Everything and nothing.

Much to my dismay I do not have 5G (even on my phone because we're far away from towers that bring actual reception) as joked about nor did it give me super-hearing which is also something I was secretly hoping for. 

Lochlan scoffs and says all it gives us is sore arms and peace of mind and he's right and so he gets to play the piano this morning but he's not keeping up with my song and I forgot the words in the middle anyway. this after he promised we would live life more musically as we piled into the theatre last night to get through as much of the second act of season five of Lucifer on Netflix, a show with more religious puns and musical numbers than I could ever hope to see all at once on the big screen and I love it so much and I'll be sad when it's all done. Also it seems like we've hardly watched anything this spring and we've watched a few things. I guess it ebbs and wanes sometimes, like the tide, which gifted me nothing at all this morning but maybe I wasn't looking because I feel too tired today anyway. Otherwise good but tired from not being able to sleep comfortably and also because I lay there waiting for my gifts like a forgotten superhero and as I said in the first paragraph it was all hyped for nothing. 

I do get to have a huge homemade cinnamon bun and a good cup of tea for my second coffee courtesy of Matt who came over to make breakfast, sent by Sam who thought we might need an extra hand. Which makes me laugh, Asher is back but Matt is a different soul and he's easy to talk to. He is settled in and content as fuck. They both are, honestly but Matt likes the privacy of the boathouse and his life here with Sam working mostly from home. 

Even though things are rapidly heading back to previous normals, as I pointed out to the boys earlier. Sam may be going back to work in the next few weeks. Things are opening. Restaurants are now open for dining and I won't be going to one any time soon but I do feel as if I am working my way toward a Monte Cristo like no other. Last time I had one was August of 2019 and that's a goddamned tragedy, I think.

In the meantime we can sing to pass the time while I wait for my fucking sandwich. 

Your priorities are interesting, Matt says and I just roll my eyes at him. Well, better hearing and a sandwich?

Never said I wanted much in life, I remind them all. That would be lots.

Update: it was Moderna! Very excited for that. And now everyone on the point has had at least one vaccine. So thankful that everyone here is still healthy and safe and continues to be so. Now I go sleep because zzzzz.

Sunday shots.

Dozing this morning in the fog, eyes closed against the half-light, cool and perfectly comfortable with a breeze on my face from the window above the bed and the warmth of his arm around the back of my neck, his fingers smoothing my bangs away from my forehead periodically. Just as I fall asleep they dance across my skull and I am pulled out of an endless, meandering dream in which I am rowing a boat across a lake so chockful of lilies I can't gain any speed but it's also so beautiful it takes my breath away. 

(I did that once. Sometimes memories masquerade as dreams. I love my brain when that happens.)

I have to go get ready, Diabhal. 

Church is probably over. You can listen to it this afternoon. 

The kids and I are getting vaccinated. 

On a Sunday? 

Yes. 

Need a driver?

Have one. Lochlan's taking us. 

Ah. Then I'll be here when you get back. 

Okay. I kiss his cheek and he grabs for me as I escape his embrace.

I will get the grapefruit lemonade one, of course. Same one I always get. That's a lie. I always seem to end up with blue. I don't even know what flavour blue is.

 My eyes are burning and so is my face from where I swelled up like a pink balloon during waspgate. I was in the sun this morning for probably two hours, mostly in shade, weeding the gardens and hoeing up the soil, checking on my seeds (EVERYTHING came up) and getting rid of leftover sticks/bits. Lochlan was tying up grapevines and covering access points in the big wooden fence. Using up old wood. Making it garden-tight as we called it by the time we were finished, around two. I got to go have a cool shower and put on comfy clothes for a trip into the city to pick up a bag full of books and a big order of Indian food (Pakoras for DAYS and Keema naan which makes me so stupidly happy you wouldn't even believe it) and then after dinner we could sit and have a drink and enjoy the beautiful gardens and I realized I probably still managed to do too much, even as I am clearing the week just in case my vaccine makes me so tired and I sleep for two days, like the boys all did after their shots. 

Sleeping for two days would be a fucking dream. It'll never happen. You know me. But I definitely won't even be lifting a finger tomorrow. We have more Indian food left than we brought home, I think. The outdoors is done. I even washed down the patio chairs up by the doors. I watered everything. We decided not to mow this week to preserve the health of the grass through the next four-day heatwave and the most I will have to do is water things maybe on Tuesday. Lochlan will do it in the evening if I need. 

We don't even need groceries, as we stopped in to a 7/11 I had never been in before and picked up some odds and ends. They had FIVE Slurpee machines but I didn't get one, as we had the takeout. Maybe next week. 

I am ready for my shot and can't wait for this stupid pandemic to be finished.

Moveable beasts.

Both feet in my mouth today, one and then the other. Here, enjoy:

I sent Asher to spend the weekend with his Godfather (the Batman) because suddenly I won't let him do anything and I'm ridiculously hyperaware of his proximity to me when Lochlan is present and honestly maybe we'll work our way up. To his credit he has been alert, aware and mindful of our privacy and we've even instituted easy, no-questions-asked code phrases so he'll just disappear and it's great. I'm not good at formally dismissing anyone and instead I just keep them. End a conversation? Not me. Never. 

Then I scrubbed through the calendar to see if we have anything on for the weekend. It's a group Google Calendar and it keeps us afloat. The kids and I are being vaccinated. That's about it. Then next week an entry catches my eye. Corpus Christi. 

I text Caleb. Why are we going to Texas? Can I not go? 

What on earth are you talking about?

The Texas trip on the calendar. It's a pandemic. I'm not going. 

I have nothing in Texas, Bridget. Check with Schuy. 

Oh, true. But Schuyler doesn't have anything in Texas either. Or any trips in the next week. I run the gamut of men until I get to Sam. Sam looks like he's about to lose it and tells me to click on it. 

Ahhh. 'Christian holidays calendar'.Except you've never mentioned it. 

It's more old-school European orthodoxy. Not my...er...vibe for the church. 

I spent two hours learning that a single click can sometimes answer everything, that's what I learned. Also that Corpus Christi is not only a place in the USA but a fancy Catholic dinner that falls sixty days after Easter.

***

In other news, I am dead. One of my truly good friends (rhymes with Rory) sweetly offered a preview of some rough music he is working on and I laughed. Because there were so many words packed into his verses I couldn't keep up with any of it and it was very unrefined and I laughed before I could catch myself. He is usually a bit of a tempered soul and I cringed visibly while Ben hung his head in disappointment. 

No, no, I want the criticism. She hasn't been wrong yet. 

I'm a huge fan. I know what I want to hear from you. 

Bridge- (Ben goes for damage control and gets dismissed.)

No, it's fine. Let me try something a little different and I'd like to bring it back. 

I would love that. Again, I'm sorry. 

Better you now than everyone else later.

(Oh fans, trust me. You're welcome. This was not good.)

I find him later and ask if he's okay with it. 

Yes. What's wrong? 

Last time I didn't like something you didn't speak to me for two years. 

I was immature then. I was high too. Clean now. It makes a difference. Sadly it's harder to write but easier to have friends.

I nod. I see it with Ben. 

It's fine, Bridge. Don't you worry about it. You've never done me wrong. I will rebuild bigger and better than ever. 

You set the bar so high. I really had nothing to do with it. 

God, you're sweet. 

Am not. 

Oh but you are. (That right there? The biggest compliment he's ever given me.)

It's got a way of making everyone the same.

December's all alone
and he's calling
me on the phone
but he sounds so cold
He says he loves me so
but how would I ever know?
Certain words grow old
It's a vicious kind of catch
it sides me blind
Now I'm out of my mind
I want to scream

No, Peanut. Duncan's got it. 

I just lost my job as Lochlan's spotter. 

We're under fire restrictions now since it's May but because it's raining so hard Lochlan's brought out his big torches to practice. It's the only time he'll do it now. He keeps his skills up. His arms are rock-hard and just as sinewy-defined as ever since he started throwing fire but these torches are bigger, heavier and far more dramatic than his usual practice torches. As such he has to haul them out and use them regularly or he forgets the weight difference and struggles more than he should, if that explains it. It's hard to explain.

I can do it. 

No, you can't. I can't believe all this time has passed and you don't understand what I was doing when I asked you to spot me. Do you think a twelve year old can pull that off? 

I did. 

It was so you wouldn't wander off. 

Oh. Well. Wow. It never crossed my mind. 

You didn't have to be a parent at seventeen. I had to get creative. You hardly listened. 

I listen!

He glares. Hardly. A smile finally cracks his face. You weren't there for safety, in any case. And you still aren't. 

So what you're saying is you were foolishly unprotected for the entirety of our show time. 

But you weren't and that's what matters. 

Wow. 

Yeah.

Lunar eclipsing.

Caleb had a whole lot to say to me about PJ last night and I ended up standing up and walking out the door. Nightcaps are not an invitation to unload unless invited to do so and I didn't need to hear about PJ. PJ is just projecting, he's feeling the first pangs of empty-nest syndrome, he's questioning his worth. All of that is such familiar territory for me I have a hard time finding sympathy and yet he is as open and honest as they come. 

So freezing Caleb out over a taboo subject is the best way to shut him down, closing doors behind me as I go. Not doing that. PJ is off limits to absolutely everyone, including Lochlan. Lochlan may rule this point like a Fire King but PJ is the wood that keeps him burning.

And well, speaking of euphemisms, PJ was still awake when I knocked on his door, having walked down to see him because he'll always be better company than anyone and he understands the rules better than everyone. And even as the kids grow up and leave PJ is my constant, my conscience and my hand up, he's my level and my compass. He's my best friend and he asks for so little overall.

We would have been the most normie-suburban, bullshit-traditional, predictable family in the world, and as he opens the door only in jeans, pulling me in by the wrists, locking the door behind me and leading me down the hall I can only be grateful we're nothing of the kind.

Tattooed tempest (not me, for once).

Asher may have stuck the teaspoon in his mouth while he fixed my earring for me before putting the spoon back in my tea and I think that's what set PJ off, for I picked up the mug and took a sip. A quarter teaspoon of honey really sets the blueberry tea right in my book. He didn't forget. Only the wildflower honey. Only with the blueberry tea. No other kinds. I drink those kinds black. And it's Tuesday, he didn't have to ask which kind. I put the mug down and settle back against Asher's shoulder to check my phone. 

Christ. 

What's wrong, Padraig?

I stare at him and he's a controlled shipwreck so I ask Asher if he can go down to the boathouse and get my pink sweater. Asher agrees (I don't think he's dumb. He knew something was up. I haven't worn my pink sweater in weeks.) and we wait until he leaves and we watch him head across the lawn together in silence before squaring off. 

This is some low-key incestuous shit right here, Bridge-

Are you jealous, PJ? 

But we said it at the same time and then both shouted NO pretty much directly into each others' faces. 

Dalton walks in and laughs. PJ and I are both turning pink and glaring at each other, huffing and puffing quietly. 

Need a referee?

No, I assure him. 

Maybe, PJ counters. 

Dalton looks at PJ, looks at me and says he's making lunch but he'll be nearby if we need him. Off he goes too and we're left with this mirrored glare. 

Physically this looks terrible. Emotionally this is ironic. I look after you and the kids. You don't need a separate person-

Your hands are full, I'd rather you focus on them-

Bridget, Henry is almost twenty years old. Ruth is moving out. The only person who needs a nanny around here is you. And it's supposed to be me. His eyes are welling up. (No no no. Don't you dare, Padraig or I will break I swear to God.) 

You never signed up for that. 

Oh, yes I did. I can show you the line. Wrote my full name out, even. He is so earnest. 

I can't ask you to do that. 

You didn't even try. 

I did. We're too close. 

Told you you should have married me. 

We would have been so boring though. I am crying now. Fuck.

Exactly. 

Asher is more of a maid than a nanny. I needed to be able to dismiss someone at the drop of a hat to go and fetch my errands or weed the garden and I can't do that with you.

Says who?

Says me.

He's coming back. Can I have the job or not? 

No, you can't. You can be my very close friend instead. With all the perks. 

Do you promise? 

Yes.

Can I have those perks this week or-

Hush, you.

Asher returns, holding out...my pink sweater.  I saw it in your closet on the weekend but I checked the boathouse first. I think you only have the one pink one, right? This should be it.

It is, thanks. 

Should I go again? PJ, man, I don't want to step on your toes. 

Just stay out of my way. PJ tries for casual but ends up all but growling on his way out the door.

Should I talk to him? Or maybe get Lochlan to? Asher doesn't want to cause problems. He looks almost scared suddenly.

He'll be fine. He just likes to run a tight ship. 

He seems like a good captain. 

Oh, I will tell him you said that. He can't hate you then.

The only good Mondays are long-weekend Mondays.

One of my favourite things to do is crack open all of the levered windows in the pool enclosure until it's humid and cold and then take a nap in my favourite chaise out there, bundled in a serape, listening to the rain pour down outside. It's always dark and breezy and life is drowned out and maybe it's escapism and no one had any patience to sit there for an hour in total silence, even with a book or a podcast or a movie on Netflix so it was a three-times-a-year if I'm lucky kind of deal. 

Asher is paid to have patience. He can sit for days and not say a word. Every so often, whether I am asleep or awake he will put his feet down from where he has them propped against a planter, and lean forward to pull the blankets up over my shoulder or tuck them around my hips. He doesn't say anything, he just looks after it. We've grown almost symbiotic here, with him able to anticipate needs before I recognize I have them, and he will ask if I'd like a cup of tea or a sweater or my shoes so I can check out the garden. 

Don't worry, I still put in a full eight hours yesterday building a tiny shed in the corner of the orchard. It's far enough away from the house that we need things out there. A first aid kit will go inside. A compost bin and some hand tools so you don't have to go all the way back to the garage if you decide you want to garden or tidy up a bit, a fire extinguisher and yes, an epi-pen is included in the first aid kit. The shed has two levels and a moon cut out to match my little garden gate and a roof made of cedar shakes and Ben trimmed in a little fairy window that I can paint a scene in to show someone might be home. I'm thinking a mouse rocking her baby mouse by a roaring fire. Or maybe a fox sleeping in a bed. 

Something dark and charming, anyway. That's the theme of my life.

Absent Jesus.

Try to dispose of a failure to decide
Holding fast and hoping for a sign
Keeping close this fervent lust for life
The greatest of all our enemies is time

I am turned unexpectedly, brought up into his arms, crushed against his chest, his hands tight around my hips, taking my weight in to hold, and I cry out in surprise, the sound truncated with a kiss, equally crushing, equally surprising. 

His face returns to his comfort zone, pressed against the side of my head, just above me so if I try to turn my head in towards him I wind up in a void underneath his jaw, set hard against my forehead. His hands are gripping me so hard. We're slipping. It's so warm and yet no one's going to let go first. But then he gives up and down I go, dropped back to the quilts along with his weight and we're safe again, on the way to the moon and he cries out just as I shatter along with him, both our hands coming up around each others heads to seal the moment (and maybe the night) with a kiss. 

It's a practised routine and no one gets in the way. 

But then Lochlan lets go and the cool air leaves me wrapped in goosebumps, shivers running down my neck across my shoulders and my back and down my arms to my fingertips as they connect with Ben. Ben isn't having it and back I go on my face with a laugh, smothered in quilts as he doesn't plan to be romantic at all tonight. 

Until the bittersweet end, I mean. Then it's much the same only slightly more violent and the kiss comes as an afterthought. Ben is tired. It's been a long night. We have not slept and my eyes begin to sting suddenly as it dawns on me how much they love me. 

Maybe too much, as I am handed to Caleb, who kisses the tip of my nose as he pulls me in against him. 

No, no, no, I plead. I need a break. I need sleep. I need something else entirely. A portal to another dimension where affection doesn't slide into this, automatically. 

Just go for a little longer, Babydoll. We're not finished with you yet.

I see Lochlan frown and look away, out the window at the sun. It always brings regret up with it, brightening everything dark, just so that there's no mistake, just so you know what you've done.

I keep it under glass, bright lights keeping it from growing, shrivelled and dry in the glare. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to throw a shadow if it had the strength anymore. I'll let it wither, requited just enough to keep it alive. I will make it suffer, and along with it, him. Humane? No. Deserved? 

Yes. 

I took that heart and I won't let it have any darkness any more. He came back with open arms and a plan and all the money in the world and then some. So much. Lochlan used to say we had nothing and so we have everything (ironically biblical, that) and Caleb came back to say everything was a phone call or a whim away and here, do that instead and bring everyone but I'm coming too and it will be okay. The gang's back together again. 

And mostly it is okay. 

Growing pains, that's all. Asher's arrival was so understated, it was bound to eventually blow up, boil over and melt down. The point is a forge and our emotions are weapons and the more tears I cry, the more bullets lodge in their flesh. The more victims I collect. The more hearts I break, only they get to keep theirs to regenerate and do it all again.

But Asher stays.

I watch Caleb sleep, the night long behind us now, the reluctant permission to make it up to me, the assurances, promises and plans. The lies we all recognize for their easy deployment and the peace in his slumbering expression now. 

I said I was okay but no one believes me. I said I wasn't but somehow they didn't believe that either.

Caleb = 0.

I see no volunteers to co-sign on my fears
I'll sign on the line
Alone, you're gonna change my circumstance
I know I need to move right now

'Cause I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me (Only smoking secondhand)
I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me
Coming for me

Caleb has my hands pulled behind my back, held in one of his. He is on the phone and I struggle briefly until he squeezes hard and I freeze, unwilling to cry out and give him the satisfaction of dismissing a sudden alarming sound to the person on the other end of the line as something inconsequential.

I could call out. I could cause a huge fuss and everyone would come running and then he would have to explain, he would have to swallow his demon tendencies even as they snake out from his cuffs, darken the white spaces in his eyes and turn his hands to claws that rip against my flesh like thorns against a cotton sundress, pulling you back, keeping you there tangled in something that's bigger than you. You can go later and cut them back and decide that you have disarmed the threat but it grows back. In your mind you know damn well it's going to do so but in the moment you feel as if you have gotten control. 

(I don't have control.)

He pulls me backwards as he wraps up his call and pins me against the door, hand around my neck, head bent down so we are eye to eye, only my chin is being forced painfully up and I am up on my toes and maybe not even touching the floorboards anymore. I close my eyes, checking out before he gets to her. I can go anywhere. Behind my eyelids I can fucking fly and yet I always head for the same place, the corner of the cotton candy booth, the shady spot where I can finish my lunch but Lochlan can still keep an eye on me here. His break is still an hour away but I was too hungry. The sun is so warm against my forehead, Caleb's hot breath as he levels threats, promises and God knows what else to an audience of none, as I can't hear him when he whispers and I don't even try anymore. 

And then a knock goes through me, from the other side of the door. 

I snap back to the cool wood, briefly wondering what's going to happen the first time I don't come back at all. 

Yes. Caleb barks the word at the closed door. He's going to open it regardless but he's buying time for composure. He's buying time to get his body under control, willing his predilections to snake back up into his cuffs, tucking back under his collar, horns sinking back into his skull, eyes changing back to bright white and medium blue. It's something to watch, anyway, but I still haven't opened my eyes. 

He slides me back down, letting go, frowning at the red handprint around my throat. No time to hide that so he shoves me out of the way as Lochlan opens the door. 

I was with you- I tell him, excited that I can still teleport when things get really bad, as he looks to me first. 

Ash said he couldn't find you. He finally looks at Caleb. Jesus fucking Christ, Caleb. 

Maybe you interrupted something. 

Lochlan looks back at me and I shake my head. No, I say but no sound comes out. 

Lochlan comes past Caleb, takes my hand, pulls me in against him and takes me out of the room. 

Caleb is shouting something and Lochlan ignores him. We go past Asher, who is doing a magnificent job of not being surprised (guess they filled him in completely) and he fills the gap in the hallway, going head to head against Caleb and pointing out he's here to keep an eye on me and Caleb is pointing out no one needs to do that when he is with me and the last thing I hear is Asher disputing that masterfully and then we are outside and the sun is warming my face for real and it wasn't a daydream at all.

(I had told Asher where I would be and dismissed him for some free time of his own. He didn't listen to me and promptly called in my army. Had I known Caleb was going to wake up on the wrong side of the day I never would have gone though so I am grateful for him right off the bat.)

Longer nights.

God bless Everett and God bless Joel. They've been working together (!) with Sam, with Lochlan and with Ben behind the scenes, with August, who probably worries most of all but works so hard to keep it casual, to figure out what to do next. 

And they did. Monday everything changed again and this is another attempt to organize things here or at least make them easier for all of us. Not just me but okay, fine, mostly me. The smallest and weakest. The runt of the litter, as it were. 

Asher's back. He's been back for five days and it's been really nice. He's a familiar face if you're a longtime reader for a breath seven or eight years ago and we had a plan for him but it wasn't quite right. He arrived with intentions to become the butler and just...look after things, but it was strange and no one would let him do anything and he wasn't really sure either, he only knew he wanted an unconventional life but after seeing the world and getting a little older, he is back to settle down. Or rather, he hasn't settled down and so he's back for another go. 

He's Batman's Godson, and he's really mellowed into a handsome, easy-going, take-no-bullshit personality with humour and grace. He's a lot like Sam in that way, though Sam takes all my bullshit. I don't know where he keeps it, but he takes it. 

So Asher's focus this time around employment-wise is not to manage the house but just me. If I have errands, he'll do them. If I need food, he'll get it. My chores are his chores now. If I do something it will be a whim, apparently. He will be a bodyguard against wasps and sea lions and strangers and bears, oh my. He will rub my neck for me and choose my outfits. He'll be a human buffer between me and Gage the world. He'll set out my toothbrush and my pajamas.

He's going to listen to my problems, whether first or third-world. He'll put up with my whining. He's going to be my confidante, my best friend and my assistant. There's no overstepping with PJ now, no difficulties trying to raise the kids with extra faces on hand (the kids are adults, Ruth is apartment-shopping) and even Caleb is on board. 

He will disappear when Lochlan is around, however unless Lochlan asks him to stay close.

I had zero problems being honest and open with him. We are easy friends. This morning when I came down, a few minutes before Lochlan was ready, I showed Asher the progress on my face and he told me I was still adorable but also stupid for for assuming the world was a friendly, safe place. I don't assume that and tell him so with colourful belligerence. He ignores me, hands me my pills and a glass of water, then hands me my coffee. In a travel mug so I don't spill it or burn myself, and so it doesn't get cold. He watches everything and fixes it. He is a quick study, or maybe I'm a short read. He's a sharp wit. He's going to lift the weight without the demands. If I don't want to talk I don't have to. No one is demanding I flay myself down to the bone at their command. No one wants to talk it out and fix it instantly anymore. No one's demanding anything. They just decided to pitch the fuck in. But he'll be able to sound the alarm before I know we need to ring it.

There's only one problem and it's that always-present awful one that I can't get away from. 

Yes, he's really cute. And now that he's close to thirty he's doing that thing men do when they go from cute to easy-handsome. 

Lochlan laughs when I lay it all out for him. Lochlan is not worried. 

I didn't say you should be worried-

I'm not jealous either. 

Why not? 

He's not Caleb. 

Ah. 

Ah, he repeats.

Still? I cock my head at him, eyes narrowed. 

Forever, Lochlan frowns and my heart breaks a thousand times in the space of one beat, becoming stars. Asher comes back, sees the darkness, appreciates the stars for a minute and then instead of asking me if I'm cold, just hands me my sweater, staying close as I need help putting it on with the forever-fucked up elbow I can't bend the way it should. 

When my head pops through the neckhole Lochlan kisses my nose and tells me if I have worries I can put them away now. 

 Asher turns his pockets inside out and says he has room. I think he needs cargo pants. Or maybe a cargo plane. I tell him and he laughs and tells me nothing is insurmountable. 

That's how I am reminded how young he still is.

Goldilocks and the three things (One too small: the mouse. One too big: The Devil. One just right: The redhead).

My bird cam (which is set in the big tea roses in the upper part of the garden on the woods side of the house) regularly catches a curious adolescent Spotted Towie and a bully Starling, three unique and habituated hummingbirds and a giant Northern Flicker is now a mouse cam.

We have a mouse. In the garden. Or maybe it's a rat. I don't know but it's small and it makes three trips a night across the garden and back. Every time we fill the hole we think it's using it finds a new one and this has been my entertainment this past week as my eye stops hurting and my skin heals, all the swelling slowly returns to normal and I finish out all these pills, which give me headaches. At least it's cool and raining today and I checked all the places and we learned where it goes and where it's coming from. Not sure we can do anything about it save for removing the water from the fountain and turning it off and taking down the bird feeders. I take them in every night anyway to usurp the bears and raccoons but apparently this critter might be attracted to the little bits of seeds and suet left behind. 

I felt well enough to organize Caleb's life a little, looking after picking up packages and having a look at his emails. He isn't all that dedicated and will just read things. He won't act on or file them away though and so I have to chase him down to find out what his plans are for each and every thing. I transfer all of his dividends to my account and check shipping, clean out some old files and then book him in with his barber and cardiologist. Pre-summer stuff. In exchange for three hours of admin-light he had to take over cleaning five bathrooms and making lunch. 

It's all done now. We had bagels with cottage cheese, dill and cucumber and fresh peach slices. He made a point of going to find Loch and bringing him back to make sure he had a decent lunch, as Lochlan is out in the yard sanding down every last sharp edge and thorny path in my life so that he can sleep at night. Apparently we have reverted somewhat and instead of calling it an accident and removing the hollow log so there will never be another surprise, Lochlan has gone full fearful parent and is demanding we cut back all of the flowers to minimize insects and maybe brick over more of the yard. Maybe the gazebo should be glassed in like the pool to have a safe waypoint in case it happens again. The points on the roof and eaves and doors and windows will be regularly sprayed now. Someone has to sweep the garage, stables and sauna before I can go in, oh, and I'm never allowed down to the beach again because God only knows what's under those steps but it's probably bad all the same. 

He will not listen to reason. 

He did however, stop at the pharmacy to pick up Matt's spanking new Epi-Pen, good for sixteen months, and got me a bag of Sweet Sixteen licorice tape (the absolute best) and that's how I know he's still in there. He isn't worried about my teeth, just my skin. So we're good, I guess?

Not even remotely good today.

I'm gonna check my scars at home
Gonna cash my chips and roam
Gonna walk before you fade to black
I'm gonna write a new resume
I'm gonna write you off the page
Gonna take what we might take away

Caleb knocks on the door softly. How is Tuesday? 

I shrug. Noncommittal. Epic headaches. Epic weakness when I want to be strong. Epic exhaustion when I want to be energetic. I want to be the sun and the moon. I want to be able to play more than three-quarters of any verse on the piano before someone interrupts me. It's okay, I lie.

He frowns. He knows my lies. I have a present for you. 

What is it?

A nap. In the shade. With Ben and I. 

Yes, please.

Ooh. Wrote a whole bunch and now I need to go lie down.

Duncan just told me I am far less intimidating right this minute with my puffy half-face and fragile health than I usually am, without it.

He is my babysitter right now. He's healing a full back of hand and knuckle tattoos. He is hurting and it's GLORIOUS.

I love being bowled over with their honesty at nine in the morning while I'm still sipping my first coffee and enjoying the rain, however light it is right now. The rest of the boys are walking the property now to make sure there are no more nests.

This is somewhat comforting, as we were playing Night & Seek just about every evening at dusk up until last Saturday when I got stung during the day, at least, and it was so much fun. And I can fit into weird surprising places that I didn't expect, like the cupboard that holds the hose reel on the back side of the house, as long as the hose is out of it and unspooled across the side yard. I can fit behind the lawnmowers under the steps where we keep them in a locked shed built under the steps of the loft going up from the garage. 

I did mention that's where I got that big scary spider bite in 2011 that turned my arm black, right?

Do I learn? No. Is Night & Seek as much fun forty years later? Hell yes it is. And it only took fifteen minutes on the first night to convince Lochlan that if we hide together we will be way too easy to find and then the game is ruined for everyone so we need to split up. The only rule was you have to stay well inside the perimeter of the property and you have to keep your eyes open for wildlife. They turned the fence on after walking it for bears and bobcats at the start of each. Gosh it's fun living in the woods by the sea. He let me hide alone as he knows I am so competitive about the game. 

The first night I saw the fattest raccoon I ever laid eyes on. The second night both neighbourhood local cats who won't stay out of my garden/off the point/away from my birds showed up and I sprayed them away and then ran through the dark for my life to hide as far away from the hose as possible. The third night I think I saw a rat but I haven't seen him since and the fourth night Lochlan got cold feet and made me hide with him again and we hatched a serious plan and sacrificed Ben, who was found first. Lochlan did not throw a rock to Ben to draw Sam to where he was, nope, uh-uh. 

*whistles*

We're trying to have a great spring and we're going to have a better summer. This is the plan. 

Thank you, I think.Can I smack your hand now, by accident? 

Please no. It's nice being on the same level, that's all.

Oh, you're slumming today? 

Not what I mean, Bridge. I mean you're this ethereal creature most of the time and today you're just a hurting human. 

God, I love it when you talk dirty to me. 

You know what I mean. 

Okay. 

Seriously. 

I said okay. 

I didn't explain it well. Nevermind. He looks at me and I look back and then he looks away again.

Okay, I say, and crack up.

HOLY FUCKING HELL (also BEES. But not actually BEES).

One of the hardest parts about taking extended breaks (four days is apparently a lifetime?) from my daily updates are the rumours and the terrible predictions I come back to in emails. 

People wonder if I died. If I did myself in or if maybe Caleb killed me, or worse, someone else did. People wondered if we were taking a fancy trip abroad and I didn't want to get flack for it in the time of a pandemic. People wondered if Lochlan finally got tired of me and left, leaving me heartbroken. People wondered if I was finally moving on from writing everything down that I want to share or even don't want to share.

A lot of you wondered if maybe I had been sent away to be fixed or bettered or helped somewhat, that it was good. Those ones were weirdly encouraging and loving and now I feel strange about every word I've ever written here. 

But nope. Close but I didn't. I wouldn't. He didn't. No one else would dare. Of course not. No, he didn't and he never will. No I'm not. And no, I didn't. 

Hope that helps, okay, byeeeeeeee-

Ha. I am still here. 

This is totally sad but as I said, my body takes Great Delight in sabotaging me every single chance it gets and so the DAY BEFORE I am to have my Covid vaccine I stepped right into a wasp nest in the back of the orchard. One tucked in to the place where I stand to reach up and hang the bird feeder when I remember to refill it. There's a large piece of driftwood underneath that delineates the path from the arbour and it's also a great way for me to reach the lowest branch. Apparently it was also a great place to build a nest for a large quantity of super aggressive yellowjackets and of course when I stood on it they came out and in my surprise I kicked the log again and oh, my. 

It was a cloud of black angry buzzing in my face and all around me. 

They stung my hairline and my lip and my nose and right at the corner of one eye, one on my elbow, getting caught and then for good measure my thumb, too.

I am not allergic, or rather, I wasn't, but fourteen stings at once is a lot and I didn't fare so well and my blood pressure dropped and my heart began to dance and now, well now I am allergic. Really thought I would be fine before my body went hey...what? No.

The whole side of my face swelled up, a rash developed almost all over my top half and my eyes swelled shut. My nostril swelled shut. One side of my mouth blew up. It was frightening. It hurt so bad. So, so bad.

Expired epi pens still have lots of life though and that's good. 

The boys are surprisingly good in emergencies now and didn't fuck around wondering if it was a real emergency or something we could figure out. It was just go go go.

Doctors are fast and incredible at what they do, and that's even better. 

The boys have spoiled me rotten for more the last week. It happened last Saturday afternoon and I think I lost an entire week of my life but I'm feeling so much better and the only long term effects are whatever time it's going to take the rash and subsequent nerve pain to subside and the fact that I have to add ALLERGIC TO STINGS to my HARD OF HEARING medical bracelet. My vision is okay, hearing bad as ever and when do I not have a rash or reaction to something?

Fun fact since I managed to demonize Caleb at the beginning of this post for no reason and I have to not do that, as he spent all of Tuesday randomly describing the screen for me as we watched Bling Empire on Netflix. Well, he watched and I listened because I couldn't see and even if I could have I couldn't put my glasses on because it still hurts and my skin feels like a third degree burn and it almost burst in places. He said they paused and zoomed in on various designer items during the episodes and I told him it's to give people time to buy something from that designer online and there begat a new game for us and now we have some interesting packages coming in the post this week and fully a third of them are from Cartier. 

(the rest are men's Dior and Balenciaga RTW items for Lochlan since he expressed interest in a shirt so Caleb bought him a BUNCH of stuff he thinks Lochlan might like. They, along with Ben have stuck beside me around the clock even though I look like the elephant girl. Still do, pretty much though the swelling has gone down a little now.)

So all is not lost. The silver lining in a long week turned out to be white gold. And never stand on a hollow log without checking to see if anyone's home first.

(My vaccine is rebooked for the end of the month, thank God. That's all I wanted in the first place and it's why I was rushing to get the gardening done so I wouldn't have to do any on vaccine day or the day after that because the boys were all really tired after their shots.)

One foot in the gr- (Don't be so morbid, Bridget!).

Not dead. Just having some fairly extreme surprise medical issues over here and apparently I will start to feel better in four or five days or maybe that was weeks, I don't know. I was supposed to get my vaccine this afternoon but my body decided to stage a mutiny and come up with something new and different. Not online. Not doing anything but lying in the shade watching Netflix and sleeping way too much. She goes until she stops, I guess. 

I'll be back when I feel good enough to sit up for five seconds and don't have other pressing things to do with that energy.

Overcoffeed already this morning, chewing on the headphone cord while I try and figure out how to clear this fog. I never have energy but I don't sleep and I eat too much sugar. I don't sleep because I worry too much but I can't let go and just give in to the medication, give in to the booze, give in to the endless, constant chronic reassurance that it's all okay, no, life is a goddamned white-knuckle extreme thrill ride and honestly I got every thrill I ever needed from the most basic standard Ferris Wheel and never asked for more. 

I have headphones permanently plugged in to my shitty laptop, an Asus zenbook (never ever buy one) that can be flipped around to become a tablet which still remains useless as fuck, the pencil is useless, the sound is so fucking bad except through headphones but I hate taking my airpods out of my bag because then I forget to put them back and get out somewhere and wish for them dearly. 

I miss the macbook but I have an ipad pro that can almost do everything anyway and Lochlan got me a folio case with a spot for the pencil and a full bluetooth keyboard and the sound and picture is unfucking real from it but I'm going to wear this laptop into the ground first before I go ham on the ipad, though I use it for drawing and for watching movies by the pool or in bed. 

I'm probably going to electrocute myself on this cord at some point but I'm pretty sure the four other times I got blown off my feet by electricity and lived to tell the tale probably explain everything we need to know about my brain, if not everything that came before those events. What can I say? It all goes into the mix, gets stirred up and whatever comes out is pretty much your fault. 

Especially the lower-lip-biting, which was a concentrated, painful reminder to think before I spoke but now serves as some sort of visual heartbreak to everyone. I don't know how that happened but Lochlan just said the cord is the same thing and please stop it. 

Guess I'll go back to just blurting out whatever comes to mind, whether I heard you properly or not.

Little electric nightmare.

Yesterday I think my energies got out of control. I don't know it was leftover dismay at my birthday year or the fact that Schuyler completely unpacked my very being, breaking it all down, taking inventory, and then packing it all back up again. Maybe he forgot to put the lid on, maybe there was an air bubble. In any case, I popped four balloons, three lightbulbs, broke a mug and failed to successfully replant an errant majoram sprig for no freaking reason even though I've been patiently pulling them out of the marconi daisies where they took up residence and moving them to a different section of the garden for the past two weeks and it worked great up until today. It rained like the dickens through dinner and I just bandaged up my hand from where the mug edge cut into my flesh and I took my shitty energies and went to bed alone. The dog joined me and then Lochlan, who slept with his elbow in my face. I had to get up like five times to pee even though I cut out my water at dinner and Ben came up in the single digits and woke me up again, mumbled sorry, turned away and that was that. 

I swear to God, I wish there were magic sleep spices that didn't involve severe tranquilizing. I wish there were vacations. I wish my energies extended to being creative instead of locking down and imploding. Here's hoping today is off the grid though. Yesterday grew exceedingly stressful and I don't want a repeat of it.

On the other hand, fully half the point is being vaccinated this afternoon and there are still like five pieces of birthday cake left and I get to cull favours in exchange for them, which is always fun. Oh yes, and it's Friday! Tomorrow is wiped clean just in case there are effects from the vaccine (it's Pfizer or Moderna, we waited for the government rollout instead of the pharmacy one, which is AZ) and I can watch and plan because I get my shot on Tuesday.

Aftersmash.

Working on big picture stuff, and prioritizing my goals today with Schuyler, from where I am newly jammed in between he and Daniel, all three of us in boxers but I get a warm long-sleeved t-shirt, because I am always cold now, having scones with jam and pretty good coffee. Schuyler likes to check in with people on the day after their birthdays now to help them set goals for the coming year and shed bad habits and old ineffective methods. 

I think you just banned yourself, I take another bite of toast. I try to keep it neat but Schuy leans over my face and steals a huge messy bite. 

Never, he says through his mouthful. This refines you. 

Daniel laughs. He is sleepy but loves having guests, loves watching Schuy play life coach. Loves watching Lochlan nap. Lochlan army-naps. He can sleep anywhere. And I sort of love having a life-coach who knows me. Who doesn't? Schuy is level-headed, organized, successful and retired so he has time to devote to helping those of us who struggle with meaning and whatever our definitions of success might be. I am loathe to realize my entire creative existence was borne out of pressure from my publisher and isn't even under my name and he is loathe to see how much that bothers me, after a fashion. And he isn't some stranger, some counselor brought in to work some sort of textbook program. And that's what I think I love most even though of course again, there is work ahead.

But in the meantime there are scones and semi-naked men. Savage Garden. 

***

It was a blissful birthday. A quiet, dry one. Lochlan outdid himself, right down to the tiny detail of telling Caleb he had already looked after champagne and a drink order and then made pink lemonade, from scratch. Dinner was outside. Pizza, which was awesome, and then ice cream cake inside and hot tea and balloons that burst at random, seemingly and made us shriek and laugh. It was one of the nicest and most wholesome birthdays I think I've ever had and I would do it again every single day if I could. 

We'll go back to being heathens tomorrow, Lochlan said. For tonight I just want to see you smiling like this.

A Joan of Arc (and smart enough to believe this).

Oh ominous place spellbound and unchildproofed
My least favourite chill to bear alone
Compatriots in place they'd cringe if I told you
Our best back-pocket secret our bond full-blown

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment
I am a wunderkind, I am a pioneer naive enough to believe this
I am a princess on the way to my throne 

It's an easy round and even number, somehow comforting and frightening all at once. It is a dividing line, a highway down the centre of the route you thought you were taking until you turn around to look back and realize you've gone off on a tangent, found a detour and you're very near to where you meant to be but you're in a different place altogether at the same time.

(Where are you meant to be, Bridget?)

(We've got to get off the road.) 

I shrug and readjust my pack. Somehow over the years it got heavier and yet somehow, over the years, I figured out how to better carry it. 

I feel established and knowledgeable and experienced. I feel like a scared teenager in a bad situation, one who felt tough right up until he called her bluff. 

I feel like I should fight. 

I'm too tired to fight.

I feel as if today should consist of eating cake and watching good horror movies. Maybe an eight-hour sleep afterwards. In reality today will consist of laundry, more laundry, dishes, bathrooms, vaccuuming (still can't spell it, how old am I again? ) and figuring out dinner as everyone rolls in. Maybe a little horror movie time later. 

There are presents on the table in front of my chair. I was sent to bed at eight last night in order to facilitate a balloon throne, constructed on the spot and these beautifully wrapped presents piled around it which I have to wait twelve hours to open. I did not sleep. I read (chipping away at The Pandora Room. Love me some Ben Walker mysteries) and then I tossed and turned and got up at five and cried. 

Lochlan laughed and reminded me how I tried to comfort him when he turned this age and somehow in his mind I minimized his feelings and for that I'm sorry even though it's been five years since that happened. I didn't know that's what it feels like, saying it's just a number and the numbers don't matter.

He is right. 

It isn't but it doesn't matter either. 

Life is confusing. You want to be taken seriously. You want to be left alone. You want to throw glitter around indoors and dance to music that's so loud it's criminal and then you realize if you get glitter everywhere indoors you will still be finding it on the next perfectly-round, even birthday. 

So don't. 

But consider it. Because you can.

(Destined to reign, destined to roam.)

Find yourself a love who looks at you like Darren Hayes looked into the camera in the nineties.

I'm not watching Savage Garden videos. You are. 

I'm not enjoying the last day of my forties. No sirree. We already got groceries. I'm wearing my tiara. We have cupcakes for later and this is it, boys, there she goes. I'm not looking back. Not going to let it get me. Not going to entertain the ghosts for free when it costs me extra, not going to let fear rule when love does it so much better. Not going to put up with much more bullshit as every single man who walks into the room says something along the lines of not being able to believe that tomorrow is my birthday and it's a really big one. 

A huge one. 

One I can't wrap my brain around but the numbers don't care. They just keep marching like troops in nice solid blocks, in step, in cadence with each other and with the ticking of the clock. 

How do you feel? Lochlan asks, for the dozenth time.

I have no answer for him, yet. This is too new.

Taking a village.

When?

It's for October, possibly November. By then things should be returning to normal. 

We hope. 

We do. If it doesn't work this fall then we'll do it next spring, but I think you need a change of scenery. 

Stop trying to get rid of me. 

On the contrary, Br-

Always your position, isn't it? 

Since I'll be going I can't be getting rid of you, as you say. This would be a break for you. Just a short one.

We'll see. 

That's all I'm asking. 

The Devil is plotting and scheming that if all goes well and the world gets better he would like to show me the Taj Mahal as he went to see it six or eight years ago now and I almost perished from jealousy. I'm aware it's a Stonehenge/pyramids thing in which it looks pristine and singular and in reality it's surrounded by crowds and probably a raging, overhyped tourist trap but I will risk it. Some things you just need to see. 

Hey, if you're bored and looking to spend money you could save Louisbourg.

Speaking of overhyped tourist tr-

It isn't! It's magical there. 

It was dull. 

Sorry we can't all demand high-excitement entertainment, but just the thought that all of those French people just showed up to live and work at a tiny little village at the very tip of the cape, far from home sort of blows my mind. 

You mean like all of us moving here to the point?

And its magical, right?

It is, yes. 

Then it should be saved. 

I say that every single day, Neamhchiontach.

Like all dreamers.

Sunshine.

Bacon.

The mystery of formatting that leaves a space and half between each line. 

Labradorite.

Italian coffee.

Gerbera daisies.

Benevolent ghosts that only want what's best for you.

Clairaudience. Clairsentience. Madness. What's the difference?

Sudden amusement as Save A Prayer starts on the stereo. This is PJ's playlist and he plays it off as an old favourite just for Bridget. Ha. This was the very first song Lochlan and I ever slow-danced to, the entire way through, without stopping. In the camper with the little shitty radio tuned to C100 on a hot summer day in September. I was eleven. He was seventeen now and I asked him what a one-night stand really meant because it was in the song and he told me and I didn't understand what he meant. I couldn't understand how you would want to touch someone you didn't love and he said maybe you love them in that moment and I said that wasn't love and he pulled me close in again. 

Exactly.

Dismantled devices.

 The safest place was never in a fugue state, addled by this haloperidol-haze, nor is it standing behind the Devil, an oddly cold and stark space, all smooth concrete and solid grey walls, lit from somewhere I can't see, perfectly safe and sterile. It isn't at the edge of the cliff and it isn't at the bottom of the dark teal sea. It's certainly not in my mind, they never gave it back and now I fight for every fucking. single. letter that bounces along in slow motion into the space where my dark little twisted mind used to be before they threw it away. It's not necessary. No one, least of all me, needs the thing anymore so take it out, make some room. We're going to stack it up with new memories, or at the very least, nothing at all. 

I had so many song lyrics. Four decades worth of rare beloved tracks, a collection that belonged in the Smithsonian for its vastness and pure attention to detail. I don't know where it is now. Someday someone will come across it and it will make barely a ripple in the news but people who catalogue songs in their brain like I do will understand the value and the significance. 

Oh well. 

Another thing gone. Like Cole. Like Jacob. Like Bridget, who used to live in colour and now exists in monochrome. Monowail. Monodidactic. Monotheistic. Monophone, to be sure.

Almost wrote 'shure'. You see this fight? Can you watch it from there? Should have broadcast live but they don't like that so I don't. Instead I exist here in this safe place I began with and then quickly lost track of. 

Underneath Lochlan's chin. There's just enough room for me to stand here. To sleep here. To wait here and take shelter here. This is comfort, nostalgia and security all in one place. It's the perfect size for me. Throw in a bonus heartbeat and his arms and I want for nothing today, not even words. Not even plans or meetings or emergency triage or saltwater baptisms or chemical lobotomies or long breaks for sleep. 

Just this. 

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

Fists clenched under my chin against his chest I can drag the music back line by line but I don't have to see any ghosts. Like I said, it's perfect.

I am yours and yours alone
Forgive me for my wandering on my own

That's the only time I feel better, is when I dream and He's there. 

I have an electrolyte sucker in my hand and a warm cardigan over my far-too-light summer dress. My favourite brown Doc Martens. I'm holding the rope of the swing with one hand and Caleb frowns at my rings. Wearing the whole stack. Heart diamond, simple white gold band, Ben's skull ring (I stole it years ago) and my Claddagh. I can never bend this finger. The sucker is wild orange. It's kind of chemically-tasting and not sugary but it works great and is far better than the IV I had yesterday. My skin is so bruised from it. The younger Russian doctor came by, left a trunk full of pills and checked my vitals as I slept for three days under duress, drugged up the wazoo but also I didn't share before that, at some point late Saturday afternoon I went outside to fuck around in the garden and managed to faint, face-first in the dirt. 

That was not a popular move and they had already booked him to come see me yesterday and so the visit was appreciated. He drew some blood, which I'll have the results for tomorrow, but predicted I am anemic, dehydrated and exhausted. Everett's sheets are barely laundered and I never did get a chance to demonstrate exactly how awful things can get for me even though we got pretty darn close. 

How is your sucker? Caleb is trying to wear me down. More words. More pills. More doctors, a better plan than talking to ghosts after breakfast and the dirt by dinner. He's so desperate to cover this up and somehow redeem himself he doesn't even listen anymore. We've had this talk a million times. I have it with someone just about every week. Am I getting worse? No, I'm the same. Always the same.

It's okay. 

You get so rundown so fast. 

I shrug. A hundred pounds doesn't give one a lot of leeway to bounce back. 

Tell me what to do because what I want to do is find a way to keep you from reverting over and over again. 

You know why and you know what my prognosis is. 

So we find a different doctor.

We've already tried dozens. They all say the same thing, the romantic definition being that I am a hopeless case if every there was one. 

I wish I had never touched you. 

But you did and now this is what's left of her. I bite the sucker in half, put the stick in his hand as I jump off the swing and head back through the orchard to the house. The whole way back toward the moon and away from the sun his shadow towers over me. Fitting, in a way.

Out of order.

When I wake up Lochan and Ben are sitting on the floor beside the bed, covered in blood, feasting on my heart in order to get it away from me and keep it safe. If they consume it it means no one else will and I'm suddenly grateful and ashamed all at once. My brain has been thrown off the cliff, far out where it can't come back on the tide, electricity neutralized by the saltwater, bloating it up into a balloon, plucked out of the waves by a seagull, carried to a different coast, never to be seen again.

God these pills are great. What would be someone else's abject nightmares bring me so much peace. 

Not going to let him win, Lochlan says behind a mouthful of crimson pain. 

Ben shakes his head and continues to feast. He's blocking the door. I notice this almost like an afterthought, an intrusive thought that sees this mess from their perspective. Lochlan is comforted somehow, by the simple facts that Ben is there, that I am alert and fully aware that my brain is trying to sabotage me, that prolonged grief, exacerbated by trauma and PTSD is an easy, obvious but fairly recent diagnosis and a likely one just by virtue of what we already know and have seen. It's simply too much. I can't handle this and I've been struggling so hard for so long and sometimes I slip and I can't do it at all anymore and at the same time, here I am. Fighting to be brainless, heartless and whole like I've never fought before.

It's very very hard and I hate it. I hate what it does to Lochlan. I hate what it does to Ben. I hate what it does to Bridget, most of all. She had so much promise and now she's a pretty prisoner and this is the home they have put her in and she'll be lucky if she ever gets to leave the house alone or earn back shoelaces or be able to slice an apple or pick a song ever again.

And that's infuriating but I can do mad. I can't do my brain telling me to go get Jacob because that's where I belong. 

I don't belong there.

(Don't be stupid, Bridget.)

But my brain is so loud. Maybe being deaf is a psychological response (it isn't but oh how I wish it was and how grateful I am that my brain is muffled and easily drowned out).

I'm getting full. Get someone else. There's so much left. Lochlan protests. Red up to the elbows, blood in his hair. Blood on his teeth.

I can get Caleb, Ben says. Or Sam. 

Nevermind, I'll do it, Lochlan promises and continues on. It's my fault. We didn't get the help we needed at the beginning. It's my fault. I'm so sorry.

You were a child too. He's off the hook. He did his best and then some. He continues to fight long after everyone else has given up and left. 

It doesn't matter. I'm responsible for her.

We all are, Ben reminds him gently. You're not alone.

Lochlan's grief over me is going to be exactly the same. We should just get used to it, swimming in blood, tortured, ruined. Always a second from drowning in feelings. Always on high alert. 

Eat faster, I tell them suddenly and they look up in surprise.

You're awake! It's been days, Peanut. How do you feel?

Afraid.

We're fixing it now. Just hold on.

Don't need Jesus just need these pills but they're taking forever to kick in and I wish it was a little faster.

DON'T READ IT. 

I just need headphones and my bed, my green blanket that's warm and covers me perfectly and this rain. How fast can I type? How much should I share?

I got a pass on church podcast, breakfast, probably lunch and talking at all. Sam's been up to see if I want to talk, Lochlan got any words I did have. Ruth got a hug, and Henry too but they have plans and won't be home until late. Ben understands and didn't need words, Lochlan filled him in before he flipped the switch from thinking everything was fine to knowing it's not, and Caleb wondered if we should just cover in the holes and build over them, since we see where they are. 

Duncan blames himself, but he did everything right. I don't sleep enough and it sometimes means my guard is down and it triggers a hole that just opens up right in front of me and I step into it without hesitation (which means Caleb is wrong). 

And Jacob waits. 

Cole laughs at him. 

Caleb wishes he could revise this but I feel like myself today. Barely a white-knuckle grip on anything, slipping through the hours like a petal on the wind. Paper-thin and fragile, feelings like nerves stretching out, growing around everything, choking off life, blocking out the sun, fending off the rain, keeping the ghosts just out of reach. I guess it's better than letting them in but it feels like I am behind glass. What if it gets more frightening and Lochlan can't hear me from back here? What if I can never sleep again? What if Jesus has finally given up and Lochlan is right as he has been every single time thus far and what if this never changes? What if every goddamn feeling is here on my sleeve, burning my fingertips, causing the noise in my brain to reach a fever-pitch, crackly-static, roaring to the point where I might just throw myself off into the sea where it's quiet and still. 

Is this what Jacob felt like? 

Is this all there is? Is this what it means to become so overwhelmed that you can't speak in case you scream, to try and fade into the quilts so you somehow ride out a ride you don't even qualify for. You're too short, too small, not strong enough but then they shove you into it anyway, laughing, fastening the buckle all the while grinning at you blackly, and they tell you to have a good time.

Why doesn't anyone else feel this way? 

We do, sometimes, but we try to be strong for you. Lochlan assures me none of it's real, maybe it's not good but it will be okay. 

How do you know?

It has to be, Peanut. You just need sleep.

I didn't tell him I'm afraid to fall asleep to the sound of Cole's laughter but I don't think he can fix that. I wish someone would.

Like training an attack dog to ignore the meat.

Three in the morning and I'm doing laps around the house in pajamas and bare feet. Bedhead. I was asleep but now I am rapt, wide-awake and panicking in that quiet middle-of-the-night way when you know you just need to be talked out of it but everyone's asleep so you decide you will wear yourself out instead.

Besides, the house is a fishbowl. Lochlan changed the alarm code again so I can't get out without alerting him so he didn't wake up when I left, safe in the knowledge that I'm not throwing myself off the cliff or anything drastic. The very worst thing I can do here is...Duncan, who is now blocking the hallway and I almost screamed because he came out of nowhere. 

He didn't though. He heard footsteps and walked upstairs like a regular large man. I just didn't hear him because I am deaf and my blood pounding in my ears cloaked the vibrations from his steps besides. Batting zero here. I will die by intruder because I will never hear them coming. That or someone yelling DUCK as something fatal flies through the air toward me as I turn to them and say what?

Can't sleep? 

I shake my head, biting my lip. If I do that I won't cry by default. Frustration. Helplessness. 

I can fix this. 

How?

Trust me, Poem? 

I nod and no sooner does my head move slightly does he grab me up in his arms and walks back downstairs. Chucks me in his bed and laughs. 

I'll give you something to sleep about. He covers me with his body, wrapping his arms around me, rolling sideways so his weight isn't crushing me. His bed is a nest. Clean sheets that smell like vetiver and spruce. I exhale and he smoothes my bangs off my forehead. His hands are warm and I exhale. He plants a long kiss against my temple and then he tells Siri to text Lochlan and say she's here. Siri confirms and then he locks his arms and he is asleep. 

And I don't remember anything else until I opened my eyes at six. He was still asleep. Still holding me safe. Still breathing on my forehead. Standing in for his friend without taking advantage even though I gave it to him. I kiss his cheek and tug against his elbows and he releases me.

Go straight back to your room. No stopping. I was only there last night because I cockblocked PJ. 

Oh. It's not a disappointed Oh or a sad Oh, it's just a slightly surprised Oh. You didn't have to-

Last night I did. Sometimes you have to not push Lochlan so hard. He's had a long week as it is and he let you go anyway. That tells you how worn out he is. 

I nod and bite my lip again. 

Please stop doing that, Poem. That's how you get in shit in the first place.

Someone should have told me.

Oh my fucking God. The joy of growing up before the internet existed was that I have an idea of who sang what and a 'vision' from the play of what they look like (in costume) and then I continue on and forget to check and so just today I was scrolling through my favourite musicals because it's Friday and sometimes you have to have Broadway Fridays (blame Lochlan, he was humming something from Phantom of the Opera and I fell down a rabbit hole listening to All I ask of you and thought huhhhh her voice sounds just like Ellen from Miss Saigon. 

Well, my favourite Christine from Phantom is also my favourite Fantine from Les Miserables who also happens to play Ellen in the original cast recording (yes, my favourite) of Miss Saigon. All three are played masterfully by Claire Moore and it took me thirty whooping years to figure it out. 

If you need me I'll be in the library with my beloved vinyls because they are easier to manage than boys, hearts, ghosts and devils, that's for sure.

Permanent, water-soluble.

I got to do the completely messy and chaotic but much coveted monthly job of cleaning and refilling all of Caleb's fountain pens. I do my own at the same time. That's one of the few things we have in common, we both adore nice pens. Not too nice mind you, he keeps his mostly to the high three figures maximum price (okay there's a few over that) and my daily driver is literally a ten-dollar Chinese Lanbitou that is rose-gold coloured brass and weighs about three pounds. It's exhausting and I love it. It forces me to slow down and concentrate on my penmanship which is terrible at the best of times and I like to write every chance I get. It's rough because everything seems digital. Our shared Collective grocery list, delivery list and Google Calendar are all online but I maintain a traditional leatherbound planner that I love forever and ever. It's a calendar/to-do list/smashbook/doodle pad and reminder book all in one. It's full of paper clips, Oliclips, stickers, post-its and receipts. An old losing lottery ticket is a bookmark and it holds my leuchtterm planner for the year and then a moleskin as well. A5 because I need space. I have talked about it before. This year around Christmas I ordered a bespoke leather traveler's notebook system with all of the pockets and things I needed and it arrived in late January and it's so beautiful.

But anyway. I spread out on the kitchen island with a layer of newsprint underneath and a roll of paper towels and warm soapy water and fresh ink bottles and I took all of our pens apart and cleaned them and made sure they had working parts, that the nibs were smooth and the o-rings pliable and I soaked the grips and wiped down the barrels and the caps and I dried and refilled and tested all of them and everything is ready to go. It's a methodical, nitpicky thing that I enjoy doing and it keeps me busy for a couple of hours and it keeps my brain from seeing ghosts or flooding with too much anxiety at once and I'm always grateful for that, even if it seems like the most boring activity in the universe. 

It also serves as a visual reminder that yes I have enough pens, even though Caleb will spoil me rotten on a daily basis and keeps telling me to get some new ones if I'd like. 

I can only use one at a time. This is enough.

Measuring the joy of a moment against the depth of its history.

Jacob is surprised. I guess you can haunt someone and still be completely distracted, as always, failing to pick up the cues or catch the details as they go out into the world like fireflies in a field of wildflowers at night. 

And our baby's graduating next year? 

I nod. If I speak I will dissolve like ashes and blow off the end of the point, leaving the telescope covered in a light powdery film, and no one will ever know what happened to me. 

Jacob would have stayed if He had known Henry was his. Little Henry Jacob, here on the cusp of twenty years old, the enigma who looks and acts exactly like his late father right down to the ridiculous height and the deep voice. Even though now his official father is a passionate redhead who's angry at God for the rest of his life and bless his heart, only comes up to Henry's chin. 

And Ruth. Jesus, Bridge. You did such a good job with those two. 

I nod once more. Composure is the dust, coating everything for a thousand miles, I wish I could have kept it but there was no way to contain it. Until it turns to anger. 

I had so much help, since you didn't stick around. 

Maybe it's your anger that keeps us like this. 

GOOD. It's better than being sad. 

It's a Ferris wheel-

My favourite. 

I know, Peanut. I look up in surprise and Jacob is gone and Lochlan is there. 

He leaves when you show up-

I know, that's why I'm here. Maybe if I annoy the fuck out of him he'll go for good. 

What if I don't want that? Who do you think you are? 

He grabs my hand, pulling me up. I was your first love, and I'll be your last. And he'll never have anything close to what we have so the sooner he realizes that the sooner maybe he'll just leave so you can get on with the life you and I have rebuilt. 

Wait. 

He stops and steps in close, staring right into my eyes. Waiting and not saying a word.

Ask him to go for me, please. Just ask him to leave. 

Lochlan closes his eyes but he doesn't move. Doesn't jump at it. Doesn't take the only chance I've ever given him to fix this for good. 

I wait. 

When he opens his eyes they spill over almost immediately. His nose turns pink, eyes red. Hands shake, but just a little.

 I can't do that on your behalf, Peanut. You have to do it yourself. When you're ready.

*HEAD EXPLODES*

And with that I am the mother of a weeks-away-from-graduation (online? Or something) University graduate who is now finished classes forever, but also navigated the last year of her full-time studies while working full-time and holding a grand side-hustle too. Now Ruthie will get her bachelor degree in the next couple of weeks (?months?) and believe it or not Henry will follow in her footsteps, same program but a different major, and he's scheduled to finish in March of next year, having done an accelerated program that is headhunted also into a secure full-time career. Both kids have their drivers licenses and can take a vehicle out alone. Both kids save all of their money and don't spend foolishly. Both seem somehow leaps and bounds ahead of their peers in ambition and energy and I credit this house full of defacto parents for that. 

And I never have to make another tuition payment as long as I live. 

And Henry's classes are online so he's safe until Canada figures out these fucking vaccines. 

And I am the proudest mom alive right now, as ever, because I didn't finish university. And then Cole went and did on my dollar and time and then I got left in the dust and had to turn to other talents for money. 

At least I'm not shy. I learned that one quick. I'll thank Lochlan for the school of life diploma. I graduated with honours. 

Just like our daughter.

House-keeping.

I want to pinch the bridge of my nose and bemoan ever writing a word, some days, waking up to a dozen emails from people wondering why Christian felt the need to rat out Caleb's attitude and why Schuyler functions as the only actual adult around here sometimes. 

Schuyler asked Christian if he was heading over to the bonfire next door. They live in the same house. Every Sunday night weather-permitting we have a fire and sit around and talk. It's an open weekly invite. Everyone comes and goes. So a harmless question followed by a harmless response that no, because Caleb was acting like an asshole so Christian was going to skip it since he was hot (it was thirty degrees in the shade at this point) and tired and didn't feel like sparring or even dealing with anything tonight. Sometimes people get their feelings hurt. Lord knows we have enough of them around here.

Both people AND feelings, I mean.

So Schuyler came around to see if he and Daniel should run to the store for anything for the evening and Schuyler is a certified grownup, a peacemaker and also an alpha around here so he just made sure everything was good. They keep each other in check, my boys. If someone is acting out the others step in and help out and help fix it, help smooth things over and help protect anyone being marginalized or unduly targeted. There is no room for bullying here and we all know who the bullies are when they spool up so Schuyler just does a little crowd calming. August would have done it but he was making snacks and hadn't arrived yet. 

Does that help? Maybe I gloss over the wrong parts? I don't know. I just put down what I need to put down. Always assume the best, here, I guess is what I'm saying. We need to have people like Schuyler who can help keep a commune of this size running smoothly. We all work our butts off to keep it running smoothly but we're all also overly emotional, ridiculously immature and terribly passionate too. 

I would not have it either way. 

Schuyler also made me sit on the counter in the bathroom for fifteen minutes while he and Lochlan cleaned and bandaged my foot which again is funny only because I hate anyone touching my feet. Absolutely can't stand it. 

And first thing this morning a massive gift basket arrived from Ransom and Emmett and crew for the horrible oversight leading to injury and if I had to seek medical attention to let them know. They have liability insurance or something. It's really not that bad. It will heal eventually but I have to keep it clean and I never wear shoes. The bottoms of my feet are always black by lunchtime. 

Okay can we get back to business now? 

Schuyler-Jesus.

It's finished. The work is finished. They even had another group come in today and do the landscaping in order to not make me cry when I saw that it was all gone because it got trampled and trashed as not one but two complete glass houses were built. To his credit, Caleb had them do stamped concrete and concrete with inlays around stone benches and huge planters in order to have it all blend seamlessly with the outside for when we retract the roof but apparently it was not part of the original contract and only became an issue during the teardown of the original new structure which I hated, as it was claustrophobic, dark and terrible. 

This one is airy, light and very tall. Only one section retracts but that's just fine with me. 

Ben can swim in it starting May 1. Until then he will continue to accept Batman's hospitality and use his lap pool and that's fine too. 

I already stepped on a broken screw. I may have to have my leg removed but it's the same leg I sunburned gardening over the weekend so it's ruined anyway. Sam said it's karma for not listening to his podcast yet and Matt told him to hush about that. I only cried three times over the weekend and Christian wondered if we should actually reinstate Night & Seek after I foolishly brought it up but Caleb wearily reminded him that the only person who was ever any good at it was Cole and he obviously can't play since he is dead and so the rest of us would just hide forever and how much fun does that sound like? 

It was a rather cutting response to a fun idea and took the wind right out of our sails to the point where Schuyler came around just to make sure everyone was behaving as he heard from Chris that Caleb was being short and Schuyler doesn't believe that Caleb's attitude is always welcome or necessary. 

Schuyler kissed my forehead at one point and reminded me if I want I can come over there. 

I said I might and started another silent war as both Lochlan and Caleb glared briefly at Schuy but said nothing because Schuy does what he wants and no one will actually fuck with him. 

I'll take whatever I can get because at least Ransom is gone. I gave Emmett a tour via facetime and he only had one thing to point out and it's already fixed and we are good to go. Finally.

Duck.

But I just GOT here. I don't know where the best hiding places are. Also it's dark! What if I get lost? 

Out of politeness or maybe curiosity (I would later learn they just fold people into their pack as they come across them. It was only once I was part of it that they became selective, protective) the boys invited me to play Night & Seek. It's hide and seek but outside in the dark and when you're eight the only things more frightening are beets and spiders. 

Cole is It.

Come hide with me. Lochlan takes my hand, pulling me along with him. We run down the street into the woods at the dead end, heading up the path. Ten paces in he stops. 

Here, I'll piggyback you. We'll be faster that way. We're going all the way to the ball field. That's the boundary. 

I don't know if I'm allowed. 

It will take Cole about fifteen minutes to finish the game. No one will even know you're gone. He turns and gets down on one knee. Get on, quick! 

I throw my arms around his neck and my knees around his hips and he stands up, taking off in a flat run. I scream because he's so fast and he slows down, saying shhhhhhh. I press my face against the back of his shirt. He is thirteen-year-old sweaty summer chaos. His hair is in my eyes. It's springy and curly and long for a boy. I have never seen curls so big on a boy before. 

He tucks his hands behind my knees and we hide in the dugout. He remains vigilant, still holding me tight against his back even as we are both overheated and breathing heavily, trying to be quiet. 

Cole shouts in my ear  and I shriek in surprise as he yells GOT YOU. TWO FOR ONE. Loch, you've got a...a...barnacle! Somethings growing on your back! I think it's a girl!

Lochlan kneels back down and I step back, on solid ground again. My stomach churns wilfully. It feels weird. I want to be against him again. He is so nice. And so cute. 

That's a new one. Go and wait where we're hiding? That might be cheating.

It's not cheating. You're just mad you got caught. If you didn't decide to be Bridget's babysitter you would have won. 

He's not my babysitter! 

I didn't want her to get lost. 

Then you're her babysitter. 

Fuck you, man. 

No, fuck you. Wait, you sure you want to swear in front of the baby? 

I'm NOT a baby! 

If you can't play Night & Seek without a chaperone you're a baby, Bridget. Maybe you should find some grade three kids to play barbies with or something. 

Jesus, Cole, lighten up. She's fine. Caleb steps into the light from the outfield, striking a match and lights his cigarette. I take a step backwards out of the smoke. He notices and blows a ring directly at me. I am thoroughly impressed by his coolness, his seventeen-year-old independence. I step back and stick my hand through the ring and he blows another. I have forgotten what they're fighting about. All of the boys are back now as it ends when the first person is found.

Come on, Bridgie. I don't want to take you home smelling like smoke. 

Who says you have to take her home? I can take her, and since I'm an adult they won't think she was with you smoking. 

Lochlan's jaw clenches but he can't argue with the logic. He nods. Is that okay with you, Bridget? 

She's fine, Caleb growls. Lochlan is staring at me though. 

I nod. I don't want to get in trouble and I guess I might any other way.

Tomorrow I'll come get you and show you all the places that are good and what the boundaries are so you see them in daylight, okay? 

I nod. Promise?

Yeah sure. I'll come to your door at like nine. Be ready okay? 

Okay. I am excited suddenly. He's coming back and still wants to be my friend even as all the other boys think I'm a baby. 

Sweet dreams. He smiles and the others start chiming in and soon it's a chorus rising up into the night but I have already shifted gears. Caleb walks slowly so I can keep up and he lights another cigarette. 

You shouldn't smoke, you know. Did you see the commercial on television? It makes you breathe brown air. 

I'll give it up as soon as I find a better vice.

Like what? 

I have something in my sights. Probably won't be long.

More than I love life itself.

You know when you twist up the dial so loud you can feel it in your chest, and Elton John pontificates melodically about how this must be why they call it the blues, because it's one of your favourites, and you see Lochlan and Caleb out on the patio, and Caleb steps in, grabs the back of Lochlan's neck, and they're both nodding and finally Caleb gives just enough of a shake and waits, and slowly enough Lochlan raises his head to look into Caleb's eyes and nods again, this time with an understanding that is iron-clad. Then they have a long hug, and continue talking the whole time and the tension dissipates but you don't know why?

The music is so loud I have no idea what they said and no one else is around to ask?

Right. This is my life. All the time.

***

And? My eyebrows go up. Lochlan is sitting by the fire, hypnotized by the flames. They are orange with a hint of green. Magic fire. Always. 

Yes?

What did he say to you? 

I didn't think you were even home. 

You always know exactly where I am. 

Sadly, that's a lie, Peanut. I only tell myself I do. Makes it easier. 

What did he say, Locket?

You ask him?

I'm asking you. 

He only reminded me that he's put away all his weapons. His guns. His walls. His teeth. His threats and his power and he comes to us, he said us specifically, isn't that great, empty-handed and only willing to keep you above ground. He said that too, so many fucked up choices of words going on in that one conversation. He told me he loves me. And that if I say the word he'll step back again like I have control. He's practically a hostage negotiator. I didn't even know what the fuck I was supposed to say to any of that but sometimes this is fucking hard, you know? Like he knows how to play me. It's so fucking hard sometimes.

Then come with me. 

I can't do that, Peanut. 

You did for a while. 

Too hard to see that. It's worse than what I picture. 

Then he steps back. We'll give him up.

Like you said yester-

Who cares what I said? 

It never works and then you're back. I'd rather have you complacent and routine with him then always indulging in reunions. 

I swallow whatever I was going to say next. He's right. 

I love you, Bridgie. Always have, always will. I just wish I was the only one who did. Would have made my life so much easier. 

I'm sorry, Locket. 

Don't be sorry, just say it's not forever and eventually when you're stronger maybe you'll only need me.

Gentle true spirit.

Helplessly Hoping comes through the stereo as Lochlan grabs my hands, pulling me away from the dishes for a dance around the kitchen. The light is on over the sink and the fixture over the long table but otherwise the kitchen has darkened, but here the sun persists, pulling little Pluto into his orbit for a spin, a reconnection to make sure they are on the same orbit. 

Look, it's my theme song. 

You're not helpless. 

He makes the briefest doubtful face and I know I was wrong. About more than just that snap observation. 

I'm fine. 

Are you though? This goes beyond physical, Peanut. That's why Everett was here. You see Jake and you go running off to Caleb for comfort. 

Not comfort-

Then WHAT IS IT? He shouts suddenly. I startle and step back. The collateral damage from Jacob is not going to be Lochlan, in the end, even as he wonders if it is.

Jake won't come around if Caleb-

Is there? Are you fucking kidding me? He's shouting again. This IS fucking crazy. 

I close my eyes. I don't want to be here right now if he's going to dismiss me as insane. Unfixable. Ruined. He did that already, once before. That was Caleb's doing too but this time the evil protects me from the good, which is somehow more frightening that I ever expected it would be. 

You said-

I KNOW WHAT I SAID. The problem here is living with it. I made a promise and I didn't know it would be so hard to keep. 

I'm sorry. 

That's the hardest part. It's better for you if he's in the picture. Things work better. It's just so hard to watch. My heart rips out every time and it comes back smaller and smaller. 

How do we make it big again? Panic is rising. 

We stay right here. He puts his head against mine. We don't get further apart than this. 

That isn't rational. We've tried. 

Maybe we should try harder. 

I nod into his shoulder. Maybe we are hopeless. I'm not sure he can try harder than he already does, every single day of his life. Looks like he has a monster too. It's me.

The Devil in the (waning) daylight.

He reached into the glass, taking out an ice cube between two fingers, leaving the glass on the table beside us. He pulls me into his lap. I'm dressed in his unbuttoned shirt and tie with a poorly-tied single Windsor knot at this point, nothing else. He is still in suit pants. Belt. Bare feet. Nothing else. He gathers me in close in one arm, pulling the ice cube up to my lips, running it across my bottom lip and down over my chin. I lean my head back and close my eyes as I feel the cold ice melting, running in rivers down my chest, soaking his shirt, pooling in my belly button, sending shivers up my back. 

He gives me the cube and I press it against his mouth but don't let him keep it, returning the favour, running it down his throat, over his Adam's apple and down the line to his belt and then I lose my grip and it falls. He kicks it out of the way and it skids across the wooden floor as he stands up, picking me up in the process. My legs are wrapped around his hips. No effort. One arm looped lazily around his neck and he bends forward, and staggers against the doorframe, catching us against it with his free arm and then I get my kiss. Oh God. Don't keep me up here please please please and somehow he hears me and keeps going. 

He drops us both down into his bed. I look toward the window. So bright still. The sun persists, fighting the moon for glory the same exact way he fights everyone else for time. He removes his tie from my neck, considers throwing it somewhere and then smiles in that old familiar way. I am turned over roughly, hands pulled behind my back, held down while he loops the tie around my wrist, tying it tightly but not too tightly.

In front, please. If it's in back and you turn me over I can't put weight on my arm-

Shit. A pause in his plans and he unties me quickly, gingerly turning me back to face him. I hold my hands up together. Willing, but cautious. He frowns and then pauses, bending down for another kiss. 

Trust me, he says, as if I don't. The tie covers my eyes, tied around the back of my head. I put my fingers up to lift it and he pulls my hands away. 

Trust me, he repeats, as if I do. 

Then he leaves. I hear him taking off the rest of his things. Then I feel him wrap his fingers around my ankles and he violently yanks me down. I yell out in surprise and then I feel his breath against my knees. I reach for his head and try and push him away but he holds my hands down, against the sheets. When he tastes me I lose my mind, twisting up towards him, turning myself inside out, fighting to be set free so I can fully enjoy this but he keeps me pinned, the girl in the Riker frame. The same way they all do because otherwise I would fly away. 

I am worked into a frenzy and I let out a shuddering cry. He finally gives me a break, letting go of my hands. I am now slick with sweat, cathartic tears leaking from of the corners of my eyes, sliding into my hair as I lie there. He is up over me now. He doesn't turn me away, doesn't pull me up, doesn't try and impale me against the wall, instead he works gently but remains harsh at the same time, finding a rhythm within me, pulling my knees up, pulling my arms around his neck once again, pressing his head down against the top of mine. 

He rises higher and higher until we are no longer embracing and he is sitting up on his knees, pulling me up into his hips, focused and driving before he roughly leans back down, rips off my blindfold and we both come together, foreheads pressed together, breathing heavily, staring into each other's eyes. I wonder if I will burst into flames and then Caleb kisses me again and lies down beside me, one hand wrapped around my thigh. 

Ownership. It's a myth and the spell is broken and the sun sets, losing to the moon on this night, as it has on every single night of my life.

Short. Lived (Hold every memory as you go).

Walked outside and went to go down and turn the telescope back towards the sea where we turned it to look at the birds nest in the tree behind the garage and the space was already occupied. 

He's back. Blue poplin shirttails flapping gently in the wind, hair long and ruffled. I turn to save myself the unbearable pain and his voice in my mind stops me.

Princess. Please.

Aw fuck. I turn back toward the ocean, step forward and drop into the rabbit hole. They just keep popping up everywhere. No sooner can I find a shovel and fill the holes with memories high enough that you walk on them without tripping then the memories get packed down, folded neatly, flattened lower and lower to make room for more and then I'm falling again.

He reaches down and lifts me back out, only we're down beyond the telescope now right by the endless fence. The one I can't see over. The one designed to keep me from following him wherever he goes.

I look up at him and he smiles. My heart cracks and throbs miserably and he frowns suddenly at something behind me. I look back and Lochlan is headed toward me at his usual clickingly rapid gait. 

Peanut. Wait. 

Hmmm?

He reaches me. Tell me something. 

Uh ummmmm did you know that by the age of forty, fifty percent of men have trouble maintaining an erection-

Tell me where he is. 

I turn away toward Jake but he is gone. I turn back. 

Heaven? 

Is he here? Are you following rabbits again?

If I said yes would you be mad? I whisper it to the wind. 

No. I would just be sad. 

Then no. No rabbits. No Jake. I thought he would be here in heaven but I don't see him anywhere. 

6:30am to 8:00pm (barometer but more of a general one).

You made it, Poem. Another winter. 

It was my Golden Jubilee of winters, Poet. 

He bursts out laughing. Was it now? 

Perhaps. I am noncommital. I steal a piece of honeydew from the bowl of fruit he has in one hand. 

Sleep?

No. You? 

Yeah. All the fresh air yesterday. 

We organized the backyard in preparation for a work week this coming weekend, where we can rehang one of the gates, after the concrete is set (thanks again guys for using real concrete), deploy the three cubic yards of soil into the gardens and then the only thing after that is planting/weeding/mowing/watering for the rest of the summer. This is the big job but it's not too hard and then if I help I too, will sleep well, if only for a night or two. Patio cushions are out on the chairs under the glass-topped pergola and my plant pots are beginning to make appearances as I line them up for planting. I have a whole heaping pile of rosemary rooting right now on every window sill in the kitchen and great room and I'm going to make a fence of them along one side of the property. No one believes me but I only need a two or three year commitment to the case and they will be surprised. 

In any case, we've definitely tipped the balance now and it's spring/almost summer. I see the end of the construction-yardwork in sight before something else begins. And over the weekend we got new stools for the island. Plain wood. Simple and sturdy, getting rid of the weird articulating black padded leather scoop seats that hurt unless you sat on them just right and always seemed too low or two high. Besides, two of them were broken anyway. Last week I got new white semi-sheer curtains for the living room and great room and we did away with the heavy cast-iron childproof fireplace screen in the living room and put in an antique decorative enamel one that can be simply folded to the side if we have a fire in there. 

So nice. Small changes, huge effect. And when the pool enclosure is finished we'll truly have the outside in here even though it is not connected to any other buildings. The little pool house where I keep towels and floating things and chemicals is outside of it. The sauna and the outdoor kitchen are now connected though, by a series of interconnected brick paths that tie in with the driveway and ahhhhhhhhhh. It's looking good.

They really are down to just finishing bits and bobs. Trims and cleaning up. I feel hopeful, this morning. 

You look happy, Duncan says suddenly. You're smiling. On a Monday. That's new.