Second Gen/proud ghost.

(A rare glimpse into a rare soul. Don't get used to it, he's off-limits.)

Spent the morning with Henry. He's the model for making masks as he has the largest head, and we also spent a little bit getting him set up with his very own credit card, something he is very excited about. Mostly because I go around warning people not to use their debit cards (if your debit gets compromised it's a tedious process to fix. Credit cards have much more simplified fraud protection, that's all) and debit was all he had. He's in such an intensive program in school he can't work until he graduates in the upcoming spring but he has enough money banked and only asked for a small limit so the bank said yes and the card is on the way. 

All the masks fit too. I have a template I use. I sew all of them, collect them, wash them and redistribute. There's a big basket of them right beside the front door. He wore a pink flowered one to vote on Monday so I figured it was time to add some new ones to the basket. These new ones are all very gender-neutral. 

I pointed that out and he said Mom, no one cares what mask I wear. Colours aren't divided by gender. 

Oh, this child. He teaches me so much. I put the pink mask in with the rest. It's only technically mine because I have a very tiny head and it's a very small (childsize) mask that I picked up at the beginning of the pandemic. If I talk though it slips so I wear the ones I make now too. 

Twice he told Caleb that he could see me later, when Caleb popped his head in to see if I was free. On the third attempt Henry actually roasted him. Man, you can't see she and I are spending time? 

And stood up to wait for Caleb's answer, eye to eye. Henry is no longer a blissfully ignorant eight-year-old and instead a jaded twenty-year-old who has decided Mom is off limits to everyone's bullshit. Even though most if not all of it is kept from him and I try so hard around him. He doesn't miss anything, however and I maybe should give him more credit. 

So I do and this happens. I backed him and I always will, because Caleb looked around the side of Henry and asked if maybe later...?

The day's full, Henry reiterated and I looked away again.

He's right, Cale. Maybe text me tomorrow. 

Or maybe leave it til Sunday or Monday, Henry says. Parting shot fired. Kill shot. 

Caleb's face drains of all colour and he nods. Will do, he says to Henry. Sorry for barging in. 

It's fine. Now you know. Henry smiles mildly, just like Jacob used to when he was pissed but being professional and closes the door again to the room. 

Henny-

Mom, it's bullshit. He makes you unhappy. 

He's provided this life for us. For you. For all of your uncles. 

They can cover it. He's almost...parasitic.

Henry Jacob! 

Around you. He's good to everyone but he makes you sad and I hate it. He fucked up Ben and-

He doesn't-

Mom, you don't need to protect me anymore, I'm an adult. 

I turn and look at him. He's in red/green. Three-dimensional. Jacob steps to the side four inches and then back in and it's Henry again. Same earnest intentions, same ironclad values, same low tolerance for anything but someone's best. 

I know you are but just understand things are really complicated after so many years. 

Oh, I see that. Don't you worry. 

Made me smile so big and I haven't stopped smiling since. 

What's the face for? Ben asks hours later. Can't stop won't stop. 

It was a good day. 

Really? 

Yeah. I'll tell you about it later. 

And for the rest of the evening every time I tried to go and see Caleb to apologize, to point out how adult Henry actually is and how little gets past him, Henry would stop me and say you're not going to go discount my actions earlier, leave it. 

Ah. Might be Jacob's but you can definitely tell this boy was raised by Lochlan.

Mabon.

Best sleep of my life, with my arms wrapped around Ben's neck, Lochlan's arms around me as he is pressed against my back, his arms out around me, past me to hold Ben close. A B, B & L sandwich, the way it's supposed to be, and no one is ever hungry. No one is left behind, we're the three musketeers and he's solid enough, confident enough and stable and now I can resume my trajectory forward, into the hole in front of me. 

It's the first day of fall. One of the twelve-foot skeletons is floating in the pool on a lounge chair. One is climbing up to Christian and Andrew's balcony. The pumpkins are artfully arranged on our front steps and the patio steps too, the tiny orange lights are strung up around the porch and my ghosts wait for their turn to scare everyone once it gets dark enough. 

It's not going to, Lochlan says, as he lights his torches, one by one. Not now. We're back together again. Nothing's going to get in our way. Not anymore. 

I hold my cast against my chest. I can feel my heart hammering as Jacob stands, patiently. A spectre, a sentry, a memory that won't be fleeting as it's too visceral and I've lost my mind. No one can find it. We looked everywhere. It's gone.

Maybe it's for the best, I look at Jake when I say it. He just looks away.

Shhh, Cole says as he strokes my hair. You don't need to worry about that. 

I nod, like I did to whatever he said, or Caleb would always make me pay for talking back to his little brother.  

Lochlan hands me one of his torches, and helps me hold it up because I can't do it with both hands. He has his head pressed against mine, hard. Not this time, Peanut. This time we get to burn it all down. 

Gosh, I hope so.

The Displacements.

Since it's not that far to Provo I called for a plane yesterday and managed to get an empty leg flight for Benjamin, Daniel and Schuyler and gave Schuyler the money back for the commercial tickets, and he laughed at me and declined my e-transfer. 

We don't care about any of that stuff. Time, as always, means so much more than money and Ben is home. He is fat again, not sure how he manages to gain so much weight is so many short weeks but he does, and he brought his journal where he wrote out his hopes and dreams and he said we should read it. 

It was indeed what Everett calls a top-up visit, a way to renew Ben's commitment to his sobriety while understanding the tenuousness of it and how it relates to his relationship with me in where he sacrificed himself to give me something to worry about so that I wouldn't worry about everything else and then he realized how tenuous it actually is. 

Also, I just add that worry on. Everything else remains right where it is. When it comes to fretting and anxiousness I am the world's best mutlitasker, and I can't even walk and breathe at the same time. 

I had to wait though. The car pulled down beside the front walk and the driver got out, opening the doors first and then going around and pulling the bags out of the trunk. Everyone is hanging back by the fountain and once the car pulled away again, Ben made the rounds to greet everyone. He always leaves me for last so that he doesn't have to let go and this reunion was no exception, except for after several moments holding me off the ground, not moving, he grabbed Lochlan back in so he could hold us both. Lochlan already had a hug. What the fuck. But it was so stunning to have him back suddenly, the bull in our china shop, taking up so much space here in our world. I don't think I could have lasted another day, honestly. Not sure Lochlan could have either. I'm sure Caleb might have, as he knocked on our door late last night asking for eleventh-hour companionship, coming in briefly to plead his case, being gently denied and then leaving before we could request it. I knew that would happen and I know he's probably still smarting from it but I can't worry about that right now. 

I only let go of Ben at the end of my hug so that he could go take a long hot bath in the big tub but he just called for me so um..bye. :)

My own little life.

Pulled down roughly into Caleb's lap this morning and kept there, on the couch by the kitchen woodstove. Lochlan's gone up to do some work organizing files and we already walked up the hill to vote. Somehow we couldn't do it during the four days of advanced voting so we got out before the lineups got long. Henry is still sleeping. So is PJ. It's a quiet post-rain day. Caleb was reading with his coffee on the table when we got home. He's been nothing jovial lately so no one is in early warning mode at all, even though I can't go near him lately and I'm unable to articulate as to why. 

I looked into your house listing. 

I stiffen slightly. Here he is trying to fix everything that's broken between us with more money. Money can't bring people back to life so it's no good to me anymore. Will he listen? Never. 

It has water damage. You can actually see it in one of the pictures. The owners appear to be walking away. 

It was just a day dream. Do you have any imagination at all? 

Dreams don't make sound economical decisions, Neamhchiontach.

They're not supposed to. And I need to go upstairs so may I leave?

I'm not keeping you here, he says as he relaxes his grip on me. But maybe we can sit down later and you can go over your list, and we can find or plan something to build that will give you the peace of mind you're looking for. 

It won't and that is the whole point, just to scroll listings and see if you can imagine yourself living in a place. 

I could live anywhere with you. 

Not with that lack of imagination. 

Talk to me for real, here, Bridget. What's happening. 

I'm just processing the book, that's all. 

The book. 

Yes, the one I talked about for three weeks straight while I struggled through it. The one you said you read and you didn't. The one everyone said they read. 

So I should read it. 

Probably not. I just need time. 

I need you. 

Maybe later. 

You've been saying that for a while now. 

Why does every fall season see you getting pushy and possessive? Let me live. Please. 

He stares at me for so long I see his emotions run the gamut behind his expression. It's neutral but his eyes range from rejection, shock to panic, fear and then protective and finally acceptance. 

But for how long? I just want to make sure you navigate the hard parts with everything you need, that's all. 

You know what I need?

I can't bring him back, Dollface. How many years are we going to do this? 

Until I see him in Heaven. 

Do I need to call Lochlan?

Lochlan's here, Lochlan says, pulling me up gently out of Caleb's arms, being so careful with my cast when no one else remembers. 

I think she's starting to get panicky and tired, Loch. Anything I can do? 

Be less demanding. The rule is she comes to you. Don't make things more difficult than they are.

The book-

I know. Reading it now.

Listing perfections (new Sunday series because ignoring Jesus is getting old).

Instead of going to church in the rain we have set up a wild Real Estate group roast this morning. Lochlan said it was too cold and damp for me to be outside today. He gestured at the window while he peeled my orange for breakfast. Don't worry, I had a rosemary rocksalt bagel too. I also had a Long Island Iced Tea at about nine last night, which meant a solid, mildly-drunken sleep. Amazingly I did not have to get up in the night to pee, which is somewhat unbelievable seeing as how if I even look at a glass of water after seven or so I am toast or maybe I was just tired but this was much needed, and much appreciated. 

I feel like I'm ten again, and he is cutting fruit for me with a knife because he doesn't believe I am old enough to safely use tools. In this case these oranges are hard to peel and I can't really do it with one hand. PJ offered and was dismissed, later to be apologized to and he told Lochlan that to make it up to him, Lochlan could peel his (PJ's) orange too. 

Oh, I'll peel your orange, alright, Padraig. 

Promises, Handsome.

And I giggle in spite of myself. 

Right now we are pontificating on people's inability to construct a floor plan that flows, their strange need to put entire laundry rooms inside bathrooms, why they all use the ugliest brightest highlighter colours they can find for feature walls, and the odd practice of spreading lawn furniture and planters out, away from the house in haphazard arrangements that make zero sense. My favourite ones are full of kitschy coastal decor, as if the person who bought it (because I tag waterfrontage and hardly look at anything else) was new to the sea and wanted to make sure we knew it, they always tag it 'The Beach House'. You can all but guarantee a compass rug, shells scattered on the tables and some crossed oars going up the stairs in these places. It's beautiful and funny to me.

Mysterious dents in fridge doors, whole missing doors and cheap furnishings or finishings are huge turnoffs. Hey, I have baskets in my house from Dollarama too, the secret is to make sure everything you buy is white because then it blows out in photographs and looks expensive. A primary-blue plastic basket is not going to have the same effect. Also for gods sake don't you dare show me a bathroom with no mirrors, or one huge mirror on a stand right beside the bathtub. Glass near the tub is one thing I can't do. No all-bright yellow interiors or I run screaming. Don't show me a house full of Walmart furniture that has a separate four-car garage on the property and many questionable things in the basement (some sort of kitchen) and freshly dug 'gardens' way out in the back twenty. Uh-huh.

Drugs, Dalton leans over my chair to look. That's where the bodies are buried.

Oh, oops, you're right, I say, and we move on. I won't link that one.

One delightful house up the highway toward Northwest cove had the most delightful rugs and art (INCLUDED) and you could tell they knew what would work for the space and I'm still considering just picking that house up for later. For the years when no one needs me anymore, when the kids are too busy and I am lonely and the only thing that ever fixes the hurt is the proper ocean that I belong to and not this dark imposter. I hate to even think of those days and so for some reason I feel as if I am prepared if I keep an eye on houses and places and plans. 

 But it's tiring because I hate your paint colours and I hate those little hexagon standalone showers that everyone renovates into place (including the house linked above), an afterthought when they started with the best of intentions and I don't want to see your woodstove in a questionable fire-scary location in your house. And I want to know who died there and if they haunt it and how many steps there are to the sea and if your shingles come off every hurricane and which way you drive down the highway to shop. I want to know if the neighbours are decent people who could help you in an emergency or if you have a place to leave the boat in the water year round (because boats are such a hassle) and it needs to have as many bathrooms as bedrooms, multiple easy places to park and a driveway that isn't frightening (like mine, drops straight down off the road, into the abyss) and if the house will be warm and full of light. 

Not asking for much. 

At all. 

Ha.

August and September, too.

I'm running out of time
'Cause I can see the sun light up the sky

 I've made the most elaborate changes to the song, flourishes on the piano and the song never ends. I just keep making up new choruses as I go. I never leave the bench anymore until I'm falling asleep on my feet. I feel like this song has made me a better player from what I was before, as I had a tendency to try and memorize the notes instead of reading the music. To me playing and singing is only marginally easier than writing while singing, and so some days I'm not writing at all. 

Besides, I only have two fingers to work with on my right hand so everything is a struggle now and it's a wonderful visual and emotional connection to the book I just finished. Not sure if I can spoil it quite yet. I only even heard of it on a podcast and then I noticed Andrew had a copy sitting on his desk in  a pile with other books and I made a mental note. And then it exploded on tiktok and so I bought it and read it too. 

But I'm not going to talk about it today. Not in the midst of all the other things. Like August on his goddamned knees, apologizing for shouting me down, for flaying me in front of my army, for telling me my coping methods were not coping methods at all, but methods by which I will facilitate my destruction and the destruction of those around me. 

I pointed out isn't that why he's here, because it takes one to know one? And what do you know, I found the button and he. went. off. 

And it was nice to finally watch him blow his stack. As much as the words (all true) hurt so bad I didn't think our relationship would recover (hint: it has) he needed to do that and needed to make his observations known in a meaningful way. And we made up and he and I have talked about the book and what I've seen and what I came away from it with and how maybe I really need to talk to everyone more and I'm generalizing here because I want to give you ample warning before I spoil that book. 

The sad part of all of this is how much he's been keeping to himself all these years and how we're all peeking around the corner at this point into the black that is October and so unwilling to keep moving forward we're taking turns pouring concrete around each other's legs trying to keep us in the summer, keep the fall from barging in, keep the memories from burning everything down around us. Trying to hold on, but for what? To do it all again, year after year, just crawling into the bright warm light only to be dragged backwards into the dark? 

Yes, Sam says, my memory thief, holding one of Lochlan's soot-covered torches, a flame still boldly emanating from the top. Lochlan stands beside him, holding the rest, all lit up like fireworks because he is the apprentice, he's the one who decided fire would be the way. Because that's what we do. To live is to coexist with joy and with pain, equally, or you really aren't living at all. Then he touches the flame to the edge of my day and I am baptized again, in fire, a phoenix with broken wings, stripped of it's feathers, a pathetic creature tripping over one memory after another because he gets a lot of them but he never gets them all. Sometimes I am surprised and end up flat on my face after one appears in front of me suddenly. A spectre. An apparition. A ghost in the form of a helium balloon, handed to a little girl at a fair. 

But it isn't fair. And that's okay too because without the pain how would we know when we're experiencing joy at all?

And that's the part they're trying to teach me now.

Probably empty promises but it's nice to have the reminder that we're better when we're all together.

Facetimed with Ben (and Daniel and Schuyler) and we both might have cried. Schuyler cried on our behalves and Daniel didn't even once wipe his eyes, tears streaming, everyone he loves in one spot, but not. And I did the unthinkable, the thing that's not healthy or good for anyone, the expensive, damaging, selfish, entitled thing and I asked Benjamin to come home, that he can do zooms with his people and we'll find a five-star chef and we'll go on hikes and make crafts in the back yard and hire a masseuse to come visit every day and work on ourselves here.

At home.

Where he belongs. 

I expected a deluge of disappointment, admonishings and lectures. I expected someone would just end the call and spare me the usual humiliation of being spoken to slowly and with purpose, explaining all the reasons why things are the way they are and why I'm a horrible, no-good little asshole for even suggesting he leave early. 

But to my surprise, Ben turned the phone away from the others, winked and said How does Tuesday sound? 

What do you mean? What's on Tuesday?

Our flight home, Bumblebee. 

And I start shaking and flapping and fluttering and drop the phone. Off the cliff, where I cry out in dismay as I watch it slide down the grass and then bounce down the rocks and Lochlan leans out over to watch too and starts laughing and pulls out his phone as he pulls me back away from the edge, where we had been sitting at the top of the steps, showing Ben the storm clouds rolling in for the big rainstorm tomorrow. 

We are walking back up to the house and he calls Schuyler. Fastest way to reconnect since we don't have to page Ben who is probably talking to a rock or maybe to the grasses halfway down the cliff right now. Wondering if I jumped. Or fell. Or threw the fucking phone. 

What happened? Schuyler looks alarmed and we both wave at the screen. He hands his phone to Ben again. 

I dropped my phone off the edge.

We'll go get a new one next week, okay, Bee? 

Are you sure? 

It was a top up. Four weeks. I'm already done. Just had to get my legs under me. Did they talk to you? 

I nod at him. Yeah. 

They said they did. 

I'm game. If Lochlan's game. 

We're going to go to Polytherapy (our word for it). Which is where they will teach us not to also fall in the hole while looking into it for the ones we love most. Ben and I will run ourselves over trying to be miserable together. It's horrible and beautiful. Lochlan hates it but he has his own problems and will be learning how to provide actual, in the moment support in a more meaningful way than he has been taught thus far, still finding it far more comforting to simply cut and run. It worked in the old days, it works when you need it too. It doesn't work at all for us. 

Good. And what about you? 

I'm here. 

Bee-

I just need you back here. 

When I was there you didn't want me there. 

That's never been true ever, Benjamin. 

Just checking. 

I just need to not do a ritual sacrifice if you have a down day. 

Me neither. We're like Romeo and Juliet do Groundhog day. 

Perfect. 

It's so far from perfect, Love. 

Get home safe. 

Be there when I get home. 

Always. 

Then I dropped Lochlan's phone when the fluttering started again (stupid cast. I drop EVERYTHING) but it bounced harmlessly off his leg, landing in the wet grass to the side of the concrete path. He laughed and collected it. Can't believe I have both of you and you're literally the same person, just in two different bodies. 

Sorry. 

Don't be. I'm not.

Based on my hand and my brain I was not cleared. to. fly. 

Which means no one went save for Daniel and Schuyler to visit Ben for the family weekend portion of his stay which is THIS WEEKEND and I'm almost as angry at that as I am at everything else right now.

Blasted.

There are Halloween Goldfish this year! Tiny ghosts and pumpkins to go along with little vampire fish. I have had three little pouches of them so far this week. Did you know in this house we go through almost twenty bags of Goldfish a month? I used to buy the big boxes with two big foil pouches inside but the store I frequent no longer sells them in bulk so we buy three bags a week instead. 

I feel like they're the thread of our lives. Little cheesy fish-shaped crackers, swimming through our days. 

They missed a perfect opportunity to do dead goldfish crackers though. Little fishbones. 

God, you're morbid. They're for kids. 

Yes and I am and no, they're for everybody.

Still no spoilers but typing remains a massive challenge so this took a couple days and probably doesn't make sense anymore.

That post begat a standoff that ended rather spectacularly. 

I won.

I never win a standoff. I either get scared, bored or tired and give up, planning a coup later or maybe a whole other insurrection but this time I took my stand and pointed out the obvious. They dropped the ball. 

So if I pick it up it's not my fault. If I go on to help my team of me, myself and I to a twenty-one point lead it's THEIR PROBLEM and they'll have to regroup and form a new strategy. 

In this house we are not culture snobs, but sportingly...gatekeepy about it nonetheless. You need to know your Iliad and your Odyssey too. You need to know your Bach, your Orange Goblin and your more obscure Pachelbel and vintage Aerosmith. Your Tolkien quotes better not be from The Hobbit and you've read Little House on the Prairie because it's relevant to our times of excess and automation. I don't know. We're weird about it and if we can make each other feel bad about not having heard a particularly blistering guitar lead from Toska or a passage from a Keats poem that once made Sam sob during a wedding you can bet we will because how else are you supposed to have a hierarchy of superiority without knowing that one little thing? Or better yet, showing the rest of the family something cool, which means you're cool for the rest of the day at least, maybe even the week if you're truly blessed. Sometimes a neat musical means the whole house is pitching in and taking roles and singing along. 

But we ain't singing today, guys.

They lied. They fucking lied because they didn't want to be the one that didn't read and figured out of all of us someone had finished it and would catch the foul. Someone would step in and make sure there were no triggers and no spoilers and no ruinous Bridget-brain perched on the ledge of a hole made with a literary shovel, the worst kind of holes because you can't help them, they just happen. 

I'm so brave though. I believed them and I waded right in, up til the water was over my head, weighted down by the history of myself that I wear, that I never take off, that I can't swim with. 

August tried to shout me down, that was the worst part here. And I refused to give up the book because I have a little over two hundred pages left and I AM NOT SPENDING THE REST OF MY LIFE WONDERING WHAT HAPPENS TO JUDE! 

So fuck all of you. Someone should have kept this book from me and I'm so grateful no one actually did because it's already found a way to explains several things about me and the way I am that I've never been able to put into words in order for you to understand and now I can. 

So that's a gift they should be grateful for, because I know I am, as hard a read as it is.

Content warning.

One if by land and two if by sea
Maybe it's both and we'll all get lucky
Go to the end, man. Don't quit on me
Get what you wanted
Anarchy

 

So it turns out not a single one of them ACTUALLY READ THE BOOK.

Moose gifts.

 https://fourheartsranch.com/

What about it? 

We should buy it. 

Why do you want it, Bridget? 

Because it has lakes and horses and cows and birds. Bears. Moose. 

You can have all that here.

Show me a moose. 

Caleb takes out his phone and starts typing. 

No, I mean a present moose. I haven't seen one with my own eyes in years. 

 It's very remote. I don't think I want to be in prime forest fire territory. 

But I keep looking at it. The layout is decent. The main house is a little strange but we could change it all and the swimming is RIGHT THERE, tons of it. Not just a pool and the ocean with the rocks-

Then you would be the Lakewater Princess. 

That's fine. Not like I can get down the deathtrap stairs anymore. 

But you do anyway. 

Of course I do. That's my beach. 

I rest my case. 

We could buy it as a vacation property. 

We could do that but we're never going to go inland. You see how often we went to Tahoe. 

Once every couple of years? It's because it's in another COUNTRY-

Keep looking. Find something near a little healthcare, maybe.

I do. Because I want space. And privacy. And a moose. 

George Stark: Not a very nice girl.

She's back. Working to take five times longer to type some shit on the screen so that people stop assuming that I Thelma and Louised myself off the cliff in a Jeep or was strangled during rough sex upon request. 

Both perfect ways to go, but I'm not ready for either yet (I mean, everything but the death-part would be fine in both examples, let's be real here).

I had surgery on Wednesday morning (PJ just told me that was only yesterday WTF) and now the cast comes off in twelve to eighteen weeks (FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK) so this is not helping my cartwheel career, let me tell you. Thank God I can walk a tightrope better than most, for my hand is less than useless. The joke is I can finally practice using my left hand for handjobs and then be able to multitask six months from now but the boys are rather desperate to cheer me up. 

But I'm not here to talk about scaphoid non-unions and the girls who suffer them. No, I've decided that we should talk about the bone now inside my hand that they used as a shim to fill in the space where my own bones, in an expected act of defiance typical of yours truly, declined to actually grow. It's called a non-union and the worst outcome save for infection. 

So they decided to do a bone graft and screws and another cast. 

And then began to explain where the bones come from. 

And Lochlan jumped up and covered my ears but it was too late, while Caleb tried to talk over everyone pointing out they could do a graft from me, or even from him if necessary. Both bad ideas as I obviously heal so poorly who needs another thing to deal with and he might not even be compatible (snort) and they don't take volunteers. They dismissed the whole thing as par for the course, don't worry about it, etc. etc. 

But my mind. 

Oh, we all know my mind.

It went straight to The Dark Half, (It's a book by Stephen King) and you can look it up. I was wondering if anyone had any information about my bone. Who was he? I'm assuming it's a he. Young or old? Sick or a sudden accident? Will he help me or take over? Can I name him? If so, George it is. Do I get a certificate of authenticity? What if he's angry and haunts me too? What if he doesn't get along with Jake?

Who's Jake? The doctor looked so alarmed.

And Cole, I helpfully point out. They are my dead husbands. 

The doctor put a call in for mental health services. Like he could order it. Like Door Dash.

It never came and then instead the boys had to explain and give the number for August and then for Seth, who vouched for my care under duress and without preamble and then I was never directly addressed again and I will be heading to a different orthopaedic dept. in the future, as they don't understand me and I can never show my face again in that hospital.

And I have been relentless since, equally repulsed and fascinated by the fact that I have a bone in my body that came from a dead person. Sometimes I want it out. Sometimes I feel like I have permanent company. Sometimes I wish they could have given me his brain too, and then I could think other thoughts. I think maybe he was an engineer or maybe an architect and he had coffee with a college friend and then died tragically crossing the busy street in front of the coffee shop, hit by a bus he never saw coming. It was raining. It was dark. What a shame.

But what if he's a bad guy and he was shot by a jealous husband? What if he was throttled during sex and now all I will see is his last vision of the realization in the eyes of his lover, too strong for his own good, spent and glistening in the dark candlelight, screaming his heartbreak into the void? 

Right. The drugs are fucking fantastic and I'm not even going to edit. So there. Enjoy the madness while the drugs are this good because next week I'm sure Lochlan will be hiding the chainsaws again. But will he be hiding them from me or from GEORGE? 

Who knows? Who even cares?

Don't tell me I'm fine.

I got my phone back, found my mind, covered with lint, kicked into a dusty, dark corner and I unclenched my fists long enough so that Lochlan could tuck my good hand in his for the evening, not letting go, comically so even as I pleaded to be allowed to go have a pee and I'll come right back. 

Promises are fine and all but I'll come with you. 

Why?

Because it broke my heart when Asher came to tell me where you ended up. 

He's the one who walked away. 

Because I'm sure if he had tried to comfort you somebody else would have had issue with it so he came to get me. He did the right thing. 

He left me alone. He even took my phone. 

Probably thought you were going to chuck it. 

Lochlan-

It worked out. I was outside in minutes. I can do this. Let me do this, Bridge. 

We end in a stare-off. No one says anything else. I finally look away first, because he wouldn't dare.

***

Hospital today. Going to go see a man about a hand. This pain is not what the boys describe after a cast. And I have a huge pain threshold so the fact that this hurts this badly after having the cast off still is making me nervous. Wish me luck.

One week til I can get on a plane and touch him for real.

Not sure who was more ashamed this morning. Lochlan for having the gall to invite Caleb up to function as the huge space usually taken up by Ben, knowing full well I don't need to complicate my autumn any further, or me, who drank a whole bottle of malbec, said fuck it, and took every opportunity they gave me to turn myself inside out while they touched me, headphones in place so I don't have to hear the things they say, body numb by the time the sunrise hit, mercifully so until the broiling steam from the shower hit my skin and woke everything up again. I fled the room for the relative safety of the gazebo as the sun climbed the long ladder into the clouds and I refused to even meet Lochlan's eyes once daylight rounded out my view. 

It's okay, pretty sure his hypocritic gaze was fixed on the floor too. Not like he doesn't know it makes things worse. It's a short-sighted solution to a longterm problem and it would be better for everyone involved if we didn't pull this shit every time we miss Ben. Not like Caleb doesn't lurk around us late into the night just hoping we'll let our guard down. Just pouring more wine, hoping Bridget will turn the corner from mean, spiteful insult-thrower to positively pathetic, helpless drunk and the minute that switch is flipped Lochlan just wants to fix it and he doesn't care who he has to sell his soul to to do it, whether it's August, Sam, Schuyler or the Devil himself.

Caleb and Ben are the same size. Same colouring. Same intensity. And that's where it stops. Caleb has his own vulnerabilities but they're nothing like Ben's. Caleb holds his fork wrong. He shoots his cuffs too much. He wears an exceedingly expensive Breitling watch that hurts when it scrapes against me. His eyes are blue instead of brown. His hands are smooth and manicured, no callouses from the constant guitar playing, no hesitation, just smooth all the time. Calculating instead of earnest, manipulative instead of predictable, serious instead of goofy. 

But that blurs in the dark and we let him in. And we gave him a show for free and then he made us pay the price and the proximity burned us against the moon until we keened and hawed in the night for everything to stop, painfully aware as the night ground to a dull finish that the only things we're eroding here are our credibilities and our strength. Bridget's mental health. Lochlan's steadfast morality. 

But who needs either of those things when the Devil will give you everything you really want. 

I called for Ben and gave my family code and it wasn't even ten minutes when he called me back. Facetime. I am so hungover and so sensitive I can hardly meet his face. 

Caleb came over last night. 

Loch there? 

Yes. 

You both okay? 

Yes, I lie.

It's fine, Bridge. Sorry I missed it. He smiles his absolutely smarmiest grin and I start laughing and crying all at once. 

You think it is? I don't think it is. 

It's better than if you go see him alone. 

I know. 

Then don't worry about it. 

When can you come home?

I see Asher coming across the lawn and I roll onto my back so I don't have to look at him, holding the phone up in front of my face so I can look at Ben for one more minute. My time is up. My ghost-balloons bob around in the cap of the gazebo, Jacob coming into frame every few seconds to frown down upon me, Cole laughing at my pain and Ben begins blur until I can't see him anymore. Asher takes the phone from me as I choke out an I love you and Ben's gone again. 

Asher puts my phone in his pocket and turns and heads inside. I cover my hands with my face and sob because out here no one can hear me and there's nowhere else I can go.

Fixty-six (floating on a wine-dark open sea).

The ship has flung me off a thousand times in the night and still I crawl back onboard only to be tossed into the darkened sea on the next invisible wave. This time he plucks me out of the salt and ash and pulls me back, keeping me in his arms tightly even though we are both soaked to the bone, ice-cold but growing warmer by the minute. 

Lochlan holds up his hand and lights his fingers aflame one by one, a birthday cake we only celebrate in this one place where he is a pirate and I am a mermaid and he melts my ice with his fire but it never seems to be enough.

Oh, it's enough, Circus Peanut. 

I laugh shakily, my teeth chattering against the cold slicked down flannel covering his heart. Is it? What if it kills us?

Then we'll go out knowing this was the greatest love and the best birthday of all time. 

Now I know you're lying. 

I never ever lie, though. 

Yes, you do. You told me everything was going to be okay. 

And it is because you're here with me. It's the happiest birthday I have ever had, Bridget, and you're never ever going to top it. 

I'll top it next year. I'm going to buy us lifejackets so this stops happening all the damn time. 

If you don't want to go out on the boat we don't have to.

Maybe we'll just wear the lifejackets on land too. Then we'll be extra-safe. 

That's a very good plan. 

***

For Lochlan's birthday I got him a sailboat so my waking-dream was themed perfectly. It's not large, it's just a fifteen-footer, basic Marlowe with an open hull but he's always wanted to learn to sail and I get to be the one to teach him. It might hold three of us if one of us greases up but it's small and safe and gleaming and he absolutely loves it.

Let her eat cake (there is so much of it anyway).

Still here. Still having french fry wars and singing in the rain, getting used to new eyeglasses and drinking rosemary gin. Still in too much pain to type a lot which is being looked at on Tuesday, and in the meantime, the man burns tonight.

In an hour, actually. You can watch it on Burningman.org. 

Also I asked Lochlan to saw off my hand. Never heard a nervous laugh like that before. I'll be locked in the main house for the rest of the year now, probably. Happy birthday, honey. Your wife is fucking CRACKED.

Hand still hurts but the emails. Holy cow.

I'm alive, contrary to the breathlessly bitter and excited emails asking me if I'm dead (yet). Sorry to disappoint you. I'm a little bit coked out (it's a JOKE. It's codeine, not cocaine), pain-riddled and busy. Ruth and Lochlan's birthdays are this weekend, Friday and Sunday respectively. We have no shortage of ridiculously traditional festivities planned, and the boys have been so incredibly proactive in helping to cook/wrap/fetch/bake/decorate it's been unreal. 

All the while we are missing Ben with a fierceness I don't remember from before, as he's always been on tour or in rehab this time of year anyway. I never said fall was a good time for everyone, but in this house spring, summer and winter can cause problems too, you know. 

(All of this planning and preparing will keep her busy, they said.)

And maybe they were right, because the words and directions come slowly but I direct them in a dance that sees us ready to roll almost a day and a half early, and we are finding the joy in simple things like working together and putting new twists on old favourite traditions. If you don't you die, I guess. Maybe this is the point. You just ride the rollercoaster of feelings into oblivion and then on the sea of glass you look back and it will be profound and stunning how beautiful everything truly was, even the hard parts. The ones that made you sad or afraid. All of it by design.

Guess who got her cast off this afternoon?

My hand and wrist hurt like the dickens and are useless and my skin is molting. Apparently this is normal but it looks and feels almost worse. The doctor was so very proud that I didn't saw it off over the summer or charm someone else to. 

I must be losing my powers, along with my mind.

Jesus paint swatch.

Ended up buying a huge teak bench yesterday after finding a forty percent off sale and out-talking a fast-talking owner of a little import furniture shop who was anxious to make money but also aware that if he prices things too high his inventory is going to sit. 

We both came out really happy with the transaction and the house looks more West Coast and less cobbled-together prairie farmhouse every day. I'm going for a fusion of the two. I don't really actually care but am going into fall looking at shit I hate and changing it. This was for the front hallway, which has somehow had a radical makeover without actually making many changes at all. Works for me. Not like I spend any time in that room, it's just a place where I drop my keys in the wooden bowl and then kick my shoes off and leave my bag on a hook with my favourite scarf or wrap. That's it. Sometimes I need to go put shoes away or mop the floor or collect half a dozen hoodies left on hooks. But it's the first thing I see when I come inside if I use the main doors (which I never do, I come in the side door and up three steps into the back side of the kitchen, from a long hallway with a bathroom and the butler's pantry. So I want it to be homey. Case in point, the back hallway is painted a beautiful shade of burnt orange because it just needed to be warmer. I don't know but it works and it works very well. The whole area down there is natural wood trim with lots of light from very tall windows and yet it's shaded by the huge trees around the edges of the driveway. 

I don't know, I like the bench, is all. And fall makes me think of reinvention in a way spring never has. Maybe if I put up new curtains this fall will be different. Maybe if this room is a different colour shit will hurt so much less. Maybe I'm coming down from these pills and feeling too much again and decorating is just a strawman topic for today.

Sun but cool. Perfect.

 My phone doesn't want to charge overnight anymore and I keep waking up to it on 43%. Huh. Two nights in a row. I've done some things and changed some things (and some cords) and we'll see what happens tonight.

In any case, it's a sunny Saturday and they let up a little to see what happens with me too, as I am only charging to around fifty percent and my software, well, it's fucked. I am by the pool writing, since I can't watch videos on my phone. I'm shopping on Shein, which is somewhat hilarious but it's addictive to scroll through seven hundred thousand dresses, even if they're not Valentino, which is all Caleb wants me to look at if I'm shopping. I've never chosen one proper. He picks them. He'd be horrified to know I have an account on this website but I already got a dog travel basket for the truck and a pair of gingham shorts that were a little big but very cute and breathable for the heat so a win on both counts. I think I spent twenty-five bucks. 

I don't feel like swimming this morning and prefer to watch Lochlan and Dalton do backflips off the diving board, something they're not allowed to do technically but Henry-with-the-fresh-haircut (and beard trim!) is still sleeping upstairs in his room in the main house and Ruth moved out a while ago but comes over on her days off to swim and hang out and raid the pantry and see all of us, especially her little brother. They're so close, I worry for him but he seems happy and he goes with anyone and everyone who heads out to visit her. She and her fiance have a lovely huge bright apartment in town and they're so happy. It's weird but I'm getting used to it, save for a few stunning moments here or there where I feel like I can't catch my breath. I guess this is normal but it feels so strange.

It's been a pretty quiet week overall. I got sucked so hard into A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara that you might never see me again. I'm in love with the characters and it's brilliantly written so far, and I'm only fifty pages in. All of the boys read it and cried and grew closer than ever before and now I need to see this magic for myself. 

So off to read and laze around and hopefully someone's ordering a pizza for supper.

Short and toasted.

For day three of the burn we retracted the whole roof of the pool enclosure in order to swim in the rain, like the old days, temperature of the water jacked to almost-bathtub appeal and every time I stop treading I fall asleep so I only lasted fifteen minutes or so. That was very early this morning.

I want to take Henry for his haircut this afternoon. He can drive. I don't even technically have to go.

I'm eating my tomatoes as fast as they ripen. Once they're orangeish I bring them in to finish to a full red on a bright windowsill somewhere. And then I just eat them. That's how good they are. The apples from our apple tree were crisp and sweet, the grapes from the vineyard are perfect and taste like Welch grape jelly. The potatoes are buttery-fresh and delicious and the pumpkins and sunflowers are HUGE. The only thing lagging now are the cucumbers which are almost dill-pickle sized and so good enough for me. I was actually worried and considered not planting any due to the fear of having to make a huge batch of pickles again this year when we don't go through all that many and I gave away so much I can't expect people to take more. 

So yeah. This is manageable. 

Lunch is dumpling soup from the korean place I love. If I'm awake. If not mine will get eaten. They always say they will save it for me. Then conveniently there wasn't enough.

Burning, day two.

Apparently from across the room, with music playing Hold her for a while becomes Haloperidol. 

Who knew? I thought August was answering an earlier question, since I can't fucking stay awake to listen for a response anyway, he was trying to keep Lochlan in the room, as Lochlan HATES this and disappears, leaving everyone else to deal while he heads off somewhere to drink his fears away. Or maybe ponder where else he can run off to, where I might not follow, as I haven't failed to follow him yet and maybe he just wants to get away. 

This city's cold and empty No one's around to judge me-

Still wondering what The Weeknd did to cash all his chips in on one old flame. What was he so ashamed of save for coming back after leaving, probably. The music industry is built on broken hearts. I should know. Speaking of which, the theory goes that I literally threw myself off a psychological cliff after watching Ben go over the side. In support. In defense. Who knows? It's happening and eventually I guess it will stop but it's an extreme stress reaction to what he's going through. 

(As ever. I will side with Ben until the day I die. He's the best friend I ever had. Sorry to everyone else but you know this and you can drug me to hell and back but some things just happen.)

So I still don't have an answer from August but gosh the DREAMS. EPIC.

Burning (wo)man.

What are the side effects? 

They've given me Haloperidol or something. It's not Ativan. I keep falling asleep and falling off a cliff in my dreams, jerking awake. Like every fifteen minutes. If that's not a side effect then I think I need something better because this sucks. 

Erectile dysfunction.

Caleb's eyebrows go up and he stifles a laugh. Anything else?

Sudden death. 

This sounds like a poor choice. 

They do what they think is right. This is a team that Everett handpicked to try and work with my own doctor and the Russian doctors too. Since I won't leave. Asher is a hawk. When I sneezed he all but leapt out of his chair, colliding with Lochlan, who was up as I opened my eyes. He'll beat anyone at attentiveness but he's so tired he willingly gave me over to Caleb and Asher is all but a footnote in the day now as Caleb has been leaving messages for people in the know all over the world to try and see if there isn't something better/different/more expensive we can try. 

Best burn ever, I point out and he smiles, medium-blues concerned but full of warmth for me. He was afraid I would leave so I didn't. Any other moment I would have run for the hills to spite him. 

But not today, Satan. 

Literally.

Ha.

The most fervent adjurations.

No one's around to judge me

It's six in the morning and I have my pink poncho and jeans on but bare feet. Twelve degrees and the heater won't come on in the gazebo but I have a hot cup of really good coffee and my ipad and I'm trying to work out the piano for Blinding Lights so it sounds legit but Garage Band keeps freezing along with my fingers. I can sing but the piano is off and I want to get it sorted without cheating by looking for the music online. 

Still sounds like a typical bedroom-teen girl cover though. I can't bring soul to this. Not sure I have it anymore anyway because in that moment where I thought they were going to let me go I threw it overhand to Caleb and he caught it and changed his mind when I blinded him with it. When he looked deep inside and saw that I can't go, can't be away, maybe that I am drowning in the night and I trust him for sure. Maybe the Weeknd was right. 

Except this is an acoustic cover and I'm using a loose arrangement I found on Youtube. Ben had a better one but he's gone. 

I see August coming across the wet grass. He has his own coffee and he's got shoes on. Guess he went to my house with his better coffee and I wasn't there because I'm here. Hope he knows the Devil is watching from his desk two floors above us, behind the glass of the Riker frame I put him in, a perfect specimen I'd like to preserve. He keeps escaping and I keep pinning him back until he realizes his place.

Lochlan is sitting in the kitchen and the patio doors are all wide open, shuttered into the pocket so the whole house is outside now, letting in the frigid air. Reminding us fall is right around the corner and soon my ghosts will be in season perfectly.  Regular dead guys, now with spooky touches for the holiday, maybe with dry-ice smoke and sound effects. I don't know what would make them spookier than they are to the living. Maybe they'll surprise me more often, or something. Maybe they'll be more obvious to the boys. I don't know. Nothing surprises me anymore. 

We can try medication. There have been advances-

The ghosts wait for that too. They're there but it's the goggles-effect. 

What do you want us to do, Bridge? 

Come listen to music with me, and forget about all of our problems for a while. 

We made a promise, Bridget. 

Then keep it and sit with me for a bit. This song is perfect.

The headless horsegirl.

(Everyone's talking at the same time here so I didn't bother trying to distinguish.)

I showed up at the meeting ready to call everyone out and they showed up with a casual intervention for me, the little girl dragging her ghosts like helium balloons down the dark path in the woods. Lost, crying, so far behind the boys because the rocks are hard to walk on in too-big, hand-me-down sandals. I couldn't keep up. The ghosts bump against the dark, bob against and underneath the lower branches, giving off a pale glow in the dim moonlight. It's a dime-moon, Lochlan said. I wished it was a penny-moon and then it would be round and full and warm. This is blue. So blue.

I got ambushed.

How about you come too? A two-for-one. You would not be treated together, of course-

I'm not an addict-

Bridget, we've discussed this at length, and furthermore we don't just treat addictions. You know this. 

Can I bring them? I gesture to my balloons. 

No. 

Then forget it. 

Bridget- Caleb looks like he might die of fright. What an exquisite expression on his beautiful face. 

What, so I pack the ghosts away and head off, talk to people, agree with everything and I come back and the ghosts leak out and go right back to following me around? I'll keep my money and just stay here so they don't get mad at me for wasting all that time.

Oh my God. Lochlan buries his face in his hands. 

How long has it been, Lochlan? 

Lochlan stares at Everett. What are you talking about? She doesn't do this with me. 

She does it with everyone. You're just not paying attention. 

Ben laughs right off. Didn't even hesitate. I nod. Ben knows. Pretty sure I went first and then he threw himself off the edge after me. He's my evil twin. He's the good one. He's the only who actually gets it sometimes. 

Bridget-

What? It's fine. I'm just tired. I'm just worried about Ben. 

It's not going to work this time, Honey. Oh, August has woken up and is Designated Bad Guy. 

What isn't?

Your daydreams. The denials. Sorry, Baby.

So what happens now? 

You come home when you're strong enough. 

No, I need to get my cast off in a couple weeks. Lochlan and Ruthie have birthdays and-

All of that can wait until you're home. 

You think this is magically going to work.

We have to try.

It won't. I hold my chin up. Defiant. Eyes brimming but I'm not going to cry. Too angry. 

It's only a month or so.

I can escape. 

Actually you can't-

Can I have visitors? 

At the halfway point, yes. You remember that, Bridget. 

Yes. 

So you're okay with this-

Nope. And just so we're all being honest, I'll be bringing them with me. 

The boys?

The ghosts. 

Keep her here. We'll think of something else. Caleb, oddly. First to crack.

There isn't anything else. Lochlan. My logical song.

If she's this unwilling it won't work. Remember Joel. Schuyler remembers.

Lochlan thinks for a minute. Without breaking his gaze on me. He finally starts nodding, faster and faster and then he looks at Caleb. 

Yeah. No, she stays for now. I need to think. 

Ben is the connection, Everett reminds them, I'm not sure if she won't end up on a waitlist if she doesn't go with us. 

It's fine. Caleb has already dismissed him. Just focus on Ben. 

Oddly, to my right, Asher lets out a sigh of relief. I see Duncan's shoulders drop and even August loosens up a bit. PJ won't meet anyone's eyes and Lochlan trembles. It's barely there but there. I can see it in his fingers and his chin.

Okay. Then I will deliver Ben safely back into your collective arms before Thanksgiving. Everett nods and heads out, leaving us to reel and draw back, flourish and crank.

She's not doing well enough, Loch. August says quietly. It's like I'm not even here. 

I know. Lochlan says. Like I said, let me think.

(Don't leave me lost here forever).

Just as a fun aside, I never quite forget that rehabilitation is a business, as Everett is back, this time for Ben, having boarded a jet yesterday late morning, because the amount of money it costs means his personal plans can be easily changed so he packed and showed up and he's calm and relaxed, the exact sort of corporate mindfulness the company portrays as it makes you every promise you ask for. Without hesitation.

Personally I think for the amount of money that has been spent on getting Ben clean and keeping him that way there should be a lifetime guarantee of his squeaky-soapiness but instead I just write another cheque and off he goes. 

Not that I'm complaining about the money-part. It's not my money, and I would spend every last dime for that guarantee but no one will give it to me. 

Everett will spend the weekend here getting Ben organized, packed and stabilized for their flight south back to the land of five-star accommodations, nature walks and painting. Ben will gain forty pounds and remember where his place was in my fairy tale since it appears he has forgotten. 

Don't worry. This is normal, they say. 

There's nothing normal about this fairy tale but it's mine. 

When do I get him back? 

Everett smiles. This is the difference between this home and most. Most say don't come back until things are different. You set a time limit and want him back no matter if he's ready or not.

Why wouldn't he be ready to come home?   

Why would he use again when he's been clean so long, Bridge? Fear. Uncertainty. It shows us where to focus this time, and maybe since Ben's brain injury it's a good time to reevaluate everything in a new light.

I nod. What else am I going to say? 

Let's talk about you for a moment. 

As I turn I sweep the ghosts into my shadow so Everett can't see them. Of course.

How are you doing?

Great. Never better. Just worried about Ben, that's all. My white knuckles behind my back are being squeezed so hard by Jacob I almost cry out but I manage a glassy, controlled smile to show I've got this. 

(When in reality Ben and I are a team. One falls, the other falls off a cliff to help.)

Bridget, I think we should talk tonight at the meeting. Everett has agreed to attend the meeting to help steer the inevitable accusations. The blame, doubt and the weird helplessness that ends in fists and shouts. Tonight will be no different, I'm sure.

Pretty big liars.

We are packing for Ben. Turns out a whole host of the boys knew he starting taking the painkillers or whatever he's on now in high doses again (the ones he said weren't necessary) and probably wasn't taking them for pain but for frustration and boredom because that's what an addict does. 

They lie. (And they get people to lie for them and that's the part I'm fighting with now.)

Thanks to connections he's got a spot right away and in spite of my own and Lochlan's reluctance to be without him if he's going to go that route, setting himself back months in progress, not asking for help when he needs it and in general being too fucked up at that point to point how fucked up he was then he can go and be away.

I am really really angry. He THEY let me be scared for weeks. When we protect him from the world the reassurance from his endless doubt is what he craves and so why would he bring an end to that when it's so touching? Why would he let Daniel worry himself into migraines and sleepless nights? Why the FUCK would he want to go overseas to some stupid facility knowing his problem was as easy as showing us the wheel marks on the back of his fucking shirt? 

This is the only part of Ben's addiction I can't reconcile. And I've talked to Sam, August and Schuyler, all well-versed in counselling and in being addicts. I called NOLAN. I am so fucking sad right now along with not having slept for almost thirty fucking hours which FUCKKKKKKKK.

But also relieved because Ben's broken brain is only so fixable, to a point. This is completely fixable and we keep dropping the goddamned ball.

Also there will be a family meeting tonight. Heads are going to roll. I know how charming he is but they have no excuse for not sounding the alarm. 

That's why we're all fucking HERE, is it not?

Tougher every day.

You stay. And he stays too. Have them come to us. Lochlan is doing his thing where he makes the decisions for me. I'm already mentally packing, wondering what the weather will be like in Lucerne mid-autumn. Wonder if they get spooky for Halloween. 

It's not Lucerne- I can almost hear Caleb's voice in my...oh, he's reading my thoughts again. 

(Fuck off, Diabhal.)

Goodnight, Neamhchiontach. 

That will cost four times as much, I point out to Lochlan, who loves a tight fiscal ship. 

Darn. His mouth curls up on one side. Summon two groups, make it eight times. 

You're awful. 

I need you both here, not stuck on the other side of the world during this bullshit. 

What if they can't come right away? What if he slides away worse? I am panicking now. We're not experts. This is bigger than we are. We are out of our own league here. We have been reduced to weeks now, instead of months. Ben is regressing so quickly now. He says he's just tired.

They will. Money talks, Peanut. He gives me that reassuring wink that is all teenage-boy bravado and ignorance, probably. 

I'll find out.

That's my girl. Now let's get some sleep. Ben, do you want a hot bath before bed? 

Yeah. That would be good. 

I'll run it. Lochlan head to the bathroom and I hear the water begin to run to fill the giant tub.

Can I join? I look to Ben. 

I would hope so. Ben smiles and he looks like old-Benjamin, briefly. 

We'll fix things. I promise, Benny. 

He nods. I know, he says, like a child suddenly. All the trust in the world. It's a familiar feeling to parent him, to take care of him because when he needs us, it's completely.

We'll never be wrong (6:57 of pure absolute beautiful misery)

Together we can take it to the end of the line
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time (all of the time)

I don't know what to do
I'm always in the dark
Living in a powder keg and giving off sparks

I really need you tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight

Caleb is on the phone trying to decide whether he should take Ben to Turkey or Switzerland for a better rehab program than the Canadian one we have/had. Canadian health care is good but also famous for doing the minimum and you have to be really proactive or you can die. 

That is not hyperbole. I wish it was and everyone has been great but it's not enough and so Caleb is spending cash like water to fix it.

He wants to help, bless him. Always trying to undo the permanent, life-changing shit he causes because he thinks money will fill in the gap or maybe if you make a mash with shredded bills and water, you can just paper over the cracks and no one will know we're all falling apart from the inside out and the outside in. 

Ben asked me what I thought and I told him very honestly he should sue Caleb for loss of quality of life and future income and just about everything else, that he can stick it to him now if he wants and I'll back up the character requirements and maybe sue him myself and they'll probably reinstate the death penalty in this country because if anyone ever deserved less of a...what? tenth? chance here, it would be the Devil. 

What will you get from that? He already gave you money. 

Satisfaction. Penalty. Imagine spending your way out of your catastrophic mistakes that you made with intent. Besides, the money isn't enough to cover what he's done.

Ben laughed, inappropriately so, after a minute and asked if I thought Switzerland was a good idea. It's maybe only for a month or two and it's supposed to be good. They have therapies that retrain you from the ground up to move and think and do everything you could do before, and Ben would like that very much. Ben is shatteringly self-doubtful and this whole stupid mess a year ago today (hard to believe) just made everything worse. 

He got really low and started talking about not being here anymore and that's when I lost my shit all over him. It's Thursday now and things are still raw and his skin and ears will never grow back because I ripped them off and ate them, swallowing them whole so he would see how stupid that sounds and that's when we realized the emotional part was so bad we need outside help, and that's saying a lot because some of that help lives here and it's not enough. For someone who was so angry at Jake for checking out it caused an incredible amount of fresh pain and I'm still terrified.

When do we leave? I smile at Ben. I'm going wherever he goes. 

You're staying. 

Hell I am. 

His face breaks into a smile. My keeper Bee. Beeper. Key. 

Ha. Nice. I have a huge skeleton key tattooed on one leg and a bee on the other side. He points to them as he says it. A gentle little portmanteau. 

Caleb hangs up but we've already forgotten our monster is even in the room. Ben is smiling at me and I'm smiling back. Besides, he just showed me this morning how to get a super husky, whiskey-voice so I can sing Bonnie Tyler better than I do and we were having so much fun before he started sliding back off the edge of the precipice before I could grab him properly and now we're hanging by a thread and I'm screaming for help to save him and he's holding his fucking hand over my mouth again and it's not the right time for that. 

Looks like Switzerland is a go. I've got tickets booked and we'll watch the state of things between now and then. Worst case is I bring them to you but hopefully we'll head there in early October. As soon as they have space for you. 

I'm going- I pipe up.

No, you're not, Neamhchiontach-

Oh, yes I am. I'll look after Ben now. You're really done enough. Just get out of my way for once but leave your card so I can do whatever Ben needs.

Before/After.

I know it's over
I was born a choker
Nobody's coming for me

I see no volunteers
To co-sign on my fears
I'll sign on the line

Ben's doing great. He doesn't want me to write a lot and so I don't/haven't but I have permission to today. The part about needing a cane has been a long time coming. He had one after the hospital but then was able to do away with it (or so we thought) through last fall to spring but this summer has shown us that he truly needs it with him for day-to-day use. 

His body is super strong. Healthier than he has ever been, physically. He is clean, he can sleep through the night now and he exercises regularly to keep himself motivated or maybe to prove he is still where he wants to be. 

Emotionally he isn't there, though and maybe that's the part he doesn't really like me talking about.

His brain also isn't getting the signals his body requires. Mentally he isn't strong. He remains easily frustrated, often confused, the words take forever and he's having a rough time coordinating his mind and body to work together. He's way too rough with me, way too gentle with things like closing the fridge or the truck doors, and he can't articulate what he's trying to get across without a mountain of patience from himself and whoever's listening which is not something we have, especially if it's important, timely or dangerous. If it's something funny he begins laughing so late sometimes some of us have forgotten the joke and already moved on.

He is struggling. 

A lot. 

His cutting wit and razor tongue have been replaced with a goofy chuckle and a soft smile. He won't roast you anymore but he'll invite you to come and sit with him and talk. It's like trading an attack doberman for a family golden retriever. He is different.

Everyone is struggling with it but honestly I love him like this. And maybe that's selfish but he finally has time for me. He finally is kind from the beginning instead of always starting off with the defence mechanism of an insult or a slam that is just harsh enough to make you briefly wonder if he even likes you before you see that you're his best friend after all, a position you'd be suddenly grateful for. You always had to brace and hold with Ben. He was honest but he would also call out your darkest flaws for all to see. Sam always said it was the program and that Ben was encouraging you to take your own inventory, never quite making the step of taking it for you. 

He thinks I am pretending and that he isn't what I signed up for and it's taken all my energy every day to teach him otherwise but he is coming around, albeit slowly. Lochlan, too, has had to tell him to knock it the fuck off, that we aren't here playing any sympathy cards, that he is a part of us, because you can't spell us without three. I laughed right away. Ben laughed four minutes later but it warmed my heart so much if you rest your hand against my chest you can feel it radiating right through my skin. 

That's what it feels like. I don't have to worry about being cool enough or quick enough, he is just there and happy to see me. Now his sudden declarations are things like I like watermelon (an hour after we eat it) and you're pretty (said to Duncan, not me) and it's incredible sweet. 

But don't tell him I told you. He would hate it if you thought he was sweet.

Would you kindly.

I'm playing the new Need To Breathe album for Ben. Watching him absorb the music as it plays softly through the patio speakers. He's in his black track pants and an old and faded Dimmu Borgir tee that he's owned at least twenty years if not longer. He needs a haircut and a shave. He needs someone to steady his cup as he raises his coffee to sip in between stanza changes in the songs. 

He's going to need a cane, for balance, soon. Now, probably but emotionally this isn't happening and so we've switched to not leaving him alone much and so de facto we become each other's watchers. I can keep him upright, he can keep me in reality. 

He's always been so good at that with his incredibly global warped perspective that never lends itself to pedestrian, small shit. I know he won't resist for long. I know I'll make Caleb pay for this too. I know we're all getting old and we all have a host of strange new physical things. 

He holds his cup out to the table but he's still four inches away and I reach forward and take it, setting it on the glass coaster. He won't meet my eyes when I do this. 

Awfully nice to be able to look after someone else for once. 

Don't, Bridge. 

The cup is not the important thing here. The important thing is that you're still here and that's all I care about. 

He said much the same thing to me except cup was arm when he cared for me after Trey dislocated my elbow so far the wrong way it was hanging by a muscle. Ben was just happy Trey didn't kill me in his rage. 

God. It's been over fifteen years since we walked down the back lane between the weathered grey fences with their lilac trees colouring the neighbourhood a shade of lavender I would grow to love. I plated a small lilac tree here, it's now nine feet tall and it never fails to remind me of our walks in the prairies. 

It's different. 

How? Someone hurt you by mistake but it's permanent. That's it. Don't get hung up on details. 

It's hard when you leave him and come back to us. He hurt me, he hurt you. He's hurt everyone and yet there he is. 

It's complicated. 

Then don't get hung up on..details, Bee. It took him a bit to find the words but then he spat them out with a frustration I never hear from Ben. 

What do you want me to do? 

Nothing. I don't want you to do anything. Nevermind. Just don't..let them make jokes if I have to use a cane. 

They wouldn't-

Someone might. We're all bitter, Bridge. No one thinks before we talk anymore. 

Since when? No one will say a word about it. You watch.  

I watch everyone get away with whatever they want because I'm not a..threat anymore. He takes his cup and moves to take a sip but his other hand has to steady it first. My heart breaks. I want to shove him in a room and bar the door and keep him safe. Not something I ever thought I would think when it comes to Ben. He's not scary anymore ever. Just sweet, but then again, he's always sweet with me.

 It doesn't matter. What matters is that you and I are here together. Big picture, remember? Burning building, Ben. It's you. That's never going to change. 

Everything changed and I can't keep track. 

I pick up my phone. Group message. Within five minutes everyone is here. Around us. In a hug. Holding Ben in a fellowship I am barely a part of for being crushed in as another subject of their support. Caleb takes a step closer and takes Ben into a fierce hug. 

Tell me what I can do, he says. Tell me how to fix everything.

I don't know. Ben breaks down. I don't fucking know but you broke it good.

 

Boyfriends.

Four in the morning and Caleb climbs over me, pushing me down into the sheets, holding his weight, pulling me up into his arms at the last minute before crushing us both into the night. He kisses me hard, and I am awake enough to respond, giving him permission to keep going as I return the kiss while my arms scramble for purchase around his neck. He lets go soon enough and I am turned away as he pulls me back violently against him, inside and all around me, one hand around my hips, the other around my mouth. God love a fierce lover, I think and I am now wide awake and may never sleep again. The room is cool and dark and he is responsive and in charge. Every sound I make elicits a change or an adjustment for my benefit, every touch is safe and welcomed, a rare match when we are usually at odds with the level of intensity he brings versus what I would like.

But oh, the hunger in the night. The dark makes it more cloying, keening and savage. I can't deal with his sudden attention and my head explodes along with my body and then he follows soon after and he reluctantly lets go so that I can turn away and sleep a little bit longer. 

You don't need ghosts, he whispers against my head. You need me.

Orchard mornings when everyone is still asleep. Possibly me included.

(I'm fighting for us, but most of all for you is the refrain in my head as I make my way carefully to the back garden to check the progress and see if there are going to be table grapes for breakfast. Maybe see if there's a ghost so breakfast can be replaced by total, helpless insanity.)

Wanted to see how you were doing, Princess. 

He is suddenly a familiar-stranger with that friend-you-haven't-seen-in-a-long-time vibe, a casual formality that leaves me feeling weird and hectic, a panicky-prickly feeling and I want to run to the wheel of time and roll it backwards in an applaused hurry, like on The Price is Right. 

The Jake is Right. 

Only he's wrong and this means I'm crazy. 

But am I? I reach out and tug at his shirt sleeve. It comes with me, cool cotton poplin in that ever-present pale blue. Ironed before wearing but also rumpled in that perfect Preacher way. I want to touch his skin and I bite into my tongue to suppress the urge.

What is it? 

What if you are real?

What would you change? 

I let go, retreating back to a safe distant. Nothing. 

Dear God in Heaven, you're so beautiful when you're stubborn. He's really got you wrapped. 

Funny, he said the same thing about you once and look how long it took him to undo everything you did. 

I could undo it faster if you just say the word. He rolls his bottom lip in and then out again. He's trying not to smile. Always in competition. Always blew the rest of them away with his charm that didn't exist for how blinding it is.  

I nod and look out toward the sea. And then it all blows up again and I already did that once and look at what happened?

What if it didn't happen this time?

What if it did? I feel like this is our dance now. You fuck up my head and I let you and then I remember everything and I run-

-And you run. We finish at the same time. 

Gotta run, Pooh. It's a whisper.

See you later, Piglet. 

Oh. It hurts so bad. Why does it still hurt so bad?

Fortunes that no one could earn (I see you, Jake).

I found a place where the past was forgiven

Where my mistakes met a grace I couldn't earn
And so I piled up my excuses and defenses in the night
Then I lit a match, stepped back and watched them burn

 

The dog has eaten his body weight in waffles, one of the cats has a disease that means pills every day forever, and Ruth is packing up. All of the boys range between get your friends to help you move and you sure you want to do this?

 

(We're all helping, for the record.)

 

Ruth takes no shit from any of them. She never has. She holds her own in a way that I could never. She is strong and hilarious and forthright. She's like Lochlan and he is crushed that she suddenly grew up, got a degree, a career, a fiance and a condo all in the same season. We are imploding from the suddenness but also from the pride of watching her go do all the things she said she would. 

 

The sky is an ashtray. The ghosts are lurking, with the wasps (found another nest, did not find it by accident this time) in the back garden, behind and up the hill past the stables and the sun needs to take a break just for a bit as we made it to a 'feels like' temperature of forty-four, which made me want to cry but mercifully at ten o'clock last night it was cool enough to sleep and it's not supposed to be quite that hot today and way less hot tomorrow which is really good. 

And Ruth's room is going to be kept, earmarked for her in case she needs it, but also fashioned into an upstairs den/reading room/art room that's in the house as the stables-studio is cold and full of spiders. Hahaha. 

 

I know, I said ghosts and everyone stopped there anyway in the reading. I get that. 

 

He's there. He's back. I can never make him go for long. Probably as alarmed about my 'alone' post as everyone else. Not what they wanted for me. Not what they pictured. But it's fine. It was a part of an old memory manifested into something positive with no backstory. Like being dropped into a short story that spends far too long on the details, by design. 

Moving on, things to look forward to: 

 

Spreading out things in the house. Ruth stole a lot of dishes, mugs, masks, pillows, cutlery, artwork, etc and now I have unexpected and appreciated cupboard and closet space. 

 

I will be able to repaint that one dark feature wall I hate because boxes will be gone. 

August is half-over so eventually this stupid heat will stop for a bit. Godammit. I hate it. 

Dark cozy rainy days. 

A new Switchfoot album a week from today! Yesssssssssss. Also I'm pretty sure that their cover of Livin' On A Prayer is the greatest thing ever. I just need Bon Jovi to cover Switchfoot's The Setting Sun and things will have circled right back around perfectly.

 

A future trip planned to get away for a day and eat in a favourite restaurant far from here but close enough for a long drive. 

 

A shop at the Korean grocer out in the valley with the really good dumpling soup kits.

 

Finishing Sweet Tooth and Outer Banks on Netflix.

 

Finishing my painting for this season. I do one a season now. 

 

Getting the cast off eventually but probably not before anything else. 

 

Life trucking along. Marvelling at the passage of time and how it intersects with me and how I leave my mark. Did I leave a mark though? 

 

Oh, probably, says Loch.

We are assholes but we're deep ones, if anything.

It started with me chucking a heavy notebook at Lochlan, who wouldn't give up the mood and it takes a tidal wave for me to shift from despair and frustration to anger. A literal tidal wave. I never get angry. Ever. Until I do and then look out. 

I threw it overhand. 

I got him right in the face. 

And cut his cheek. 

And the book fell apart and all of my worksheets went everywhere. 

And he didn't even mind. He felt bad. He sat down and started reading. All the scenarios. All the re-dos. All the times I've tried to write Jacob right out of existence. Every single fairy tale in which Lochlan is the prince and he shows up and I turn into a princess from a frog and we live happily ever after. I chose him every single time. And the one time I do what is asked instead of writing him into everything, no matter what, he reads it and decides I've written him off. 

I go and fetch the butterfly bandages. Not like we don't go through boxes of these things every year every time he throws punches with someone over something so much less important. 

I get him fixed up, standing in front of him as he sits surrounded by pages on the couch and he pulls me in, resting his head against my stomach, arms tight. I can't breathe from the sea-change, blink and it's there, defocus and you'll miss it all. 

I'm sorry. 

Sam pokes his head in and asks if everything's okay. PJ is glowering beside him. I put up an okay sign  but say nothing. They leave, mercifully. Privacy to have our meltdowns as we try to navigate life with all of these suitcases full of baggage we never packed and never planned to bring. We're Bonny and Clyde. We travel light.We need to burn it all. 

Maybe we should. 

Burn what? 

This. 

I worked so hard. 

Doesn't that mean since you did that, that you can move on now? 

I suppose it does. 

Because I think I've read enough and I wish I had seen this all ages ago. 

It's not really a sharing sort of thing. 

Maybe it should be.

Only if you do it too. 

I'm game for that. Whatever makes us stronger together, Peanut. 

Life does. 

He nods. Yeah. It does. 

Sorry I cut your cheek, Locket. 

Sorry I broke your heart, Peanut. 

Troubling.

BRIDGET!

I was outside (spoiler alert: I am indeed allowed in the garage which is a bad idea since that's where the saws are and I can cut this cast off but it's also where the ice cream freezer is and that's all we eat these days) getting ice cream sandwiches (a case of them) to bring inside and I hear Lochlan's holler from there. That's how loud it was. I bring the ice cream in through the side door, I swear I can feel the cold right through the cast and Lochlan almost runs into me. 

This. He holds up his phone. There's yesterday's post. What the fuck is this?

A...therapy exercise. I didn't just do it for entertainment. It was for my worksheet. 

Well that's not how this story ends, I guarantee you that! 

And then he's gone again and I'm there holding a box of Neapolitan bars.   

*** 

Wish us luck. Another heat dome has arrived. Not as exciting as a pleasure dome or even a thunderdome, I pointed out to Caleb who also scowled at me, as he was reading yesterday's post too. 

Funny not a single person asked who the man was in the post. I find that interesting, unless they each assume it's them. 

Anyway, I'll keep those exercises in the private physical notebook from now on, just to keep the peace. I just thought that one sounded exactly like what's in my head and that's rare. 

Right now the weather station on the kitchen wall by the door says 'Feels like 34.6' so far. For fucks sake.

"I want my life to be perfect."

I could see him walking up the beach. Just a blur at first, features coming into focus as he got closer to where I was watering the snow-in-summer flowers in the big grey half-barrels at the end of the walkway. The sand is blinding in the early fall chill, my favourite time of year. The beach is empty again, all mine again and I am selfish and quiet. I want to keep it this way. I want to be here by myself. 

Hey. A kiss on the top of my head and then on my cheek as I stand to greet him. Crinkles around his eyes and white in his beard take my breath away as I still see us like a mirror of who we used to be. 

Hungry?

I shake my head. Not yet. We can open wine though. He follows me inside. I leave my watering can and my shoes on the step and duck through the curtain that keeps the bugs out as I never close the door during the day. I like the salt air. I like the curtain. It billows out into the breeze just enough that it feels romantic and cozy to be here. Exactly like I planned. 

He opens the wine, I put grapes, crackers, cheese and olives on a small plate. He likes to graze. I put on some of my favourite winter jazz cafe music and he smiles and sits back. 

You don't change, Bridget. 

Maybe no one does, I avoid his question. 

Maybe we all would benefit from living a little outside of our comfort zones. 

I tried that, remember? I smile gently. I shake my too-long bangs out of my eyes and my hoops jangle against my cheek as I pick up my newly-filled glass and clink it against his. 

This life will be wasted if you're alone. 

Says who? I raise my eyebrows and take a sip. It's a dry viognier. It's the only kind I'll buy now. It's easier on my body and my mind than my beloved whiskey, and it's easier to find too. Up at the tiny bottle-shop in town they don't have Lagavulin off the shelf and I wouldn't ask for it if they did. The taste reminds me of death, and time, an undercurrent of terror I don't ever wish to revisit. This is new. New for the new me, reinvented each time the tide snakes up to leave treasures on my doorstep in the sand. Why I ever left I'll never know, but I'm back and that's the important part here. This is probably the only place in the world where my brain doesn't engage in an endless distance-sprint, overclocked and overwhelmed. Here it doesn't even simmer, it just hums to itself and I haven't had to push a panic button on myself in years. Here if something breaks I just try and fix it and if I can't someone else will. Here things are different and better and the way they are supposed to be.

Says me, maybe. 

Sorry, I can listen to advice but at the end of the day I do what's best for me. 

It's admirable as much as I hate it. He looks out the window, smile leaving his face. I don't think it should be like this. 

It needs to be. I follow his gaze. There's a sailboat way out on the horizon heading home. I may have seen it before, maybe not though, and it's really not something I focus on. The horizon is my backyard and I feel like I can breathe here. 

We should start cooking. He finishes his wine. I haven't really touched mine and so I bring it as I follow him to the kitchen, bare feet on wide softwood floorboards, cool to the touch, the occasional grains of sand reminding me I am home. 

After dinner (he mostly cooked, and I cleaned up and packaged up leftovers) we go outside to the big Adirondack chairs on the patio to watch the sunset, turning our chairs to the west.We slide back into our seats for the show and he reaches out with his right hand for mine. I let him take my left hand and he holds it, cool in his warmer one. He gives it an abrupt squeeze and lets go. 

I'm thinking of heading somewhere warmer for winter. I'd like you to consider coming with me. Then in the spring or whenever you need to, you can come back here. My bones hurt in this cold. I guess I got used to the milder winters out west. 

I nod and say nothing. I know my answer. He knows my answer. 

What would it take to change your mind?

Maybe next year. I soften it with white lies, bleached from the sun, from years of use. 

We don't speak any more and once the sun has set we head back inside, leaving our glasses on the weathered turquoise table, a practiced routine but never a habit. He kisses the palm of my hand and old feelings well up around the edges even as I work hard to push them down. Once in my room with the beautiful old quilt he turns back, pulling me against him, taking me up in his arms tightly so that I can scarcely breathe. He kisses me, a long familiar motion and then he takes our clothes off, putting them carefully on the back of a chair instead of leaving them on the cool floor. We remember everything for the next several hours. We lose years from our history in the dark and then as the sun begins to come back up the past comes rushing at us, a dark tunnel in front of a runaway train. A reminder that we can't go back or forward but we can remember any time we like. 

That's the joy of this independence. 

What if we winterize? 

What do you mean? 

I mean if I put in better insulation and rewrapped the cottage? Make it safe for you for winter. Then would you stay?

I would stay if you truly want me to stay. 

You seem so sad. 

It isn't your problem, Bridget. 

Sure it is. I care for your feelings. 

If you did we wouldn't be in this predicament. 

What predicament?

The one where I became a drifter and you dug in and made the life you really wanted. 

Everyone can change. This works for me.

It doesn't work for me.

Then you need to change it.

I will but she won't listen. 

I look to the ceiling for peace. I don't want to do this. Every time he comes into my life he turns the screws and I promised myself I wouldn't let him. Ever again. 

'She' made you an offer that would see you have company for the winter. That's generous but if it's not what you want then move on. 

That's my cue to go. And we waste another six months when things could be different. 

But maybe not necessarily better. 

From your side maybe. I still say I'd rather be miserable with you than miserable alone. 

I know. 

Get some sleep, Princess. 

I put my hand up against my chest to quell the impending lurch but it happens anyway. I will. Drive safe. Safe flight. 

And he is gone, into the early morning. I watch the headlights as they disappear around the curve of the highway along the coast and the solitude crowds back in. Any regret is engineered, I tell myself. He's still trying to manipulate me emotionally. It's not exactly true but it helps me when I feel like I might bend from my convictions, sort of like the old One Day At A Time coin Ben stared at for decades. It didn't mean you will get through this one day at a time. It actually meant I will haunt you one day at a time until you give in, give up or give out. 

And I refuse. 

I rattle off a quick thanks for the night to his phone from mine and leave the phone on silent on the desk afterward. I pour a glass of orange juice and throw a load of laundry in the washer. Once it's done I'll hang it on the line in the front yard (the little cozy garden between the cottage and the highway) and then have a nap in the sunroom, where I'll dream of what life would have been like had I stayed. 

***

Who is it? Who is the man in this? 

Does it matter?

This is not what I expected when I asked you to write your future. 

It wasn't what I expected either.

Devil may care.

Caleb is smiling at me, eyes included and I'm thinking he's about to lie but instead he has a secret and he's excited to keep it from me but also wants to share it very badly. 

You found a spot for our getaway next month I'm guessing?

I have. That handsome smile gets bigger and I bean him with my pillow. 

Spill it.

No. I want to surprise you. 

I bet I can guess. 

No, for the first time I don't think you'll be able to. But just know I spent a great amount of time considering what you would like in preparation for the week and I think you'll be so pleased. 

Really? Is it far? 

I'm keeping the clues to myself. The flight isn't long, if you're worried. No transatlantic. Unless that is what you'd prefer. Now stop with your questions and come back and nap with me, just for one hour and then you can go. 

I love the way he gives me a specific time, within which I will be excused? Released? Given back? Not even sure but I bet if I said I was going now he would refuse to allow it as he is exceedingly protective of his time with me and uses it to the fullest extent to sleep deeply and love hard and dream about a future that doesn't even belong to him unless he books it, as a time or a trip or some sort of formal or informal plan. 

Or maybe I'm the one who doesn't belong and I'm an interloper into his time, into his future, or not, and I am the one formally requesting time I won't get otherwise. In any case, we end up in a weird and gratefully familiar place and I am happy to be here this morning to snuggle in to his dangerous arms in a smoky cold night that saw me not needed elsewhere for once. 

Lochlan knows? 

He does and he's fine with it, Bridge. 

Okay. 

I said if it's nice I would take us all back. 

Sounds iffy. 

It's not but it might be less romantic with a group. That's usually the case.

Well, sometimes it's not. 

He laughs. This is true and only you could say it. 

He leans his head back, closing his eyes, smile still playing on his lips. I follow his lead, putting my head down, closing my eyes.

Blog news and literally NOTHING ELSE today. Ha. See you tomorrow.

Coffee and more rain this morning as I watch Lochlan sleep. Ben brought up breakfast in the form of three coffees and a plate of cinnamon rolls warmed with a little butter but we're not hungry yet. There's a fire in the fireplace but we're going to let it go out and all the windows are open wide to listen to the rain and it's my favourite kind of Sunday morning, having already decided that the liturgy can wait and the rest of the house can wait and life can wait just an hour. 

***

Late last night I was forced to make some big changes to the blog, behind the curtain, as it were. So if your feed is broken and you don't get updates anymore when I post, well, sorry but you'll have to bookmark my blog and visit it regularly (I would suggest daily because that is mostly when I post) to see them. 

I also had to turn off every sharing button I have so if you want to share a post you can do so by clicking on it's title so it's by itself on the page and then copying the URL in your address bar and sending it wherever you please. So you can still share posts with people. It's just slightly less easy. I'm not sorry. Took me forever to do this so please congratulate me on my HTML skills, as ever. 

In my next life I will be returning to full luddite, I think. No laptop. Nothing. I will weave cloth and milk cows. If it has electricity I will shun it with great force. If there are strangers involved I will just turtle. It's going to be great.