The designated tool.

Today I found an axe.

I was condensing a shelf full of camping supplies and jammed deep down in one of the big expedition backpacks I found it. Unsharpened, blackened and quite demure, it slid awkwardly out of the case and I laughed out loud. The last time I saw this was during one of our winter excursions to Keji for backcountry camping, long before the children were born.

I remember being afraid of that axe, though Cole was determined that I learn to chop wood for the fire. Fuck that, I'll cut my legs off below the knees, I told him. He laughed and lit another cigarette. Don't be so ridiculous, he told me, reaching out and taking back the axe. I gave it up willingly.

I'm not so good with sharp things, like knives or wit. Only with naming things and making up stories about things.

That night I drew scenes from the campsite with Lochlan while Cole chopped enough wood to last that campsite the rest of the season and the next one too. I look at this tiny, dull instrument and I don't know how he did it only that he was always freakishly strong for his size. I remember him offering it to Ben on later trips and Ben would defer. Ben wouldn't touch that thing, he wanted to save his hands. He was hellbent on becoming a famous musician and said he didn't feel like getting himself killed.

(That turns our prodigal son into the prophet, but that isn't what this about. Also, as I've said before, Ben was a terrible camper so no one expected anything from him but music.)

When I found the axe and laughed PJ walked into the back hallway to see what was going on. I showed him my find and he said it was cool. Hey, we can use this. Maybe it would be good for the Christmas tree farm but I took it back and put it up on a high shelf.

Why are you doing that, Bridge?

It's too small and dull. It's like the lady axe. It's the....the parlour hatchet.

He started to laugh and squeezed me against him. 'The parlour hatchet'. That's great. What do you think would be a better choice for getting the tree this year then?

A 50cc, twenty-inch gas-powered chainsaw works for me.

We've ruined you, haven't we?

Yes, PJ. Completely.

The mighty harmonist.

I'm gonna ask you to look away
I love my hands, but it hurts to pray
Life I have isn't what I've seen
The sky is not blue and the field's not green

Today was all Ben, all the time. He in his Hardcore Bagpiping t-shirt, and I in my military jacket. Matching jeans, matching smiles. Fingers touching, hearts woven tight.

It was freezing on the beach. Not our beach, a different one. Across the bridge and down the hill. Our beach is wicked and sinister and rough, this one is more refined. My toes were numb but my mind was soothed. My fingers were filthy with sand and slippery seaweed and crab shell but my ears were filled with the sounds of the surf crashing and seagulls calling softly. I didn't know while we were there that Ben made a long recording of the sounds while we were silent. He brought home the ocean for me and can trigger tears at will, just by holding his phone up to my ear and pressing PLAY.

The Pacific is such an amazing entity. She and I are someday going to be such good friends but for now I approach her politely and stay as long as she'll have me and then I retreat to the treeline and wait for the next invitation. I stalk her. I lust after her. I hide like a freak in the shadows and count the waves crashing as my breath hitches and rolls in time. I am the harmless thief, filling my pockets with the treasures she leaves behind, the jars and basketsful at home a revelation in deference to my singular obsession.

Ben had so much patience for my nonsense today. He waded and waited, he shot and he sought me out, he brought me shells and gave me hell and he finally suggested home when the dark arrived in a flourish and began to eat away at the edges of the horizon.

I was so reluctant. I kept wanting to suggest he simply come back for me tomorrow but I knew better and so I followed him up the hill, stumbling over rocks and roots as I watched her retreat for the night.

I'll be back soon.

"Bruce keeps Batman human." ~Kevin Conroy.

Over breakfast in a luxurious restaurant this morning Batman took a turn roasting my flesh over the coals. Drinking during a weekday. Ghosts in the garage. What was I thinking?

I played the widow card. When he had lost what I have, twice over, then and only then can he judge my behavior.

He didn't bite so I turned the tides, drowning him in his own failures for a change. His weaknesses. Hit him where it hurts. Peel back the layers until he's burned raw with no protection from sun or salt.

He shook his head and smiled out to sea. He changed the subject. Boring me with industry talk for the remainder of the morning. I surrendered, smiling politely and listening while I sipped coffee. They continued to refill it until close to lunchtime and finally Batman drove me home, staying for a moment to check up on Satan and talk hockey with PJ. Trying to fit in and failing as I watched. Eventually a kiss landed on my forehead, excuses beginning to roll out of his mouth as he walked into the front hall to pull on his coat. He was heading out the door when he stopped abruptly and turned to smile at me.

I'm not the enemy, Bridget. Or maybe I am. Maybe I always have been. One more difficult facet of your life to wrestle with. One more ball to juggle, if I may use one of your circus metaphors. Analogies. Whichever.

Metaphor. That's a metaphor.

Right. Maybe we can do this again? I'll check my schedule. I'd like to check in with you on a regular basis.

Or you could just come here.

Come here? To the house?

Come for breakfast. With everyone.

I'd really like that. Don't feel as if you have to. I understand if you want to do things that way. I apologize if anything seemed untoward when I asked you to come to me.

I know. I am lying through my teeth. I am aghast. He and Caleb are playing Freaky Friday on me today and I can see it so clearly, why can't they?

But he smiles instead. The first genuine, unchecked, natural one in a while. Maybe twenty years if I were to be specific. The last time he smiled like that at me I didn't know a goddamned thing about him. But I knew I could trust him. Now when I look at that smile I wonder if I'm any good at reading people at all.

Bruce Wayne is Batman. He became Batman the instant his parents were murdered. Batman needs Bruce, however hollow that identity feels to him from time to time. Bruce keeps Batman human.

Deficiency.

(GO AWAY. This is not for you.)

Too small to keep. That was beautiful, princess.

You think? Fuck you, they don't have wi-fi in heaven. Who reads to you?

Sam reads out loud and I hear him sometimes.

Do you miss it?

No, I hated being able to see what's on your mind. We all did but at the same time it's incredibly useful. Your brain is a trainwreck. No one can look away.

No, you know what's useful? I am drunk and sitting on the filthy floor in the garage again. My dress is ruined, possibly my knees too. My hair is dark in the back from resting against the blackened concrete.

What's useful, princess?

You being not dead. Could you engineer that for me like you do for these visits? I do believe you have an in with the important people.

Bridget, I-

I know. I know! 'Don't be so pathetic, Bridget'. I laugh and tip forward and my nose almost touches the floor. I put my hands out to steady myself and abruptly I change my mind about my decision to move out here to live. The boys already reclaimed the garage anyhow, and Jacob found a new venue from which to preach his afterlife into my mind and my heart. I can wade into a memory at low tide or in the bathtub if I choose. I don't need to be here anymore but it seems like it's the best place and I don't know why. I don't even care why right now. Only my liver does. I bet it's in overdrive. It's always been competitive when it sees my heart winning all the awards for doing all the work.

Jesus, they let you get shitfaced every day now or what?

Only when they want to know what's on my mind, oddly enough. Just, well, just like you did, Pooh bear. I am poking thin air, since I can't touch him, my fingertips hammering the wind instead of poking him in the chest. He is sitting in front of me, only he doesn't get dirty because there is absolutely nothing bad in heaven and he is halfway there now. He would be all the way but I won't let him go.

I'm supposed to feel guilty about that but I don't.

You're a wreck.

Yeah, I know. It's been a long week. I start to laugh and he joins me. Then I feel ridiculous and insane and I start to cry. He reaches out and touches my face and holds his hand there. I can feel it, his hands feel like Ben's. Cool. Hard. Strong. He can touch me, I can't touch him. Okay, God. Gotcha.

Bridget, you're doing so much better. I can see it. Living here is good for you. Ben is good for you. It's going to be okay. Stop falling into the sea. Stop falling for Lochlan. Stop falling and stand up straight. What happened to Little Miss Hardcore?

I stand up unsteadily and weave my way to the door. When I open it the sun beams into the room, highlighting emptiness save for a couple of motorcycles in the corner. The garage is neatly swept and Jacob isn't here.

You killed her. That's what happened. She's dead too.

Abundance.

(You've forgotten who the prodigal son is, in this case. Think hard, he's difficult to miss, at six-foot-four).

Caleb's putting his fortune to good use. Today we've had a parade of municipal inspectors, engineers and contractors down to see about putting in a removable floating dock. They have to pour concrete pilings and everything. I just can't wait.

I figured I would just be banned from going down to the water ever again. They came close to that until Caleb took one look at my face and offered a solution. One I can't afford so the look came back, elastic panic, we may as well move if I can't get to the sea ever again but the solution was followed by the means. This is nothing five figures won't solve. Pennies to Caleb. More debt to me, mortgaged once again with my soul.

I tell him this and he shakes his head sadly. Safety is a premium, it doesn't matter what it costs.

I should have stayed on the beach.

You shouldn't have to. No worries, it'll be done by spring as long as it doesn't get too cold. Until then, though, I'm not sure what they will want for your margins in the meantime. Don't expect the moon for a bit, okay?

I don't. But I do think they're blowing it out of proportion. Had Lochlan not seen me slip off the rocks I would have continued to work my way back until I could climb up. I'm not a good swimmer but I could use the rocks to stay against the shore and there are several places one can get out. Even with the coat. Even with the surprise and shock of the cold water, I would have been out in another five or ten minutes. I didn't ask to be rescued but maybe I'm in denial.

Ben pointed out that one of my lifelong wishes to see Lochlan step in and cover comfort and safety during or after a major incident is now fulfilled. And his offhand, reluctantly generous comment has set me on my ear.

It was mostly the only flaw Lochlan ever had, ducking and running whenever things went wrong.

He comes by it honestly. If you grew up in the midway and transitioned to the circus you'd be fucked up and have one foot out the door every time something went down too. I just didn't think it would extend to me. Up until two months ago, his method of operation would have been to fish me out of the drink, fling me up to dry land and then take off before anyone saw him.

Instead he stuck around and sorted everything out. He organized some changes and hashed out new rules, he found understanding, he absolved those he found to be in the wrong and he kept everyone calm, even in the face of accusations and outrage and shock. He didn't let go of me for the better part of the past twenty hours or so. This is so new I'm still admiring the shiny wrapper. I don't even know what to do with this.

He said we give him purpose. He can't run anymore. This isn't a roadshow, he can't be the nameless wanderer anymore, he has a legacy. Purpose. People who count on him, and need him to be there.

I have always needed him. It burns me that it took something so fucking stupid to make him see that. The relief that he finally sees it is worth more than that dock is going to cost.

Gratitude and Longitude.

So.

I fell into the ocean this afternoon and if it weren't for all this brandy and the fact that I'm waiting for Lochlan to stop fighting with everything that breathes I wouldn't have even told you.

Considering she said I was too small to keep she did her best, as I was in jeans, boots and a heavy wool coat. The boulders piled up where the drop off is, where the boats can moor in sailing season, proved to be more slippery than they looked today and I chose the water over the alternative of landing directly on the rocks. I didn't want any broken bones, but I've also never been so cold in my life.

Before I could work my way back around to the smaller rocks to climb up, Lochlan grabbed the hood of my coat and lifted me out of the water. Yes, with his left arm. Yes, that unhealed spiral fracture of his ulna? Radial? I can't remember is still there and he's in a brand new cast tonight because they already knew it never healed. They were slated to call him but Ben took him in.

License to hurt, Ben said later as we stood and watched while Lochlan took out his fears and frustrations on everyone in the room, beginning with me and ending with PJ and Duncan, who were supposed to be on duty and did not slip, I was merely given a little bit of leeway to extend my rigid, narrow horizons.

It took him the better part of five or six hours but I think he is running out of steam at last. The painkillers are kicking in, Sam's endless words are sinking in, the adrenaline is wearing off and the fear is wearing through. All's well that ends well. I am still alive. I was not, contrary to in-house belief, purposefully sacrificing myself to the Pacific and I was also not trying to prove a point.

My fingers and toes have warmed up at last and I know that tonight, through my dreams tangled hopelessly with my nightmares, they will be there and they won't be letting go. Maybe the only slip today wasn't on the icy rocks. Maybe we all got too cocky and too comfortable and maybe that's when I need to be the most careful.

Maybe next time Lochlan won't come home halfway through the day and come looking for me even before he disappears into his room to put his things away.

Maybe next time she won't throw me back.

Too small to keep isn't any sort of guarantee. It's more like a warning, subject to change.

Twisted, crooked, broken laces.

Come pull the sheet over my eyes so I can sleep tonight
Despite what I've seen today
I found you guilty of a crime of sleeping at a time
When you should have been wide awake

Too small to keep, he says and smiles. I like that she says that about you. It means I can have you back. Ben is sacked out on the couch. I have thrown myself into his arms and I'm never ever leaving this spot. You can't make me, I won't go.

He laughs and pulls his arms over me. I like being home. You like it when I'm home, little bee?

What a silly question, Benjamin.

It's a valid question, bee. Tell me.

I love it when you're home.

Why?

I couldn't say it out loud so I turned around and climbed up onto his legs and whispered it in his ear. He blushed and said he knew he married me for a reason.

Right. For love.

He smiled. For love. And for what you just said into my ear. You look so sweet and straight-laced and you're the dirtiest one of all.

Chemical Oceanography.

High tide: 7:08 am, 4:56 pm

Low tide: 12:27 pm

His face is soft from three weeks worth of beard growth, his hair uncut since the spring. I am blocked in against the granite of the island. The lights are off and the kitchen is grey, lit only by the skylights above as the rain pours in sheets down the glass. I can't hear it, I feel the rumble, a quavery-light undercurrent to the air, thick and heavy with a post-storm stillness.

He bends his head down until our eyes are even. Blue and green make the color of the sea. Together we are high tide, the dangerous part of the day where you cannot walk on the sand because it's been swallowed by the waves, which now lick against the rocks, seeking further nourishment. I would heave myself into the surf only she keeps throwing me back.

Too small to keep, she says.

Now I know he reads a fortnight behind.

I am the crisis
I am the bitter end
I'm gonna gun this down
I am divided
I am the razor edge
there is no easy now

Sam walked in through the front door and got busy shaking the rain off of his things and carefully hanging his coat on a free hook. I waited patiently in the archway for him to get organized. He straightened his hair and then his tie, ending with his collar and then he bent down and picked up his messenger bag and his travel mug and started to walk toward me. Maybe he wasn't expecting me to be right there but he stopped about three feet away and just smiled that sort of smile reserved for greeting the very truly insane when you don't know what to expect.

Hi, Bridget. His eyes are looking for something. Heartbreak? Backslides? Seasonal Affective Disorder? Deception?

Hi, Sam. Do you want me to switch your mug to tea?

That would be good, thank you. But he didn't give me the cup, he just kept staring. I assisted by waiting with my expressions mostly blank until he was satisfied that I wasn't rejecting the living in favor of hanging out with the dead and the mug was pressed into my hand. I turned and made my way back to the kitchen while Sam started to tell me his afternoon was a little quiet so he thought he would drop in and he kept prattling on in this weird formal manner and when I finally reached the counter by the window I whirled around and asked him to just get on with it.

On with?

Whatever's wrong, Samuel.

I'm just- well, they wanted me to talk to you again.

I'm not backsliding.

I got the distinct impression you might be, and the picture of the road-

Lochlan sprayed me with perfix and I had brain damage, that's all that was.

Bridget, I-

You should talk to new Jake. He's the weirdo around here.

Jake is not my concern! You are! And why in God's name is Loch spraying you with toxic substances?

I had charcoal on my nose and he thought it was so cute he threatened to make it stay forever. And you have a whole flock of sheep to deal with, I'll be fine. I don't know if you guys noticed but certain calendar dates are kind of rough and I imploded a little late, that's all.

Bridget, you know you can come and talk to me any time.

I do come and talk to you. But for emergency's sake, how about right in the middle of your next sermon?

Okay, not during a service, but-

See?

Does Lochlan need to come and talk to me?

Oh, probably, but he doesn't believe in God.

He believes in the werewolf boy and the bearded lady but not in....Jesus Christ.

Exactly. I smile and turn to wash the mug. Sam crosses around behind the island and looks out over the water.

Caleb and Daniel trading places in your daily routine isn't all that healthy, is it, Bridget?

I don't want to talk about it, Sam.

You haven't tripped back into such tangible writing about Jacob in a while.

Sure I have. Maybe you don't have time to read enough blogs.

I put the kettle on the stove to boil and then I turn back with my Everything's Eventual smile just for him and he looks right through me to see the thin spots where I am pinned and sewn back together.

Okay, how about I just leave the door open? If you want to come and talk, just find me. Or call and I'll come get you.

My smile changes from fixed to real. Warm. Genuine. I will, Samwise. I promise.

His face morphs into reluctant joy. Okay good. How is the tea coming? I still can't feel my legs.

Stupidly cold, isn't it?

For where I'm from, you wouldn't think it would be so bad but it is. Sam's face is so young and elastic. It changes once more into a pained sort of frustration and I start to laugh. I laugh so hard I start to cry and then I can't stop. I can remember years ago hanging around the door of the study while Jacob mentored him, he was so young. He always had a pencil behind his ear and a bad haircut that left curls and waves sticking out over his ears and he was so eager and green.

Sam is weary now and older too, having buried our dead, officiated our weddings, and taken over the faith of the entire collective while his own life fell apart with equal destruction. Still he clings to his faith blindly with his eyes open wide, toothpicks shoved in them to stay wakeful, stay alert, stay above and he fights a losing battle every damn day until we admit that life is too big and we need help.

And then he gives it with a quietly outrageous, enthusiastic joy that becomes contagious and all-encompassing.

He sips his tea slowly. He watches my expressions, reading them like bestsellers, hot off the presses while I struggle to prove that the poker-face theory holds, as does the theory of time and faith.

Easily reheated, in the microwave of evil!

My soul is painted
like the wings of butterflies
Fairy tales of yesterday
will grow but never die
I can fly, my friends!

I'm not sure if my throat hurts from an entire morning singing along with Freddy Mercury while incense burned and I cleaned the entire house or if I've managed to finally catch the cold that's been knocking down everyone in this house, one after another. When one of them stands back up the cold does a quick u-turn and knocks them down again. It's terrible and I don't want it. Apparently the hourly bleach-dippings aren't going to protect me anymore. Good, because my skin was beginning to disintegrate off my bones.

Daniel is here today. Batman is American so weirdly he gave everyone a holiday. Which is good because Lochlan is just about falling down and keeps calling in sick anyway. Did I tell you I spent most of my morning with him back in the hospital while he had some more x-rays on his arm? Idiot got his camper wheel unstuck, using his recently broken hand. Because Brains: You can't win them at the circus, or so I hear. I'm not sure why he had to posture like that and hurt himself again but they tell me if I was a guy I would understand. They also said if I were a guy they would cry all the damned time which made me laugh and laugh.

I have always wanted to write my name in the snow while peeing standing up.

That will be one of those unfulfilled wishes I take to my grave, I think, along with base jumping and swimming naked in a teacup full of cookie batter. Oh, and watching Paranormal Activity 2, because I can't get ANYONE to watch it with me.

I used to be the queen of horror movies and instead I've spent the last year quoting Megamind:

All men must choose between two paths. Good is the path of honour, heroism, and nobility. Evil... well, it's just cooler.

The doctor is going to call with the results later on (I hope) and in the meantime, Lochlan's no longer allowed outdoors. I like making rules too, and if I can't go outside, he can't either. He shouldn't be out there in the freezing rain with this stupid cold anyway, instead he can curl up with me and Daniel on the couch and we can watch extravagant travel shows and they can both cough on the top of my head and then Ben will get sick and start doing that thing where he spikes a high fever and becomes downright silly, talking nonsense around the clock.

I am ready with my quotes.

Yes, a very wickedly bad idea for the greater good of bad!

But I'm saying it's the kind of bad that... Okay, you might think is good from your bad perception, but from a good perception... It's just plain bad.

Oh, you don't know what's good for bad!