Good morning! What is it? Tuesday? We have fresh groceries, went out for lunch and came home. The roads are absolutely terrible and the snow is plentiful and frankly I'm fine to stay at home in new pajamas and cuddle with my boys. There's always someone free to do that. Today it's Christian. We read. Or rather, he reads voraciously and I mostly sleep. It's wonderful. Happy Christmas.

The Collective is my army and my army is my broken heart.

(Bear with me. As they say, I have a mental age of nine and so it takes a while to work things through in my head.)

Come on over
Come unglued
It's not easy
To see all of you
Help yourselves
Help is on the way

It's cold. The fireplace is on. The snow piles up on the railings and the window ledges, falling heavily outside. I slide down his knees into his lap proper, my hands holding his face. I kiss him hard. I can't breathe. I try and catch my breath against his mouth but it's gone. I think he took it in order to resurrect me in stolen flames. For show. Today is for show. Today is for reunions. Today is for testing the ice and making sure it holds. I am the only one with doubt. The one always hanging behind. The one who's so curious but will always and forever wait for the go ahead from someone else first. Just in case.

I keep sticking one foot on the frozen surface of this deep pond and retreating quickly as it cracks. Lochlan gives me a gentle shove. The first few steps will be the hardest. It's fine. It'll hold, he tells me. His voice though. It's hard to believe.

Across the shore Caleb stands with his hands out. Come on, he calls. Besides, if you fall through I'll save you. 

Or I will, Lochlan points out.

Or we could go the long way around, August says.

Trust in Him to keep you safe, Sam reminds me.

I can have this paved, Batman says to no one in particular. He fixes things in such a heavy-handed way and I frown.

Or we could just go home and order pizza. Did I mention I think Ben is the smartest person I know?

I'm game for that. PJ. Up for anything.

But when I turn back around the entire pond is surrounded. There's a boy stationed every ten feet.

We won't let you drown, it means. We've got you, it says. My soul tears itself into little pieces like confetti in Caleb's hands and he throws it up into the air. It doesn't come back down. I wait a few extra beats of my heart but it vanishes.

Where did it go? I ask him, my childlike curiosity urgent, uncensored.

Jacob will keep it up there for you. In the meantime it frees you up to live your life. 

How do I know he's in heaven?

He's there, Bridget. If he had ever wanted to be part of this we would have kept him safe too. Kept him strong. But he wanted to be on the outside and that's too hard. He waits for you though. We'll all be together again someday a long time from now. Cole is there too. He hurt so much but he wasn't bad, Bridget. 

My eyes sting and I shut them tight, squinting until blackness floods into view. I rock back on my heels. Andrew steadies me, one hand on my back. I didn't know he came out on the ice with me. My partner in crime since we were in preschool. I always needed reassurance before doing risky things.

I'll do whatever it takes to see this through, Caleb tells me and I believe him. Look where you are, Neamhchiontach. 

I look down at my feet and see clear cold glass underneath, transparent darkness. I'm in the centre. I see rocks, plants frozen in place, cold firm earth from where just before this there was nothing, I'd be over my head, fighting for breath, borrowing strength to be safe.

The Collective stands around me in a closed circle. The ice is holding under all of them. It's freshwater, it's unfamiliar in feel and in composition but they're trying to make a point so they've done it this way deliberately. The two places we would leave empty on purpose always have been filled back in and the wall and the ice is unending, impenetrable. Safe.

2016 will be known as the year we finally fixed all the things we spent every other year breaking, maybe. Time will tell. Time's not a liar, it's a rat. I get that now.

We'll see sooner rather than later. Hold tight, Peanut.

I nod. I am. 

Christmas circus.

Sam lit the Christ candle, slammed shut the book of Luke and broke into Oh Come All Ye Faithful with a satisfied smile, the congregation picking up the song on the second line. He gets a week off starting today. He'll need it to come down from his Christmas pedestal. A full house celebrated with him and he rides on a career high Jake never got to experience but hopefully appreciates from afar.

His bosses love him. His congregation loves him and he is content with himself in a way Jake never was. Maybe I failed to read the writing that I saw on the wall. I saw it, I just didn't read it through.

Merry Christmas Jake. I'll love you forever.

He loved Christmas so much. Every moment was a ritual, every ritual a memory. He futureproofed my life in some odd ways as much as he devastated it in even ways and I stand here with a wine glass that's actually half-wine and half fruit juice (Holiday sangria if you will) because I'm waiting on the turkeys and taking a moment to breathe. I threw open the kitchen windows and the patio doors and took off my apron and poured a big glass, gave PJ a hug and stole a cookie before dinner because pinch me, I'm happy. I'm content like Sam and protected like Jake, my soul heavenbound even if I still don't have it back. It's come to rest in a safe place. 

We worked things out. We're working it out. Not an instant fix, just a radically different approach that everyone somehow agreed on. Maybe it's a Christmas high soon to be dashed. I don't know. 

If it holds it's the most wonderful sum of its parts, I mean people. The effort to forgive and move ahead is duly noted. The sheer will to get along and love and make up and start over is the best gift of all. 

We did it because we have to for survival. We're futureproofing ourselves here. We're making this life better. 

Merry Christmas to all my readers, both fans and detractors alike. 2017 is going to be incredible for me and therefore highly entertaining for you.

The Anodyne Child Princess of Point Perdition: A Christmas story.

I went from not talking to talking for almost twelve hours straight.

We locked ourselves in the library with tissues and alcohol and had it out.

That room is soundproof, by the way. It's a panic-room of sorts with a hidden exit via a staircase down to the basement and outside. The windows are bulletproof laminated glass and the room itself is fireproof and stocked with bug-out supplies and a locking door that can't be picked unless you're Lochlan and you have those questionable skills. It isn't the only room like this on the point, there are two per house (our other one is the studio downstairs) because we're closet psycho preppers, if you need to know, which you don't. It's almost a hobby/sport and less of a necessity thing though, as my contributions to the necessities involve sparklers, glowsticks and Magic Fire. Because I hate the dark and if the apocalypse comes I need small comforts.

Why am I telling you this? Because the biggest small comfort in my life is sometimes a soundproof room, and because when you have Very Big Talks and sometimes fights it's nice to keep the whole mess from your children and those who still don't know you well enough to understand a history so deep there's probably a megalodon at the bottom.

It comes in handy.

Things are changing again. It's a trial. We did it before and it didn't work because the rules were the wrong rules, the greed and the grief bloomed, taking over everything and maybe, just maybe we are mellowing a little in our old age (HAR) and the affronts and implications are no longer the same, the needs are vastly different and so are the means. No more push and pull. I got what I came for. So did they.

More later. We found a new place for breakfast and yet it's casual so the tables are bolted to the floor. Just in case. Trust is always the last thing to grow back in a scorched earth campaign and that's what this has been.

This meal is not a test though, more like a mulligan. No surprises, no ambushes, no cries of First. Just the army as it was always meant to be: together.

Torture.

Caleb had Apology Flowers delivered to the house this morning. I texted him because I thank people when they give me things. Except for yesterday because I couldn't accept what he gave me so he lifted the whole table up and practically threw it, having a Cole-calibre tantrum if ever there was one. He remembered himself long enough to pick up the gift and took it with him when he left.

I stammered something useless at the manager of the restaurant, left him one of Caleb's cards and followed him out, where he was pacing on the sidewalk. I went the other way. He followed and I turned and stared him down until he stopped walking and then I turned and kept on going. I didn't say anything to him and it's driven him half-crazy in the meantime.

The doorbell rings twice. He does that so I hear it. I go and open the door and wait for him to talk.

Say something, please, Neamhchiontach. 

I close the door in his face.

You replied to my text, he calls. Please talk to me. 

I open the door again and he smiles before he sees me ready to throw my phone at him. He catches it and his face falls as I close the door again.

I'll bring it back at supper and we can talk then. Okay? If you need it before then send Padraig over. 

Fucking spectacular.

The haze from the weather burns 'em all together
And I'm losing track of time
Trying to find my own way
What if forever is better than never?
And baby, it's a sign
That we found our own way

I will not let my heart ache

Got kicked out of yet another restaurant. Maybe that's why I like fast food. It's...fast. There isn't time for emotions to change. There isn't time for rage to wash over hope, turning tables, flipping them even, leaving your lunch date to walk down the sidewalk quickly, alone, having to call her husband out of a meeting ten blocks away because she needed a ride home.

The I-told-you-sos are loud today as I was warned multiple times that the Devil is a powder keg of a man, that his peacefulness is a ruse, that he's dangerous and I shouldn't run off for fancy lunches and shopping and time with someone like that.

But I believed in him because I had hope too.

My rage doesn't manifest itself in huge physical displays like his though. I just go quiet. I just cut you out of my life without a word. It shouldn't be called ghosting, however. More like reverse-ghosting. 

More like long overdue. I know my brain's going to cave in at the thought of not having him anymore but at the same time it's for the best.

Or so they say.

Because this can't continue like this. I want to move on. I don't want the rollercoaster of building the trust up and up and up only to have the terrifying plummet back to doubt.

He's going to come crawling back and I want to stand on his fingers, crushing them under my boots so that he can't get purchase on me, destroying his hands so he can't touch me anymore, can't defend himself as I move on to his handsome face, can't save himself when I rip apart his brain or whatever it is that's inside him that made him spend his entire life trying to destroy mine. All in the name of love.

This isn't love, Caleb. How dare you keep trying to call it that, as if you can make it into something beautiful? It never will be and neither will you or I, for that matter. You made sure of that a long time ago.

Solstice.

It's difficult to celebrate the rebirth of the sun, the travel from darkness back into the light, on the shortest day of the year.

Who decides these things?

We marked the sunrise with a toast to the horizon and then a chilly rush back up to the house where fires are lit as well as the Christmas trees and boys sleep on. Some of them have started Christmas vacation already. Some of them now have to change out of warm sweaters, pajamas and boots into business attire and go to work (dammit, Lochlan). Still others will stoke the fires of hell in case the warmth of a different sort invites wayward lost folk in to soothe their cold achey bones.

I am not wayward. I am not lost. I know exactly where I am. 

No, you don't. 

You don't want to do this today. This is my third least favorite day of the year. 

Oh, if only I could keep up with you, Neamhchiontach. Caleb kisses the top of my head and I wait to see if there's a hug chaser or if he smartly retreats. Ah. Brains today. Don't push the wolf's buttons. Not today. Today is going his way and if you change that he's going to eat you alive.

I have something for you. A subject change within the narrow focus of things the Devil actually likes to talk about. Procurement. Investment. Victory. Death. He isn't all that well-versed in idle talk. Not like all the rest. He is the heavy boot crushing the abject creativity of the rest of this Utopia and all it does is force us to work that much harder. Not a bad thing, truly.

Christmas is on Sunday. Today we are dealing with the dark. I am morning-drunk and I hate the solstice and everyone knows it. I watch the length of the days like other people watch television, rapt and eager to see how it turns out.

Right. I thought I could make that better by treating you to brunch and presents. For a minute there I thought he meant presence and I was pleasantly surprised before I remembered who I'm talking to.

I thaw, but just a little. He brings out the shallow waters in my otherwise bottomless depths. Baubles, shiny magpie things. Curiosity. And like I said, death.

I have to ask. 

Who in the fuck must you ask if Pyro has already left for work? 

I smile. Ben. 

Ben is home? (Ben was in Los Angeles for two days (too long). I hate it there so I didn't go but Daniel went to be his straight and narrow and he did well and they got the hell out as soon as they could.)

Yes. Another smile. Ben is my favorite thing in the whole world and he isn't even a thing, he's a person. I don't objectify my boys, I worship them. He got in late last night. I'm fucking WRECKED. I smile really big for effect. You know when you've been on a horse for a whole afternoon and you can't-

Bridget. 

Yes? What? 

Are you free for lunch? 

Ben isn't awake yet. 

You're an adult. You decide. 

Yes, I'm free. 

Meet me at the car at eleven. I'll make reservations. 

Where? 

Not fast food. 

Well, duh. I don't think you can get a table held at those-

Bridget. A withering stare.

I'm just curious. (The permanent disclaimer.)

You always are. I count on that. I'll choose some place bright so you can feel better about the solstice and be in the sun. Maybe you'll grow. 

Oh well, if the digs are coming along they can take my chair and I'll stay home. 

But then you won't get your present. 

What is it? 

Join me for lunch and you'll find out.

Executive, execution.

His heart beats like a metronome, lulling me to sleep. Slowest when it can find mine nearby. When he stops talking, negotiating, threatening and gives in. When his fear becomes my power I feel like I can relax.

Stay, Neamhchiontach. It's Christmas. His voice breaks down into a whisper on the last word and I note the pain audible in his voice.

I'll come back. I don't know as I say it if I want to or if I'm stalling. I forget everything when I'm here.

He tells me he'll replace the things he broke in the front hall yesterday. I nod, uncommitted. The vase isn't as important as the argument that saw its demise. I'd rather replace the goodwill between them. I don't care about a stupid vase.

Not the point. He reads my mind.

It IS the point, I argue and he gets up, heading into the kitchen, suddenly wide awake, like me. The conversation is over and with it, any  power I thought I had in a moment where my guard was nowhere to be found.

***

I got the turkeys today! Five of them. Almost twelve pounds each which is sixty pounds of turkey and probably not enough. Which...is one turkey per oven on the point if I can convince everyone to babysit the birds instead of being here together on Christmas day. Huh. I think we'll hatch them in shifts like we usually do. One in my oven, one in Dalton & Duncan's, one in August's, one in Caleb's and one at Daniel's, with Batman's being the backup oven in case of weird power outages or sudden appliance breakdowns.

(Because I told you about the Kraft Dinner Thanksgiving, didn't I?)

A case of stuffing. Twenty pounds of potatoes, ten of carrots and we're going into full Army Mess mode to get this dinner pulled off. I had to special order the rolls everyone likes because the bakery told me I couldn't buy them out but they will have enough for me by Thursday and I bought cheap white wine because it's tradition and chocolates because no one ever wants dessert. Six cans of cranberry jelly because it's good and three big squashes because they bake up fast with a little butter and brown sugar and hopefully there will be room with the turkeys in the oven. All technical five houses are going to eat together here because I get what I want and because like he said, it's Christmas.

Soul reversal.

He is a wolf. Maybe a wolf and a fox mixed together because of the red. Red fur around his jaw, red curls spilling over the shoulders of his flannel shirt, his hair almost flat on his skull due to the weight of those big curls. His hair grows so fast he looks like a wild animal half the time and as he all but bares his teeth at the devil I daresay he acts like one half the time. The feral references aren't just for me, they're for us, because being on the road is polarizing and savage when you're on the amusement circuit and is nothing at all like being on a tour bus playing gigs. We strip it right back to survival mode and anything else is sheer decadence and comfort, even the dumbest things I don't take for granted even today, like a working washing machine, a hot shower or a really long hug from someone Safe.

Safe is still (and forever will be) a four-letter word, spat in insolence and incredulity alike, ravaged in irony, fought for in wars. Not every war makes the papers though. Theirs is a long, slow burn.

It's not your worry, Diabhal. There are the teeth. Slightly crooked, perfect-sized, glinting in the light along with his flashing eyes. They got into it in the vestibule at church while we waited in line to find our coats.

Dóiteáin, I wasn't speaking to you, if you don't mind.

PJ hisses at them both. Take. it. outside. Better yet, take it home. We'll square you off in the snow and you can beat each other right.

They both look at him for a moment before choosing to drop it.

Then Caleb flipped the table in the foyer when we got home, and my gorgeous crackle glass vase lived up to its name as it shattered into a million pieces on the floor, mixed with the boughs of greenery and holly branches I had sourced to try and decorate when I am usually overwhelmed by the sheer size of the house and so I do nothing.

Sam? I thought you were being figurative, Bridget and you? He looks at Lochlan. You LET HER?

She can have anything she wants.

Maybe you should work on giving her what she needs. Oh, wait, that's my role here. To come in and clean up everyone's messes and get her back on her feet after you all take what you want-

Diabhal, stop it! He had nothing to do with it.

Bridget, don't defend him. If he didn't tell you he was fine with it you wouldn't do it.

It's not like that.

Please explain what it's like, then because all I see is him making you sicker, telling you to do whatever or whoever to get back at me. You think he has your best interests at heart? I think he's got his own interests at play here.

She's happy, Cale. Don't fuck with that.

But Sam? SERIOUSLY? I thought we agreed that this would never happen again? That we would never have to face a showdown with a preacher because we agreed to keep her from this. And you bring him to her on a platter.

She's fine.

She's not fine. LOOK AT HER! They all turn to stare at me and I try to hold my head high but I'm shaking.

Leave, please. I tell him.

I'M TRYING TO KEEP YOU SAFE! THEY'RE THE WOLVES, BRIDGET. I'm just a man trying to keep everything together here.

Lochlan slides his arm around my back and pulls me in to face him, tucking me against his chest, his scratchy wool jacket burning my cheek. He bares his teeth again and the walls fall away, leaving only the trees and the snow. She asked you to leave.

What's yours is mine.

This morning Sam had one early service and cancelled the other, the fourth Sunday of advent even which he doesn't take lightly but it's snowing like gangbusters outside again. It's very weird to have snow at the bottom of the mountains and people drive in all new challenging ways than usual so he made the call and got the word out immediately after first church, which we shall call regular service as it was indoors and no one had to fight to remember the words to the Christmas hymns. The books are right there, one for every two people. We have to share.

That was his sermon today as he lit the candle on the big wreath. Sharing. Sharing the Spirit, sharing the word of God, sharing our blessings with others.

You should have seen the look on Lochlan's face.

You should have seen the look on Caleb's.