Warpath.

Ben is home. And we're learning the usual character-building lessons along this way, learning about the fine balances that exist in all of us between our own selfishness and the need to protect the welfare, and well-being, of those we love. It's such a very fine line, you can see where we have all crisscrossed back and forth over it so many times, it's hard to tell it's even still there. It's the difference between what you really want and what you know is right, or better for everyone. It's a struggle, that's for sure, and if we need to be the poster children for building that kind of character then someday I'm going to be the most magnificently graceful human you have ever seen.

But who cares? He's home. He's home and he's plotting to go remove alpha from his selfish perch and some of the guys offered to help Ben because they're pissed at Lochlan for messing with my head so badly but really the risk is one I take and so it falls on me and I'm trying to assume that Loch holds his own internal struggle on a daily basis that means he is just as human as I am.

But he does need an attitude adjustment, and since Ben has no qualms about taking a good hard swing at anyone who threatens the fragile happiness of one tiny little insignificant Bridget, I think Lochlan would be smart to take his epic and flawed humanity and run.

A literary count (to ten).

I can't stand it
I know you planned it
I'm gonna set it straight,
This watergate
I can't stand rocking
When I'm in here
Because your crystal ball
Ain't so crystal clear

Let's take a few lines from one of Henry's favorite songs, add in a dash of conscience and stir it all together. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees, then turn it off, leaving the dish in all week long.

Dinner is served. We'll call it a recipe for disaster.

I bet you thought it wouldn't be such a big deal but it quickly got out of control and your saving grace is your inability to deceive, at least for long, and the constant headache and the hum in my ears and the songs in my head wore you down, you can't stand to see me suffer and so you caved first and you're really lucky you did, before I took the kids on a dangerous wintery three-hour drive for nothing.

Loch came over during dinner, with my letter. The letter Ben left for me because Seth is all business all the time and he took away Ben's phone, left Loch as the usual alpha in charge of city stuff and opted for some time away, a chance to deprogram Ben one-on-one away from his usual distractions. A heavily sanctioned plan by all involved for four days, just to get Ben grounded again briefly. Nothing but nature, trees and his own sober self. Which has always worked wonders to put Ben at ease in his own skin, a place he has never been comfortable.

They are coming back tomorrow.

Only Lochlan figured if I didn't get the letter he could achieve three things. Firstly, he could pay Ben back for their scuffle over who was in charge a whole whopping week and a half ago, secondly, he could drive a wedge between us, when he doesn't seem to realize there are two wedges already between us, in the form of ghosts, and three, he could move in on Bridget. You know, since he wants me and doesn't want me and generally makes my poor little head wobble in crazily dizzying circles.

Then he just couldn't go through with it because he saw something he didn't expect.

Me.

Missing Ben. Being hurt and lashing out in my old predicatble ways, but without my heart in it. Because my heart isn't broken anymore and I don't have it anyway. It's with Ben. All of my thoughts are with him and I'm here hanging on to what I thought was an interminable time alone, veering wildly between what I've done in the past and almost nothing less than normal to try and find a way to feel better, but not falling apart, not giving up, just settling into a functional despair.

Not like me, no. Not like me at all.

Time apart from Ben is a hole in the center of my chest. It's a burning, aching void where he is supposed to be and I....

....guess I didn't expect that.

We used to be comfortable as adversaries, almost secure in our own convictions that we were right and the other would come crawling back and we'd make up. This time felt so final it was as if I had buried him with the others and time stopped once again.

And of course, Ben thought I had the letter and was toughing it out. He kept telling Nolan he was proud of me. Nolan was just plain confused. Hell, everyone was confused because Lochlan told them that I wanted a break. He took a page from Jacob's history and attempted to isolate me in order to ensure my focus (and my dependence) would be on him.

It would have worked too. I do really stupid things when I feel rejected or worse, abandoned.

Only I don't think I am fragile miss Bridget anymore, you know that? And I'll tell you up and down, swearing on graves that aren't even settled yet that Ben is a welcome distraction but he's nowhere near on the scale of love that I once held for other men, and I'd tell you he drives me nuts and I may even tell you I'm killing time and so is he and that we're doing it together because no one wants to be alone.

And I would be a liar.

This is hands-down the best letter I have ever read. Because Ben is a liar too. And there is more to us than just a couple of fucked-up mistake-making, struggling failed human beings that you see before you. So much more. So stop trying to sabotage the best thing that's ever happened to me.

And now if you'll excuse me, I need to go express my disappointment. In 3....2....1....

Be easier if I had a job in the Keebler factory.

I'd love to say
Do you love me, but
I'm as humble as a bumble bee
I'd walk away
If you come with me or
I may crumble
For all to see

Well, it's Thursday and that means my first week of gainful employment comes to an end in about five hours and I'm glad because I have spent the day so far hiding at my desk looking out the window and hoping no one notices how red my eyes are, or my nose. Thankfully it's college-boy-lunch day and so Caleb has pretty much cleared the day so that he can fly out to go and drink and eat and smoke cigars and tell stories with his university and law school classmates. I asked him to send one of his henchmen to my house to collect the Lexus because I told him many times over I had no intentions of driving it and I think he thought I would change my mind. I didn't and I finally grew tired of it taking up half the driveway. Not that the driveway is full, mind you. We're short one truck because Ben has his at the farm. I spoke to Nolan last night. He said all Ben has done is sleep and eat and grunt responses at Seth, who spends a lot of time on the phone, and that they've been back to the city every second day now, so that's two trips back since Monday and still Ben won't call, because he's working on himself and he won't call. The last time Seth was here I met him on his way home and Ben had literally disappeared to the point where I thought something had happened to him, like that maybe Jacob had murdered him and buried his body in the dirt floor of the church cellar and then poof, he appeared, clean and rested and back to his old self but better because we all know how depraved his old self can be and that wasn't going to fly after what led to sobriety the first time around. And frankly this isn't flying now at all because he has a wife and kids and you just don't take off without saying goodbye and I know he's not far and I can talk to Nolan any time I please but it's not the same and it leaves me here alone which right now isn't good either.

God, why didn't I wear waterproof mascara? This morning instead of running I broke into the church and sat in the first pew where I used to sit but I don't anymore, with my headphones on, listening to music that Jacob sang most often because I keep a playlist that I can torture myself with because it's nice to feel even when it's painful and Sam appeared out of nowhere but I didn't say anything to him, I just held out my hand with the key in it and kept my headphones in my ears and I bet he could hear the music because it was loud. He shook his head and took my hand, closing my fist around the key, telling me I could keep it. Last night Loch yelled at me because he doesn't understand why I'd ever want to spend any time with Satan at all but he doesn't understand the need to keep the Coleries and the Jakories as they have come to be known and I know that nothing is worth more to me in this world then those things and they come from such unlikely places. In his own frustration he kissed me a little too hard and held on a little too tight and the really stupid part of Bridget's brain asked him to stay because she is so tired of being alone but he thankfully refused even though he wanted to because life has changed and all of the sudden no one wants to take advantage and advantage is being given out still because everything can't be changed all at once. This isn't fair but it's right and right is the high road, today.

I believe I'll leave early. No one will ever know. The doorman won't tell, I'll just tip him well to keep quiet.

Ah yes, little miss fragile. Pretend. You've gotten so good at it.

You know there's something missing.

Don't find nothing
No more coincidences

Pretty baby
Look in his eyes and you will see
Things will happen
But only if they're meant to be

Lochlan's going to roll his eyes. He's not a bad boy, he would never understand.

In the brief interim between when Loch broke up with me and I fell for Cole, I had a crush on Charlie Sexton. This one. (Please remember, this was 1985. Not the recent Arc Angels-version Charlie.)

He was such a bad boy. A loner with earrings, cigarettes, a leather jacket and a chip on his shoulder five miles wide. A guitar.

But this post isn't about Charlie. Despite how under-appreciated he is.

When I walked into work this morning, Caleb's new habit seems to be to cross to me, put his hand on the small of my back, lean in and kiss my temple, and then he'll ask me how I am and what I'd like to listen to today. This morning I said Charlie Sexton. He laughed.

I haven't heard that name for years.

Eighty-five.

You would have been fourteen?

Yes.

I see. When you and Cole got together.

Thereabouts.

No Jacob music today?

Fuck you, Caleb.

My apologies. It was uncalled for.

No, it's fine.

We get along very well, as you can see. This week I've gone from bitterly confident to miserably convinced that I shouldn't be working for him. Maybe the other guys are just wearing me down. Maybe old habits die hard and bad habits are hard to break, and please pick a proverb on my behalf and I'll take my blame and go home. Don't get me wrong, Caleb has been nothing but a gentleman (alright, almost) and as bosses go I think he would be so far among the very best kind to have, but I'm growing rawer as the week goes on.

Ben and Seth have gone to the farm and as per usual, when Bridget is out of sight she is out of mind. Ben has terrific focus. To the point where he forgets about me and everyone else is left to try and fill in around the edges of my issues with epic imaginary loneliness. Which can't be quieted and so instead I'm left to defend myself against a relentless onslaught of negativity about my new job and my boss and just about everything else I do. Or sometimes so it seems.

I need a hug. Probably be a while before I get one again.

Beat's so lonely indeed, Charlie.

Hell is caffeinated.

We found you sleeping by your lover's stone
A ream of paper and a telephone
A broken bow
Across a long lost violin

Your lover's angel told the captain's man
It never ends the way we had it planned
And kissed her palm
And placed it on your dreaming head

It's a sad day when your boss asks you to bring your violin to work and then makes you play for a cup of coffee.

I would have played for free, but he buys the very good coffee that I told him I liked. The Sumatra beans from the Human Bean, ground very fine. Served black, in a cup as large as one's head. That was my gift for my song today and now I'm in the throes of setting up my new (work) laptop and pretending that this morning didn't bother me one bit.

The contractor came by with his new plans, and Ben's surprise went out the window. The original suggestion of making the old turret into a widow's walk was shot down before he finished describing it. Simply because of the implications. Can't do it. Don't want to do it. Dear God. So Ben came up with the idea of taking out the windows in the upper old porch which is now a playroom and glassing in the walls to make an atrium. More usable than the turret, and then we could have plants. So many plants. All sun all the time. Bridget remains in the house instead of being on the roof.

Only he meant for it to be a secret for me and I stood like a fool and grinned at the contractor and told him that he needed to call Ben, that I wasn't supposed to know.

He said he would try, sheepishly. Then the car was waiting and I almost forgot it was time to go to work. Mike (Caleb's driver) waited patiently while I ran around collecting my bimbo shoes (whoops.) and pulling on my boots and got two laptops and he met me halfway up the sidewalk and handed me a Blackberry BOLD (HELLO!) and on it was a message to bring the violin so I went back in the house and got my case while Mike put everything else in the car.

And now I'm here. I think I figured out the coffeemaker and have pointed out bosses don't take their employees out to every meal and I brought a pear and a banana even and I won't starve. Caleb smiled (again. Stop that.) and pointed out few employees would adhere to a dress code the likes of his. I pointed out few girls like me would fail to indulge someone in a fetish and he asked me if that was so.

I just stared at him and then we both dropped it and started talking at the same time. About the weather.

I think it's already been a long week and I'm ready for a day off. Just from the psychological pressure. I'm the ninety-pound weakling and he is the bully.

Only holy, has Caleb been a busy beaver. Not only do I have a Bold which is awesome and my Blackberry curve is now happily living in my bra because the bold can be the bat-phone, but he had a desk made for me. A desk made from a Victorian gate, with a glass top and inlays made of beach glass and mother of pearl. And he put it in front of the big window in his office so that I can look out over the city. With a big comfortable overstuffed parlour chair I can curl up in. And it defies his masculine sensibilities because he has this behemoth of a wooden medieval desk already in the centre of the room and this beautiful little thing throws off the whole look. It's out of place.

Oh, wait. I just described Bridget, didn't I?

Actually, Caleb came up with that one.

He is spoiling me because after yesterday I don't think either one of us thinks this is going to work. But we're both too stubborn to give up without a fight. Okay, maybe that's just me and I'm projecting.

That's what seven cups of coffee will do for you.

Wait, what was I talking about again?

Far too fast to pacify you.

In a year of fallen angels
Broken hands and boys in danger
Pray the lord might pacify you
Ain't no telling what he's up to

Let's enjoy a little morning coffee with Bridget, shall we? As she begins her first day at work, as assistant to Mr. C____, who, as bosses go, is incredibly indulgent so far.

I knew Caleb was sending a car for me, which is silly considering the Lexus has been in my driveway for two days. But he himself showed up in the 350z again, which handled poorly in the snow but I could see that he was enjoying ferrying me around and a lot of times I think Caleb has made so much money that he pretends to be working and he doesn't have to work at all.

He took me out for breakfast to celebrate my first day of work, and of course I wasn't hungry because I didn't know he was going to do that and I had already eaten but I had coffee and a warm piece of pecan pie that I ate half of, while he had an egg white omelet and bacon and steamed vegetables because he will not allow himself to gain an ounce. It was this vanity I was marveling over when I found another. The lines at the corners of his eyes that are not as pronounced as Cole's were because I think Caleb rarely smiles.

Unless I'm there.

He has smiled through most of the morning, I'm surprised there aren't feathers sticking out of his mouth.

To address all the people who pointed out that Sam has asked me to come work for him many times over and I have refused, and yet here I am, working for my devil of a brother in law, let me just say this. Working for Sam is beyond difficult because I spend my day staring at or walking in and out of Jacob's old office.

That hell is worse than this one.

This one so far is not so bad. So far work-wise I have ordered new business cards with Caleb's new information on them, I have arranged for a huge Christmas tree to be delivered to the loft on December thirteenth and he's asked me if I can show him how to use his Blackberry when we come back from lunch. Oh and I charmed his doorman. To absolute pieces.

Basically I think my job description is to let Caleb watch me walk around in his loft in my ridiculously high heels. If he's going to pay me this much money to do that, then yes, Lochlan, I am selling out. No better than a whore? That's great, thank you.

There is something in it for me, too. You seem to forget that.

Like a Scorpions song, only much more profound.

Something about wind and change.

The winds here are warm. Winter seems to be holding back. Perhaps Autumn has kidnapped Jack Frost and our usual minus twenty mornings aren't appearing as scheduled. It gave me an extra breath to prepare for the cold. I was ready weeks ago. The boots and coats and mittens and everything out in their places. Shovels at the ready and we have had to shovel once. The back steps are bare.

I like this. More like home, less like this godforsaken city that's putting me through a seventh winter even though I vowed I would get out of here years and years ago. If everything happens for a reason then I would like to know the reasons for this. I think I might be making my peace with this city at last.

Change comes in the form of noticing this morning that it's November sixteenth and the kids have only had a very minor cold each and a one-day stomach flu around Thanksgiving. The three years previous to this had us in front of the vampire cowboy doctor at least four times by this date, inhalers every night, coughing constantly and exhausted beyond repair.

Here's the part where I squeeze my eyes tightly shit and then crack one open for a quick peek around, in case Jinx heard me. She's the one that hears her name and then comes and fixes what she missed. So within two days I expect the germs and the snow to descend on my big old house in a flood of ruin.

Pleasepleaseplease just miss this house this year.

In other changes. We went to the early service and are home already (thank you Sam for your words this morning, clearly directed at us). Seth and Ben have already made out a list for the week. Ben seems more confident and has limitless enthusiasm and very few cravings today. This is living life one day at a time to the fullest.

And I start work tomorrow in the lair of the demon of the business underworld. I'm halfway excited. The other half of me is cautious, as usual. One must be cautious when one meets the devil on his own proving ground. And I have all kinds of things to prove.

Not to him, though. To ME.

Nothing doing.

On this Saturday night the mercury is dropping fast and we're all tucked in for the night. Only this night is a little different. Even though the Leafs are playing the Canucks and later on the UFC fight to end all UFC fights is scheduled to be on, we have the TV off, the friends are home (thank you PJ for the hugs and coffee and thank you Seth for looking after Ben today) and we've lit a roaring fire and are going to spend the evening matching our fingertips under a blanket on the couch.

Just us, just two silly fools who have names that begin with the letter B, just the ones covered with sadness and effort and tattoos and then tomorrow the day starts all over again. And it will be another good one, just like today.

Goodnight.

If it's Saturday I talk to myself out loud. Wait, nevermind.

When the sun clears the dark away I sit quietly, legs crossed, eyes closed, left abandoned in a moment but only for a moment with a kiss on the forehead that means meeting time, he'll be back and I hear the doors close and then a thud as the truck door closes and the rumble of life from the big beast with FORD stamped on the back.

Seth seems nice, since two years ago I was briefly introduced but did not talk with him at any length. Last night he sat at the kitchen table and I watched him watching us. He does not take notes or act as if he's thinking about anything of importance, in fact, he acts a lot like August. You wouldn't know what he does for a living and when I remarked last evening that being stuck here for the next ten weeks or so doesn't seem like much of a living at all on his part, he let his warm blue eyes rest on me and he smiled, telling me candidly that he averages three clients a year, and then the rest of the time he does whatever he wants, that he is well-compensated. He likes what he does and he doesn't consider it work.

Ben will do well again. He wants to do well, he just doesn't have the self-discipline required to do it on his own. Self-discipline isn't something Ben comes with. It's sold separately. Like batteries.

Seth will be Ben's batteries. Ben is going to do a lot of really hard work.

I am not.

I'm going to continue on this path for a bit. No pills, no therapy, just a new routine that is slightly busier, which means I have less time to let my brain crash around inside my skull. Bridget's idle brain is her worst enemy and time is her nemesis and between the two, she's been cultivating destruction all by herself.

She does that, you know. The tiny tornado, flattening very big structures and causing fear in people for no reason at all. A glitch when all conditions are right.

I don't want to go through life being known like that.

Maybe I'm too late.

No, dammit. There is always time. If I ever learned anything from Jake, there is time for me. Of course, there was no time for him, but there's time for me, there's time for Ben and there's time to get it right.

Limitless chances, princess. Just do the best you can.

Do you think if I fill those empty spaces in my head his voice will stop finding a way in?

Is that what I even want?

And with that, I must go, because PJ is here. To fill my empty head with coffee and my arms with some really good hugs, I hope.

This post is not about Caleb.

When I was a little girl growing up on a beach somewhere on the East coast, I thought the devil was cool. I figured he was about 35 years old, chain-smoked king-sized cigarettes and had tattoos. He wore a lot of black, usually biker clothes or funeral director with a wild-west-twist suits, and he listened to heavy metal. In my head he was a combination of Ozzy Osbourne, Mick Jagger and James Hetfield all rolled up in one man, but better looking. Scorching, smoking hot.

And Jesus was a wimp. One of the uncool kids, sitting in his room with his record player and out of date seventies garb, fringed faded jeans, love beads and flowing white shirt with his long wavy hair and a beard to die for, spinning Simon and Garfunkel or perhaps some Nick Drake while he waited and hoped for the heathens to settle down. While he prayed for them to be good people.

For some reason Jesus was impossibly eighteen years old in my head.

And emo.

Both images are forever stuck at a point when I was eight years old, like most ideals I have. Possibly this might be where my brain stopped growing. In fact, I might be almost one hundred percent sure of that, since I still like to play with the Rubik's cube when I pass one. Sometimes to the point where I am late for an appointment or miss a call, because hey, if I can get this side all red, maybe I can get this side all white and how the hell do people do these again?

Must be nice to be so smart.

But this post is not even about how smart or how dumb Bridget is.

No, this post is about Seth.

Seth is a guy who fixes lives. And he is a friend of Ben's. And two years ago when Ben went off his rocker completely and came on to me in one drunken, dangerous night, Seth was the guy who flew out here the next day and stood close to Ben for weeks on end, pointing out the pieces, and Ben picked up those pieces and managed to put his life back together and stayed sober for over a year. Seth is coming back and they're going to pick up the pieces yet again because the first time Ben couldn't hold on to them. Seth is someone who will shadow Ben, schedule him and basically become his new best friend. He will evaluate and get him all the help he needs and then in twelve weeks hopefully Ben will be at a better place and he'll be able to go back on the road because the night job is calling again.

Thankfully Ben does well with direction and he does even better with deadlines and all he needs is a push because life got to be a little much and he's been veering wildly between being Jesus and being the devil himself lately.

(I do realize that I am no picnic to live with either. No one likes the beautiful fucked-up ones with the maturity of your average eight-year old.)

And so I'm hoping that when Ben has to go back out there into the world where the devil comes in many forms but so does Jesus and so you better watch out for both, that Seth might stick around and maybe give me a little direction, some guidance, a plan of some sort because I am currently without one and I'm sure the recent levelness of my head is due solely to the fact Ben keeps my hands and that single-digit head of mine really busy. In twelve weeks that vanishes for a bit again and I might lose that kid.

I don't want to lose that kid.

Thankfully the kid isn't old enough to drive, she's in her room listening to the Stones and to Black Sabbath and even to a little bit of Drake.

And fine, yes, Simon and Garfunkel.