When the only way out is through.

They are talking. That's all. Everything is being put on the table this time, with no lies, no embellishments and no deceit. They're going to work through what they both want from each other and then what they want from me. There's shouting sometimes but no violence. No weapons. No Bridget either. I will be privy to conversations later, whereas right now I am out in the cold.

Well, not exactly in the cold. I'm nice and cozy-warm watching movies with the others all weekend, tucked under PJ's arm. Lochlan checks in every little while or so and appeared briefly today to take me to lunch, but otherwise maybe they're getting somewhere.

Or not.

Don't get your hopes up, he told me anyway.

They're not. 

We got the grifter right but the mark and the shill were mixed up.

Watch them carefully. 

Batman tells me what I already know as I pick glass out of the rain today on the beach. It's harder to see. It's my very own I Spy book. It's a puzzle I will never finish.

I think Lochlan and Caleb have come to some kind of agreement, I think Lochlan is ready to forgive Caleb or at least let him make more concrete amends, I think he's ready to hear the confession and mete out the punishment as he has always wanted to but no one would let him. I think they're getting old. I think Lochlan sees what he didn't really want to see before, which is a genuine and heartfelt attempt on Caleb's behalf to fix this. To fix everything he broke, only Lochlan is hard-headed and stubborn to a fault, and wouldn't listen until Caleb forced him to listen, at the point of a gun. I think we're getting somewhere finally. I think things might be okay.

Of course, it's a good day, so maybe it's all just sleight of hand and maybe it's an illusion and maybe I'm still on drugs and maybe devils don't change their spots and grifters don't give up their games.

This makes me the mark.

“A ship is safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for.” ~ William G.T. Shedd

(I know you best.)

When I woke up this morning, Ben was lying beside me, turned to face me, smoothing my hair out of my eyes. Smiling that quiet little content smile that he has.

Our boy hit the ground running today, he says. We might have to tie him up to get him through the rest of the day. 

I sit up and Ben explains that Lochlan got up early and went to see Caleb to probably tell him to fuck off. That vague threats parlayed through Bridget weren't going to be acceptable under any circumstances. Enough already.

You went with him? 

No, he whispered all this at me before he even left. 

Did anyone go with him?

Not to my knowledge. 

Ben! Did he come back? Has anyone checked on Caleb? Jesus! You know better! I jump out of bed.

He's an adult and so is Caleb. If they were going to kill each other they could have done it ten times over. Let them sort out their issues with each other by going to the ground a few times. Maybe they can get it out of their systems. 

Someone gets really hurt every time they do this. 

Yeah, but who are you running to save? 

Caleb's bigger-

Yes, and he's the one who somehow holds back and takes the hit. He hasn't hurt Lochlan yet. So I don't worry anymore.

What if he does? You assume a lot but maybe he's waiting for the perfect time. You weren't there when he had his gun out-

Bridget, he's not going to do anything. 

He has a GUN-

Okay, let's go. Because running into a volatile situation when you know things are tenuous is the best plan you and I have ever had. 

No, that was getting married. I'm pulling on yesterday's clothes as fast as I can while I try to be sweet to Benjamin on the fly but he's decided he waited too long. That or opening my eyes just incites fear all by itself these days.

We run to the Boathouse, falling up the stairs to find-

Wait for it-

Caleb and Lochlan enjoying a whiskey out front, leaning against the railing, side by side, watching the sea while they have a quiet conversation. 

The look on both their faces right before the surprise registers at our rush to get to them is victory. Yes, both their faces. Which I see right away and Ben doesn't see at all. 

It's Remembrance Day weekend and I'm going to see the Trews but otherwise I'm going to sit on the front porch in the rain, drinking hot chocolate and eating lentil sprouts and garlic-stuffed olives.

The fun part about the sprouts are that I can stuff my face with a whole package without blinking. August was like 'spread a thin layer on your sandwich like this' and I grabbed a volleyball-sized chunk instead and it was so delicious I closed my eyes as I ate my sandwich. Usually my eyes are wide open so I can appreciate my sandwich. I love sandwiches. You don't know how much I love sandwiches. They're like cake but so much more complex, and also salty and really filling so who has room left for cake anyway?

So if the sprouts are bad for me please do not tell me today. You can tell me tomorrow but not today.

Tangible reality.

You seem more concerned with tattoos than current events, Neamhchiontach. 

He isn't happy at all. Firstly for the surprisingly stark and visible tattoo on my hand, and secondly because he's right. I am more concerned with tattoos than with the state of the world because the world is a terrible place full of bullshit and assholes and I've made my Utopia in spite of it. My American boys gave up their birthrights years ago and became Canadian because of me and we're safe and happy and completely fucking ignorant and I'm pretty sure the Devil is the only one who would have that any other way.

(I don't plan to talk about Outside-World News. I'm busy living Lord of the Flies right here, thanks. We have our own pecking order, our own politics and that's enough to handle on a daily basis. I'm happier without newspapers ninety-nine percent of the time and the one percent I stray from that I always end up regretting sooner rather than later.)

They're my souvenirs, I remind him. I'm not sentimental, truth be told. I don't keep things, per se. Just people. Just thoughts. Just memories all locked up in the zoo inside my head. Sometimes they break loose and go on a rampage. Otherwise I feed and water them, give them toys and let people see them, for a price. Sometimes they eat me alive.

Let me see. He wandered in briefly at the beginning, while Mark drew outlines the other day and got caught up on news but didn't come back after that. He hasn't seen me.

I'm not dressed for-

Let me see, Neamhchiontach. 

I regard him for several minutes without breaking his gaze. I'm in a dress and tights. Combat boots. Sweater. I struggle out of the sweater, letting it drop to the floor and then unbutton the dress, finally letting it fall to the ground too. Tights and underwear remain on. I turn around and wait.

Oh my God. This is beautiful. 

I look at the floor and then lift my arms so he can see what happens when I do a Jesus Christ pose.

I don't believe it. He sees it. Everyone's name has a place. Every last one, scripted into the feathers. Invisible until I raise my arms and then they're horizontal and clearly readable.

My name..

Right there with the rest. 

Bridget-

I drop my arms, turn back around and shrug back into my dress, buttoning it haphazardly, balling up my sweater in my arms, tears of..I don't even know what stinging my eyes. Happy now? I snap at him.

Hey Bridge, I-  Ben walks into the kitchen and stops halfway through his question. Everything okay? 

He wanted to see it. 

And?

He's seen it.

Ben watches us both and kisses the top of my head, telling me he'll be in the driveway if I need him. Caleb nods to him as he passes and then resumes his stare.

I didn't know. 

Right, well, you would have seen it eventually anyway. 

I'm sorry for my tone. I'm a bit on edge since Lochlan has decided to make me wait indefinitely for his decision. 

I think you should probably stop waiting. 

Have you talked to him? 

Many times. 

And? 

I think he should bleed you dry, personally but he wants to take the high road. 

Lochlan and his ridiculous integrity. 

Integrity is never ridiculous unless you don't have any, Diabhal. I say it quietly, cringing slightly. He doesn't like being reminded.

Tell him to come see me when he gets home, then. If he thinks I'm going to languish while he ignores the offer he's mistaken. 

He won't come to you. 

Then I will come to him.

Of course the Roman Numeral for one hundred is C but I have no room left. (Literally or figuratively.)

Mark was back over the weekend. We treat him to comfortable space while he guests around town but mostly he comes to work on me. Last July I got him to tattoo a huge filigree X on my stomach and this week I spent most of my time lying on that tattoo while he worked on my wings. Long overdue wings. He did a beautiful job. They cap my shoulders and extend down my arms around and under other tattoos right to my elbows and make their place behind the cameo on my back and all the lyrics.

I feel complete now. Never thought I would but I also never thought I would be finished.

For funsies he also tattooed LOCH across the knuckles of my left hand. I wanted to forever but I wasn't sure I wanted to be that out-there, since I can hide this entire suit under the right clothing and have a long history of covering everything with makeup for special occasions because I get tired of the stares.

This is out there. It's on my hand. Mark did a beautiful set of very feminine lettering and I love it. I love the wings too. I sat for nine hours total, bringing me to a total of one hundred hours even. So I'm done and I'm beautiful. Finally.

Happy Birthday, Preacher.

My day.

Deep breath. Open eyes. Nine years and I'm still doing it. I'm still going, Jake.

Deep breath. Try and keep some coffee down.

Deep breath. Church. Every time Sam looked at me I could feel the lump in my throat growing.

Deep breath. Lunch out at the greasy diner. We sat in random booths and filled the whole place. Batman paid for everything. Yes, I ate.

Deep breath. The drive home. Lochlan holds my hand.

Deep breath. Look at garage the whole time he's parking the truck. Don't go inside.

Deep breath. Take PJ's pity-hugs without absorbing them, for self-preservation.

Deep breath. Plan the afternoon. A movie. Maybe a walk in the rain. Maybe a run to see if I can leave the screams inside my brain far behind me. Maybe just a cuddle by the fire.

Deep breath. Didn't do anything. It's raining and dark. So dark. I set all the clocks back last night, and as many watches as I saw. And the house alarm and the trucks.

Deep breath. Day's almost over and then I have tomorrow and then I'm in the clear. Birthday tomorrow. He would have been forty-six. Somehow the after is more easy to navigate than the during. I'll get through it. I'm tough. Tough and raw. Tough and pillowy-weak. A mess.

Deep breath. Every time I take one I bump into someone. I have no personal space. I wouldn't want it but I also need to take that breath soon.

Deep breath. Thank you for shifting an inch to the left, Ben.

Deep breath. I can sleep now.

Deep breath. It's not so bad. It's been so long. It's going to get better. This is fate. This is history. This is the future in which things that happen shape who you become and maybe I'm better than I was. Maybe I'm worse. But at least I'm taking my knocks and trying my hardest. At least I stayed for the character. At least I remained a freak. At least I have the other freaks now, and they keep a circle around me. Not to keep out evil, but to keep in everything else.

At least I can take a deep breath.

Slow (Only took nine years for me to figure this part out.)

Today is just the day before, that's all. It should be a harmless day but instead it's loaded with hollow points and it will bring nothing but death. Death and pain that always seems sharper and more final right now, each year and time keeps passing but it still feels the exact same. Sam can't explain it, Lochlan can't help it, Ben can't fix and Caleb can't have it. It isn't their place. This time is for me and Jacob and it feels like it did right at the beginning.

I took the children out for lunch and shopping and we laughed and I could feel myself starting to slide toward the end of our time out together. I brought them home and then it just rushed away like an avalanche and I can't keep it up anymore, and so PJ made me a drink so stiff it mightn't have needed the glass and August came over to 'hang out' and so did Joel, so I put on the hockey game and retreated to the library to look out the window and have my drink. Lochlan and Ben have taken up positions on either side of the library door, out in the foyer.

Sam is sleeping. When August heads home across the driveway, Sam will take night duty. They're trading twelve hour shifts, which is unnecessary but it's what they have worked out.

Caleb paces at the boathouse and calls Ben or PJ every half hour to see how tonight is going.

How is the night going?

Okay, actually. I'm feeling sad. Defeated, actually. As if I couldn't do enough and then I was forced to stop, because there wasn't anymore I could do, not then. I would have done anything he asked but he never asked. He just left and then he was gone and I didn't get a chance to fix the holes.

OH.

This is how they feel.

Holy smokes.

(Sometimes what you need is what you fight.)

My heartbeat, my oxygen
My banner, my home
My future, my song

He lay there in near-dark, tucking my hair behind my ear, his face just inches away in the tiny bed in the camper.

Why is it still so hard, Peanut? You're perpetually in shock and the rest of the time you'll give your heart in exchange to whoever gives you the time of day. I want it all back. How do we get it back? We are whispering. His eyes fill up and spill over into mine.

We've burned all our promise tickets and are back to square one. We've used up all our good fortunes, bought for a big tip and a promise not to call the cops about the still out behind the fortune teller's trailer. We've come to our year of reckoning and it isn't going our way. So we'll have to use this new map and figure out how to go in a completely different direction. We'll reinvent ourselves again. Not freaks but adventurers. Not children but adults. Not done yet but working on making sure it all turns out okay.

I don't know what he did. I don't know why it still hurts like this. If I did I would stop it. I don't want to feel like this. I want to love you and love Ben and live in the Collective and just be happy but I can't and nothing works.

(The closest we've ever had to normal was that little kitchenette room in Atlantic City. He lost his mind there and I hated it. I hated everything about it. That wasn't living. It was waiting to die.

What if we tried harder?

I feel like I haven't tried at all since our honeymoon. I'm sorry.

Don't be, peanut. You're doing so good.

Doesn't feel like it or I wouldn't make my husband cry almost as much as I do.

He pulls my hands up between us, kissing my knuckles. I hurt for you, bridge. If I could take this pain from you I would. Just tell me what to do.

Take the deal. Take the money. Pit them all against each other if you have to but don't waste an opportunity that's only going to come around once.

What if you-

I'm not leaving you.

We are nose to nose now, eyes wide. I can feel him shaking. I don't know if its fear or the chill in the camper since the heater isn't hooked up and I'm not much enough to keep a whole man warm.

He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. Sleep, peanut.

I nod and my eyes close too, against my wishes to continue to study his face.

I love you, Bridget.