Four years of figuring out how I'm supposed to be doing this. Still no luck.

Aw, Jakey. Why did you do it?

I'll stand out on the cliff as long as they allow it. I have black four dresses on. Two cotton, two wool. Thick black wool tights wrinkle around my knees and ankles and I've chosen my doc boots simply because the tights don't work with much else. My black shawl rounds out this fantastic ensemble and I have pinned up my hair but the wind had other plans so I'll just pull the ends of the shawl tightly around my shoulders and allow the locks of palest blond to escape until it all falls out and the pins crash into the sea below. I will stand here until I am frozen solid and then I'll take a step back.

Ben stands five feet behind me, hands jammed in his pockets, a look of utter misery and borderline panic on his face. He hasn't taken his eyes off me, I know. I can feel them, they weigh a ton. But he is determined to allow me to do this however I need to and if I can't be in Newfoundland or Nova Scotia to be surrounded by memories then I will stand on the highest point and show myself to heaven. I may still wear my mourning clothes and surprise people with how damaging, how fierce my sadness can be but I am here trying. I close my eyes and lift my face up to the night. The wind caresses my face. Rain begins to lick at my hair.

PJ yells something from the doorway. The house is warm, I know. Inviting. Comfortable. Dry. Softly-lit and welcoming. He repeats himself and I turn my head to look at him, curious now. He abruptly goes back inside and closes the door and I look at Benjamin. He is still staring at me but his left arm is out straight to one side, index finger raised.

Wait, PJ, is what that means.

Wait for my Bridget to sort through her dark little brain and toss memories around and kick things, denting them in and when she's made enough of a fuss and a big enough mess inside her head I'll take over. No worries, brother. That's the expanded, translated version of that one finger. I know because he's put the words with the gesture before.

I wouldn't trade Ben for the world or for heaven. Think about that very hard. I know I have. It takes one hell of a man to stand up and allow for this. I have yet to meet anyone else who could pull it off and remain intact. Ben may have a few cracks of his own from the strain but he's holding.

He's holding me.

Saving daylight.

Our bed we live, our bed we sleep
Making love and I become you
Flesh is warm with naked feet
Stabbing thorns and you become me
Oh, I'd beg for you.
Oh, you know I'll beg for you.

I didn't run. Well, I tried but then Ben was there and he reverse-engineered my itinerary and paced with me at the airport until my knees gave out and my phone died and I asked him if we could just go home and for one of the first times home wasn't on the other coast.

Huh. What the fuck is THAT about?

We played Scrabble on his phone and watched bad conspiracy television and stayed up late and then slept late this morning.

This afternoon Ben took me to Jericho beach and we walked along the water's edge, freezing to bits and we talked and we compared panoramic photographs as we took them and we counted oil tankers in the bay and watched people have their wedding pictures taken. When we got too cold we ducked into a tiny ramen shop and I ate every last bite, something I can never manage. Gyoza too. We drove home in the pitch dark and proclaimed it a perfect day, which it was. In spades forever and ever and I want to do it next Saturday again except that I will return to my favorite beach of the city because none of the other ones we have explored have any glass at all and that just won't do.

I have already gone around to set the clocks back, and I'm soon to collect all of the whiskey and weapons and I'll retire to the library, where I will push the heavy table across the doors to keep the world away and then I will sprawl out on the couch and drink Jack Daniels and sing Stone Temple Pilots lyrics to myself while I load and reload, blowing daylight holes in the night, shooting dreams like skeet, busting caps into my nightmares, slurring out encouragement to myself while the boys crouch outside the door in defensive positions.

Ben will probably suggest Scrabble instead. I wonder if I can play with one hand while balancing the bottle in the other, guns cocked across my knees?

With any luck I will let you know tomorrow.

Can you hear me?

I was doing very well, you know.

I had ignored the calendar and I threw myself into watching a different history play out in front of my eyes as Caleb makes his home a stone-throw away and Lochlan rises to the challenge of everything before him with a determination I haven't seen from him in a while.

Ben. Ben's been around. He's been intuitive and funny and sweet as always. He puts up with an awful lot, I'm afraid. He knows I'm so on edge that when he holds me I leave cuts all over him for the sharpness of my moods.

So when the roses arrived this morning let's just say whatever house of cards I built for myself that I stood on in high wind was maybe doomed from the beginning. I couldn't do it. I couldn't read the card that told me how strong I was and how much you all love me and I couldn't see the pride on your faces for the fact that maybe we were out of the woods at last.

I don't want to say the flowers were the catalyst, though maybe it would have been better if they had come yesterday or maybe you simply counted your chickens before they were safely in the henhouse. Maybe going into this weekend and the fourth anniversary of Jacob flying (how can this be here already?) and his birthday on Monday and everything else finally caught me as I ran.

I run so fast, I don't understand how that's even possible, but then I tripped over the past because it's always in my way and I sprawled out on the road, rashed by the pavement, pride dented, hysteria still nipping at my heels.

Jacob leaned down and grabbed my good elbow, pulling me back to my feet. He leaned down and brushed the dust from my hair and he asked if I was okay.

What do you think? I blurted out. What a stupid question. I hope nobody asks it ever again. Even him. I turn to inspect the road in case I'm bleeding and I haven't noticed yet.

I think, Piglet, that you should probably tell someone where you're headed.

They'll know, Pooh. There's only so many places I can feel you anymore. I turned back around and looked up into the sun but he was gone.

Can you hear me?

Captive audience.

Have no fear for when I'm alone
I'll be better off than I was before

I've got this light
I'll be around to grow
Who I was before I cannot recall

Long nights allow me to feel I'm falling
I am falling
The lights go out
Let me feel I'm falling
I am falling safely to the ground

He has moved on to singing Long Nights under his breath, and I'm left with the lyrics floating around in my mind, turning them over like shiny rocks in a stream, looking for feldspar or quartz or even pyrite among the muted greys and browns. Lochlan picks the strings too casually, almost aimlessly and I am annoyed, nose pressed against the glass, uncharacteristically trying to block out beautiful music.

Because I'm not allowed outside.

My driveway is full of activity and I am missing everything. Men in white shirts and jeans carrying Caleb's belongings into the boathouse. He is down further on the walkway, pacing just out of the way of the movers, gesturing angrily as he speaks on the phone.

I'm pretty sure he is speaking to Batman. There has been some overlap on projects that we thought we finished and sadly they're forced to work together for a few weeks and Ben even had to wade in and sort some things out and so today I am pinned to one place with strict instructions to listen to Lochlan, who is still sick and should be resting his voice instead of killing the next hour performing the soundtrack to Into the Wild. I hated that movie. Hated it with a special passion reserved for things like scorpions, ketchup chips and being stuck inside on a clear fall day when I could be out chasing leaves in the wind.

The lions at the zoo pacing back and forth behind the fence at feeding time, that's what I feel like. It doesn't help that Caleb keeps turning to stare at the house. He knows I am looking back at him. He knows who is home and who he must avoid but can't based on new extenuating circumstances that are clicking into place like the locks on the dial of a very heavy safe and here we are, together again at last only I am not a child anymore.

Or so I thought.

For fucks sakes. Stop singing. You're breaking my heart again and there isn't much of it left.

I'll take this soul that's inside me now
Like a brand new friend I'll forever know

I've got this light and the will to show
I will always be better than before

Long nights allow me to feel I'm falling
I am falling
The lights go out
Let me feel I'm falling
I am falling safely to the ground

Unicorns in the front yard again.

I'm not gonna lie
I want you for mine
My blushing bride
My lover, be my lover

Don't be afraid
I didn't mean to scare you
So help me, Jesus

Oh my fuck. Lochlan's Elmer Fudd-rendition of Possum Kingdom is slaying me. He is home early. Everyone has bad colds. Welcome to Fall, right? The seasons change and the temperatures fluctuate just enough to tilt all the germs back into the house and now we have to go back to evaluating who we'll kiss and who we'll avoid. I can just weed them out by counting who sneezes on the top of my head as they pass me with boxes and various bits of furniture.

Schuyler and Daniel are all moved in to their house. Or rather, their stuff is there. I invited them for dinner but they have great plans to have pizza over a candle or some other equally amazing moving cliche. I feel shafted and used. Hahaha. Maybe I'll start inviting myself over there for dinner. I'm not phoning first and I'm not bringing anything either. Also, my table manners will be deplorable and I will throw things. Judging by the vast number of food fights Daniel has started here it's only fair right?

PJ is moved in to the main house too. He loves the space and the fact that I can now harass him twenty-four hours a day without even having to go find my shoes first. I never thought of that but since he pointed it out I set some extra alarms overnight just for that purpose. I will put Ben's bagpipes in the hall so I can grab them on my way downstairs to say hello. I hope he's excited. I can do a mean four a.m. solo. He wouldn't know, he's been living on the other side of the driveway for eighteen months, after all.

Caleb has called the service and has moved up his own move into the boathouse to tomorrow. Agony bags indeed. Whatthefuckever, it's going to be hell on earth having all three of them in the same space all the time. My thousand dollar bet from the wedding has been transferred to a new bet amongst the rest of us to see who throws the first punch. My money's on Ben because...well, because Ben likes to punch things stuff people.

But I can't think about that right now. Because right now I'm so high on fumes from waterproofing all the boots and hiking shoes that I might burst into flames at the top of the atmosphere as I make my reentry. If I never post again, you'll know what happened. Why I leave posting until I'm in this sort of condition I will never know but it's probably still better than the after-wine entries, right?

It's not?

Oh, I see. Typical. Snort.

I have a headache. See you tomorrow.

I swear to God I am getting to that envelope. But first, an interlude.

Because Daniel and Schuyler are packing today to move to their house, because by Friday Satan will be residing here and because musical boys seem to be the order of the day, here: a fresh video for you by a band that I adore.

I know I seem very uptight and hard-edged and have this reputation as the tiny moody troll queen of heavy metal, I assure you that I'm not (okay, not all the time, anyway, and that makes Benjamin profoundly MOROSE, folks).

I really love this one, it's about time Switchfoot took us back to the beach.

Nine white shirts to iron and put away.

This would be a love story, and for once it isn't mine. Come celebrate with me and I'll tell you a few things about our weekend.

I read bad poetry into your machine
I save your messages just to hear your voice.
You always listen carefully to awkward rhymes.
You always say your name like I wouldn't know it's you,
At your most beautiful.

I've found a way to make you
I've found a way
a way to make you smile

At my most beautiful I count your eyelashes secretly.
With every one, whisper I love you.
I let you sleep.
I know your closed eye watching me, listening.
I thought I saw a smile.

The men made their way across the beach slowly, quietly in the sunrise, the rain dancing off the tops of their black umbrellas and spit-shined shoes, dampening the sunshine but not the mood, as we all teetered on the edge of a newfound joy tinged with grace and gratitude. A strange place to be, as this wedding represents a new beginning for the entire collective. Change. Growth. Bravery, too.

Love. Always love above all else.

Ben clutched my hand against his chest while we waited and then when Sam gave him the signal he raised my hand to his lips, kissed it firmly and squeezed hard. He passed me into Lochlan's arm and retreated with Sam to the woods. Sam returned almost instantly and nodded to Corey, who began to play his guitar.

He played their song slowly, quietly. We turned to see Ben and Daniel emerge from the woods, their arms around each other's shoulders. Walking side by side, intent in whatever final words are exchanged between an older brother to his younger sibling. It was as if we weren't even there. As they passed us, Daniel paused and grabbed me up in a bear hug, smashing a kiss against my temple. We laughed and he let go, continuing forward to Sam and Schuyler.

Schuyler was waiting, a shy smile lurking under his pale beard, his hair curling in the humidity.

Schuyler was singing.

Clear as a bell. Corey had stopped only I hadn't realized. He kept looking down but the smile never left. Nerves. Uncharacteristic nerves. He needs to do right by everyone, there will be no room for bullshit. If anyone can rise to this moment, it's Schuy.

Daniel and Schuyler joined hands on the last three words and faced each other, Sam framed behind them. He talked about love being patient and kind. Ben returned to us, taking me back into his arms. I leaned against his soft suit coat and watched the exchange of vows. The rings. A tender kiss and a surprisingly manly embrace and then we were all rushing in for a group hug and I was buried in a crush of strong arms and had to duck out underneath to breathe. Daniel held himself together throughout and so I lost a thousand dollar bet that I was sure I would win.

Laughter and tears were in long supply on this day. We walked back to the main house where the champagne was already flowing. Cake, music, food and dancing followed until we couldn't dance or drink any more. The party lasted two nights under the cool crescent moon, on the grounds of the residence, decorated with pumpkins and black candelabras and scarecrows. Colored leaves fell endlessly, adding to the decorations. The reception included making our own masks, which quickly turned into making the ones we thought each other should have.

We danced. We danced and twirled under the moon and then under the sun. Why would the party end when it didn't have to? Not yet, anyway. We ate spiced carrot cake and had some tea and pancakes and then went back to dancing again, trading partners, trading pictures, trading wishes for happiness that bubbled up from deep inside somewhere I thought might have gotten lost. We sat bundled in blankets and watched Daniel and Schuyler dance together, nose to nose, smiles hardly contained on their faces, coattails discarded and one mask still shoved up on top of Schuyler's head until I finally pulled it off him sometime on Saturday evening.

I don't think I've ever been to a wedding with a two-day reception before but everyone they loved was there, people came and people went and the core group of us became fixtures of the days and nights, organizing meals and taking turns playing DJ and making impromptu speeches without any microphones, the sound amplified by the tears that flowed so freely.

It was perfect. It rained half the time, the endless drizzle shorting out at least seven sets of the tiny white and orange lights we strung the day before, and it didn't matter. I finally understand the protectiveness they all feel toward each other. The panicked need to make everything perfect, to keep each other safe, to make sure nothing could possible derail a memory that is so important.

The fervent wish for things to be right.

You missed me, didn't you?

We are home.

I need to unpack, do a whole lot of laundry, carve pumpkins (I wrote crave pumpkins three times there before I could get it straight and now I can't stop laughing) and maybe sleep for the first time since about last Monday.

Yes.

Good times. Such good times.

So...more tomorrow! Thanks for your patience. Sorry for the mixed up emails to those of you who got responses tonight. I'm really not good at coming back down to earth, am I?

Save the date (October 28, 2011).

I always wonder why did we bother,
Distanced from one, deaf to the other.
Oh but sweetness follows
It's these little things, they can pull you under.
Live your life filled with joy and wonder.
I always knew this altogether thunder
Was lost in our little lives.

Everything is in. Everything is done. I've flipped the last latch, buckled the cases, triple-confirmed all the deliveries, crossed off the list and I stick my notes between my teeth while I struggle to hang on to Ben's hand and zip up Henry's backpack at the same time. We walk out on the tarmac and the children run ahead to the tiny plane and I roll my eyes. I hate this aircraft. It feels like a tin-can with my fate rattling around on the inside. It feels like certain death only it's better than flying commercial because I have become spoiled and rotten and wealthy beyond what most people will ever see and yet I would trade it in an instant for an old Kawasaki and fistful of midway tickets because I don't think I deserve this. Not a minute of it.

We're flying out now. Flying to a remote island owned by someone with more money than I will ever be able to fathom who deals favors like cards and owes us this time and we'll take it and make more memories and dry the tears from Daniel's face as he says his vows to Schuyler and I hope to God they remember this forever because for some reasons those precise moments tend to get lost in the day.

We'll dance and sing and eat and drink and cry and forget that we have all this history for once and we'll work together to make good memories. Sometimes those get lost too, in the hierarchy of all the wrongs and all the water under the bridges. We have to learn that putting the good things first is better.

I traded dresses again. A last minute request from Ben, who reached into the closet and pulled out the most delicate blush pink cocktail dress and asked if I would wear it instead of the black. He thinks it will look better in photographs, I think he loves pink, secretly because it looks less harsh against my alabaster skin and blue-marble veins. He would be right but the contrast against his dark suit, eyes and hair will be jarring all the same, like it is in every photograph of us. Opposites attract, they say, which is how Daniel and Schuyler came to this place where we are all going to get to have a hand in the first day of their future together.

I am so excited even this tin can with wings can't take away my happiness. And that's saying something. I really hate flying lately. And I have a perfectly good oceanside bluff at home just begging for a wedding ceremony but WHATEVER, BOYS.

Everything is going to be okay.

I love you both so very much.

Heads or tails.

I sat in the corner trying not to laugh while the boys have the final fittings of their suits. The tailors kept asking me if I was excited. Finally one of them asked point-blank how it felt to be the bride because I seemed so calm. I smiled and pointed to Daniel.

He's the bride.

That was all the encouragement they needed to go full-on flattery to the boys instead of being so professional it was almost uncomfortable. They started to fuss over Daniel and Schuyler as if they were celebrities, and when they found out Ben was giving Daniel away they asked who was going to give Ben away and could they make offers because they would take him if he's available.

Oh, dear. Help me.

Someone made the joke from Bridesmaids, about climbing him like a tree. By now I am smiling helplessly because they've turned the music up louder and this has become a bit of a party and I am so not cut out for wedding planning even though I think I could do it in my sleep at this point. This is the fifth one I have organized, if you count three of my own and Sam's. Our track record is deplorable, only one of the four couples is still together and that's only because God hasn't found a way to kill Ben yet without it being blatantly obvious that he's shooting firebolts at my life for some perceived slight at this point.

My advice to anyone planning a wedding? Skip ninety percent of what they tell you you NEED and spend it on something you want. Also? Make it yours. Because nothing is worse than a cookie-cutter classic wedding in which you can predict everything right down to the colors and nothing reflects the happy couple except for the gleam on the teeth of the smiling, well-paid impersonal wedding coordinator.

Our own next-time will be different. Ben's been threatening to organize a renewal of our vows. Probably for our fifth anniversary if God doesn't catch him first and take him out. I'll let him plan it since he takes my breath away with the quietest moments. And now if Daniel would just stop crying all the time we could get this show on the road. Yeesh. He's a big leaking fool. Thank heavens he is so adorable or I would smack him right now and tell him to smarten up.

(Also in news!! The dress! It fits! Mine, silly. Daniel isn't wearing a dress. He should be. That would be awesome. They have morning coats, or as I spelled them for the first two weeks, mourning coats. Sorry. Couldn't help it, that sort of thing just happens. And yes, of course the coats are black. Why do you ask?)