yes. Nothing has changed since 1980. So here's your actual bag. He pulls out my backpack. Inside is three outfits (I get an extra to every two of his because I was traditionally, historically messier), my chargers and a hat.

He never ever forgot a hat, even if it meant I was stuck wearing his green baseball hat, ponytail pulled through the hole which would be on the smallest setting and still way too loose.

Nice.

You're welcome.

THANK YOU. Also what's for lunch?

You'll find out after the morning's activities.

Which are?

Orienteering. You have to find camp first.

It's at the camper. Right at the end of the-

No, it's a treasure hunt. There are more things along the way to make our time fun, and you have to find them all to make your way to camp.

Oh! Awesome! Will you help me?

Maybe.

Just say warmer or colder when necessary.

I can do that, Peanut.

I can't wait.

****

They placed bets. I did not pass orienteering on my first try. Or my second.I found nothing. On my third attempt, when tears of frustration threatened to ruin the entire summer before I even made it to camp, Ben stepped in and gave me the world's fastest lesson on map reading. HUH. He yelled things like TURN IT OVER. NOW PUT IT SO THE COMPASS IS IN THE TOP LEFT. JESUS BRIDGET. HAHAHAHAHA.

SHUT THE FUCK UP BEN-

AH! You don't get badges if you indulge in profanity, Bridge. Lochlan's laughing so I don't even know if he's serious.

I'm going to call my mom to pick me up. I threaten, trying to hold my ground. The one I don't know where it is.

 Your mom?

PJ!

No, I've gone to Europe for the summer. Sent my kid to sleepaway camp. No phones. She'll be fine. (PJ yells this from the pool deck where he is watching me with amusement, along with everyone else.)

For FUCKS SAKES-

How about we learn orienteering during free time?

Because free time is SUPPOSED to be FUN-

I'll make it fun.

Like this?

I didn't think you were still THIS bad at finding your way with a map, Peanut.

When would I have had a chance to get better? I point out. Can we have lunch now?

We can. And maybe over lunch we'll have that first lesson, then. I think I'll scale back some of this week.

You guys do everything for me, I complain. You're the worst offender! I remind him.

Christ, someone's hangry, PJ says under his breath.

Don't you have somewhere to be? I ask PJ. Rome? Paris? Warsaw?

Warsaw?

Whatever!

The Farewell For The Summer visit.

What are you thinking about? His voice startles me. I am watching the clouds. He has the best view. Same one as the children. Out over the endless sea. I'm jealous but I also love my bathtub. His ensuite is small and perfunctory. There is a huge walk-in shower made of fucking granite but no bathtub. A bathtub will always be a dealbreaker for me. I need one.

We had a tub that hung on the back of the camper and Lochlan could take half a night to fill it with water boiled on the fire but he did it at least once a week for me. And then when the water was cold I would finally leave. He would add another few pots of hot water and then take a bath too. Never with me, back then, sadly, because the tub was small. It was a tin trough with handles. He barely fit in it alone. The water would slosh up the sides if he exhaled and I would laugh and laugh. But we were clean on the road and not many people can say that.

(Mainly it was to check for ticks. Once a week. Because it was the eighties and we lived on the edge of what, I'll never know).

I think I earned my Bravery badge.

Caleb frowns. I don't want you to feel afraid with me.

Don't lie to my face, Diabhal. I cajole him mildly. You thrive on your power trips.

Correction: I thrive on attention from you.

The negative attention after you-

Neamhchiontach. Let me enjoy this rare Sunday morning. The sun is fighting to come out, I don't have to go listen to Sam's deep doublespeak and I have the most beautiful woman in the world in my arms.

Fine. If you put it that way.

What made you come back?

Same reason I hit the cookie jar.

I'm sorry?

Craving something that's bad for me.

He laughs gently. Happy to be lumped in with your beloved cookies.

I think you're way worse for me.

Probably. I'm stupidly happy I got a spot in summer day camp though.

Yeah, I don't know about that. You'll probably be with a different group.

Why's that?

It goes by experience.

Oh, it does?

Yes and those who camp by first driving to MEC in their Audi and dropping four k on gear they don't know how to use but it looks cool are in the first group.

He doesn't say anything but then after a moment in a very quiet voice says, I look cool though, right?

It was the best answer he could have given to my smartass comment.

Yeah, you look pretty fucking cool, I whisper. He pulls me underneath him again and that's the end of the talk about camp and Sam and cookies and I can't see the sun anymore but I don't care.

Camp is expanding for 2020. Stay at home, kids.

The three boys are back (it was too soon to travel and not a great-great experience but a nice change of scenery, apparently) and as they all look in on our preparations for summer camp they all want in. Camping under the stars! Themes? Carnival food? Crafts and activities and badges and campfires?

Who the fuck wouldn't-actually don't tell me, I don't want to know them.

I have a feeling there might be a nearby camp they can go to, though. It's not a sleepaway camp but it's a luxury resort with a sauna, pool and outdoor kitchen. There is salt or fresh to swim in and the fridge is stocked and you can watch the campers from your lounge chair but they'll be too far away to interrupt you with any noise or anything.

During mermaid week you can probably meet the campers as they have the pool booked for several dates and maybe others too. One of the badges is Sharing (DON'T LAUGH) and we always did well with that (STOP LAUGHING I SAID) so by the end of the summer I'm pretty sure camp is going to be crowded.

Caleb is packing. He has been found room for for day camping only. And we have room for Ben for night camping only but this also depends on the mosquito sitch because he does not fit in the camper at ALL which is a travesty because sometimes I want to stuff him in it and close and lock the door and then he'll always be right there and I like that.

Duncan said he's only interested in one week and we all said NO at the same time which was funny. I'll change my mind later on that probably though because campers get homesick and need familiar surroundings and my boys are my familiar surroundings but I'm still really excited.

Really really excited.

Also Gage is not weird now that he's back. Thank God.

Forgot to wear rainproof eyeliner. Didn't forget to pick up some wine.

Packing for camp. Only the warmer but not the too-warm nights will be spent at the camper, or as we see fit. Lochlan said to bring that green bikini and little else. I feel like he might have his theme weeks mixed up but then again, I think I could start a fire in that bikini.

I'm also bringing a huge bottle of Advil because I have a killer headache. No sleep. Too hot. Stuff on my mind. Excitement about camp. The usual. You know. The Devil asked if he could come to sleepaway camp.

No, I said. Your mom should have preregistered you like...last spring. It's too late now.

Oh, he said, looking dejected. What if I didn't know about it?

Maybe next year, I offer helpfully. If there's room.

Holy fuck (burning for two).

Wearing cut off denim shorts and a t-shirt that reads I WISH YOU HAD SUBTITLES today, green bikini underneath. It's sunny and it will be warm though I will spend half of today ferrying my kids to their jobs hopefully with little overlap. Then I'll cook dinner and crash because I think if I got even five minutes of sleep last night I would be profoundly surprised.

Caleb walks into the kitchen, reads my t-shirt and laughs out loud, uproariously.

That's a good shirt.

It is.

Where did you find it?

John bought it somewhere online for me.

It's great. Honestly.

I smile at him. He's stopped being weird and is either resigned now or has opted to continue to ignore his fate. I think he's ignoring it, personally but as the day goes on we'll find out for sure. For now I am busy reading the white board. One side is chores, doubled down because three of us are away and so the chores are divided up, as they sadly don't take vacations, and the other side is (in Lochlan's handwriting)...

Theme weeks for summer camp.

Eight of them.

This is great:

1. Camping camp (skills for the woods)
   
2. Animal camp
   
3. Mermaid camp
4. Space camp
   
5. Circus camp
6. Circus camp2 (extended to a second week by popular demand)
7. Sexy camp (adults only XXX)
8. Extended longplay camp
   

ALL WEEKS ARE MANDATORY FOR BADGE COLLECTION SEPT 1st.

There are badges?!

I'm in!

Midway (between spring and fall).

Ooh. Lochlan put up the post last night, in the rain. It's a telescoping flagpole with a magnificently sharp edge in order to be able to drive it deep into the ground and it expands from three feet to twelve. It's got an eye hook at the top and a line in order to fly a flag but he always used to it to string up the tiny flickering bulbs from our camper door to the post and then to the back of the camper where he would attach them to the ladder so we would have a triangle of front yard on nice evenings.

Oh, how I love him.

I say flickering because they were finky. He ran them off an old car battery that he would charge while we drove, piggybacking on the trucks electric, hoping for the best. Those lights flickered like his dreams, he always said, and it made me sad.

We have power out by the camper now, but just for those lights. Actually for all the lights and if you need to run the lawn tools out by the fence, since I love corded lawnmowers (I don't but it's been at least 10000 days since I ran over a cord). PJ and Ben dropped a shielded cable all the way to the fence gates so that I would have lights going down the stairs and also for power to the boathouse but that was years ago.

When the grass dries Lochlan will spread out the three huge tapestries that we use as outdoor flooring. Yes, he still has them, though the camper is seven generations new, at least.

I really, really love this man.

I'm so excited. When I told him it was due to be the quietest summer ever he immediately made plans. A rotation of corn dogs, funnel cakes, cotton candy and caramel apples, lemonade and snow cones (we have a cotton candy machine and a snoopy sno-cone maker). The lights lining the house and grounds are not to be turned off from here on out, until Labour Day, and he said I can be chucked off the cliff at least twice a day for 'rides' as we still can't get a permit to add a Ferris Wheel or a Carousel to the backyard (because West Vancouver is a snobby bitch of a district to live in, okay and we're not going to talk about that) or he can push me reallllly high on the swing (which I actually don't like, can you believe it?)  and we'll walk the slack line (but only with spotters because it's higher off the ground than I am tall) and we'll have our own all-summer-long fair.

Did I mention how cool he is? You don't have to do that, Locket.

He laughs. Let's be honest, Peanut. We do it anyway each year.

Yup, I love him so much it's positively gross.

A summer without fairs.

Let me just stand here in the rain and let the gravity of the very first summer of my life without a single fair, amusement park visit or carnival wash over me and dilute my blood into tears.

Sure, it's a first-world problem. It's also a way of life for ex-carnies like me. I've never passed up a fair, a ride or the food stands in my damn LIFE and now there will be nothing for at least one year.

I don't know if I hope it changes, but because I'm selfish, secretly I do. There is nothing better. You leave your worries (and your wallet) at the gates and scream the rest into the void, run the sugar in your blood up to hit the bell, win a prize, consider going on the run with the show (do it, you'll never regret it) and leave late into the night when the lights start to spin just a little.

Nothing else says summer like that, and so I'm allowed to grieve for it. Just for a minute here.

I have plans.

It's a beautiful day today. My boys are still sleeping in the cool breeze, and the devil followed me as I took my coffee and my thick stack of tech outside to the patio to do a little early work before I get inundated with attention. I'm sure he's just here in case the bears show up, or that bunny, or the dragonflies that have made their appearance at last. We also have a roster of small birds and an OWL if you can believe it, though I have only heard him in the woods in front of the house and not gone looking for him yet.

Caleb sips his own coffee and pretends to read the paper on his ipad. He's watching me without looking and it's a comfortable feeling for me. Lochlan and I continued our talk last evening. It's not that Lochlan is trying to sabotage me, hell, he'd be thrilled if I gave up Caleb for good, but he's concerned that if I do anything as a moment-of-clarity action or a knee-jerk reaction it usually is short-lived because it's made via my rare and legendary temper. Once the temper subsides, so does the resolve and he would rather these decisions be made rationally and by the light of day. He's also weirdly concerned with Caleb's outlier status.

Which Caleb bestowed upon himself so I have no sympathy for that. But then again I don't have the perspective of the boys on this at all to understand how I've changed their behaviour (I haven't, that's on them) or clouded their judgment. Bridget the drug. Bridget the brass ring. Yeah yeah. I've heard it all before. Still doesn't mean he should ever be a monster to me. Not in MY house.

Gage has been completely absent. He, Duncan and Dalton are embarking on a short road trip and will be back probably at the end of the week since travel within the province is semi-feasible now. He gave me a perfunctory hug goodbye and said to take care and that he'd be back and that was that. It's weird, I know and honestly having three less giant men in the house means there's a little space here this week so it's a bonus. And Duncan continues to text me every eight seconds so not like I have time to miss them.

I move my legs out of the sun and Caleb's head snaps up. He fell asleep. Hahahaha. I bark at him to go back to bed and he said he's fine so I go back to ignoring him. I'm going to milk every moment of this summer, eating outside, hanging in the garden, painting pictures of my flowers, soaking up the peace and quiet. It's going to be so lovely. No one's going to fuck with it. I have no travel plans, no huge plans involving building anything or needing to celebrate anything enormous, so this will be a good summer because it has to be, and he's not allowed to ruin it.

I feel like a cat burglar every time I leave the house now AKA Bridget went to church.

We went to church this morning. Lochlan and I wore masks. We let the kids sleep in. Matt scooted way down on the bench and Lochlan took off his blazer and let me sit on it to make a buffer from the cold wood, not caring if I wrinkle it terribly, he just won't put it back on. He looks like a teenage boy forced to go to Sunday school (I guess that's true) in a white shirt, plain black tie, hair tied back in a simple low ponytail with one of my black elastics. Brown pants because he looks better in brown but grabbed a tie last minute that is actually Ben's and would be the only thing of Ben's that would fit Lochlan. We mistakenly dressed for summer in a fall weather pattern, as it's rainy and dark today but I wore a sundress with straps and big yellow sunflowers all over it. It's a long dress, a mid-calf if you're tall so it's down to my ankles and I have a dark blue cardigan too to cover my scandalous tattoos in church but not really since they go across my chest and down to my knuckles anyway. Once we are settled and have established that there are hymnbooks at our places (Sam usually forgets if I don't come early with him but I guess he has a routine down now as I haven't been here in months. I can tell I haven't because the sconces on the wall have long freeform cobwebs on them because no one ever cleans the sanctuary unless I remind them) I settle back against Lochlan's arm and make sure my phone is set on silent.

Lochlan never takes his off silent. He has pockets, always. I'm going to start dressing like a boy.

Caleb appears and sits down beside me on my left. He nods to Lochlan and then to Matt and finally to Sam and then he loosens his tie slightly while I stare at him, checks his watch and then settles back, taking my hand from my lap to hold in his. Lochlan turns his head ever so slightly to see this and then squeezes my shoulder. He's going to let me figure it out.

I snatch my hand back.

Caleb simply takes it again. I go to pull it away but he's holding it tightly now. I have two choices. Make a scene or put up with it until he lets go to pass something.

And since it's church I let it go and put up with him. He relaxes his hold after a minute. Is it a test? Do I have my chance? I don't know but I leave it. It's warm. I'll use him for that. Eventually when we stand to sing a hymn he lets go and it's as if nothing is wrong. Maybe he's going to ignore my attempt to break up with him. Maybe he's going to try to fight it somehow. I don't know. I don't care. I came here to support Sam and I'll deal with Caleb at home.

When church ends Caleb stands, lands a light kiss on my cheek, nods again at Lochlan and ducks out of church, not waiting in the endless line to greet Sam and shoot the shit as if we don't live on the same property. I tell him a dirty joke and he blushes and laughs, shooing me out, hoping none of the olds heard me, and Lochlan laughs gently as he shakes Sam's hand.

On the way home we play music and we don't really talk but when we pull in the driveway Lochlan turns off the truck but doesn't move.

What is it?

Don't fight with him. Just leave him be for a bit.

What do you mean?

You don't have to cut ties. Just force him to be civil.

It doesn't work-

It will if you hold this over his head.

Strange, coming from you.

Let's just see what happens. I have a feeling things will be better. He seems rocked.

He should be!

Then let's wait and see.

***

Y'all want to know the joke. Fine:

How is God just like a regular man?

If you're not on your knees,  he ain't interested.

I don't care if you're offended. My minister laughed so hard he snorted.

Lies painted in the fairydust with a fingertip.

Moments of clarity are big hunks of driftwood, floating in this ocean of tears and as I cling to one this morning I understand things I'd rather not confront when the fog rolls in, wood sinking back to the bottom of the sea.

I sip my coffee in the rain, under the glass, the cloying humidity keeping me weighed down and I wonder if the devil fears the wood the way I fear that fog. I think I know my answer. I think the devil foreshadowed this, again, many days ago when he just knew if I crashed out of my drugged stupor back through the light of day that I would see him for what he is and not what I need to make him in the dark to get through it.

What he is is a beautiful man who hides a monster on the inside but that's how I make him. He is himself with everyone else and a hungry animal with me. I don't know what I did to cause that to come out in him but it's there and once I saw it he couldn't put it back so I'm putting it back for him while I can.

So what happens now? My little-girl brain asks, anxious to get back before dark, back to Lochlan who keeps the monsters away even on this, the longest day of the year when there's very little dark to crowd in around her.

Be very brave, I tell her and she nods as if this is very serious, knowing full well in a moment she's going to turn and run back to the lights because nothing bad can happen in a place where people go to have fun.

Put her in a box (broke up with my boyfriend).

Choose your words
Choose them wise
For they will lead to your demise
Take my life
Take my faith
To stop the tears that run down your face

If there was any doubt about who runs the world here, I can put that to rest today, having campaigned for (and won) Gage's return.

Gage who has a very stable, quiet life here on Point Perdition and made a terrible mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. He was sober, he was vindicated by the security camera happily charging away on the kitchen counter (aimed squarely at the table where he clearly asks me several questions), he wasn't setting out to take anything, to exact payback or to quell some uncontrollable urge and he has no history of violence in his life. Even as kids when he and Schuyler fought, Schuyler would swing for the rafters and Gage would block but never return the favor. Ever. This much we knew before. This was one of the reasons he was an easy fit, always. He's passive.

(He's not fucking crazy like the rest of us.)

He gets no fault for being awkward either. His apology, made to the entire point two days ago sans children, and the fact that he is blood, coupled with his incredible and swift horror at what happened when I turned around all gave me enough data points to present a convincing argument to not banish him.

And it worked. We're going to stay together as a family because we are a family, and if there was any doubt that he is part of the Collective it's been answered now. Answered by the concerted pool of tears that began as a pond and grew to an ocean until we were all treading water, loathe to let each other go.

But of course I'll be avoiding him for the time being. I am angry and surprised, still. Shock takes a while to wear off. I am disappointed he didn't try to make it about us, leaving it about him, and I'm horribly stunned at the thought that I was fine with it, because I thought it was Caleb being angry and I know that's the worst part of all. Caleb's bottomless, misdirected and unpredictable rage, his treatment of me, both physically and emotionally becoming accepted practice in our relationship, in our lives, while Lochlan has fought it every step of the way, hating our relationship but leaving it in deference to my naive, selfish wishes and blinded wiles.

I should listen to him but as an adult I always feel like I should use my newfound power to defy him constantly, because I can.

Lochlan is crushed but he forgave Gage. He did not, however, forgive Caleb. I doubt he ever will.

Oh my GOD.

I'm FINE.

STOP IT

Pots, kettles.

You know Ben used to have this under control. I was always standing within reach of him and no one got near me without his approval or supervision. He had it nailed down and then he got busy and he got tired and Lochlan's always been protective but maybe not as concerned as long as we're both home or around or whatever and between Caleb giving me medicine to help me sleep and Gage's error I think if you need me I'll be behind Ben somewhere, hiding for the rest of my days.

I'm not entertaining any yelling or threats or attempts to educate me on what happened. I know what happened. I was there. So fuck off with your emails, thanks.

He tried calling me. Seventeen times or so in the past couple of days. He sent a very long apology over text and then a completely different one to my private email. He finally called Schuyler and asked if we could do a facetime, with Schuyler present and Schuy refused. Schuy is barely speaking to him. Caleb is threatening all sorts of things. He thinks Gage lied and never said a word, just snuck up on me but Gage wouldn't do that. I think Caleb is also super angry because I automatically thought it was him. The worst part for him is that he rarely turns me away for it any more. He wants to see my face.

I sat in the empty spare room this morning for a bit. Gage was quiet, under the radar. Respectful. Helpful. A night owl though, for certain. We rarely saw him before early afternoon and during the night things like dishes would spontaneously move from the sink or the counter into the dishwasher seemingly as if by magic and I think Schuyler loved having family here, as Ben certainly does. I'm worried that he'll disappear or worse. I would have given him anything he asked for in a heartbeat so I know in my heart he was flirting and took it way too far but I hope he knows I don't blame him.  For god's sake we discussed it once. This is the house of free-wheeling mixed signals and open bleeding hearts. It's easy to screw up here but it's also the most forgiving place you'll ever find.

You know, if they ever let him come back.

Nietzsche's true man.

I was so thirsty I couldn't stand it anymore. My throat is raw and aching. Advil didn't cut the pain, and water did nothing. By two in the morning I was frantic and resigned at the same time so I ducked out from underneath Lochlan's arm, pushed away the extra elbow and knee Ben had thrown towards us as he sleeps soundly on his back on my other side, pull on Ben's long t-shirt, discarded on the couch an hour previous (it's still warm) and head downstairs in search of my beloved witching-hour orange juice.

There isn't any left in the kitchen so I venture into the butler's pantry. It's down the hall just before you reach the bathroom and then head down the steps to the side door. The row of windows in the hall is uncovered. Rain drives in sheets down the glass. It's so loud.

I check the other fridge and am rewarded with a new jug. I pour myself a glass and put the jug back and then take a long drink in the dark. My throat instantly feels soothed and the sugar flooding into my blood feels right. I decide to take my glass upstairs with me and pick it up to turn when I am pressed into the counter, arms sliding around my shoulders, taking the glass, putting it down so I don't drop it.

A kiss lands against the back of my neck and I smell clean soap as his hand clamps over my mouth (and nose) resulting in a struggle that I lose, as I am lifted up and bent forward, facedown against the counter, my head on the cool granite. My t-shirt is lifted up and then he is inside me, piercing me and I can't breathe and I keep fighting until I am unable to move at all. Everything hurts.

His elbow hits the glass and it falls over, spilling the juice out in a wide circle as it rolls across the counter to the edge and smashes on the floor. No one's going to hear it. We're in a whole separate wing. He bears down harder still and I feel tears leaking from the corners of my eyes down over his hand. I am sad that he just takes what he needs. I would have gone to him had I known. I don't know why he has to follow me into the dark and then leave me behind in it all the time. I don't know why his default state is monster. I don't know why it works so much better between us when it hurts-

I don't know why he won't let me breathe. He hikes me up higher, harder against the counter and as he comes I whimper involuntarily and he slows, pulling away, sliding me back down painfully, turning me around. I fight him. I close my eyes. I don't want to look at him. Don't want to know this is what he still is. I'm so tired of his evil-

Bridget. Are you okay? I said if you walked into the pantry like that, just wearing a shirt that I would follow you. I just came down for a snack and then I saw you and started talking to you-I thought you were vexing me when you didn't resp...Oh my God. Oh my God.

I didn't hear a word. Didn't hear a thing. The rain was drowning out every warning sign and I didn't even know Gage was there.

***

Gage is gone already. He didn't say goodbye. As far as I can see he didn't take any of his things either, though for all I know most of this belongs to the others, like the acoustic guitar and at least two of these flannels folded neatly on the back of the chair. Schuyler tells me they'll get the rest of his things together and simply refuses to answer when I ask where Gage went, telling me only that he doesn't live here anymore. He rolls up his shirt-sleeves as he stands in the guest room, sets a grim expression and tries to be patient with me.

Right, he was only back in the main house due to the quarantine-

He doesn't live on the point, anymore, Bridget.

This isn't his fault-

Silence isn't consent. Jesus Christ, Bridget-

It wasn't malicious, Sky. Tell him I'm sorry-

That doesn't matter. My stupid half brother propositioned a deaf women in the dark when she was alone and didn't hear him and then took advantage. HE fucked up. Not you. He'd be lucky if he didn't get jail time but we'll see how generous the rest of them are about this.

They would go to jail first. I remind him. I was twelve years old. 

You were eleven, and that still doesn't mean he can stay here, does it?

The ninety-day Jesus diet.

That's what I called it as Sam met me at the door this morning, looking for some of that bad coffee I described so mouthwateringly yesterday and seeing if I wanted to tag along with him to church.

Me, wearing Lochlan's Journey t-shirt, one thigh-high sock with Chococat on it, no less, bedhead even Jesus might be ashamed of this morning and bite marks Sam simply can't see, mostly because they're on the insides of my legs but also because they are light.

Baby-heathen.

Baby-preacher. Don't want your Jesus-germs.

I can pray for your soul?

Double-down on that, would you? Where's Matt?

In the car.

Have fun.

Love you. He kisses my horrible morning-breath mouth. And for the record, Jesus is the perfect diet. He fills you up and keeps you content for a lifetime and then some.

Then I'm on the Lochlan diet. He does all that and more.

Idols, Bridget.

You know how I roll, Sam.

He smiles softly and the rain starts to drum on his head as I close the door in his face. Sorry, Jesus. I'm going back to bed.

In the palm of your hand.

Last night I took my crown, polished it all up nice so that it would sparkle in the firelight, put Wings on the stereo and did the mother of all stripteases for Lochlan, who hasn't seen those kinds of moves for twenty years and probably wouldn't appreciate it if you asked him straight up but what do you know? He joined me in the fun, bringing the bottle of wine with him.

Let Me Roll It, indeed. It was appreciated and I did that thing where I woke up sideways in bed, my hair so tangled in his fingers that I may still have to cut it. I bit into his chest in two separate places hard enough to leave little morning-teeth marks and he looks deliriously content on this rainy Saturday morning while he sips his coffee. We took Ruth to work early and got some coffee on the way home and I'm still practicing being good at this, this carrying around a  big paper cup with a plastic lid and I keep forgetting it's there.

This isn't a thing that I do, I complain when I wonder for the fifth time where I left the damn thing.

Me neither, he laughs. On the show we were used to tiny styrofoam cups full of watery coffee-type liquid and it made me have to pee all the time (still does) and it tasted so good I'll never be able to replicate it but I try, which involves not trying. Use shit ground fine coffee, not quite enough of it and a regular coffee maker and it comes pretty close and it's a big heaping serving of nostalgia in a cup is what it is. As was Let Me Roll It in the dark and we're at the point in the week where we can lean our heads together, clink those crowns lightly so that they sound like bells and smile at each other stupidly because sober is best or something like that.

Though we split the wine so not even that, honestly. 

He always likes the parts of life best that don't involve the devil. Who can blame him? I can't.

(Joel calls it 'avoidant-coping' and says it keeps me right here when I should be way up front by now.)

I'm not avoiding Caleb per se, I'm just putting in a little distance in order to foster a little understanding, as sometimes old history shades new lines and we need to not do that at every waking moment.

Bridget. My name as I come out the door and make a hard right to head downstairs. I turn and he's there, looking half like a hungry devil, one-quarter deer in the headlights and one-quarter the only teenage boy with a driver's license at the lake.

Are you feeling better? I want you to know I'm sorry for the mix-up. I had these left over from when I wasn't sleeping and when you said that you were tired I thought these would help-

I'm a little better. This fucking...trembling is taking a while.

I didn't mean to hurt you. He looks into my eyes, ducking his head sideways so that we are almost on common ground.

I know.

They don't.

They'll understand when the moment wears off. I reassure him.

I don't want you to leave me. It's so quiet I think I misheard.

What?

I know what the experts say. I know it's supposed to be damaging to be in a relationship with me but we've come so far and I feel like you've accepted me and that maybe I have helped you to overcome some of the fear.

(Some of the fear. Okay, true. Some.)

But I also know it's a big hill to climb and I'm going to be here helping. I'm not going to make things hard. I really thought I was helping you.

Okay. I'm tired. Tired of listening. Tired of standing here. Tired of fighting back. Tired of dealing with him and I want a break from his endless pressure, his neverending demands for confirmation of importance. He is me only I'm sweet about it but I need the reassurance just the same so again, he's completely off the hook and I continue to love my monster just Not Right Now and he's noticed this. He knows he's in the doghouse, he fucking KNOWS IT.)

Okay?

Yeah. I have to go pick up Henry.

I can do it.

It's fine. I don't want to be late though.

Hey.

Yes?

I love you, Bridget and you know I will do anything to make this up to you and we'll do it together.

Okay, I say it again like a robot. So pleased with himself he hardly notices the black tarnish he has levelled on my crown.

BUSTED.

Kelly Clarkson is getting divorced.

I asked August if he knew and he said he already got the Google alert.

The what?

Oh, nothing. Yes, I read it this morning.

Oh.

(For the record, Kelly, he is cute, single with absolutely ZERO baggage and is a realllllllly good catch and he's been in love with you for like fifteen years so I can vouch for his authenticity.)

(Also I can never thank August enough. She sings in my range and I've been using Because of You and Already Gone to warm up my vocal cords to sing on Ben's projects for at least a decade now.)