You'd call it a microscope, I'd call it showtime.

Sam had to put out an email to stop people from stopping by with food/fruit/flowers/wishes for us as per news of my hand being twice as broken as a week ago and while I was truly enjoying the irony of having distanced conversations with people who have never talked to me (and wouldn't) before but are so starved for socialization and contact that they're reaching out all around, he's right. There's a quarter-century+ of adults here on the point at any given time. One going down is not going to mean they all starve. 

But we know you do the lion's share, they wink at me, nameless.

No, actually he does his own share and then some, because I think they mean Lochlan and then I wonder how they learned that nickname. Lion. No one calls him that very often though..

They draw back, confused and dawned that I am probably medicated, and possibly dangerous. They've heard tell of the pretty woman in the floral sundresses, surrounded by an army as if she is the queen. 

Close, I nod. Not a queen though, just a princess. 

They've heard she was raised by wolves. 

Yes, but I've almost domesticated them, I point out. We're close now. They can wear clothes and sit in a room with humans and you might not even notice the difference. I bare my teeth in a smile and they run for their lives, flinging well-wishes and hollow offers over their shoulders, words drowning in their wake. 

Sam smiles in amusement.

Cover your teeth, you're scaring the locals. 

The gall of not understanding that a commune can cook meals en masse-

They aren't here to help. The cost of a closer look was a pasta casserole. 

I'm aware. 

But you let them in anyway. 

It's an appearance, Sam. Like your suit. So they would think we are fine and they would leave us alone. Life is just an act. I get to play the tortured princess. 

The smile leaves his face. Shut up and eat your flowers.

Cake weekend.

 Fifteen years ago Jacob refused to conduct the funeral service for Cole because it was Henry's fifth birthday and Jake decided that was more important to him, that he be with the children who were old enough to know what was happening and he wanted to one hundred percent dedicate his time to them and he called a friend in the church and the funeral went on. I don't know if anyone realized. I don't know if it mattered. But Jacob's decision meant the world to me because I couldn't get out of the emotional quicksand and the guilt of feeling like I was the one who killed Cole. I couldn't be a good mother in that moment, to tell everyone it wasn't the right day, that it was Henry's birthday and we weren't going to do it that day. 

I never did, and I never got rid of the guilt either and Cole would still be here if I hadn't broken his heart but if I hadn't done it the way I did I would have done it when he found out that Henry wasn't his after all. And he wasn't Caleb's son either. He was Jake's. 

And boy is it obvious now. Over six feet, lanky, blonde and bearded. He has my eyes and temperament and Jacob's easy moral compass. He has a crazy work ethic and time for everyone and everything at once. He lives in button-downs with the sleeves rolled up and he loves cake and hamburgers and animals. We have a big dinner planned for tonight. All hands are on deck. We managed to decorate before he woke up this morning and he was impressed at the LED balloons and efforts and the fact that it's a somewhat rainy Friday and we're finally cooling off. Usually his birthday is conducted during a hot spell with a melting-icing cake and all the doors wide open. Tonight we'll probably have to wear snowpants at the table but that's the way he likes it. If ever there was a rainy-day child born in the full sun it's Henry and I am so proud of him I have already burst ten times today and put myself back together. 

He won't let me call him Bunny anymore, or Henny, it's Henry or Henry Jacob, (please mom) but sometimes I catch myself and he never actually minds.

Notice I did all this without mentioning his father.

This morning I am coveting the Lady Rose in Gold Ferris Wheel Press ink and wishing that season two of Outer Banks wasn't still two weeks away. I am baking Henry's birthday cake for tomorrow (he's turning twenty!) and trying to be chill about it. He is heading out with friends for the day and while he's gone we'll decorate. We have his gifts, and his favourite colour for decorations and I made his favourite cake (hasn't changed since he was three) and am making his favourite dinner (which also has not wavered in at least six thousand years give or take) and it will be fun. I can't believe it. Still can't and never will believe my luck at how the children turned out in spite of everyone who told me they would be ruined. They THRIVED in this commune. They feel safe and protected and loved and nurtured here and that's all that mattered. 

They also have a great story to tell now. How many do? Raised in a commune? Jesus. It's a gift. 

(Might be better than being raised in a wolf den, but I turned out okay, right?)

For hand updates I have a pink cast now which exactly matches the colour of that ink. It is water resistant so I can swim, supposedly. I will be wearing it for the rest of the summer. Nice! They found two more hairline cracks way down in the metacarps (the long bones in the back of your hand, not your actual fingers) and don't know how they were missed (I do! Canadian health care is free but rushed and you have to advocate for yourself so fucking hard) and I got anaesthetic and a fresh reset and a lot of jokes with the doctor and Caleb glowering in the hall because space was limited but now I am restarting my healing and to make matters worse I tripped again this morning because I think my Birkenstocks are too big and that's hilarious and I guess I will wear my Nikes/docs/All-Stars instead because it will probably be safer. 

In any case, casts are great fun. It's fun to have a big hard pink gauntlet on. (No it isn't, I'm trying to be positive) They're calling it a cub paw and reminding me not to swat at them, that it hurts. I already asked Lochlan if he can take it off but he asked if I want pain or no pain and I said no pain and he said well, then we have to leave it. 

I am exceedingly happy that I don't need plates, that it isn't infected or open or mangled or anything awful and I am thrilled that I was right and something got missed and now it's healing and it wasn't in my head. So don't think I'm going to complain for the next six weeks, I'm not. I promise. At least it's supposed to be cool for the next two, at least. That helps. 

Jon Foreman you did it this time, kind of like every time but this is on a whole new level of incredible and I gave it extra time to make sure.

There's an ocean beyond the sea
That holds elixir for all who grieve
Only the shipwrecked could ever find it
By the ocean beyond the sea

In the forest beyond the trees
There sings a songbird who's been released
And the fowler could never find her
By the ocean beyond the sea

There's a valley above the sky
Above the reaches of human kind
And their towers could never find it
By the ocean beyond the sea

Beyond the scarecrows
Beyond the temples
Beyond the meadows
I heard a whisper
As soft as iron
As safe as lions
By the ocean beyond the sea

There's a highway beyond the road
Beyond where power is bought and sold
And the rich man could never find it
By the ocean beyond the sea

Beyond the tyrant
Beyond the sirens
Beyond the silence
I heard a whisper
As soft as thunder
As cold as fire
By the ocean beyond the sea 

This is the most beautiful song in the world. Haunting, dangerous, sweeping and still. Obscured, darkened and bright at the same time. It's a quiet moment and a rollicking adventure all at the same time. It's my all-time new favourite and odds are I'll never be able to play it again while I sing. I go see about my hand this morning, now. Wish me luck. I have a violin with glowing strings, a piano with aching keys, a gang of crazy boys I need to touch and a swing somewhere in a big tent full of people, under a spotlight depending on this working out in my favour or I don't know what I'm going to do.

Careful, Princess.

Oops, I found myself a daylight-vampire, in the form of a big Schuyler in pajama shorts and a t-shirt that just reads DADDY but only upside down which to me is hot and hilarious at the same time. Daniel is drifting in and out of a late-morning shady-cool sleep but Schuyler is awake and on fire and ready to listen, ready to shut me up and ready to throw me back to the other wolves but only after he's done. My hand throbs and other things too but he is just gentle enough for me to trust that he isn't going to touch it or hit it accidentally and that's all I need to know.

He was singing Silent Lucidity under his breath. That was so Schuy and also so strange.

At one point I believe I may have fallen asleep but was jolted awake easily enough. He finally calls time on the day and I am sent back across the lawn with a bemused smile on my face and an exhausted, effortful gait. Razor burn stings in the sun and the Devil watches me from the window at the top of the stairs, framed like a photograph of projected shame and ire. I don't care. I am tired. Schuyler is one of the true shining alphas of this Collective and he's also confusing as hell but no one, including me would ever turn him down. It's just not something we do here and I don't think that will change, ire or not. 

Maybe Caleb turned him down and has regrets. I would have paid to watch. Maybe he wants to watch. I don't know. I don't care, as I said. I need sleep.

(Update: Caleb wants me to delete this. So does Lochlan, oddly.)

Summer vampires.

Fingers are a lot worse today or maybe it's just that part where you turn the corner and admit things aren't going well and when fixes are planned you can finally give in and fall the fuck apart. Or maybe they're worse than yesterday. I don't know. All I know is the mercury dipped so fast last night it was fifteen degrees before I could sleep and Lochlan lit some lanterns and wrapped me in a Benjamin and I have had no sleep at all. 

My dream is for someone, anyone to have an appetite in daylight.

Jesus Beach returns.

A full house today, as Sam sent out instructions on showing up for outdoor church and he wore a blue suit and a bolo tie and his favourite sneakers and a baseball hat. He looked like an adorable alien and he was nervous and a little rusty as his usual audience is twenty and at any given moment only half of us are paying attention. He did require masks and when one elderly, fully-vaccinated gentleman balked loudly, Sam went and got him a chair and put him and his bare face a good thirty-five feet away and gave him a disposable mask to hold in case he felt like putting it on and joining the group. A quick explanation that not everyone is fully vaccinated yet and we all need to protect them, and he pointed to me.

Gee, thanks. I'm anxiously awaiting my second needle and I wish they would hurry up. 

Also, my hand is throbbing and so I didn't make it to the end of service and I wasn't keen on all the people anyway, or the bright sun and so I looked at Lochlan at one point and he put out his elbow for me to take and we waved goodbye to Sam who waved without breaking his cadence and we came home. Lochlan made coffee, shook out a few painkillers for me and asked if it was worse. 

Yes. 

Huh. I figured I'd have to work harder to get you to admit it. 

No, it hurts worse. Like every time I breathe it aches but worse. 

Okay, I'm going to call the doctor. 

Okay. 

Really? Not going to be the tough girl?

It's been a long year. I don't want to deal with any more. 

Says the girl who planted tomatoes with a swollen face from wasp stings the day before. Share the load, Peanut. You have enough to worry about. You need rest. You've been going at a million miles an hour your whole life. 

Is this about yester-

Maybe it is. 

I'm sorry. 

You don't need to be sorry. His tone is changing and I want to change the subject. Just let me help you not be in pain. Let's get you back to the doctor and see what's up and go from there. Then we'll talk about delegating. 

Okay. 

That's my girl. 

Everyone says that. 

But for them it's only wishful thinking.

True. 

Love you, Peanut. 

Love you Locket.

Naked memory thieves for the lord, naked advocates for the devil. Naked princesses, naturally. Is there any other kind?

It isn't a good memory, your brain is just constantly searching for sugar with which to coat everything. It's a coping response. Makes you think he's not that bad, that there are good things too. It's completely natural but it's also a step back, something you shouldn't be entertaining. 

He holds our hands up to the light, fingers laced together. The sun went down an hour ago but twilight persists in the form of fairy lights around the skylights in their room. It's just enough to accentuate the lighter night sky of summer without obfuscating it completely. Too bad Caleb isn't into these lights. They absolutely work and it never would have crossed my mind to put them up there. Not even sure how they got them up there, truth be told. Matt probably just stood on a chair. He's tall. 

I sleep with a clear conscience, my memory thief spending the night sitting on the floor, files like vinyl records spread around him and he plays them and then categorizes them in the sparkling new cabinets that Lochlan built after Sam burned the whole thing down years ago. 

This is for new, good ones, he told Sam. And Sam nodded and said it was maybe a good idea but we'll keep the fires burning for the old ones that I keep finding everywhere, tucked back on shelves in old forbidden rooms in this giant old castle inside my brain. It's centuries old. It's a Winchester house. I keep adding rooms and walling old ones off. I don't have a map anymore and there's no electricity and the part that Lochlan built tacked itself on to the end and from the outside you can't even tell. 

What if I want to keep it out anyway? You're subjective on this-

Bridget, I'm not.

Oh, but you are. 

What do I have to lose?

This. 

This is a dream. A fugue state. A Christmas wish I can imagine until the ends of time but it never happens. 

I'm here right now.  

You don't belong to us. 

Pretend I do. 

But you don't. 

What if you did? Matt entertains me. Matt will do whatever I say sometimes. He is the best. What would that look like? He asks Sam in all curiosity. 

She would be spoiled and cuddled around the clock. She would never worry. She would never be cold or be without someone to hold, or someone to hold her. She would have her spirituality nourished, her spirit raised and her fears drowned in the sea. 

Matt nods toward Sam but I see the holes. These are like bullet holes in a black-walled room, letting in all of the light. 

You don't think I have that?

There's a history that functions almost like an unwelcome visitor in the room with what you have now. 

But I would still be me, with my history being my shadow if I were here, I remind him. 

That's why you're not here, he says so gently and gives me one last kiss. The spell is broken, the night is over and the boys will throw on clothes and walk me home where I step into the day with more questions than answers, as always. 

My favourite part of all of this is how instead of Matt being jealous, he just joins in, and plays Devil's advocate the whole damn time. He's smart, that one.

Trust games.

Did I take it too far? (Did I take it too far?)
Now I know what you are (Are)
You hit me so hard (So hard)
I saw stars (I saw stars)
Think I took it too far (Too far)
When I sold you my heart (My heart)
How'd it get so dark? (So dark)
I saw stars (I saw stars)
Stars (Stars) 

One of my most treasured childhood memories is of standing on Caleb's Chuck Taylor All-Stars (black, of course, every other boy in the neighbourhood had white or pale blue ones. My brand new ones are baby-pink, in case you're wondering and I wear them with dresses), my feet on his, at the very end of the dock by the lake, holding one of his hands, and twirling around off the end of the dock, an endless arabesque, though at the time I pointed out with great joy that I was practising my camel spin for figure skating in winter. He would pay attention without seeming to, switch hands, catching me, spinning me back out over the water, a distracted dance to entertain an eight-year-old out past her bedtime, while the older teenagers hung out and talked. I could extend my free arm out dramatically and I always felt as if I could fly, out over the water and back safely toward land. That tiny dancer unaware of a future coming down the tracks like a freight train and she couldn't hear it at all, she couldn't feel it and she never saw it, in the end, a ballerina popping up only when you open the box but when you close it again she starts screaming.

I still do that dance sometimes, but now the dock juts out over the ocean, and Caleb doesn't wear All-Stars anymore. If he's down there he's got his brown leather boat shoes and I am always in bare feet, leaving my shoes by the steps. I twirl out with one hand and realize that I can't switch on the way back but he is prepared for that, with his other arm out to bring me in as I habitually let go. I keep my broken hand close to me and still I persist in old morning habits dying hard. The water is cool and dark grey today, reflecting the sky full of clouds and ash. We're on the moon, we're over it all. We're not built for the sun.

I let go but Caleb himself has never let go, even as every other boy has taken the opportunity to see me fall in the water for laughs after a semi-awkward twirl or two because he was always the tallest. He never lets me go. He says that should mean something. I don't know if it does. Maybe it should? Or maybe it's just a memory and I can close the lid on it and throw it far out into the sea. Or maybe I can keep twirling on his feet, a connected but disconnected novelty, kept in a box far out of sight until it's all you can see for miles and miles.

Filling holes in my life with cherry pits.

I'm baking some tarts from the cherries we picked in the orchard. A couple of the trees produce dozens of pounds of fruit and so I spend most of the summers harvesting and preserving as much as I can because fresh tastes better than canned, even if it's in a jar from six months ago, and free is better than overpriced, always. Plus it's a strange sort of cap-feather to display, as I always thought there was some sort of summer magic involved in watching my grandmother tie back her hair in a kerchief, tie her apron around her waist and light up her wood-fired stove to cycle through endless hot water bathed jars full of spiced carrots, pickles, applesauce, jam, tomatoes and anything else that she could keep. 

And so now I do it too, though PJ and Ben are actually doing the heavy lifting while I direct and stir with one hand and supervise and plan. I'll never have enough jars or enough space. I worry that all of this work will be destroyed in the next heat dome, and therefore I've frozen a lot of the prepared fruit for later in the year, just in case. We kept enough out to snack on for this week and next and the tarts have been requested after the pies went so quickly and none of the growing vegetables will be ready for another month and a half and so this is the plan, to enjoy everything we can, until it's gone.

There are nine men absolutely hovering right now. It's great. Also my fingers finally stopped hurting, and I haven't been to the beach in a week.

Fighting Destiny alright.

(And No! Commas! Where! There! Should! Be! Commas!)

I have three beach towels wrapped around me. I am the hemp-fleece burrito today, and the pool is a glorious twenty-seven degrees but I'm not touching it because I'm suddenly ridiculously freezing cold and I love it. I am sitting with my phone contemplating throwing it into the deep end because someone sent me the first book in the Fae Chronicles series in .pdf form and...

Look. I expressed interest because everyone is talking about these fucking books and I love to start books and never finish them and really I belong in a small group of ultra elite readers anyway because I think the last book I finished and still remember is the House of Leaves which is just insanity and wonderful from start to upside-down finish and why the hell not have that feather in my cap. I am well-read. This is an utter shame though, a deviation, an...an...abomination. 

Why? 

The characters have... "tattoo's"

The main character is "Mag's" 

I want to cry. 

But THEN. 

It turns from a cheeseball snappy-ass campy Underworld thing into straight up endless, languishing porn. 

Which-

Well? I don't even know. I won't be finishing it. Next time someone suggests a book with that many inappropriate apostrophes I'm going to burn a friendship bridge. And the porn isn't even that bad.

What are you up to, Neamhchiontach?

Considering resuming novel-writing. Also plotting a Monte Cristo since in a week and a half we'll probably be on lockdown again.

Oh? Why is that? 

No one's wearing masks any more. 

No, the resuming of the long-dead career. 

Writers today are terrible and completely free-range, unedited, and fanfic-quality. This book is all bad grammar and porn. It's horrifying. 

That's what I liked about your works. 

The fanfic quality? 

No, the snappy editing and absolute flawlessness. 

Oh, he's buttering me up. That's meeeeee.

He laughs. Want to swim? 

Too cold. 

It's a change isn't it? 

Yup. 

We could act out some of your book and see if you heat up at all?

Oh my God, will you play the Dark Prince? He owns everyone, it seems. With his dick.

I mean, I can, if I can find you under all of these towels. 

Touch my towels and I murder you with my ice-fingers. 

Sounds like it should it be a line in that book.

I think it is, actually.

It's the only lie he'll let me tell him and he never ever calls me on it.

His arm is tight around my waist, keeping me in close against his chest, my back pressed so hard against his ribs I expect at any moment to pushed inside his ribs and absorbed into his heart. 

What makes you think I haven't already done that? He says with a soft laugh. A shiver runs down my spine and I try to turn around to address him properly but he won't allow it. He reaches with his other hand, taking my wine glass, putting it down and then that hand slides down, from my heart to my ribs, over my stomach to rest on my hips. He pulls me in hard and it's my turn to laugh gently. 

This could be easier if you would let me turn, Dóiteán.

For my efforts, that free hand goes to my mouth. No more words will be said. It's rare to be so quiet. His head comes down next to mine, pressing hard, helping to steer me around and then I am dropped on my face into the quilts. Then he flops down beside me, facing me, grin across his face in the sunset light that is probably the most wonderful view, eclipsing the ocean by the leaps and bounds my heart now makes, loping around the room, picking up speed. Bridget zoomies. 

And he laughs out loud. I just had a vision of what you would be like as a puppy. Jumping up all excited and running around the room. I smile to myself because he's had too much wine and can't zero in on my thoughts. He is wild and affectionate and just a little bit too rough and I'm not going to give this up for anything. 

He leans forward and kisses me. Peanut. I have an idea. 

Hmmm? I'm pretty sure I know exactly what his idea is going to be.

Let's...Why don't we run away and join the carnival? Or the circus. Something. He starts to laugh out loud, and keeps laughing until tears start to run down his face. Let's just go. 

Soon. Soon we can go back. 

It's been too long of a break. I might be too weird even for them now. And you are definitely too weird for it now. 

I turn on my back and think about that. What if we did go back? What if we picked up where we left off. Not like it's full years away. We could come and go. Except that I'm not willing to go until the kids are grown and independent and part of the deal is that we settled down to give them a normal life and everyone was on board with that and we will continue to chart this course until we get to that point in time. And things have changed. The world has changed. I have changed.

Won't be too much longer, I lie, looking over at him but he is already asleep.

Inbreath outside, redux.

(UndertoneovercastInbreathoutsidegoingonalimbTearingoffthebandageUncoverfearlessnessWhen lightningstrikesIt'smetinthemiddleThere'sabone-bentriddleBemetwithariddlebefoundInbreathoutside-)

There's actually something weirdly liberating about taking my coffee way down to the far corners of the garden in the morning when it's cool, before the sun beats down on our heads, a scorching drum heralding the dog days of summer, as it feels like since the heatwave. I feel free and dangerous, adult and accomplished. I feel like I can manage walking and drinking a coffee at long last, something I've wanted to master ever since I saw Sophie walking around with the hugest Starbucks cup in hand, wearing her high boots and a perfectly-wrapped scarf around her shoulders, sunglasses perched on perfect hair because she doesn't need actual reading glasses ever and wow, it's also weird to see perfect people but honestly she's never been happy in her life and I wouldn't trade places with her for anything. 

Then I spill it. 

Ah. Lochlan laughs. Well, at least you get further every day. Maybe practice more when your hand is healed. I heard the tiny pause where he was going to say wing. They've all done it, multiple times.

He turns to move the wheelbarrow from where it was left last evening and I stop in my tracks, a practised habit as I see a hummingbird nearby. The hummingbird goes straight to the tool shed, a fairy-house if ever there was one, ten feet tall with a cedar shake roof and sides and a mirror on the door. The bird considers itself for so long my breath catches. Has it never seen its own beauty? Has it never realized how such complex beings as humans will stop from their minor, pointless travails, considering the bird the miracle in this equation?

Does it not know?

Lochlan straightens slowly, shaking his head as he sees the bird, and reads my thoughts. So loud inside my head they leak out everywhere, between my eyelashes, between my teeth, slowly dripping out of my ears, flooding his thoughts via my sudden tears. 

It doesn't, Peanut. It's a lot like you. Same heartbeat, same absolute oblivion.

Not so hot so time to work before it gets hot again. (I know you love these short pointless posts. Sorry.)

I got to stand around today in another pretty sundress, with my face obscured by a huge cup of coffee half the time and the other half I was directing garden cleanup. Weeding, reminding the boys what each plant is called, hilling the potatoes, strengthening the supports on the blooming tomatoes, tying up tall plants and bushy plants, harvesting herbs and cut flowers and putting in a path of stones where I have worn a path in the earth, walking through. 

We also raked up dried leaves from the heatwave and gave everything a thorough watering. The chickadees came to visit in the orchard, and so did the hummingbirds and bees and no, I don't have PTSD from the yellowjackets but I also didn't stray off the path. 

Lochlan absolutely loves working in the sun. He is already tanned and golden and said I need to enlist them more often instead of trying to look after most of it myself. Otherwise how would PJ know precisely when phlox blooms, or Dalton know when to stop harvesting oregano in order to let it bolt for the bees? 

After gardening I switched from coffee back to champagne. Busted fingers hurt like the dickens and no way am I taking vicodin anymore. I think I'm done with seeing unicorns on the lawn.

Trying out Batman's speech to text program and then just adding in my McCarthyistic editing. Tedious!

Coffee, bills paid, hummingbird feeders cleaned and refilled with my own very popular mix of one part white sugar to four parts water, sugar stirred into boiled water to dissolve, then cooled. I had to shake the feeders with vinegar and salt to clean out the insides as the extreme heatwave ruined the previous mix. While I was taking them down a ruby-throat came right up to within ten inches of my face. He thought I was a big flower. I'm wearing a green swing dress with cotton crocheted lace trim on the ruffles and the ties on my shoulders are too loose so I need to change before I have a wardrobe malfunction but it is easier to wear this than anything complicated. One-handedness is tough even though it's my left. Still healing a bad burn on my right. 

Ha. 

I'm not actually doing any of this though. Lochlan shook the feeders. Ben dressed me. Asher made the coffee and copied down numbers as I read them out. Caleb came down and picked a pre-coffee fight with Asher, blaming him for my stumble, as Lochlan's been adamant for the past hundred years that I don't go up the steps alone. Or down for that matter. I'm easily distracted and horribly farsighted. I don't hear you when you tell me to slow down or be careful. I saw a sea lion and was looking over my shoulder and for that Caleb feels Asher should be given a first strike. 

Don't be ridiculous, I point out. It could have happened to anyone. Besides, my Birkenstocks are a tiny bit too big but I grab them first since they're easy to kick off at the bottom and I can step into them on the way back up. 

He's supposed to protect you. 

FROM THE STAIRS?

Bridget, watch your tone-

You mind your own business! I fucking tripped. It was my own fault. Stop trying to find a villain in every moment so that you don't have to be one! 

With that Lochlan snorts coffee everywhere. 

Caleb gazes at him in amusement and then turns back to me. It shouldn't have happened, that's all. 

I say that a lot too. I feel you. 

He does not laugh. At least three of the others are now cracking up. PJ leaves the room. Lochlan has abandoned the idea of drinking coffee. Asher, to his credit, figures out how to turn his own amusement into an open grin. I see now what you mean when you say you have to be right there, next to her. It won't happen again. 

Ooh, he knows how to work the devil. Maybe he can teach me. 

Caleb seems pleased that his orders are being implemented at once. Thank you, Ash. He says it softly. I just hate seeing her in pain. 

I bet that's how they named it. 

Named what?

Champagne. It's actually Champ-Pain and it's a reward for hurting yourself. Also a mild painkiller. 

Are you saying you would like some champagne, Neamhchiontach?

Well, sure, if someone else will join me. 

It's eight in the morning. 

What does that have to do with anything?

Just laugh with me or I'll cry.

Don't mind me. I tripped coming up the steps and landed on my hands and face and broke two fingers and have a lovely road rash on my face from the anti-slip treads that held me up in the first place.

So I can't type. Or I can but it takes forever. Sorry.

Goddammit. Fun summer so far. How about you?

Cooking wine.

The casualties of the heat wave were the A/C working overtime, jacking up the power bill which will be very bad at the end of August but the alternative here was death. The condenser fan on the fridge fell off the spindle and made a godawful racket against the cooling coils and Ben fixed it, and then checked it the next day and it was fine. The wine bottles up above the kitchen cupboards on the big in-use/next up rack where I stupidly also kept the heirloom/luxury bottles all cooked and leaked past their corks, but there were only six bottles up there so it's okay. I got another job offer of ten hours a week to help organize a friend and I might take it save for this heat. And I discovered that after supper? Getting mildly drunk and watching snow-based horror movies is a great way to pass the time while waiting for the temperatures to go back to normal. The house is so warm even with the air running and I honestly have webbed and wrinkled fingers and probably chlorine poisoning by now so I have to not live in the pool. It's honestly too hot to breathe outside most of the time anyway. Even the ocean is cool but the air is so fucking hot if I can't breathe I can't swim so there you go. 

Everyone in this province is wilting like a weeks-old bouquet. Just in time for them to lift the indoor mask mandate in public. 

I'm going to cry.

The boys had their second vaccines. The kids and I will get ours in the third quarter of July. It's coming. Not sure I will ever feel comfortable again in big crowds or without a mask but I guess we'll see. 

In the meantime, I'm watching those old strange horror movies so you don't have to. First up was Arctic. It was on Netflix. I went in blind, thinking it was horror. It was survival-adventure. It was very compelling though. I rooted for the bear. And then the fish. And then the bear again. And then everyone. I felt like more could have been done to illustrate the mental taxation short of the series of strangely bad decisions taking place. It was highly satisfying with zero lead up or backstory provided. Best kind of movie. 

Now I'm watching Frozen. Not the Let It Go one, but the 2010 chairlift one. I am not finished it yet but lets just say the strangely bad decisions continue. 

Any suggestions? Googling winter horror movies is kind of a crapshoot. 

Also you really learn what makes people tick during a sustained heatwave from which there is no escape. I am learning I am positively a helpless asshole with two (count 'em-TWO) very productive hours beginning at six in the morning. Right now I am sitting between two exterior doors that are wide open and a cool breeze touches me every so often and it's so nice. The laundry is done. I emptied garbage cans and sorted the recycling out in the garage. I walked the dog up to the mailbox. I figured out dinner (will be sliced turkey breast sandwiches on rye bread and salad or raw vegetables) and I wrote here. That's enough. 

(Update: Frozen was godawful. The only person I wanted to die lived and the wolves were fucking awesome and scary though. Very uhhh gross and short on plot.)

Monday blues are the water in the pool.

Lochlan's warnings always ring true. I get too tired. Strung out. Touched out and spooled up. I get turned around, distracted and then I fall in a hole and since I insist on being surrounded by people who maybe aren't as attuned to my penchant for danger and destructiveness as they maybe should be, the hole just gets a little deeper and the longer I remain in it the crazier I get. 

In a nutshell. That is Ben's description anyway. He was the one who pulled me out, sounded the alarm and then got Lochlan who was busy with a bike, as usual and thought Caleb was paying attention. 

Caleb was paying attention but not in the right way and thought I was threatening him when I was simply trying to point out what my brain was telling me. He was changing the subject as fast as I could get the words out. He once again failed to take my massive sudden decline seriously. 

And that is not his fault. It's mine. Because I am accountable for my own behaviour and I don't put that on anyone if I can help it. 

Joel disagrees and wonders about all of the factors that cause this behaviour in the first place. He was always able to describe how it happens to Lochlan who watches for it but Lochlan isn't a machine and can't be there twenty-four hours wide awake and it shouldn't be all on him anyway, and they designed it so it isn't but shit happens and like everything maintenance and repairs are required to keep this human running properly or she simply doesn't. 

(Also the paranoia is a symptom of a greater mess and the boys are not plotting nor have they schemed. If anything they all stepped aside and let Jake in at the time in a way I didn't think they would. They did not conspire to make him leave nor is he back except within the confines of my broken stupid mind.)

In any case. I am floating on a floatie with a mister-hose for the rest of the day because it's hot and I can't swim because I have no strength after fighting my way through the weekend. Lochlan isn't leaving my side. I love that. He elbows the ghosts out of the way and then for good measure, Joel. 

Ha.

Xanax doesn't work anymore, can we maybe have something else?

But you were Support-Jesus. You sold out like the rest of them. You were ready to leave Jacob and anxious to strike out on your own and do what he taught you so it was an easy choice. 

Bridget-

I can't talk about it now, Sam. I'm tired. 

The meds? 

No, Loch lets those wear off. I'm busy trying to figure out if the only reason Ben is staying home is because of me, or if he wants to go back out. 

(Because right in the thick of this Ben got the invitation of his dreams to do a fall European run and it would only be four long miserable months and he said no without hesitation but then he told Dalton about it, and Dalton spilled the beans and now not only have they ruined my life but I have ruined theirs. 

I wasn't going to go anyway, Bee. 

Sure you are. It's a wonderful opportunity, Benjamin-

It's the same old shit and I don't go out on the road anymore. I would rather be here. I'd rather not put my hard work in jeopardy-

To babysit me some more. 

To stay sober. And I'm not babysitting. Oh, and not sure if you noticed but Jacob isn't real and he isn't here. 

Right, okay. 

Why would he stay away so long?

Caleb pays for permanence. 

Then why would Jacob show up? Also what's different now from before?

Because he changed his mind and now I believe he's real. I guess I'm tired of everyone telling me I'm crazy. Getting tired of Caleb choreographing my show. Getting tired of money talking while hearts take second place. 

Bumbleebee, you need sleep. We've gone through all of this. 

I stopped believing all of you and no one likes that. I know it. It was easier when I bought the story you all wrote for me instead of the truth. I get that. It always is. 

Where's Lochlan?

He can't save me. Though the narrative is absolutely beautiful-

Where is he? Ben is shouting now and I shrug. The dreamland of what they made is pretty much the same as the one I can dream up around them. My suspicions, sorry, my revelations are no more left-field or crazier sounding than what they've constructed here. What's the difference?

What is the difference? If you're right and he left you and took the money then it's not a fairy tale is it? It's a horror movie either way. 

Ben slams out the back door and is gone. 

See? He wants to be on the road. Even with the risks, it's probably easier than this. 

Sam shakes his head. Why would we do that to you, Bridget? After Cole, especially. With two small kids, all the logistics-

Because you could. Money can do anything. And because the army was never going to let someone new come in and take me away. Not in this lifetime.

Lochlan's in the doorway. Ben says you're lighting bridges on fire. Fire is my department so I'm here to put them out. He holds out a big glass of iced tea and another pill, because the fairy tale wore off too fucking fast. I think you should write this out. It's so creative. 

I am, I yell at him while I take the pill. Every. Damned. Day!

Out in the gazebo for hours this morning, wind whipping the curtains around me like funeral shrouds, sun rising unsteadily behind the clouds, cool salt air softening every rough edge it can reach. I waited and waited. They brought me coffee after coffee and would hang on the fringe until I asked them to leave, please, can't I lose my mind in peace? And then after Ben spending an inordinate amount of time standing in the center of the yard, precisely halfway between the stone wall that signals the end of the patio and then a five foot drop to the next level where the gazebo ends the formal backyard and it turns into a field, watching me sob into my coffee cup and try and hide it so casually from him even, Lochlan finally came out. 

Every visit with him ends like this. 

Not this bad. 

You don't see it from my perspective. 

His perspective is always right. Always has the answer. Always fixes everything. So I ask him and he ignores the question, instead holding out a big squared off white pill and I dutifully take it to end my own misery and then he hands me a half-glass of whiskey to wash it down. Lochlan is nothing if not fierce and decided. I wish I could be. I wish I could tell them to stop this charade. I wish they would understand that it's killing me. I wish they could see that I was a grown adult and could make my own decisions and I wish they knew that I hate them for this. That I know what they did. That they're going to pay when the time comes and it will be ugly and fresh. That things will change and the only one who will come out ahead is me. 

I wish I could sleep but I can't. I wish I could turn my brain off but it isn't working. It should have worked. Which charade belongs to who? What was the pill then? How come most of the time he's not following the script? Why haven't they noticed that? 

And where does Jake go when he isn't here?

To the death.

My eyes are burning. I stand again at the window, this time looking out over the sea. Jacob isn't on this side much anymore. I can see the fence and the telescope and the roof of the boat shed and most of the expanse of Daniel and Schuyler's backyard and my vegetable garden if I lean over and peer close left. 

God, the view. 

Oops, that part was said out loud and it wasn't by me. I turn with my coffee, elbows in tight to cover myself, underwear on but I wanted that coffee and didn't bother with anything else yet and then he took his back to bed and I said no. I can't drink coffee in bed. I'm neither coordinated enough nor large enough not to roll directly into the heaviest object on a bed, which is never me. 

The Devil wants a mirror day, wanted a full-moon night, wanted to lie in bed with his coffee and watch me look outside, well and content in knowing the ghost is not looking back but most likely knows where I am.

There's no Lochlan either, as while Lochlan can finally sleep if there is someone safe with us, as he can stop having one eye open to worry for me, he doesn't sleep much with the Devil around. 

I do, but it isn't a quality sleep, he'll say with a sad wink.

I knit my brows at Caleb briefly for the pun of a compliment and turn back toward the ocean. Jacob is sitting by the telescope now, joke's on Caleb. He waves with an irritated frown and I turn away for good. 

That's my girl. Come back to bed. 

I shake my head. 

Your annoyed expression is adorable but unwarranted. It's a warning, kindly deployed as an arrow with the tip dipped in wax.

I can't drink coffee lying down-

Not what I meant. 

My blood runs cool through my limbs. 

Do elaborate, then. I am still annoyed but definitely trying to match my blood and his tone. 

If I compliment you what do you do? 

Thank you for your generous observation. 

Good girl. Now tell me what's wrong?

I shake my head. 

Refusal is not an option. 

Wow, you're really going for monster-mode today aren't you? I yell it into his face suddenly, frustrated at the sudden fear and his turn back from tender to frightening. I hate these shifts. I hate his need to match every fucking moment, like he might not get his share, like I might fall in love with someone else and leave him in the cold. Well, boy, do I have news for him. 

Bridget, what's wrong?

It's amazing to me that the only person you couldn't charm around was Jacob. 

He wasn't strong enough, I guess. 

But he was, that's the thing. 

If he was he would still be here. Don't you think? He takes a sip of his coffee and looks smugly at me. 

He is here. He's outside. 

Caleb pales and checks his expression just long enough for me to see both. 

You need rest. Seeing ghosts all the time. Come back. We'll set an alarm and we can just doze for an hour or so more and then I'll send you back. 

Ghosts don't age. 

Sure they do. His tone is jovial and appropriately respectful. His voice is scared. Don't tell me I'm reading this into it. I'll make him crack first. That much I promise you.

Kingdom of sorrow, kingdom of gold.

Pet peeves of the highest magnitude when the lyrics on Ayla Nereo's website for Tightrope Walker are wrong. Could someone fix it please? No, I don't care if the song came out five years ago, it's difficult enough without having to remember that some of it's wrong. Nevermind. I will do it myself this weekend, if I remember. But it will be here instead so hopefully people won't end up like me, running to the folks with their full hearing to see if it's the website or if it's me.

I played it for August on my headphones and he was impressed. He swings lazily in the bed, cup of coffee in one hand, sheet just barely making him decent (kill me) and I am rocking on my feet, coffee cup in hand, birthday suit on since I can't find my swimsuit that he took off me sometime yesterday. I am gazing out the window at the back side of the property, over the tiny orchard with the swing down toward the tiny vineyard. A tiny princess surveying her tiny kingdom. Jacob stands in the middle of the vineyard in the sun, staring up unmoving at the window where I stand. 

A giant ghost of a prince.

It's been four thousand, nine hundred and eighty-nine days since he's seen me naked. Unless he's looking when I'm not paying attention and lord knows his best friend always paid attention and then his dues and supposedly that lost pink bikini is August's kryptonite but that's okay because August is MY kryptonite and I don't even need to hide it anymore, we've truly settled in to a beautiful routine where we meet up for a talk and don't ever end up saying a single word. 

The best kind of therapy, if you ask me and as a bonus I can lean heavily on a friend Jacob didn't want me anywhere near because August had a habit of stealing all the girls. The problem was he didn't want to keep them but that's okay because I belong to Lochlan again. He sleeps hard on the other side of the hanging bed, not waking up quite yet. The loft is cool and dark, here on the west side of the property, in the shadow of the big house. In the late evenings it warms up but he has two huge ceiling fans that move a mountain of air. 

Jacob puts a hand up to block the glare of the east-risen sun. It's Solstice today. The longest day followed by the shortest night last night, and I hope he suffers as he thinks of me having spent it here.

In breath outside.

Tightrope Walker is now stuck in my head. Completely and yet infuriatingly because I don't know the words. It came on over the speaker on the patio last night and Lochlan got the slow dance he was denied the other night when Ben took me into his arms instead and then distractions came along and we didn't get the chance. 

He's got a glass of wine in one hand and me in his arm, tucked close, my nose parked against his lower lip, our eyes closed. My blood is watered and lit. It's forty degrees if it's a minute and every other soul on this point is in the pool. Smartly so. Lochlan comes to life when it's warm. The heat just fires him up like the sun that he is and we need to shield our eyes. 

And I forgot how warm I am, sweat trickling down the back of my neck, eyes wild, hands sticky, brain mush, heart swollen and bursting in the circle of light his attention throws on me. 

I reach up with one hand to pause the moment and he takes my hand before I can. 

Don't do that. It needn't be one moment you have to try and stay in. It should be every moment. 

I nod and my bangs stick to my forehead. He smiles and plants a kiss against them. Then he puts his wine glass down, taking mine too (haven't needed it in a while) and he puts his hands up around my head and a kiss bursts us into flame. 

(Out breath inside)

He pulls back to stare at me for a second, focusing suddenly. He bends down for another kiss, just to be sure and then he has my hand and we're running through the fields. Back through the years, minutes rewinding, thorns scratching our legs and arms, sun setting, flowers closing as we go. We make it back to the camper and he locks the door behind us, back against it, a laugh on his mouth before he charges three steps into me, crashing us both onto the little cot, crushing me beneath him, pulling our clothes off, music swelling in my brain but it's not Tightrope Walker anymore because it's not the right time and I am pulled back up naked into his arms, keeping him inside me, unwilling to ever let go. He is breathing heavy against my hair, my arms struggle and slip to hold on. He puts us back down and slows to a languid crawl. Crickets fill my ears as darkness fills the windows and the world shrinks down to the size of a camper and that's all we'll ever need. 

When I cry out he puts his hand over my mouth, his head against mine. 

Shhhhh, Peanut. 

And he begins to slow even further, slipping away before coming back harder than ever, gritting his teeth, keeping out the stars as he follows me through, checking himself not to squeeze me too tightly, not to crush me in his release before he lets go but doesn't, keeping my fingers laced in his as he lies on his back, pulling me in close. Our skin sticks together in the summer night heat and I am asleep as he begins to say something.

No idea what it is.

In the morning I remember. 

I love you too, Locket. 

The sun has made the camper the size of a room now and there's a resident Ben and we want for nothing and you have to defeat all of seven separate locks to get to me now.

Told you everything would be okay. I keep every promise I can, Peanut.

Windsweep set-down 
shadowside lightaway 
fool-eyed leader of the 
tightrope walker

Never enough words but I like to try.

Happy Father's Day.

To Lochlan who fought for and took custody of both children and more than made up for the years when we didn't know Ruth was even his. He's had nothing but love for them and has been the voice of freedom when I have hesitated and wanted to lock the kids safely away. He continues to give advice and teach them life lessons and he is there at every hour of every day for them no matter what and always will be. He is  the best father. Present, affectionate, patient, loving. Generous to a fault. Never on his phone or too busy or away. If they need him he drops whatever he is doing, no questions asked. He taught them magic and wonder and fire safety too, along the way and they are forthright and pragmatic and honest, just like him.

To PJ, who has been the constant since Jacob stopped being there. Who stepped in and managed wake ups and breakfast and packing school backpacks and doing crazy hair day and pajama day. Who drove them to sports practice and band. Who made sure they did their homework and walked them to school after lunch. Who questioned school dances on weeknights and taught them to always throw the second punch if it came down to it. Who gave the kids a Flintstone vitamin every second day for twelve years straight just in case they didn't get five servings of vegetables in a day. Who made a rocket from a toothpaste tube one morning at seven for physics class when Ruth forgot. Who baked for baked sales and was honestly a better mother than I could have ever hoped to be. He gave us routine and a safety net when what we had was ripped away and he never asked for anything in return. 

To Benjamin, who has spent every minute he was home with the kids from birth. Who was always the first to rock a baby to sleep or sing a lullaby to slowly wake them up. Who never ever failed to swing them from both hands as they walked, spending countless hours strolling down the sidewalk looking at houses and dogs and birds with them. Who was the beneficiary of just about every piece of art they ever made at school and he still has them. Who was always the first to show up with an elaborate plan for the afternoon and follow through right until bedtime. Who learned to be less loud and more tender via them and who stepped in and looked after us, along with PJ when things went wrong and who stepped out again when Lochlan came back for us without question. 

To Caleb, who was the first to find out Henry was Jacob's and made the sweeping decision to just cover everything. All of it. Life. Fatherhood. Who lied to make it easier for me and said Henry was his, in order to let me let him do this. He spent every weekend watching kid movies and making pizzas and being there, and helping to teach Henry (and Ruth because they were and still are inseperable) about manners, money and the world at large. He taught them a hard work ethic and good business practices and he backs up Lochlan's discipline without issue to show a strong united front. Even if it isn't fair. 

To Daniel and Schuyler, who taught the children tolerance and love and the value of family. To Christian who brought the fun and adventure and the idea that kids sometimes should learn the hard way. To Batman who brought the mystery and made sure everyone else was on their toes and then some and then sent money every single month just in case. 

To Duncan and Dalton, who always say Go ask your mother but then let them anyway.

To Samuel, who stepped in and gave them spirituality  and faith when I couldn't find it anymore.

To Jacob. Who gets to miss it all and never knew until it was too late.

To my own father, who's absence and lack of interest spurred a wolfpack who took over and raised me instead, who came around at the absolute end in his advancing age with regret. It touches me and we can finally talk, albeit long distance. 

And to Cole. The first of the pack to become a Dad who died without knowing he actually wasn't but that's probably a good thing. He softened and changed when the kids came along. I had already checked out on him but he was a good father. Thank you for that singular virtue. 

We are blessed with strong men with hardcore values and incredible fortitude who make each other better men by virtue of how we live and I am forever grateful. Today we celebrate them like we do every single day already and there aren't enough words to explain how thankful I am that they belong to us.

He's the spectre, I'm the wraith.

Intrusive thoughts-

No, they're not. I know where they're coming from-

Bridget, please. As in Bridget, please stop interrupting me for once so I can get this looked after and go back to my crises of self.

Hallucinations-

No, they're not. He's actually out there. I can SHOW him to you if you-

BRIDGE. 

Ignoring the elephant girl gets you a trip to the edge of the circus fence. 

This isn't a circus-

Like hell it's not. 

But Caleb is back to doing damage control, Asher is back in charge of my every move, what I wear, where I am when I fall asleep and what I eat and Lochlan as always is being blamed for not sounding the alarm fast enough even though I've been ringing the bell for three days now. I'll tell you every way short of sky-writing and Lochlan chooses that exact moment to only find the good, to only have optimism for the future-nay, the moment. 

God, I love him so for that. 

It's fine. He's fine. He doesn't cause any problems out there. (I mean Jacob, not Loch.)

What is he doing, exactly? 

Waiting. For me. 

Well, what does he do while he waits? (I've been waiting for them to acknowledge him as a person all this time. My heart sings as it spiderwebs into cracks.)

Reads his bible. Talks to God. Walks the rows. Helps things grow. Tries to be as helpful and inconspicuous as possible. He's patient. He doesn't want for much.

What does he do when you come out and see him?

Talks to me. 

About? 

Things to watch out for. He can see things we can't. People's true nature. The future. The present. The past. All of it. He sees our weaknesses and our problems from an objective viewpoint.

The idea of Jake being objective when it comes to you-

He has patience even for me now. 

What if..what if you asked him to leave.

He won't go. 

Did he say this? 

No, it's just the way it is. My brain wants him to go but my heart won't let him. And the heart is always more powerful than the mind. It just keeps him here.

What if you weren't here? Would he leave?

No, he would wait. I told you. 

Maybe we should go talk to him. 

Maybe you need to not enable her and this bullsh-

Cale. Shh. Bridget, what do you think we should do?

At least acknowledge that he's here. Ignoring someone is rude. 

Asher looks pale. I think I'm over my head here, guys. Maybe you all are too-

Just keep doing what you're doing. She's fine. We just keep a close eye.

Shouldn't this be transferred to professionals at this point?

Tried that. Tried everything. This is where we are now. Keeping her happy and making sure she doesn't become disoriented or distressed. 

Wow, you talk so cold. Like I'm not even here. 

Bridget, please. 

I guess we've come full circle today. I don't have much else for you today. Jacob is still a little shy about Asher. Asher, to his credit, is scared shitless.

Nevermind. Found a good song to practice and the way I sing it apparently everyone will be crushed by lunchtime.

 

Ricochet pinecone 
riverside elderberry 
underwater rushing 
tightrope walker 

Whistlestop coming 
soon I gotta go, gotta 
tiptoe mudslide 
tightrope walker 

Timid as a raindrop 
bold as the iceberg 
broken as the thorn of the 
blackberry crushing 

Goose-down comfort 
blackbear hideaway 
going out for winter 
tightrope walker 

Undertone overcast 
in breath outside, going on a limb 
and tearing of the bandage 
uncover fearlessness 
when lightning 
strikes it meets 
in the middle, as a 
bone-bent riddle be met with a 
riddle be found 
inbreath outside… 

Ricochet pinecone 
cavernwide honeyberry 
waterbent keeper 
tightrope walker 

Elderwise timestone 
rise a gaze east-side 
telling to the cradle 
tightrope walker 

Told as a footprint 
burned as a brightening 
sudden as the rush of the rib-bent whistler 

Windsweep set-down 
shadowside lightaway 
fool-eyed leader of the 
tightrope walker… 

Ricochet pinecone 
riverside elderberry 
underwater rushing 

Underbelly overcast 
going on a limb and 
tearing of the bandage 
(tightrope walker) 

(when lightning strikes) 
outbreath inside 
(when lightning strikes) 
inbreath outside 

outbreath inside 
inbreath outside

Everything you dreamed that it would be.

A good day to sit down before coffee and bang out This is Your Life and whoever thought it would be a good idea to put a smaller Sauter (upright) piano in the great room and ignore the Petrof grand in the parlour needs to have their head examined unless they actually enjoy me wailing through the end of this song, a particularly poignant song at that, as those are the only ones I sing. 

(Kidding, this was literally the greatest thing to ever happen to me and I've done nothing but play constantly.)

Duncan says he's just happy I moved on from Jar Of Hearts, and that it was a long winter because of it. The song started to weave it's way through my smooth holey brain and I had to instantly start figuring out chords for 24 instead, as 24 is the next song in my sappy morning-warmup playlist. 

PS The very newest Switchfoot song is really really good. I liked every single thing about it save for one line. The one that goes You've got your light and I've got my wings. 

And you only want to see the shit that starts to wind it's way through my shrivelled up little tear-soaked brain at that line, let me tell you. 

Makes me want to shine brighter, just to show Jake how bad he fucked up. How hard he tried to ruin me and how close he actually came and how in spite of the irreversible damage I am still here and I demand to be loved, even with the scars and he can look at them. They can all look at them and they can keep their regrets and they can suck it up and do what they should have done from the beginning and they can still fix it but I will never trust a soul or a song or a key every again.

You don't answer for any of this

 Ben and I had a waltz through the great room this morning to I Need You (to be wrong) which is the most unlikely but perfect slow dance, a smoldering banger of a song swelling into a summer-Beach Boys masterpiece by the end. Second song tonight. Album August twentieth. I am excited. Only three or four bands ever get me spooled up waiting for albums and Switchfoot is the Most Important of those. 

Also again, they stole an album title from me. Probably because over the years I have managed to use every word there is and in multiple languages besides so I am doing a correlation=causation moment here, give it to me, please.

Besides. Hello Hurricane. Their album came out a year and a half or a little less AFTER my post of the same name. 

In other rock star news, there's a beautiful house out in the valley (*link now removed. I figured out who it belonged to. I don't know him but he has a family and so I took the link down) and I'm trying to figure out who owns it based on the belongings and music equipment in the photos. Kind of fun, if you ask me. 

Horribly invasive*, Ben says. 

Excuse me, they put the photos on the internet. Invasive how again?

The internet is an invasion, Ben says. And he isn't kidding. 

If Ben were not so metal, he would be Amish too. Like me. Not as a derogatory label but as something we aspire to be. I broke my sewing machine this week and have resolved to double-down on hand sewing, as I was meant to do because I like it more anyway. 

You can control your tension, Lochlan snorts. 

EXACTLY, FOLKS. 

In other news. Jacob is still in the orchard. Ha. Jesus saves everyone BUT me here, folks. I haven't recalled Asher from Batman's in spite of a million requests a day and now a deadline to bring him back over to work before someone else does, Fidget and I fell asleep at a stoplight yesterday and lost my driving privileges for the summer, as something has triggered my (diagnosed, don't worry) narcolepsy and now I have zero trouble falling asleep. I am the army recruit now, having graduated boot camp with that treasured ability. I sit down in a lawn chair and fall asleep. I close my eyes and fall asleep. Feel the sun on my face as I close my eyes? Nope, I'm in dreamland. Fuck you. 

The doctor (called hastily who came and checked me because he was concerned it might be a blood pressure thing but then stuck around for a quick cup of tea and got to see me in action, don't you know as I knocked off holding a teacup full of hot liquid no less and Lochlan seemed far more alarmed by that then by someone waking me up with horns blaring at a light on the highway up the mountain) said it's probably related to all of the recent stress (HA) or possible the vaccine (GREAT) so yes, I will recall Asher because now I need a driver. It's fine. I'd rather control the music than the wheels any old day. Summers are for sticking your hand out the window and riding the wind, not defensive maneuvers in shitty North Van traffic.

That lion slept for two days hence and we should have robbed him blind. Instead we robbed him sighted and that's good enough for me.

You would have done it too, but for the payout. I know Lochlan is fond of stockpiling money, as he is technically retired but also not in the least and never stops hustling, and this is probably his most-least favourite side-income generator. 

I am a piece of meat dangled in front of a hungry lion. A means to an end. A thorn in each of their sides, cleaved in half in order to inflict as much damage as possible. A poultice, a panacea designed to cure quickly and without leaving scars, though at this point our delicate skin is thickened with them and the fire (and the brimstone too) no longer affect us in the same way it once did. There is no shock left. No surprise. No remorse. No promises and no vows to never do it again.

And there is magic, in such an easy event. An audience of one. A spectator who nods along as the rules are carefully relayed at the outset, agreeing to follow each and every single one, as the punishment is the end of the evening. One who holds out right until the bitter final moment, breaking every rule at once and by then we are too spent, too overstimulated and too gratified to level any sort of castigation for his efforts. Instead we take the money and run into the dark headlong and foolishly, where we finally stop just off the road and by the light of the moon and a single flame Lochlan checks me first, making sure I'm all there still, making sure I'm real, and then he counts the money, making sure it's all there, making sure it's real.

We have not, in all these years, learned the difference between the price of something and the cost of something. I fear we never will.

Wastrels, minstrels and the objects of their affection.

I am tired. Maybe here's part one?

***

God. My favourite thing in the world is when the Devil gets drunk and gets tender. It's better than Christmas and Burning Man and a good line of cocaine all rolled into one hot stumbling machine of a man and it's so rare these days. Not sure what to make of it. Especially on a rainy Monday evening in June. 

Lochlan and I are playing in the pool. The rain is pouring down on the roof. It's loud but we have music on and are swimming away from and then back toward each other. He takes me into his arms and treads water easily, and I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, weightless in the deep end.  I always end up clinging to him in the pool if he is there. The deep end is extra-deep, the bottom of the pool is dark blue and it feels bottomless and scary without him to hold on to. He uses one hand to tread and keeps one arm around me tightly and is moved to pull me in hard against him for a long chlorine-soaked kiss. 

One hand slides off the arm of the chaise nearest us. The Devil is paying attention, his eyes flashing caustics from the surface of the pool. He straightens up, puts his glass down on the table next to him and leans forward, elbows on knees, fist in palm. 

Do you both even realize how beautiful you are together? 

I nod and kiss the tip of Lochlan's nose. We are fire.

You are! Between the striking colouring and the tension, I can't even take..my eyes from you. 

So watch, then. Lochlan still hasn't looked at Caleb.

I'd like to, with your permission. 

There's the cost of admission-

Name a price and I'll cover it.

Can't buy this kind of love, Diabhal. Lochlan says with a laugh. Thought you learned that lesson.

I'm only asking for a night of..inclusion.

You can't afford it.

I can offer a generous sum. Don't be a fool, Locket.

Oh, I'm not. Maybe a joker but never a fool. Not anymore. He pulls me up, hands locked around my shoulders and drowns me in a kiss that sends us both under the surface. 

When we come back up for air, Caleb is gone but there's a post-it on his chair. Lochlan pushes me up the ladder and I grab our towels while he bends to get the post-it. He reads it and shakes his head to get the water out of his hair. It springs up into crazy long curls and his mouth curls up on one side. 

Well, at least he knows the value of a private show. He shows me the paper. 

My eyebrows go up. VIP. Lochlan nods without a word. We should probably go get ready.

I didn't know it woud all turn out this way and I wouldn't change it for the world.

I'd rather waltz than just walk through the forest
The trees keep the tempo and they sway in time
Quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus
If I were to pluck on your heartstrings would you strum on mine?

I've been longing for
Daisies to push through the floor
I've never really felt like this before
And I wish plant life would grow all around me
So I won't feel dead anymore

 

Sunday is Father's Day and Midsummer all in one and we are planning a beautiful acknowledgement of both for this coming weekend. I still am light on energy and short on sleep but we're just going to make a feast to eat by the bonfire on the beach on the longest day and I'm going to make everyone flower crowns. We will chase the night as far back as we can push it and relish the light until it's disappeared over the horizon.

We will celebrate all of them, some biological, all honorary. All pitching in, having gone above and far beyond what most friends would have and I remain forever blessed, touched and grateful. Henry is twenty years old in one month from now and he is the man he is because of them. Ruth is a beautiful woman at almost twenty-two, independent and raised with a fine balance of utter freedom and perfect safety. Again, because of them.

And they will renew their vows to each other, to the army and to me, once cutting palms and sealing their brotherhood in a field with a stolen, questionably-rusted blade, now doing it on the beach at high tide with a sharp, clean and new knife. They will solemnly remember the conviction, the passion that only teenagers can muster and they will remember why they're here. We will add a few more, as the eight has shifted and changed due to life, death and circumstance, we have grown and reevaluated on this night, for this purpose. The beginning of summer always heralded a reminder of why they stick together. Why they're here. Why they chose me and closed the circle and just worked doggedly to make it all perfect and yet it's so flawed it's amazing the sun even bothers to grace us anymore when the dark would do just fine.

I long for a day like this again.

I was having a grand time. Being absolutely miserable, as is my right on a day when it's dark and pouring rain. I learned the simple chords for A.A. Williams' Control a while back but I was working on timing. She's in my headphones just faintly while I sing out loud at the piano. I can't do the guitar part obviously. Will have to hire Pallbearer to do that for me or maybe ask Ben about it. I just pound the keys louder. 

Hear me out. (It's actually tattooed across the palm of my hand. It's faded because I wash so many dishes but it's there.

A hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch so hard I choke on the words and it all grinds to a halt and it makes me vaguely disappointed because I think I finally had it. The fingers grip without squeezing and I take off the headphones to see who needs me, even though I know who it is by touch.

His green eyes are glassy and his face is almost as sad as my heart. 

Stop. Peanut, please. You're killing me here. 

Do you have any requests, then? 

Not today. He kisses the top of my head. Maybe just quiet. 

Sometimes he can't stand listening to me try to hear myself. I don't know what to do about it but everyone says if I subject myself heavily to things that scare me eventually I won't be afraid of them any more so it should probably work for Lochlan too.

(Maybe the electricity was always obvious.)

Walking through the garden centre, staring at the back of Lochlan's neck. He is golden-pink but only down to the neckline of his t-shirt, as he always has his hair tied back now. It's longer than ever and he doesn't plan to cut it, he says the curls are less aggressive the longer it gets from the weight of that length and he's not wrong but there isn't a person alive who has met Lochlan who isn't in love with his giant golden-red pop-can curls save for Lochlan himself. 

He bought me a small pot of roses for the kitchen and a big stone fountain bubbler for outside near the apple tree. He carried the fountain and I carried the flowers. Within hours the hummingbirds were bathing in the fountain and the roses were blooming on the kitchen counter.

Staring at the back of his neck makes me feel ten years old again, watching for him in the crowd, focusing on following him without getting distracted, making sure to stay close, his ever-present t-shirt and jeans a flag, his hair a beacon, his scowl a casual master. He turns and gives a half-smile in relief that I am keeping up. He loads our purchases into the back of the truck and ties everything safely down so it can't roll around or fall and off we go for the drive home. This was a whim but it also finishes the food garden corner of the back lawn and so it's worth it, even though it involved a very expensive very long outdoor extension cord to pull it off and we'll have to spend time burying that so it runs by magic instead of obvious electricity. 

Like us, he points out and the smile goes full.

Unusual Fridays but so very nice.

Long story short, I had a surprise early period and bled all over Daniel and Schuyler's beautiful sheets. They laughed and confirmed that they have a mattress protector, and not to worry, and besides, I am the queen of getting blood out of clothes, thanks to decades of fistfights and bloody noses amongst the boys (personally: Lochlan)(hockey-related: Everyone else AND Lochlan). They weren't worried one bit but judging by my tearful dismay and general miserableness, Daniel declared it to be a feel-better day and so they threw away the sheets (I will fetch them later, don't worry. They are far too expensive and nice to toss when as we said, I can get the blood out) and Schuyler went off to make a big breakfast while Daniel ran me an extra-large, extra-hot, extra-long bubble bath and poured me a glass of champagne. 

Afterwards he helped rinse my hair and then gave me a full blow-out with his big professional hair dryer, remarked at the ridiculously long bangs that catch in my eyelashes but said he wasn't touching them and neither should Loch, agreed I have a cute bob now and to keep it going, and then he did a face mask with me (aloe/olive oil or something, it smelled really good) and we whitened our teeth and then he said after breakfast we can pick out nail polish colours and then he dressed me in a clean pair of pajamas (a button up shirt and boxers because pants aren't going to fit) and back to bed with more champagne just in time for breakfast to be served on their huge wooden wedding tray. 

I am becoming a breakfast-in-bed whore, that's for sure. 

Then back to watching Juliet, Naked because we all read the book years ago and liked it and I didn't know there was a movie. Then snoozing. Then nail polish. Then lunch but probably not. Then maybe more champagne and a chocolate bar because besides the hot bath and self-care they assume that chocolate fixes everything right now.

They might not be wrong but I'm pretty sure it's just the attention making me feel better. They said to wait until Lochlan shows up. They're going to talk him into having the same routine because he needs a break and a treat. That a hot bath and some pampering are necessary, not luxuries. That we all need it sometimes when the day feels wrong.

Breaks and treats for everyone. I love my fairy boys so much.

Inmate number fucking one.

 Just found out Asher also has both his vaccinations, because he's a caregiver. 

Oh, was that a stint before you got here? I ask him in surprise. 

No, it's now. My official rol- He stops and looks guilty so briefly but I see it.

What? No, you're a PA. Or an EA. Whatever you like to go by-

I stop when I see him shoot a glance toward the table. 

Oh. Why didn't someone tell me? 

You wouldn't like it but you also won't have me do it and it's necessary. Lochlan always tells me straight even though he didn't exactly tell me this.

But is it? Things are going well-

For now. 

Right, and then-

Bridget. 

What? 

Just leave it, pretend it's the EA thing. 

Well, I CAN'T now. 

Sure you can. 

I should have figured it out last week when he insisted on driving-

Bridgie. 

Don't keep me in the dark. 

It's payback, because that's where you keep me, and you can't do that anymore. Lochlan's face is grim but his eyes are nothing but kind. He's trying so hard and I don't give him an inch.  

But what about when I send him to do something? Or take time off? 

He can only agree if you are in custody of one of us. 

Ah. Right. Wow. So ironclad. Such jail. Many bars.

Not at all. Just a bigger safety net for you. That's all. It's not a punishment. 

I didn't say it was. But call a spade a spade, Locket. 

That's what I tell you.

Feeling better. Might be the caffeine. Might be the Devil. Might even be the rain. No body yet either.

I have more energy this morning. Caleb did not let go, gaining custody of me late last evening when I fell asleep in the middle of listening to him list all the things he wants to do next week when the province announces a downgrade to epidemic (?) and things begin to slowly open back up. He is fully vaccinated now and does not seem to feel as if mere mortals can affect him, as he is anxious to fulfill all the adventures he's been promising me for the past two years while we've been locked down. 

Keep in mind I had my first shot nine days ago, am not having a good time with it and there's no hope of a second vaccine for me until at least mid-August. LOL *cries*

I think this is fine, being bound to the point with everyone home, frankly. And Caleb was on his best behaviour last night and today, not waking me until this morning, when he pulled me and the quilt up against him and crushed a kiss against my mouth even as he failed to ask if I even wanted him, probably knowing the answer (HA. Always) and then later when he let go he left me wrapped up tight in the sheets, pulling me up again to rest in his arms and he one-handed a big tray onto the bed which to my delight featured ristrettos, a bowl of banana chunks, one of grapes and two plates of toast with cheese. 

And then he walked me home, down the dim quiet hallways to my door, knocking softly, planting a kiss on my forehead before turning to head back to his wing for some reading.

Home for soulful (sorrowful) ghostie friends.

A beautiful, breezy day but I am not allowed to kayak or even walk on the beach today because yesterday at the park they found an empty kayak and the boys are concerned that I might find a body in my travels, which is a little too Stand By Me for them, I guess even though I think it would be exciting to solve a mystery and help provide closure to a family who is in distress. 

But when I point this out Lochlan says Absolutely not, Peanut. 

He agrees with the sentiment but not the person, and they instead are scouring the coast regularly because the current goes this way from the park and it's conceivable that someone who is no longer alive will show up for dinner, with the tides, though the ghosts that are already here will probably scare a new one off, demanding that the new ghost interloper find their own point to haunt, that this one is full up. I wanted to ask Jake if that were true, if that is something one does after, be territorial and selfish like that but Lochlan knows damn well if he lets me out of his sight I am headed straight to the beach to look for bones. That's what I said when he said no, as he can't keep me from my beach forever and it could be days, weeks or years before someone washes ashore and if it's just bones by then they might even be easier to find.

He nods and says by then it will be fine but until he decides exactly when is, they will be doing a sweep first. Gristly and then some but apparently not as bad as finding a saltwater-bloated corpse on a sunny spring day. 

Which is probably true but I think we should get it over with. It's HELPING. 

It's HAUNTING, they remind me. You will see it every time you close your eyes. 

I am ALREADY HAUNTED. What's one more, if Jake lets them stay?

My favorite things.

 Daniel and I have matching confetti glitter nails and a love for the Netflix show Sweet Tooth. We have a stash of sour patch candy (because duh, we love sugar anyway) and we've spent the last day and a half tucked away watching wholesome shows and napping in the rain. Now it's a sunny Monday and our plan is to continue because I still don't feel good from the stupid vaccine which I wanted very badly but I have a new set of rashes now (apparently it's called Covid Arm and I have to get my second vaccine in the opposite arm), still so tired I can hardly think, mildly feverish and a little bit sickish when my blood sugar drops too low so we raced through the chores we needed to do at our respective homes and then went back to bed. It's perfect. People come and go. We just stay on. He is keeping watch, I am the child with antlers.

Also watched the Conjuring: Devil Made me do it and a very respectable entry to the franchise, I think.

Second coffee up in the park by the lake. I saw two deer. Lochlan offered to turn so I could take photos but I don't need bad photos of them bolting from the sound. I need them to feel safe in a field just a little removed from the road by a heavy band of blackberries and old barbed wire fencing. 

More rain and it's cold and I had to go back for a sweater, jeans and socks as a t-shirt and leggings weren't doing it today. PJ turned the heat back up. The woodpeckers came to the yard and cleaned up all of the birdseed I spilled in trying to hang the feeder out this morning and the poppies are taking over. 

Jacob wasn't anywhere to be found. 

We came home, retreated to our respective corners and now I am listening to Sam's podcast and working away at the mending pile. Every now and then a boy will come by and remark that he should learn to do it too and then it would go faster and also life skill but when I call their bluff and ask them to pull up a chair they make their excuses and go away again, but not too far. I really enjoy handsewing and now there's a whole new movement based on 'slow' sewing and repairing instead of replacing. The way we've always done it, I guess. 

I didn't finish the first or the second coffee, which is weird. I have a really bad metallic taste in my mouth and my arm feels heavy and bruised and I still want to sleep all the time. I hope the second shot is far less eventful but it can always be worse. At least while I'm down I still have lots to keep me busy. 

I did take pictures of an old abandoned house I want to paint. Really excited about that. This is one of the best weekends in a long time for actually resting and I like that too.

Funny, White Nights was also that Taylor Hackford film I adored when I was thirteen and still didn't get loyalty or romance, for that matter.

A breakfast date with the Devil in which he arranges a seaside picnic meal of eggs benedict, caviar and mimosas , coffee and chocolate croissants  followed by a trip to get the good Russian watercolours and a few other odds and ends and I've been happily painting in my studio ever since. I fell in love with the St. Petersburg sticky, messy watercolours a while ago but have only had a couple of pans. Usually I use Japanese watercolours but I prefer the behaviour of the Russian. English paints are now a close third but not that different from the Japanese ones, even in price. This will keep me busy through summer. 

I forgot to buy a smaller drawing board as I tend to sit up on my knees on a high stool with the paper taped to the board. The board itself is 25x23" and I end up with the paint, water jar, rags and brushes balancing on the board too because there's never room left on the table otherwise and I need something a little less unwieldy, though this served its purpose nicely. Big format is not my favorite. I like everything pocket-sized. The smallest board I can find is 11x17" but I want to see them in person so I will wait til the next trip, though walking into an art supply store with Caleb is almost orgasmicly awful, as I will express interest in something and he'll take it in hand and if I protest he says he wants to try it, and then he gives it to me when we get home. So I have to walk and look so carefully. He means well, of course. 

Yes, he paints. His style is so perfect and refined, I am jealous. I paint like someone has taped a brush to an expelling helium balloon. I get paint everywhere. I go in without a plan and sometimes I come out with a masterpiece. I've only been disappointed once and I fixed it and painted something else but I am determined to master watercolours, because they are so airy and delicate and far easier to travel with. Sometimes the daunting task of setting up for acrylics is crushing. And I gave up oils years ago. 

But yes. Round Yupo paper (on an extreme whim but Legion paper and I have a great relationship. They make all of this cool paper and I just buy everything I can find) and new Russian watercolors, a belly full of eggs and then more eggs, coffee and pastries and the rain falling just so that everything is tinged with a heady petrichor breeze and I would call this a perfect Saturday.

It's happening and I won't be there, either.

What are you doing? 

Trying to figure out which way Ohio is. 

For what-

Nothing! Not doing anything. 

You are NOT going to the Gathering. 

Maybe I am-

Bridget. 

What? Don't worry. I can't even go to Dairy Queen down the road. I don't think you have to worry too much.

Things I've learned this week.

1. Tik Tok is literally the greatest app ever, for when I get tired of Cribbage With Grandpa, I mean. The best Tik Tokker (?) is Andy Bird AKA DreadfulBird who pops in around the clock with the same message, adding a bit here and there but essentially telling us to take a moment and it's so glorious. Second best is William White AKA Whiteyy18 who has a dreamy eighties Rob Lowe thing going on where he lip syncs to classic love songs (like that isn't my jam) and I admit I was rocked back when he showed up on my FYP. Yes, I have an account on it, no I haven't posted any videos. But I can spend hours watching other people and we are trying to convince Lochlan to teach people juggling on an account but Lochlan's phone...is a phone, and for some reason he laughs when I show him videos but refuses to download it to enjoy anything. He's weird. 
2. Peonies last forever in a vase of water. Ants however, also last forever and come in with them so you have to leave the closed buds upsidedown in water for a bit first. THEN bring them in.
3. The pool chemicals finally don't hurt my face AKA it takes four weeks to recover from multiple wasp stings.
4. My eye still burns and one part of my face so that means nerve damage. FUN.
5. Gatorade is greater than Diet Coke.
6. If you wish for something hard enough it can happen. I was able to finally submit for a tattoo project with one of my all-time favourite artists ever. Cross you fingers for me, I really want this work by this artist. 
7. Papyrus cards come with a warning about requiring extra postage. Who knew? We literally ALL sign all the father's day cards that go out around the globe and it takes two days to prepare the cards and then cross-check to make sure they got signed by all of us (the dads will check) and then as I am putting stamps on them I saw the note and I'm like noooooooooo. But they don't seem heavy and they meet the size requirement for letter mail so we mailed them early and will hopefully not get them back for insufficent postage. Christ on a pancake. 
8. The mouse in the garden does not like critter spray (I use it around the garden sheds to keep the raccoons out). Neither do I. I sprayed it in the wind last night and had a wonderful coughing fit. Essentially I pepper-sprayed myself.
9. It's Friday eventually. Finally. Now. Today.
10. Moderna makes me nauseous as hell and extremely tired, hence the Gatorade revelation.
    
11.  If the dog needs to get up at midnight to go outside and then again at five in the morning, someone (me) should probably check his backside for poop dribbles before letting him back up on the bed because I had a chance to sleep until seven. Yup. Someone (me) cleaned it all up though.
12. Restaurants are open and I really really really want that Monte Cristo now but I am afraid and I am surprised and pleased at myself for that feeling and so therefore we will get takeout sushi as always.
    

The very last package of baby-pink shiny heart pasties was sitting in my bureau drawer just for this moment. Or rather, an upcoming one.

I got really confused yesterday because everything online was Pride month this and that and as far as I know it's always the hottest weekend of the year that Pride takes place on, and it's not in June, it's at the end of July/start of August. I didn't realize how much of the content I see online is American. Or maybe how little of a footprint Canada has, as we've been a gay-friendly country overall for thirty-something years now while the US seems to be just waking up. In any event, it spurred a group planning dinner in which we are plotting and scheming a Pride weekend party here for the long weekend at the beginning of August and we're going to have a drag parade and entertainment and glitter rain and a big picnic with live music and dancing and I do love having something to plan for. Maybe it can even serve as a defacto early anniversary party for Lochlan and I. Maybe it can just be a fun event we can work towards to pull us out of the strange pandemic-wane in which we are still too horrified to go to crowded places and are still curating our mask collections with all the ferver of early virus times. 

I don't know. But now I need to source a crane with biodegradable, environmentally-friendly glitter rain and that's going to be a literal tall order here. 

And if you don't already live here on the Point you aren't invited. I figure I should make that clear right off. We're now a lost and hidden tribe. We don't show ourselves to the outside world. We don't let them in. 

If only, Lochlan breathes. He's excited. Straightest man on the point but God, does he love drag.

Deep (end).

 I'm listening to the new Billie Eilish single this morning. I can rearrange this for the piano but her voice is unique and I really like listening so I may leave it. Besides, Lochlan's been hogging the piano all week sorting out a good arrangement of Honky Cat, I think just to make me laugh.

It's working. 

He really has a such a flair. It's almost incredible how surrounded we are by surly musicians and Lochlan turns out to be the most flamboyant performer of all. The rest are shy and yielding, hard to cajole, impossible to convince to perform. Circus people are not like that. We just do it, because we have to. It's a compulsion. It is a complete and utter lack of shame or self-regard and a huge desire to get that high from smiles on people's faces. Or wonderment. Shock. Surprise. Fear. Relief. Whatever works. 

Add in music and well, that's the holy grail of our lives. The backbone. 

I let Ben turn off my alarm in order for me to ignore it this morning. I let Daniel paint my toes with pink glitter. I let Asher take my inventory and decide that sleep wasn't forthcoming and drugs would be, and then he announced to the house that he noticed I liked hot, elaborate and complete breakfasts and then preferred to graze for the remainder of the day on fruit or crackers or just booze and he's not wrong but I also pride myself on having a big family dinner every night and I wait until everyone's home, and most of the time these days everyone is so not a huge deal. 

Then he made me bruschetta with cheese on twelve grain bread and it was one of the best breakfasts I have ever had. 

No one argued with him. They know. But they are also of the time to skip breakfast completely and I will die before I start cooking early so this will clearly be a him-thing when he's working for me, and well, coffee when he is not. 

He will be for the next few days while I sit at the bottom of the pool. It suddenly got insanely hot out and the pool is the only place we can get any relief. Asher says this is the best and chillest job he thinks he's ever had and that makes me sad because babysitting a mentally ill woman who is already babysat by levels of people would be a difficult job but he acts like he's on vacation and if I ask him for something he acts like he's doing a favour for his very best friend. 

I wonder if it will last. 

(I think it will.)

Love in a mist.

How are you feeling? 

I am on the swing and I hear him before I see him, as is his usual routine these days. He gets into my head first and works his way out until my eyes catch sight of the blonde hair and the ever-present pale blue button down.

I look for Caleb but he is clear on the other side of the vineyard inspecting the new shed. He's not a gardener as such but I can get him to walk the grounds and it's shady out here so I like to come out and see what's growing before the sun can touch me. I always stop for ten or fifteen for a thought and a swing, and no one ever seems to mind. And I don't know who put Jacob in the orchard but maybe he's here so I can see him from my studio windows. Or maybe he's just here because he follows me wherever I go.

I've had better springs. My face still has pain. And I got my vaccine so honestly I could sleep for a month, if prompted. 

You could sleep more, that's for sure. 

Are you there too? 

I'm with you all the time. 

Personal Jesus. Wasn't that a song?

By a band you don't like. 

Who gave you permission to follow me around? 

You did. 

When did I do this? 

When you chose to never stop grieving. 

Am I supposed to stop?

Most people do. 

I have never ever been a 'most-people'. 

This is true. 

Neamhchiontach. Oh. The Devil is back around this way and the spell is broken. Jacob retreats back behind my eyes and Caleb is there holding out a grand bouquet of nigella flowers, one of my favourites. I planted a metric ton of them all around the edge of the side yard and they have grown up in a knee-high perimeter of  airy star-shaped blue and white delicate blooms that make me so happy they beat every bouquet professionally willed into this house. Ruth and I have been pressing them constantly to use in future projects. I've been trying to paint them. It doesn't stop and it's considered a good healthy obsession, one of so few that garners approval. 

Wow. Thank you. 

They are almost as beautiful as you. What were you saying when I came up? Did you have to stop swinging because I'm back? No. Not if you don't want to. 

I think I'm done for now. 

Okay, we can work our way back. He holds out his elbow so that I can take his arm and we head back down the hill.