The one skill I wish for now is necromancy (come listen to the words of dead men and the clinically insane).

 Lipstick on my headphone cord, coffee in my blood, Mick Moss crooning in my ears and the rain continues to soften the ghosts out on the lawn, making them easier for the boys to digest without rough edges. When the rain let up I studied Jake intently, and that's when I noticed Cole far behind him, standing in black, just on the rough sideline of my vision. He's hard to find because he is darker while Jacob glows with the moon. They were always night and day and now they are somewhere between but I didn't expect them to travel as a team now, of all times. At one point I thought they might even be friends but looking back, where things are always clearer I can see that that was wishful, selfish thinking.

You have it, if they're here. Lochlan's voice tells my brain. And it's the one gift I wish you didn't even know of. His voice disappears back into sleep and I turn back to watch Jacob, watch him frown as he gestures for me to stop chewing on the cord, when he knows damn well I don't bite on it. I just blot my lips and it's there for the tactile sensation. It grounds me when I get distracted.

God, Mick's on Liquid Light and it's the one with that line from my title (come listen) and he lets his voice break over the words like waves and I feel like he knows how I feel. If he doesn't then he's written the perfect accompaniment to my grief, which never seems to shift into anything workable, anything new. 

Anything even remotely navigable, ever.

Coastal Friday photographs, spilled on a hardwood floor.

Prisoned am I to this shell of the dust
It speaks of only fiction that I could never trust
Captured alive in this sinful estate
Vexed am I to see I do the things that I hate

 Rip out the framework leave no stone unturned
Until my heart forgets all that my flesh ever learned
Tear down the structure till nothing is left
God deliver me from this body of death

 

This morning before I woke up Ben pulled me backwards, underneath him, facedown in the quilts, lifting me up back up against his chest in the dark, practiced hands all over, until we were back to where we like to be. He turned my head to the side for a painful, thorough kiss just as he brought us over the edge into heaven and I looked for Jake (I always do) but then Ben pushed my head back down and brought us home. 

***

Sam sitting at the piano after dinner last night. Matt is helping in the kitchen but Sam has finished his jobs and so he sits, picking out the notes before Lochlan finally offered to play the song if Sam would sing. They proceeded to bash out an impromptu and beautiful version of  Wolves At The Gate's Lowly that saw us all stop to listen, almost at once. Sam was somewhat shy about the attention but unfaltering in his choice of song, Lochlan was not shy, never is. As ever Lochlan is a showman and will volunteer to entertain at any given moment but he loves to give the spotlight away just as much. 

(Someone asked me last week if I liked being a carny or a sideshow performer more. I would pick carny any day. I never liked the schedule for the circus. So much training. So much preparation and then you had to be waiting forever for your show to begin. In contrast, I had so much more freedom on the midway. I was a lot younger and far more naive and I just remember the lights and how I had to stay within sight of Lochlan, which gave me a good six hundred yard latitude in at least two directions from the wheel and I could daydream because I had no weight, no responsibility. Performing is focus and discipline. Fairs? Fairytales, through and through.)

***

Late last evening the rain held off so we had a bonfire on the beach, bringing our picnic basket with glasses and a forty of the good whiskey for those who drink, and bottles of cream soda for those who don't. We sat around the fire and talked softly, if at all, eight of us available to wash ourselves in smoke and salt, the stuff of dreams and the best way to fall asleep, bathed in the acrid sting of fire and water. It's magical to me and I'm pretty sure it's what set Ben off this morning, still on a high from yesterday's strides and major victories, both physically and mentally. He is almost at his best at this point and my heart has stopped skipping beats, trembling, hesitating and tripping, running flat out ahead while looking behind me just in case he isn't keeping up. 

He is again, at last.

***

 I went down and had a coffee this morning, early, after Ben went back to sleep and Lochlan failed to stir at all. In the dark by myself. I sat on the bench where we put on our wetsuits by the big patio doors in winter (when it's too cold to do it on the docks) and I watched Jacob pacing the rock wall at the end of the yard. At first I'm annoyed that he didn't let me know he was here, didn't come in, didn't wade into my dreams, pantlegs and sleeves rolled up but still soaked from the surf, didn't wake me up. Now he's just there and I'll see him all of the sudden and that's how I know my brain is still broken, tenderized and then stuffed with my own heart, rolled up, pinned and burned until blackenend, whereupon they will tell me to 'smarten up' and 'stop scaring us' but I can't help it. 

I run and run, as always looking back over my shoulders for the monsters to catch up with me, and I turn and fall flat on my face. When I jump up, yelling I'm okay, he shakes his head sadly and then I can't see him any more because the rain is too heavy.

And Caleb? He's a retrocasuality. Or something. LOL

 No, we're not baby x-men over here. Okay, maybe we are. A lot of you asked about the pyrokinesis mention made yesterday, as if you simply fell from the sky, opened the internet and read the first entry of mine you've ever seen.

*rolls eyes* 

If you ask Lochlan directly he's a fire 'artist', nothing more, that's all. 

I know better. 

Jacob bent forks, the more stress he was under the less chance we had of returning the forks to a usable condition. I'm an easy clairvoyant, automatic writer and a reluctant but completely proficient psychometric (the paranormal kind, not the scientific kind). 

Sam is a prophet. He doesn't need anything else but he talks to us from his mind too.

All of the boys are practised in divination and varying levels of psychic abilities and telepathy. By the telepathy levels I mean most of us can have entire conversations with each other without speaking and that's one of the problems I reference continually when I talk about privacy here on the point. 

It's also one of the reasons we all have such a ridiculous, close bond with each other. It's one of the ways I've picked my friends and it's another way that I can shut you out completely (see Corey. Mark. Rob. Anyone I've talked about who doesn't live here currently.)

No one can teleport though, sadly, and I've been trying to raise up my mediumship skills for exactly fourteen years and it's rough going and I'm not at all happy with where they are, clearly. I talk about that every fucking day so if you haven't noticed by now and need it all spelled out like this then go away. 

You can hone your own psychic abilities if you work at it. It's just easier for some people. I don't choose to believe we are special. We are to each other, of course but to you we're nothing. We just have opened ourselves to a lot of things most people wouldn't dare. 

***

Speaking of the retrocasualist, Caleb came roaring back this morning with an armful of mea culpas. Apparently he has a whole plot on the other side of the orchard where he grows them because this year has been a bumper crop for sure. 

I overstepped. 

Dude, you went off in a flat run. 

Dude?

Blame PJ. The more time I spend with him the more I'll call you that. 

It's funny. 

Probably. 

Bridget, I don't mean to hurt you. I want to make new memories with you. Fun ones. The kind of memories that last forever and make us think fondly of each other. 

We have the ones that last forever but they're all wrong.

Not from my perspective.

And we know your perspective is warped and twisted. 

Help me straighten it.

Go help yourself. 

He walks away. He knows I'm not in the mood to accept a thing from him, let alone his charming words as a way of asking for forgiveness. I am a brick wall today. An unmoving stone cliff and he can bash his head bloody against it but it doesn't move. That is me today. Strong and beautiful and I have no time for your bullshit, can't you see I'm over here holding my own heart up in both hands, blood and sinew dripping down my elbows, making an offering to a ghost who keeps his own schedule and shows up only when I'm at my weakest? 

No, of course you can't, and I'm far worse at this than I thought I would be.

White fire is made with magnesium or melamine, and ethanol. Don't try it unless you have a pyrokinetic at home.

All these broken souls
Each one more beautiful
They don't, they don't know my heart
They don't know my heart

I'll send out my soul
To worlds more beautiful
But they won't, they won't know my heart
It's the darkest part 

When I came in he was already hungry. The fire roared in the hearth, biting back the chill of the night, reflecting in his eyes, making him look like a lion in the dark. He pulls me in for a kiss and then walks us backward, pulling me down into his lap, kissing the space up underneath my ear with a groan that sent a shiver right up my spine. I reached my hands up into his curls to hold on to his face when he came back for the kiss on the lips and he laughed. 

There's my girl. 

I forced him all the way back and his eyebrows went up, the grin remaining on his face for the next hour or two as we devoured each other in our practised familiarity, every curl, every freckle, every tattoo so well known at this point we have forged a well-travelled route and if you look closely in the light, beyond the scars and the burns of the past you'll see a worn path along our limbs that shows where we travel and how we get home.

There's my Locket.

His eyes fill up suddenly. Jesus, Bridge. How did I get so lucky? I have nothing to give you. 

You give me everything. You give me you. That's all I want. 

And your ghosts.

Only in the white fire. 

I'll only ever throw the red, then. 

I look up at him and he's no longer smiling. Sometimes he gets very serious and we have very meaningful talks and we make promises and plans and fun of each other and then we're back on track. We fight too much. We struggle too much. We call each other horrible things and we wish we had never met. And we wouldn't have it any other way at this point. 

I might save Ben first. I might wish for Jacob on an absolutely hourly basis sometimes and I might dance with the Devil a little too close but if I take one step backwards I will crash into Lochlan and he's promised me I always will. 

Even as he hates all of it. So, so much.

***

Caleb never threw the mug, never brought up how much he loved me being high, how much he adored being in control, dusting me with angels or snow, watching me check out in slow motion. He listened to my unspoken directive as I attempt to control my own narrative with him for what always feels like the first time in my life even though it's been nothing but a magnificent struggle over the past fourteen years since he came back into it. 

I never thought he'd come back. I never thought it would be this hard to get past certain things. I never thought I would fail so spectacularly at it most of the time. 

I didn't yesterday though. So I'll call that a victory and hope it's the first of many.

(They also call it 'embalming fluid' on the street but that's just fucking wrong.)

 I can fix you. 

I bet you could fix me but it's never for very long and never in a way I want to be fixed.

Caleb stares at me, holding his whole coffee mug in his hand, ignoring the handle part in a way that makes me think he's about to throw it. 

We used to be able to block out the world. Easily. 

 Ah. He's looking to reminisce about the good old days when happiness came in a needle or a vial or a baggie and he would sound out the name of what it was and while I couldn't get my brain or my mouth around that word (phen-cyc-li-dine) I fell in love with the nickname for it. I thought it would solve all my problems. But instead of that happening I would get almost two days of real live Disney birds around my head and an unwillingness to say much, because I just wanted to enjoy the happiness and not worry about everything but then it would all come rushing back far too soon.

Caleb decided eventually that it was time for a change and switched to cocaine or heroin or whatever looked like fun and moreover, could keep Bridget dancing all night every night until the party stopped (or Caleb said it did) without creating any permanent problems (but it did). He wanted a machine to match his own but I'm not a robot and he would give me the same hit he'd give himself in spite of the close to a one-hundred-pound weight difference between us.

And he couldn't understand why it hit me different, and to this day he thinks it would be fun to revisit the past, as if we had such good times instead of what it actually was, including whatever permanent brain damage I suffered being given so many drugs for so long. I still stare off into space. I still have weird cravings for bad things, and I still have debilitating depression. Apparently half of that is from the drug use and the other half? His abuse of me. One cancels the other out but honestly, I'll take the latter because at least it's now predictable behaviour. Sex addiction and the fears borne out of that pivotal time period are far easier to manage than the holes in my memory and the ridiculous sadness because of the fucked up chemicals, burned off on a street paved with gold, snorted up the holes in my head with a holler of recklessness and abandon.

Angel dust, I would point out, fingers in my own mouth, eyes wild. 

Touched by the heavens, he would whisper and I would laugh and laugh. 

Not true, I shake my head, fingers still against my lips. Touched by hell. No one's laughing now but my worries have disappeared and left pink clouds behind for me to sail through.

It didn't happen like that, Bridge-

Let's go dancing. 

I never let him finish because I know he's trying to revise our history as we make it and I don't plan to let him. I wouldn't then, and I won't now. 

You want more coffee?

Yes, please. He knows the subject's closed. I know he'll bring it up again.

For fucks sake part II: Happy Thanksgiving!

Firstly, some Internet housekeeping. We just learned this morning you don't have to suffer through dubbed versions of shows on Netflix (To the Lake, if you're wondering). I learned this after suggesting to Netflix that we have a choice, as I know the visually impaired would also like to enjoy shows and not have to try and learn the language first. I went to look up why dub editions of things are so goddamned BAD and found a link to an article from Digital Spy on how to enjoy originals without overdubbing.

From two years ago.

(Sacre bleu! *holds head in hands*)

In this house we range from extremely technologically proficient to...me. 

And no one knew this. NO. ONE.

Jesus Christ.

(What do you mean you don't look up questions that have been haunting you for all time? What's the difference between a gamble and a gambit? Why don't the outer halves of my eyebrows grow? Why do people have to tell me their dog is a rescue when I pass them with my own dog (also...a...rescue? But I don't need to point that out. I thought maybe I did, but as it turns out they are either virtue signalling or they're scared people will assume they bought from a mill.)

(I still can't believe you don't look up these hard-hitting questions. Man, if I had had access to the internet growing up instead of the little blue library tucked off a side street behind the diner in my hometown I would be so fucking smart. SO smart.

Instead I learned how to be a teenager from watching Bon Jovi videos, which clearly didn't do me any favours.)

 ***

Also I am not feeling better but sadly the internet just keeps telling me that menopause is fun and absolutely every symptom that exists right now, if you're a woman my age is literally just menopause and nothing more. Hot flashes? Perimenopause. Never sleeping again? Perimenopause, you idiot. Oh, chopped your leg off trying to jam tree branches into that chipper machine? Clearly perimenopause, you fucking dingbat.

God, I hate it so much. 

Oh and according to the internet it can take five years or more to complete and then once you haven't had a single period for over a year you get your congratulatory beard! Can't wait for that, because finally, a payoff for everything I've been going through.

For fucks sake.

 This is a designated do-nothing day by degree even though I've already changed three beds, done two loads of laundry, made breakfast for nine people and am about to water all of the plants. I plunged out the shower drain, which started filling up with water around my toes as I finished my shower this morning and I tested the furnace because it's dropped five degrees in the past two hours temperature-wise and all is well. I had checked the filter yesterday and she's good for another month and took the turkey out to thaw for tomorrow's big full Collective Thanksgiving dinner. 

But I've also been up since five because I don't sleep any more but I did get my slice of pumpkin pie, which was delicious. We ate pumpkin pie and had tea in bed with Schuyler and Daniel while watching the first two Nightmare on Elm Street movies to get into the Halloween mood. They have tiny fairy lights lining every wall, doorframe and window in their huge bedroom overlooking the ocean and when you turn those on while the movie is on it looks so incredible. Their heat was already on in their house and Schuyler even snuck a forbidden dollop of whipped cream onto my slice of pie even though I skip it now because dairy and after I ate half of it on a forkful Lochlan took the other half off the top so that I wouldn't feel sick. 

But I did anyway. And that's why I've been awake since five. 

The good news is I finished all the chores and even went in and cuddled with Duncan for thirty minutes, almost falling asleep (he was asleep and I don't think he really knew that I was there) and my plan now is to relax. There are leftovers for today in the fridge for anyone and everyone, and so cooking is off the table for today and there is only one bed left to be changed, as soon as Henry gets out of it and I can do the last load of laundry for the day, or even leave it for tomorrow if I want. 

I'm not so good at relaxing. This is not news. But Ben said we'll have a nap later on and I'm holding him to it. I told him that and he agreed and said he would hold me to him too. 

Took me far too long to figure out what he meant. I need to learn to how to sleep more than five hours at a time.

A whole new man.

When they came over I was wearing my new cute print dress from H&M with the long bell sleeves that is so comfortable I live in it now and my doc martens, unlaced. One leg thrown over the arm of the chair, other leg stretched out against the bottom on the same side for decency. 

Daniel laughed. They like your hair? 

I nod. I let him chop it all off again but this time he left my bangs super long. They are driving Lochlan crazy but he likes it shorter these days, only since he said it makes me look adorable and maybe that's not a bad thing, and also because when I grew my hair out again I never left it alone, as it's a tic, after a fashion and I would twist it up, pin it and promptly take it down and do it over again. A nervous habit that was very physical and distracting. We're not going to mention the long hair left behind on everyone's sleeves, in their beards, wrapped around their fingers. 

Schuyler pulls me to my feet. Oh my God. So cute. Let's go to our place. It's a holiday. 

I need to be here to make dinner. 

That's on Monday, Bridget. It's Saturday. Tonight, you are dinner.

Oh. 

Oh boy, you mean. 

Shouldn't that be Oh boys? 

He laughs. He's had so much free time being retired, I think he's bored. He reads my mind. We're not bored. We're just having fun. Schuyler looks at Daniel and they both laugh again. Wow.

I can see that. 

So grab your Lochlan and come with us. 

When will we be back?

Who cares?

Rose petal vodka.

Indeed I am going to begin working as Caleb's assistant again this fall, starting mid-next week. We've narrowed my role to a scant fifteen hours a week to keep him organized, three days a week and no more. He is not allowed to lock me in his suite either. Seems simple. I am to keep track of my hours worked and prepare to work hard during the times when I am working as he agreed that it's not a lot of hours but it's a fair lot of work, as he points out and he wouldn't have anyone else do it.

(WTF! Oh, he means, he wouldn't trust anyone to do as good a job. OH, well, thanks for clarifying after I threw my phone at his head. WOW. Also, may I have my phone back, please, for the second time this week? What do you mean, no? I only threw it at you onc-

Thanks.)

I already dug out a beautiful brand new pink silk-covered notebook and same-coloured pen to carry when I follow him around. If I don't write it down it's gone forever. My brain is a like a beach towel that's lost it's absorbency due to the weight of sunscreen. Eventually I should probably soak my brain in vinegar too to strip off the coating and then maybe I can absorb more info but for now my mind is hard-coated in sunblock 60, so I write it all down. He likes that though. He says it feels official. 

He helped me hang the dozen cowboy hats on long racks above each side table in the foyer this morning and I have set out a few dozen pumpkins on the front steps, both sets so it looks super 'weeny around here now. There is a round table in the middle of the front hall with a big arrangement of fresh lilies. I think it might last until Sunday, and then I can choose something more hardy for the remainder of the month. Probably dyed zinnias and dark roses and a lot of heavy greenery. 

I put the good vodka in the flower water and they last a very long time with it, which is good because I don't like wasting money on things but who doesn't love fresh flowers and besides, the few months we tried to go without on that table, weird things started to appear on it and the weirdness multiplied the longer it went empty. It started with a nickel, then a cookie and then a sweater no one claimed to own, followed by a single cross-country ski, and then a full easel with charcoal on the lip so people could add to a communal drawing (it got hilariously ugly fast, as you would imagine), followed by a stuffed snail wearing sunglasses that remained for WEEKS until I ordered flowers again starting in September. 

I suppose it could have been worse. 

But I do like the hats. Also this frees up half a closet shelf. Which is nicer than anything else in a house full of people. I try to stay organized in the common areas of the house to a military degree, so I think I get how Caleb feels.

It's also Friday so I am pre-weekending/gaming, and though I thought about drinking the water from the big round vase before I changed it out, I didn't because the vase is too heavy for me to lift, and also because people judge. Judge me for my giant foyer instead. Biggest necessary waste of space ever, and I wish I had it when I used to try and wrestle both kids in their snowsuits when they were so little. God, that feels like a million years ago now, and now they are both older than me.

Lies (and fries).

 Caleb won't dare go up against Lochlan. He'll take what he needs, if I give it to him, and then he'll fade back into the shadows on the sidelines before he riles the lion, unwilling to cross my allegiance, since he knows it isn't to him ever and never will be. 

Didn't stop him from taking my phone away and locking the door, keeping me with him for too long to be overlooked.

And when Lochlan got me back the very first thing he did was undress me and check me all over. He found two brief imprints. One on my shoulder, one on my hand where I fought back briefly before I was told to give in and when I did it got better, and neither one broke the skin and I said I was fine and Lochlan believed me. He's trying to trust me and trust that I know Caleb well enough in that way that I know I won't be hurt again even though the self-control Caleb swore he had was hanging by thread there, at the end. And that's when I asked that he open the door and he did, if only to protect me from that. 

Because he knows. 

They all know. 

But I am fine and I figured out how to put myself back together (in Lochlan's arms) and now things are mostly ironed out, and I don't have to worry about another shoving match (not allowed, and every single person here will throw themselves in between two who start, because we're not about to ever risk any more surprise punches, head injuries, or long recoveries on a moment when things got too heated to use our words) because they've already spoken, if only to agree on the day on which we will celebrate Thanksgiving, Sunday or Monday (they chose Monday). 

We're having turkey, gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet carrots and cranberry sauce, along with butter rolls and pumpkin pie for dessert. I am excited. We have no plans at all, except for the meal. Last year at this same time I told Caleb that if I were planted I wondered what would grow, a tall flower or a stumpy turnip. He laughed and laughed and still calls me his little turnip every now and then but last night we finished the last of our homegrown potatoes from the garden, an irony considering I keep finding them in the dirt, gathering them up in the hem of my dress to bring back inside by the dirty dozen. 

A rotten potato, kicked around the garden but enjoying the very last moments of sun before winter sets in and the soil grows cold. 

 That makes me sad, Neamhchiontach. 

Me too, Diabhal.

You know where I've been.

I stood outside when the roof gave in
You crawled from the wreckage you were lying in
You're out of reach and we're out of time
But I took it all and toed that line
You held my hand and pulled me down with you

I told you what would happen. I give him a moment and he tries to take a lifetime. He sets the world on fire and I'm reduced to this in the early dark hours, finally free, sitting at the piano slackjawed and trembling, wrapped in a blanket, picking out notes with a blank mind and a ruined heart. He finds things stuck in that heart. Dark things, bad things and he tastes them, he takes them out and plays with them and he breaks them, leaving the pieces strewn all over the room and then I'm forced to picked them up and stuff them back in but they're sticking out all over and it hurts. 

It hurts. 

He hurts. And he's a biter. He's the kind of man that always promises you he'll be better this time and then he isn't. He bites and he forces and his eyes burn right through me and he bends my limbs far past what they can manage and breathing is a privilege not a right. My eyes are bloodshot, my head hurts and her little brain doesn't even understand why I let him get to her. 

Do I though? Or do I put up a defence and he can destroy me instead but she will be okay?

She won't talk to me right now so I can't answer that. 

When I was ten he looked me in the eye and told me that if I was his, he would eat me up. I thought he was scary and a chill ran down my spine but I was at the same time thoroughly fascinated, flattered even, by his intensity. 

Still am.

Jesus Admin. Asst.

 Ben wanted to go to church so off we went. We stopped at a drive-thru and got hot pumpkin-y fall drinks. I wore a dress + tights + sweater + scarf and my docs and felt pulled together but also look like I might take a running jump into the nearest leaf pile if you let go of my hand. I sat between Ben and Lochlan and held my cup in two hands. We don't sing in church anymore but it was nice to sit and listen to Sam and then we left without waiting in the line, distanced on lovely peel-and-stick stained glass floor tiles, because it looks nicer. We wore our masks when we weren't sitting down. We took them off in Lochlan's truck and drove home through the leaves, listening to some rainy jazz and being quiet. 

(Normally we would have found a diner and had breakfast out but that didn't happen because takeout is difficult with some cravings and honestly I want a monte cristo and nothing else these days but I don't like to make them at home.) 

The dog is lying at my feet beans-out and my cup is long empty now. The woodstove is burning out but the lights are on. Boys in sweaters. I love this. I have to tailor a pair of Ruth's pants, take out the garbage and make dinner tonight-probably monte cristos- and I have to talk to Caleb about his latest offer. October fifth is back to routine for him and falls are reasonably busy with his various business dabblings and he does indeed need an assistant. I would be mostly filing, cleaning and answering his phone, screening emails and entering figures on spreadsheets. That's not that any one of those is hard, per se, it's just a lot to juggle and I don't know if I'm up for it this time around. He pays very well and we do work well together but then we settle into bad habits and that's the part that I'd like to avoid. To his credit it's busywork, a distraction from the upcoming unlucky anniversary but it's also a way to spend hours with me almost every day, a side benefit being that he will be impeccably organized once again. That's a good thing. 

Right?

Broken lies I still believe.

Below the willow tree

I get hung up on my insecurities
Rose-coloured dopamine
My soul feels like it could be make believe

 

Below the willow tree
I search to find some sense of identity
This weeping willow tree
Sits in silence, sheds no tears for me

 

Last night on a walk I saw the moon with Mars and I knew they wanted privacy, a rare coupling that I haven't seen for a while and I'm not cuckold and so I turned back in the cold, crunching through the brown leaves all the way back to the house where the warm lights beckoned me home. 

 

We did go LED to save energy, money and effort in changing bulbs all the time. It was an ice-cold light and so everything was changed to warm. It took a while and I am still finding fixtures that were missed. 

You're looking up cuckold because you haven't seen that word in a while, aren't you? You don't care about my lights or the planets or my crunchy-leaves walk. 

Ah, she admitted it. 

It's holdover teenage curiosity, that's all. You see someone and you stop and watch and rarely will you move until it ends, someone catches you, or you risk being seen by them. 

That was me and Mars. I turned away first.

Ghosts and...and..pirates.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold

 

His hair it hangs in ringlets

His eyes as black as coal

My happiness attend him

Wherever he may go

https://lyricstranslate.com

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold

 

His hair it hangs in ringlets

His eyes as black as coal

My happiness attend him

Wherever he may go

https://lyricstranslate.com

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold

 

His hair it hangs in ringlets

His eyes as black as coal

My happiness attend him

Wherever he may go

https://lyricstranslate.comMy heart is pierced by Cupid

His hair it hangs in ringlets
His eyes as black as coal
My happiness attend him
Wherever he may go.

I am startled out of a sound sleep. It's almost light out and Ben is gone. He gets up very early now to go and have coffee with August. Maybe that's what woke me. Him closing the door.

Who is your allegiance to, Princess?

I survey the empty room. It was Lochlan's hand on my cheek and Jake's voice in my head. I knew it wasn't Lochlan's words because he reached out in his deep slumber to make sure I was still there and besides, he doesn't call me that and rarely says the word out of a reluctance to put the focus on a spectral memory when a real one is taking place as we speak. 

I wouldn't leave you, you know. If Jake was alive and came right through that door after lunch I wouldn't leave you. Never again would I stray out of your reach because this is where I belong.

Hmmmm? Lochlan heard my answer and woke up. You okay?

I stare at him. I can't focus. He is not awake. Yeah, go back to sleep. 

Just for a half hour. 

Okay. 

By the way? I wouldn't leave you either so tell Jake piss off.

Can't even bum a bite of bacon off these jerks.

October one. The first day of the rest of my life, to be sure. I'd like to make some time for hot chocolate and drawing. I'm going to do a little sewing and a little gardening. I'm going to be thrilled at the fall leaves and cozy in warm sweaters and I'm going to cook and bake right through. I've already started sewing Halloween costumes and shopping for  Christmas presents and I wouldn't even dream of being sad that the sun goes down now before we have the curtains drawn or supper cleaned up each night now because that would be ironic and pointless.

It's going to choose it's time and I don't get a say and suddenly I find myself mourning summer all the while I hug myself in these oversize sweaters and hold my mug close. 

Dumb, is what it is but completely normal, Joel tells me. He, August and Sam are going to take Ben out for breakfast, which will consist of takeout that they bring back and eat in the gazebo or probably the patio, heaters on, hours spent while they sort out exactly who Ben can rage at and why he needs to get a handle on this because we're all understanding but Jesus Christ. 

This is why he got punched in the first place. 

And I'm about to punch him again, if not for the fact that we're giving him patience he might not even deserve but does at the same time.

I don't get to sit in on the meetings because I am distracting and too emotional.

Too...emotional. 

Huh. 

I'd rather be that than not emotional enough.  

It's okay though, like I said I have things to do and if you can even believe it this week I am the glue and they are the cracks. Go figure. I just hope they get it together before the first week of November because that's when I might need help. 

But then again, I might not.

We're going to call it the birdcage, I know it.

I watched Caleb and Dalton walk Ben through his physio in the pool. It's warm and relaxing and his muscles will get stronger and he will regain some of the coordination he lost. He does this every single day, rain or shine and I've got a couple of people coming to give me quotes on glassing the whole pool in so it will truly be year round. I'd like drop lights and maybe those super huge circumference ceiling fans in it too. And a lock on the door, of course. It isn't a lap pool, however and so in order to maintain the aesthetic around the pool with space for chairs and such this could wind up costing as much as the boathouse did. 

Not like I care, exactly. Ben's rehabilitation comes first and Caleb can pay whatever I tell him it costs. 

(His soul is on the bill, trust me. That shit's mine, so I can kick it like a soccer ball. Right into the sea where it will bloat up, blackened, rotted and unrecognizable. Kind of like it is now.)

After he showers and gets dressed Ben has promised me a trip up the road to the coffee shop for a fall drink and maybe a drive to see the leaves as they begin to change. Then fifteen minutes later he snapped at me for being selfish when he's too tired and can't drive anyway (it was his...idea...and PJ had offered to drive?) and once again I'm struggling with not taking any of this personally, as I was struggling before with this exact issue when it came to him using. 

Probably why it's the same. Because it's the same. He's been clean for five days and not without struggle. He was told to take the pills if he had headaches. The headaches continue, and he's trying to weather them with ice packs and biofeedback. A lot of naps. Coffee. Slow walks in the cold air. Whatever works, we're doing it but it feels like nothing when he yells at me.

Creepin' it real.

 I zoned out hard at the table. The Scientist was on the sound system and I was staring off into space letting the refrain stroke my soul gently, almost falling asleep. I know the words to every single Coldplay song by heart but it's Caleb's band so I don't usually put them on, since he will. 

(By his band I mean his favourite.)

He picked up my hand and kissed the palm of it. Everyone's left. The candles have burned mostly out and the light is dim. Come for a nightcap.

It's an order so I nod and follow him. He pours us each a whiskey and then holds his arms out, his drink in one hand. Dance?

I nod again, dumbstruck and exhausted. Sure. Why not? He does a gentle circle around the kitchen with me being wooden and then I get so tired I just reach up and cling to him. He stiffens slightly, surprised at the sudden expression of affection and holds me close with one arm, saying wait while he searches for a place to set down his glass. Once it's out of his hand he holds me so tight I can't breathe. 

There, there. It's a soothe. Not sure he was ever any better at this than I was but I'll take it. A moment of tenderness that will end up costing me dearly always as it gives him reassurance that wasn't mine to give. 

I gotta go, Diabhal. 

Stay with me. 

I have plans. Plans are upstairs in bed and I've had a long drunken day that has started far too early and will end far too late. Schuyler's upstairs waiting for a nightcap of his own and we'll most likely end up next door. I will, anyway, whether or not anyone comes with me. Schuyler doesn't drink but he does play fast and loose with his convictions and I am but always a test and I'm pretty sure he's in love with me but also pretty sure he would never ever be the kind of threat I have to worry about. The only threat from Schuyler is the one where I may be spoiled and touched to pieces and never want to rejoin reality, as if I did anyway, no thank you. 

What if you invite me along?

What if I did?

What if I just did?

***

I make a plan to go and fetch him and go in to tell Schuyler and Lochlan that I'm making it a crowd. Schuyler is always up for anything and everyone and Lochlan is drunk and resigned and will see himself out if he can't manage his emotions. A far cry from the rest of them, to be sure.

Then I head back out, ostensibly to go and get Caleb but instead I go all the way down to PJ's quarters. I knock but he doesn't answer. I try the door after a minute. If it's locked I know he's asleep but it isn't so I let myself in. He is in his den reading and listening to music, pulling off his headphones and putting his book down when he sees me. 

Everything okay?

I think I've made a big mistake. I mean Caleb and Schuyler in the same evening laid out ahead of me like a buffet when I'm already full but PJ thinks I mean showing up at his door, because he doesn't know the buffet is even there.

I don't think you have. He laughs, self-conscious in that way you are when you're not self-conscious at all. But I also think you need some sleep and so I'm going to put you to bed and sleep in the den. It's not an idea or a suggestion, it's the plan now after he sees my hands fluttering and so the plan is already cast in cement and I don't get a say. I think I've said enough and everything unsaid is written across my face.

Yeah, okay. Thank you, PJ. 

I hate being the good guy, Bridge. 

Who says you are? I give him a drunken kiss, salute him and go in his room, closing the door. 

***

I wake up this morning alone. Still in my dress and earrings. Still in PJ's big comfy bed. I come out and PJ isn't in the den. He's in the kitchen with everyone else.

Caleb glares at me across his coffee. I love being stood u-

Oh, shut UP, Cale, PJ said and I see Lochlan's face flicker with amusement. He gets up and comes to hug me. PJ said you stole his apartment for the night. 

I did.

Can you let me know next time? Schuyler was a little disappointed. 

I'll talk to him. 

 Another night. You good?

Yes. 

Am I fine with it? Caleb asks no one in particular.

Do I care? I ask him. Don't fuck with me today, Diabhal. Trying to figure out life here and you pressured me. 

Because usually I'm right and it's what you wanted. 

Well it wasn't last night. 

You can stand up to me, you know, Neamhchiontach. You're the strongest person here. 

That's what Edward said to Bella after he turned her. I point out the obvious.

Who? 

Nevermind.

And love will steer the stars.

Exciting things are happening here as we are having a breakfast party to celebrate Schuyler's retirement (and by extension, Lochlan's! third! job!), which I'm not sure I believe for a second, having been made to wait eight minutes outside his office door last evening while Schuy considered heading out to help put out a professional fire of some sort with a RAS far from home. He can be there in four hours if he can grab a plane. He can send someone faster who is local. He can check in with the office here. Maybe Lochlan can do something from here? I stood there and shook with laughter. This isn't going to work, though Daniel is so excited to have Schuyler join him as a fellow lady of leisure, he's practically vibrating with glee. 

But Schuyler hasn't noticed and obviously never changed the contact info of who people are supposed to call in these emergencies. When he's finished his call he swears to me that the email is going out tonight, bc'd all the way to infinity and beyond as his final fuck you to an overreaching industry that has eaten up everyone in its path, a mortal engine we've come to despise.

Okay, Buzz. 

Buzzkill?

Buzz Lightyear. You said 'to infinity and bey-

Oh, right.

But he isn't focused on me, just work difficulties and this will be a transition for the record books. It will be like Ben's retirement, though I think Ben's rethinking that as we speak and maybe will actually retire once he gets through this new season of challenges.

But first, a party to celebrate Schuyler and all of his successes, all of his hats in different areas of the same industry going wildly from art to technical and back again but skewing tech because it was easier, he said, to keep the machine well-oiled than to feed things into it. It's a descriptor that usually horrifies me, that's for sure and I wonder what the fuck he's going to do with all of his free time when his phone stops buzzing and Daniel becomes a tangible event instead of a hazy mirage. 

We made savory (rosemary and brown butter) waffles with our own syrup, end of season blackberries and clotted cream, poached eggs with cheese and big thick slices of smoked ham, with coffee and sparkling champagne-free champagne, as Schuyler has been in recovery longer than anyone and does not drink but suffers all of us fools so gladly he's a gift from God. 

Maybe he'll have more time for me or Ben now too but I don't think I'll let my brain go there.

Even Lochlan, who made the first speech outside as the sun rose over the hills to illuminate the sea, noting Schuyler's inability to stop calling him every time something went wrong, wondered aloud if anything is actually going to change here.

(The newish tradition for retirement parties is to get up at the normal work-time but instead of work we have a huge formal breakfast and make speeches building up the future leisure all the while verbally burning the bridges of employment that isn't truly self-employment ever, but by others, as always.)

A good laugh and we raised our glasses, sparkling in the morning light. To Schuy. May he figure out how to sleep late or go to bed early! He is the fourth one to retire, but none of them stayed that way for long so we'll see. 

Also, I'm hoping this isn't just a ruse to get some of the waffles I never make because of the effort involved. Trying to work my ancient cast iron waffle pan for twenty people at five-thirty in the morning is a fucking joke. I'm retiring.

(People want me to do a food blog. Yeah, no.)

Jesus made me start from scratch and other wordless complaints.

 I've lost everything. 

You've got everything to gain now, this is a beautiful thing.

I gave her away and now I'll never be able to live up to whatever it is she expected me to be to her-

Benjamin, you haven't lost anything.

The only thing I had was being sober, Sam and I'm not even that anymore. 

Ben, let me make a call. I'd like to lock these doors and talk for a while if you'll allow me the privilege.

Sam comes out of the library with his phone in hand. He locks eyes with me and shakes his head once but doesn't break his gaze as he asks Siri to call his second. He tells him that he needs to do services today, that Sam has a bit of a family emergency and is counselling and can't keep the schedule right this second. 

Everyone always understands. They are firemen, they just run around putting out all these fires we keep setting. Fucking pyros. We should drown ourselves in the sea.

But we wouldn't dare. 

He thanks Ryan (guys! Meet Ryan. You won't, though, he is a minor player in a major work and is completely horrified by me but most likely half in love with Sam (or all like the rest of us).) and hangs up. 

Keep them away, Bridge. Doing a little triage this morning.

Can I bring you coffee?

That would be great. Just knock and leave it outside.

It's an order, not a suggestion. Sam is in fireman mode and doesn't have a moment to waste, lest we burn this place to the ground. 

(SAVE BEN FIRST)

I turn and head to the kitchen. I won't get to hear any more. I don't want to hear anymore. Confirming Ben's regret and matching that up against his absolute deferral to Lochlan doesn't work and I throw the pair out and try again but I can't make it work. 

The coffee is ready but I don't put it on a tray or anything. I just walk through the house and when it gets too loud I start calling names at the top of my lungs as I go. Right through the great room, out the doors and down the steps. Across the lawn. I'm still calling for help and the house is quiet and still. Still calling, though I have stopped shouting and started asking outer space for someone to anchor to, someone to hold the rope and not let me strangle myself with it before I can be reborn, hopefully as someone else this time. 

I break into a run. 

Off the cliff I go. I don't scream the whole way down. That's a rarity. The rush of wind is replaced by the muffled thrum of my own heartbeat as I hit the cold waves and plunge five meters down. When I hit that hard limit I push back for the light when a set of hands grabs my arms and pulls me up. I try to help but no help is needed and when my head breaks the surface, smacked hard with the cold air I open my eyes and Lochlan is filling up my view.

Jesus, how fast are you?

I was right behind you from the kitchen. I thought you were making us coffee.

It's for Ben and Sam. Ben-

I know, Peanut. I was in the library with them. 

Oh wow. 

I want to take whatever blame he's shouldering. But I can't have you drowning yourself every time I turn my back. 

I wasn't-

How many times can one person baptize themselves? 

It wasn't-

I don't care anymore. It's gotta stop. You can't take this on, this isn't your fault. We feel how we feel. You're here and it's a joyful moment when you turn your gaze on one of us and a crushing one when you look away. That's on us to repair, not you. 

If I was gone what would you do?

We would simply die. 

No pressure. 

You going to run away again? I told you the last time it was a bad idea.

Jake wasn't a bad idea-

He wasn't a good one, either.

Today is quiet. Cold and rainy. Twelve degrees up by the house and less than ten by the water. We are by the fire, naturally. Lochlan, who I am wedged up against, is replying to emails on his iPad. Ben is asleep, napping soundly, his head in my lap, the rest of him stretched for miles around right to the end of the built-in couch in the great room, as I call it, the big open section off the kitchen that has the retractable doors that open the whole way across the back of the house to blend it seamlessly with the patio. We tore out the shelves and pretty window seats when we moved in and made a huge comfortable couch the length of the whole wall and brought in the edges so it wraps around the woodstove. There are windows above and behind us and underneath us loads of storage. So comfortable. The firewood basket is always fully stocked and there is never a time this couch isn't holding one or five people, truth be told. 

So today there is only room for three. 

Ben has been up since eight or so. He made eggs and toast with me, drank two cups of coffee and gave me a bass lesson. Lochlan was up by eight-thirty to have coffee and we did some chores around the house but now it's the quiet part of the day where people go off to do their things, and here we are. 

I put my head back and close my eyes and a hand brushes my (too long again) bangs to one side, tucking my hair behind my ears. A Lochlan move, then a Cole one, followed by Caleb, and then Jake. Back to Lochlan, only he's index-finger typing and hasn't stopped. My eyes snap open but there's no one else here and the light tapping noises continue. 

You fall asleep there? Lochlan laughs quietly. 

Maybe, I tell him. Did I? It didn't feel like a dream but maybe it was.

Monsters, miracles.

It's not the wind that cracked your shoulder
And threw you to the ground
Who's there that makes you so afraid?
You're shaken to the bone
And no, I don't understand
You deserve so much more than this

 

I'm trying not to take the words. I push them away as they as are pushed against my breastbone. It isn't personal. It's an injury. He's going to be like this and it's not his fault but it's not mine either and I don't know how much of this I can take. 

 

A hand rests against my back, keeping me up against the onslaught. I take a deep breath out, relaxing all of my muscles, digging down deep into the stubbornness. 

 

Good luck with that, I say suddenly. 

 

With what? He's not following my mental conversation. Good. 

 

With trying to drive me away because you don't want me to see you weakened?

 

You call this 'weakened'? Bee, I'm ruined. I can't fucking tie my fucking shoes. 

 

We'll get you some pull-on ones. I'm dead serious. He thinks I'm trying to dismiss his middle-of-the-night cry-out-for-anyone deeply-seated fears. He knows damn well I'm the last person who would ever do that, seeing as how he and I have always shared this and we don't ever take it lightly. He's offended and I'm offended at his assumption that I've somehow changed and I can feel myself wading in to the deep dark waters where he waits for me, a monster I'm not supposed to argue with, blithely, strongly, somehow ignoring his outbursts and his words. 

You don't want to fight with Ben. He's fierce and cutting and frightening and that was exactly what led Caleb to throw a punch when he ran out of reasonable. When he became afraid and needed to fall back on his size and strength just to make a point.

 

Right.

It'll come back. 

Or it won't. You don't know. I don't know. They don't know if it will.

Hey, Ben? There's Lochlan. Ready to take over. Jacob moves his hand from my back. The reinforcements are here and now the ghosts can run and hide again. She doesn't have the answers you're looking for.

Doesn't she? Isn't she supposed to be the patron saint of the Collective? Isn't she my Jesus? If she doesn't read my future are you going to do it? Come on. Grab your fucking crystal balls and tell us all how this ends. The only thing I had going for me I've lost. Now what, Lochlan? I fade into obscurity. She turns away. What the fuck is left here, you want to tell me?

Everything, Benny. Everything is right here for you and for all of us.

I don't have any leverage. 

You don't need any. 

Don't fucking patronize me, Locket. (Oh, he called him Locket. My heart.)

I'M NOT. Oh, Loch's getting mad now. He doesn't suffer self-pity any more than anything else. Well, unless he's drunk but it's seven on a Friday morning. Also he doesn't do that the way I do. Someone has to bring the acumen. It's always on Lochlan, an easy choice for alpha-everything, something Ben suddenly can't stand. 

I try and play the peacemaker. It's not you, Ben. It's just the pills talking, remember how they make you irritabl-

Great. My little shadow is my enabler.

What would you have me do?

Tell me to fuck off, Bridge. To go away until I have my shit together and come back to you whole.

You're not going anywhere, and I always liked you more when I was stronger.

Well, that's good to know isn't it? Guess you got your wish.

The sort of thoughts in my head, at any given moment (cut the cord and kill the lights).

This is not about Ben. He's doing well and no I don't want to talk about the pills. No one does but there they are. Goddammit.

***

When is 10 Years' song Unknown going to be the theme for the most epic adventure movie ever made? How long? Minutes? Is it already licensed? I'll be waiting for it. But then the next track is Waiting and it's so catchy and also Without You is really good too and wow, this new album (Violent Allies) has surprised me. It's one of those ones where I almost regret buying it on first listen and by the fourth listen it's my favourite and I draw my sword, ready to die defending it. They're so underrated. Like, criminally.

Right, that good.

I don't have a sword though. The closest one is uh, I think it's Bilbo's sword that the Elves gave him. Right. It's hanging at the bottom of the steps to the theatre. We are not nerds, what gave you that idea? 

(I've been corrected, it's a dagger. But it's HUGE.

To you it is. 

Right.)

***

I should go out and get a few groceries. Eh. No. Maybe PJ will drive. PJ is still in pajama pants. The storm is supposed to get worse. We had thunder on the water this morning and it was incredible to listen to, something I indulged in from the front of Lochlan's flannel shirt, the top button between my eyes as always. The cool crunchy clean flannel coupled with the rumbling, the warmth and the swift breeze. It was wonderful. I wish I could bottle that. I'd call it Storm From The Safety Of A Hug or something.

***

I am four hours and forty-five minutes into the Twilight saga on Netflix and it's SO GOOD. I watched it twelve years ago when Ruth was nine and I'm pretty sure I spent the whole thing wondering if it was too scary for her and definitely too scary for Henry, who was seven when it began and I probably dismissed it out of hand though the books were amazing but since Midnight Sun is so good we're watching the movies too and they have aged exceeding well and I'm really enjoying them to bits. At the beginning I think it was Gage who made some comment about how Bella could possibly be so sure she found her soulmate so immediately and surely and I threw a glance at Lochlan, who glanced back as if he is a vampire and I am a hapless high school student. 

It does happen like that, only he isn't a vampire but emotionally I am definitely and forever will be a hapless high school student. 

(OMGOSH. Can you imagine if Edward was a carny? I mean the risks wouldn't transfer but the hotness would TRIPLE.)

I also got called out for snorting every time they mention Jasper, as that was the name of Batman's former assistant and he and I did NOT get along and eventually I won though now Batman is five times lonelier and I can't help that but Jasper tried to blackmail me thinking I would go away and he was the one who was sent, instead. I don't know why people fuck with me so much. It's not a good idea.

***

I had a great laugh this morning about a thing in the foreign papers detailing a Russian Jesus presiding over a commune in the woods of Siberia. Except they called it a cult and they swooped in with helicopters and armed swat teams to break it up, calling it an illegal religious organization. They said he was brainwashing the members and taking money from them. 

That can't be the whole story but it's not like we'll get any followup information. Russia's a weird world, to be honest. Trust me. I know this.

If the helicopters landed here on the point to take away me, a tiny blonde Jesus, to whom everyone here has pledged their lives, all that they have, all that they are, worshipping at my knees I would be surprised because colour me wrong, I don't think any of this is illeg-

PJ is laughing*.

Am I wrong?

Oh, I have no idea. I wasn't laughing about that.

What are you laughing about?

How into Twilight you are suddenly. 

It's really good, PJ. Stop resisting.

Oh, I haven't even started yet.

 *(The inevitable footnote here is that he is damn near thrilled that the relentless haunting of Bridget isn't currently dragging the whole point into the sea, clutched up in her white-knuckle grip, pulling with all her might to get the ghost to step off the fabric of her life. He won't, of course and so the Twilight distraction is the stalemate while I wait for something to change. The day is young though, right?)

***

It's not about fair, it's about love.

A rare invitation to breakfast saw me splash my way over to Schuyler's in the rain, as Christian and Andrew have also decided I am burning the candle at both ends again, losing my own shit as we slide into winter here since the seasons are racing by like horses in the sand on Sable Island, and wanted me to have a treat. 

A very fancy breakfast with the good silver and champagne in very tall flutes and at one point I almost asked for a phone book to sit on before realizing they don't make them anymore so I went and got a throw pillow out of their tv room and then I can sit at the table, an equal instead of a child with the table hitting me in the collarbone when I lean forward. 

They wanted to show me the trailer for Supernova. Yes, of course I cried. This will now be the baseline for deciding if one is human or monster.

(Except later that theory was blown to smithereens because Caleb cried when I showed him.) 

They wanted to apologize for shutting me out in the cold since nearly December, as they had settled in to a long hibernation over the winter that turned into quarantine spring and lockdown summer. They've been over for quiet dinners but otherwise I have hardly seen them in 2020 and it's not for a lack of trying on my part. 

Unlike you, I told Andrew, I don't get so caught up in my relationships that I forget about my friends. 

Christian leans into view, blocking Andrew's face. Your relationships are with your friends, though, honey. He bursts out laughing and I take the gentle roast. I know what they're avoiding.

Where does that leave you two then? 

To our own devices, Andrew says, sending a look to Christian that made my knees waver just a little. Their second wedding anniversary is coming up and they're throwing a Christmas eve dinner on the beach to celebrate and again I feel like that's the greatest Christmas present ever, having them be so blissfully content and wanting to share that with us so sparingly as they spend all of their time together mostly alone. It makes us all feel special in a weird way, as if we are permitted glimpses into their fairytale romance as a favour or as a gift. Either way I'll take whatever I can get because it's so lovely.

***

I came back intending to tell Lochlan all about it but he pulled me up into his lap and then pushed me back so my head and shoulders were on the bed and my legs were on either side of his hips, knees in the middle for both of us. He stripped me down and pulled me in hard and then abruptly he pulls me up by the shoulders against him, lifting me up, letting me drop, over and over again. It would have been so nice except that I can't forget the vision of Andrew and Christian doing the same, laughing gently about getting Bridget nice and early-morning-toasted and then sending her away. It's a move few would bother with, that's for sure but as they reminded me they are only into each other and that's the way it is (and will be) for the foreseeable future.

But the vision. In my half-drunk, rain-soaked condition it's the best thing I've seen in a while and it'll have to do as I won't be seeing it in person any time soon. Lochlan drops me back against the quilts with a grin and then I realize I don't need to see them in person. I'm just happy they're happy.

How about a hot bath? He asks out of the blue. That's how I know it's fall. All I want is to soak in the bubbles and turn into a prune, muscles turning to liquid, brain turning to mashed potatoes.

Yeah, I nod and he smiles. Did you have fun at breakfast?

I did. 

They coming up for air anytime ever?

Nope, I laugh. Not any time soon.

Fixed.

 Headphones keep my legs from stumbling this morning, keeping me strung up, a puppet controlled by the lyrics being fed into my brain to keep it from imploding like my heart only yesterday and still recent enough that the misery-blood hasn't even dried on the hard floor. I walked through it, tracks going to the end of the line and back, from heaven to hell, from the bottom of the hole in the concrete room to the roof of the treehouse behind Schuyler's house, a place I keep ending up, even though I'm not supposed to go. 

That and whatever else they gave me is keeping me from falling on my face even though I deserve to be nowhere else right now. God, this is one glorious high. I can feel all of this, I just don't care.

I learned yesterday I might be too small to balance this. Ben on one hand, struggling mightily but doing great. Every time he conquers something stupid, something ridiculously benign I have to fight not to crow, not to clap, not to exclaim lest I pander to him, something he can't stand suddenly. 

And he's not even as stubborn as me. 

Caleb on the edge of my shoulder, weighing me down, asking all the time for me, for my attention, for my absolution, for my soul back in his hands. Wanting to know his place, his station, where he fits, what I need, reminding me what he needs and I swat him away without touching on it. I only have two hands. Pleaca de langa mine!

Jacob in that other hand, only too big/too heavy/too profound and so instead of balancing him on my straightened fingers I have the back of his shirt in my fist, balled-up fabric straining against my attempts to not cling to him like a raft in a storm. 

Not with Lochlan right behind me, anyway. 

A wave crashes over my head and I am left gasping and choking. 

Huh. I still don't care though. Amazing.

Lochlan rolls his eyes and wades in, pulling me off the raft, into his arms. We're on dry land suddenly and I can't focus on his face, just his curls. Just the emergency-red, the built-in security blanket I've clung to for the better part of my life, since the water is always over my head.

Christ, Peanut. Stay put. 

What if he drowns?

Who?

I look around. Not sure which answer to give him. They all need me, this is an emergency and he doesn't even notice, can't see it, doesn't care. 

Sure I care. That's why I'm here.The physical barrier between you and fire and you and water. You and the Devil, you and your ghosts, you and the things you don't have to carry alone.

Boring.

Right? It is and it's exactly what you need right now and I may not be as thrilling as...as chasing ghosts or devils or hoping Ben will be who Ben was last summer but AT LEAST YOU'RE BETTER WHEN YOU'RE WITH ME!

Oh it's a deafening roar and I cover my ears but he wrenches my fingers away from my head in order to replace them with his own, pulling my face right up into his until I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut against his sudden outburst. He finally stands back, letting go of me, picking up the headphone cord which is miles long all of the sudden and he wraps it around me until my limbs are pinned and then he ties the end around his wrist in a neat bow.

You're better and better off, he says, and he gives a sharp tug on the line. I stumble and follow him as quickly as I can keep up, like I always did before. 

After is now, he turns and says quietly and I know he's right.

The very last day of the summer that wasn't (without you).

I am brand new now without you
Everything I can do now without you
I was right all along now the pain feels like it's gone
I am brand new now without you
Everything I can do now without you
Now without you
Now without you 

(13/50. That's this year, the number of trips around the sun without you, and the age you would have been had you stepped back down instead of off.

13 fucking fifty, Pooh.)

That's what fall means, swirling in and around the velvet and crunchy leaves, the rattle of acorns kicked across the front-porch boards as the ghost stares expressionless through the glass. I didn't give him an emotion today. Today he is a placeholder, a large obstacle, a statute out there in the lush green grass, something I'm going to run into at full speed any minute now, bouncing off his cold marble skin and falling into the wet leaves, stunned to silence, again. 

My brain's been bumping up against him all week already. I tried to distract myself with Cole but let's face it, Trey was never any match for the mighty Preacher, not even close. I keep making contact with him, my hands outstretched in pitch black and I recoil in surprise and try a different way but there he is again, the soft worn cotton of his best pale blue Denver Hayes button-down so familiar against my fingers.

As long he doesn't say anything I'll be fi-

Hullo, Princess. 

And I freeze in place, ice crystals on my eyelashes, blood turned to slush in my veins. My heart thuds painfully against its alabaster cage once or twice before shattering in the cold again, flooding the inside of my body with still-warm viscous misery as I go crashing to the ground.

Jesus witness.

May I see it?

No. 

But why, Neamhchiontach?

Because then it will smell like you and I need it to smell like him. 

You miss him. 

I don't miss him. I still love him though. Part of me always will.

Which part is that?

I'm sorry?

It's a question you would ask. Which part of you misses him?

My stupid brain. 

Ah. But it drives the bus. 

The bus went off a cliff years ago. You know this.

And now?

I run on heart and soul. 

The song?

If required. 

He smiles now, amused to have one of my odd conversations, and be on the inside, as it were. 

I can show you the sweater, since you don't believe me, but I don't want you to touch it.

What if I want to smell it?

Then you should have kept the things of his that I gave you.

What makes you think I haven't?

You're a minimalist. 

Am I?

Definitely. 

Even though I have a small case full of his things on the top shelf of my closet? Two of his shirts, his leather bracelet and his daybook? 

Should I believe you, Diabhal?

You show me the sweater, I will show you the case.

Fine. I pick up my mug. Didn't think I was going to spend Sunday testifying but in a way it fulfills Sam's request too as we still have not returned to church and may not for a while yet.

Cold rain, warm hands.

Finally, the part of summer I like. 

The end. 

That doesn't make much sense, seeing as how I crave the super late-night sunsets and ridiculously early sunrises, how much I hate doing my morning chores in the pitch-black and how going out at four in the afternoon and needing headlights makes me cry. I'm famous for my daily announcements of the days getting longer at the end of each winter and I wish that part didn't exist, but this. 

This. 

Hot endless coffee, ochre-colored velvet dresses and red leaves that swirl down the storm drains in the driveway from the relentless rain. The sound of the rain on the windows while we are warm and cozy inside. Baking potatoes and roasts for hours in the oven. Piles of boys on the big couch by the woodstove or the fireplace or in front of the movie screen. Flannel shirts, back after a four-month absence and the end of worry as the motorcycles are heavily seasoned (inside joke for winterizing) and put away until the spring again, much to the ire of both John and (new) Jake. 

Batman emerges from his air-conditioned cave to herald the cool slow slide right into Halloween. Caleb stops being angry all the time (he also hates the heat. I think very wealthy people are just allergic or something), and all the tempers seemingly disappear. Everyone is up for endless cuddles and pumpkin pie from the market up the highway and we're painting watercolour bridges and lighting candles and plugging in the fairy lights all day every day.

I can decorate for Christmas and no one even complains. 

I can take down the fair bunting flags that I had strung from the gazebo to the poolhouse. They bleached white in the sun and now I can dye them teal blue and put them down on the docks for the winter. 

I can bake cinnamon rolls without getting heatstroke in the process. 

I can wear Cole's big grey sweater which inexplicably still smells like him and has never ever been washed since he died, which was fourteen and a half years ago now but seems like yesterday. Will I wash it? Never. I only put it on in the closet, give myself a long hug and then take it off, shoving it back under the pile of sweaters so no one can see it. Then I go give my devil a long hug and he'll tell me I remind him of his brother and then I feel awful, as if I am a living reminder of Cole's temper, as he took Caleb's pet project and all but finished her off, only to return her to the original sinner to continue on. 

Then I'll borrow one of Lochlan's sweaters instead, for this one is tan and looks nice with my dress, and when I come out of the closet he says There you are and I get a long hug of a different sort, a living one, a loving one that claims no ownership even though he has it all, his name stamped across my fingers just so there's no mistake because I always touch first.

Half tempo.

A knock on the door of the library where I sit waiting for the rain, sketchbook in hand. I haven't been drawing, I can't get out of my own way long enough, but I had been planning to do a little. 

The knock startles me and I cry out. SHIT! 

Sorry, Bee. I'm wondering if I can borrow you.

I jump up. Right. Ben doesn't have to ask. Where's Caleb?

I set him free for a bit. He doesn't need to hover.

He's just trying to make things up to y-

I know he is. I do like the fact that this gives you and Loch a chance to rest so let's leave it as it is for now. 

Okay. 

Come with me. Ben takes my hand and we leave the library and head downstairs and then turn right and go straight down another hall and then he turns and winks at me and opens his studio door. 

Can you stick around while I tune my guitar?

Are you going back to work?

No, I'm going to play a song for the love of my life, if she'll have it. 

I might have jumped up and down and done a little happy dance. He thought it was funny anyway but I got a song and it's the best Friday afternoon I've seen in a while. I texted Loch at the end and he came down and got a song too and this is now the best day we've had since Before.

For the love of God, please show me your heart.

 This morning when I came down the steps, I managed to arrive just in time to catch Caleb turning Ben's mug around so that he could easily pick it up by the handle, after setting down the cup in front of him at the table. We don't sit at the island anymore for coffee. Ben doesn't trust the tall heavy stools to hold his weight. They will and then some, but he doesn't trust them and that's okay, the table works perfectly too. 

(I trust them because I once climbed up Ben's back and right over him to dance on the island. PJ thought it looked like fun and followed me up, climbing over Ben and we laughed and laughed. So they hold at least four hundred pounds.)

It was a tender gesture and things are evolving again and suddenly Ben and Caleb are new best friends and I swear to God Caleb was put on this earth to torture (his former best friend) Lochlan and nothing more sometimes. 

Caleb has pledged that he will take Ben on, be his primary caregiver, look after whatever he needs help with and completely facilitate Ben's physical and emotional therapy until he is one hundred percent Ben or as close to it as he can get. Financially and time-committed. His very own version of restitution for what he has done. I'll maybe forgive him someday, like I have for everything else but for now I watch Ben lift the cup to take a sip, the barest of shakes making him slow his movements ever so slightly and I know I won't forget, like I haven't forgotten anything else he's done, permanently altering who we are with his own actions, thinking he can fix it all with money and attention to detail. 

Ben and I and Lochlan are just closer than ever now, further cemented together as Caleb's favourite triad of targets. He's left jagged, hideous scars on all of us now and we'll never be the same. 

He sees me (he knew I was there) and smiles.

Good morning, Neamhchiontach. 

Morning, Diabhal.

Be right back. Playing with iOS 14. Was serious underwhelmed until Lochlan showed me how to put the widgets on any screen, not just the home screen. Jesus. No one's talking about THAT. 

(Update: we cannot make this happen with the iPad OS. WTF Apple?!)

Update: You can change YOUR ICONS NOW.

Push.

Caleb met me on the steps last night just as I was heading up. The new routine is Ben says his goodnights and now usually Lochlan will go up with him and settle in to read by the fireplace. Lochlan is a huge reader and can finish a book in a day or two while it takes me weeks. I usually come up by ten or so and we cuddle down into the quilts and eventually go to sleep but sometimes I get up again and go read until my head starts to nod forward or Ben wakes up and wants big snuggles and sometimes we're all awake, sometimes no one is and we actually get sleep. Right now the routine is kind of blown up, a little bit rosy around the edges and positively brimming with light. 

But then the Devil comes along and smacks the illusion with a closed fist and it changes everything.

He pulls me in, kissing my forehead, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as he rests his chin on my head for a long minute. Too long. I finally make a move to go but he doesn't set me free. 

Neamhchiontach. Come up with me. 

I'm going to Ben and Loch.

Just a quick drink and then I'll walk you home. 

I laugh in spite of myself. He's funny like that. A desperate charm but it works, like squeezing a worry doll really hard hoping your worries will fill it up and leave you the hell alone.

A laugh is a good sign, he rocks me back and forth gently. 

I'm taking my cues from Ben. 

Ben has made no moves to acknowledge my role in what happened. 

Then once he does, I'll be back to visit and we'll go from there.

What do you mean, 'go from there'?

I don't know what more I can say right now. I'm sorry. 

Bridget, you go on how you feel. Ben goes on how he feels. This is carved in stone. Even Loch-

Is it? Right now I'm going on how I feel and I'm not putting his feelings aside right now either. He is my priority. Not you right now. When you needed me I didn't leave your side and right now it's his turn. He needs me. Can you understand that?

I feel his chin sharp against my head as he nods once and I pull back to look at him. 

Goodnight, Diabhal. 

Goodnight, Neamhchiontach. I miss you. 

Me too. Still going on how I feel. Damaged and brainwashed as always. Soon, I promise but it feels empty. 

***

This morning Caleb wants to take Ben out for a drive, maybe for an ice cream for lunch if they can hit a drive thru at Dairy Queen or something. Ben is surprisingly game for this. 

Lochlan? Not as sure. 

Caleb promises that he will look after Ben and they are off. 

Lochlan turns to me. Thoughts?

I don't know yet. 

He nods. Me neither.

Sam wants a barometer but this is all I got.

The phone is dead and one of today's gift baskets featured a shirt with a handwritten note that said:

For Bridget- Saw this and burst out laughing thinking of you. Look after him for us. XO

It's a white t-shirt, girl cut even and in big pink letters it says:

WORLD'S MOST AVERAGE ASTRONAUT

And I love it. 

It's from a super famous guy that was super arrogant until sitting with me in the kitchen for half an hour realizing I wasn't about to be charmed by him and that it was okay, and yet he remembered how much I like outer space and how unimpressed I was by him (and his friends) because music is a fluke. You produce a thing and if it hits at the right time in the right way you're a mega star. Then you have a formula and you milk it like a cow until it dies. Then you have to find a new cash cow to milk again and hope it's a heavy producer too.

Or at least, that's how it was back in the day. There is no plane of existence that suddenly places you above other humans, the only difference is we heard your name because of the thing. So get off your high horse.

I guess he didn't forget our talk. Huh. And I love it and Ben gave me his number, getting it from one of his producers and I called and left a voice mail thanking him for thinking of me. He also sent Nintendo Switches (I think? The long ones..these are yellow and turquoise!) for the kids, in case they didn't have one. He sent three. So he's not perfect, unless Ben counts as a kid, if I recall I made that joke too while he was here. 

Better than flowers, in any case. 

Today is a sleepy Monday. I went out early, watered all the plants outside, chucked some grass seed around, as is tradition each fall and we have some worn spots where it disappears sometimes and watered that too. It's supposed to rain by the end of the week and I cannot wait for that. I'll do a little more gardening to get rid of some of the things that are done for the season but I find it backbreaking these days and I don't know why. 

I don't sleep again. That's probably why. I had a really great week there during the summer and now the wakefulness is back, fear creeps back in, LIFE creeps back in and my brain is in space and I don't know how to handle earth at all anymore. 

He texts me back and I roll my eyes. Great. Now he has my number. Whoops.

The last place you saw it.

Ben is angry about Dalton.

I'm home now, why didn't you come up to me? 

I- I didn't even know how to respond to that. He's the encourager. He's a bigger freak than anyone. Always happy to see any of us let loose but most especially me. He knows what I need even when I'm not sure of that and suddenly I'm questioning my very being.

Well?

What do you want me to say? That's how it goes? Maybe 'sorry'? Fuck you? Are you even serious right now? 

My swiftly-returned fury is enough and he backs way off. Which is good because I'm about to dissolve and can't stand up to Benjamin the way I could probably stand up to anyone else. I'll fight with Lochlan or even Caleb to the fucking death but it scares me when Ben is angry, it leaves me feeling like I'll never be good enough or smart enough or trusted to do whatever it is that he wants. That's how it feels right now. I am suffocating, choking on the smoke and on his moods. I don't know what to do so I just freeze, standing there while he tries to control his expressions and not look too scary all the while to angry to worry about what he looks like at all. And now concern pushes into his features because now, well, now he's pissed me off.

He laughs. Now I get Caleb. I need you and you're gone off somewhere and I feel left out and alone. 

That's never been a 'funny' feeling in my book. 

Your book might be out of date, Bee.

And your accident might have triggered your jealousy bone. 

Oh, it triggered a bone alright. 

Jesus, Ben. I was banned from caring for you because I needed a rest and I was on my way up and Dalton asked me to stay. You know how rare that is and I figured you were already long asleep. Next time call me and I'll come right up. 

I haven't seen my phone in weeks, Bridget. 

Oh. Uh...It's probably in the studio. You could check?

I see what you're doing. 

Helping you find your pho-

I'll check after dinner. 

I'll help?

That would be great. He says it jovially, formally and I cringe.

Don't do that thing, Ben-

What thing? He looks so wholesome and honest suddenly. It's my favorite Ben, back for a brief glimpse.

That thing where you act cheerful and hope I'm not scared of you. I'm not. I just- 

I know, Bee. It felt weird to wake up and be absolutely enraged that you weren't there when I needed you. 

I'm sorry. It's a whisper but he hears it. 

No, I'm sorry, he returns with his own whisper and I hear that too. 

***

The phone was in the dirt underneath the lilacs on the far side of the pool almost in Batman's backyard. The well-watered lilacs over the past month and a bit. I think the phone is toast but it's in a bag of rice anyway. Time will tell. Not like Ben's ever really kept track of his phones so honestly this is the least-surprising thing to happen this summer.

Uh, I'll take you over to Apple this week. 

Okay. He's back to being childlike and agreeable. This is exhausting but we fix what we can and the rest will come.

Short. Not sweet.

All in all I don't know what to believe
But I told my friends I'm not sure if they're real
And I'm peering in mirrors for proof that I'm here

Half in, half out of this broken machine
Sick to the bone with some spectral disease
Came back from the void with the void still in me

Oh, how I wish I was here 

He's so quiet, almost like he's talking to himself and not to me. I came down to get out of the smoke and away from the construction noise. I think he likes the company but my panic never went away and I'm spooling up like a tornado again. He's attempting to help.

Right here. Shhhh. Shhhhhhhh. He looks kindly into my eyes before pushing his hand up around the back of my head, pulling me in, pulling me down into his arms, a place I don't know all that well even though I have been here before. I can't send you back like this. 

I shake my head. No, he definitely can't. I root for a kiss in the sudden smoky heat and he responds easily. This one is so easy to read. So easy to love and leave. So easy to crush on hard enough to draw blood in the palms of my hands, between my teeth, behind my eyes, leaving me bloodshot and heartsick and then in the next breath it's gone. The difference is that he isn't looking to be in charge, isn't looking to be powerful or overpower. He just makes the offer and this is only the third or seventh time I've taken it, my Teflon Jesus who never sticks around long enough in my heart that it hurts and he does that on purpose to not be a burden.  

He likes to pin me flat on my back, kiss a lot and he's usually either barking at me to sleep or asking me to go within a couple of hours. He's quiet about it and far more gentle with his words when he wants to sleep alone than August is, that's for sure. I don't leave feeling that I did something wrong, it's more like he gets full-up on Bridget and then he's good for a long while. 

Dalton's never been as predictable as some of the other boys and the last time I was here I brought Loch with me but someone has to look after Ben and yesterday I wasn't allowed and neither was Loch. We are exhausted and stressed and needed a break, which again I'll argue because Ben doesn't get one. 

Close your eyes, Poem. Ah, conjuring up his brother's charms will surely help. 

I think I have to go. But thank you for having me. I land a final kiss on his cheek and he laughs.

Thanks for letting me have you.

Friday's cancelled.

It's too smoky outside for me to breathe so I'm inside with the windows all closed and the fans on in bed with Dalton eating s'mores made in the microwave and watching season one of The Promised Neverland. It's so good it almost makes me forget we're surrounded by fire again. 

This is not the fresh clean snap-flame of a well-built campfire, this is filthy black smoke, debris floating through orange air, breath choked back in our lungs. Henry and I both have reactive asthma and so we are laying low. Ben is spending today with Daniel. Lochlan goes in between all of us. I have a blistering headache and am sleeping more than watching but it's a fast-moving series so Dalt is always happy to rewatch parts that I miss for dozing off.

None of the boys are outside today. Work is even stopped. I sent Emmett's crew home. They'll still be paid but no one should be exerting themselves and trying to breathe through this air quality nightmare. 2020 just keeps on coming, doesn't it? It's almost as bad as 2007 at this rate. Time will tell.

I wouldn't want to be any closer to the fires, that's for sure. 

 OMGOSH. 

Switchfoot's cover of Bowie's Space Oddity is freaking UNREAL.

Same difference.

 Oh my gosh. What was a trickle at the end of last week has grown to a waterfall overnight seemingly. Seven deliveries this morning alone and it's nine-fifteen. Four were huge bouquets of flowers, the kind of bouquets you don't have space for but we're doing our best. Three were care packages of chocolate and fruit and candy as Ben's sweet tooth is as legendary as mine and one of the reasons we get along so well. 

Once he sees them I will take them apart and find space for everything (because the candy basket in the butler's pantry is not nearly big enough suddenly even though it's technically a basket designed to hold ten pounds of potatoes but for now I'm just trying not to fangirl over the names on the cards. Pretty sure the local delivery shops were like yeah, right, but also maybe not, once they got to the front gates and had to be buzzed in after a little scrutiny. 

John has fetched each and every one and I am mentally choosing the next places for flowers if more come and can spill over to next door if necessary. Ben can see them all when he is ready, as this morning he and Lochlan took their coffees and their ipads and stretched out in the library in the big chairs to read quietly for a bit, with the doors closed against the noise of the morning, a habit they like to indulge in a few times a week, a rare couple of hours to be left alone.

(More likely a respite from my boundless nervous energy and fretting which I would also like a respite from but as Ben told me earlier it's a far sight better than the despair I usually exude but by saying that he was also admitting that my suspicions are correct.)

That's why when we walk on the beach I like to be alone. They can be at the other end. I just sometimes need space. Doesn't everyone? This is not a bad thing, it's necessary. 

Do I sound defensive? 

Huh. 

I'm having a really hard time not monopolizing Ben since he's been home. Apparently that's normal. Maybe it's even good as we have to watch him still for any backsliding or new issues that come up but I also want to protect him. Lochlan told me I can't watch him twenty-four hours a day or who would look after me? 

You, I blurted out, as if there's any question. 

He smiled sweetly. God, he's sick of my shit too I bet.

***

I have something that might work for you, Duncan says later (WAGON WHAT WAGON I think in alarm as I watch the wheel squelch him facefirst into the mud.)

Schuyler said I'm not allowed to day drink anymore, I point it out properly and completely ignore the Best Mom Ever coffee mug sitting at my right hand. It's full of champagne and a splash of orange juice (for colour). I haven't touched it yet. I'm oddly jittery and even though Sam says it's normal and I know all this it's also incredible to me how quickly the fluttering fingers and crushing panic returns and how it feels completely standard now, as if it's my default and everything else is fake.

Geez, Bridge. It's not booze.

I can't smoke, Duncan. It's a reminder. Instant headaches. Also just gross. 

It's not smokeable. It's a capsule. 

Filled with what?

Less panic? He laughs. Look. It's here if you want it. Might take the edge off. 

I don't think it's for me, whatever it is, but thank you. 

Here's the label. Look it up. I'm not trying to fuck you up. I mean...I could if you...want? But this is like microdosing just to control the worst of the moment. 

Like when they give me the needles and I sleep for a day?

No, not like that at all, Bridget. Holy fuck. 

***

Caleb keeps trying and I won't let him. He tries to corner me. Tries to call me. Tries to 'surprise' find me wherever I end up but by my request no one's giving him an inch and I've got privacy but I'm not alone for him to approach and he absolutely will not entertain an audience. 

Well, that's the difference between me and you, I guess. Having an audience is in my blood. I see John's eyebrows go up and he is a master at looking amused without changing his expression one iota. Maybe he can teach me how to do that. 

Can I request a nightcap tonight? 

Sorry, I think I'm doing drugs with Duncan tonight. 

What the fuck, Neamhchiontach. 

It's a joke..I think! 

He looks so hurt. Good.