On becoming a day-counter.

Over a month has passed now. A month that in any of Jacob's imaginary travels would have brought forth a choppy, staticky-quick phone call or a hastily-written postcard on one of his trips, now entirely suspect in light of revelations from his letters to me. A month that in past years would have seen Cole settle into a relaxed-tense state, and everyone else drift off to their own space briefly as we lost a little of the brightest hues in our technicolor world.

Living in that moment just before the shoe drops.

I took that shoe and threw it right through the most beautiful stained glass window in my house.

I made a horrific mess.

The house is warm but it has to be plain now. It's a living museum where even the brightly colored toys scattered on the floor rest in the shadows and memories echo off the ceilings of loves gone by, with a tiny young widow who rattles around the halls high on pills and low on energy and the ghosts come at night when she sleeps. Mostly, anyhow.

I have had a long month of explaining myself despite not needing explanations, details which have already been duly noted and absorbed and it's almost time to fully process what I did the weekend after Jacob died.

And I have to be the one to tell it. I'd rather you get all the facts from me than from Caleb.

But not yet. There are more pressing matters to attend to first. There is the living to attend to, first.

Henry and Ruth both had brief speaking roles and they both sang in the choir last night and did a wonderful job. Three songs and some very bright eyes in the audience. Seven minutes in, after the lights went out and the kindergarten kids shuffled onto the stage, Ben appeared behind me, putting his hand on my head and kissing my ear as he sat down. He passed me my hearing aids. I turned to look at him and he shook his head and pointed to the front, as in, we'll talk later.

I turned back around and proceeded to immerse myself in the concert. It was so cute and funny. I felt like I wasn't going to fall apart for once and I turned around when the lights came on to talk to Ben, just in time to see him slip out the door at the far end of the gym. PJ said that he would collect the children and meet me at the truck if I wanted to follow Ben and so I pushed past a crowd growing at the exit and ran outside into the snow where Ben was walking down the path. I called out to him and he stopped and turned around.

Could you just stop, please?

I didn't want you to feel obligated to spend time with me. You wanted space, here it is.

I want you to be present without expectations.

I don't live without hope.

Me neither.

You're going to talk circles around me for the rest of my life, aren't you?

He didn't have the right, Benny.

It wasn't an instruction, Bridge. It was an inevitability. It was a gentle push.

Did Jacob deal in inevitabilities?

No, but I do.
He smiled and I wanted to kill him and hug him all at the same time. Instead I just stood there staring at him, expressionless.

Jacob wasn't a stupid man, princess.

You're biased now. Somehow you tricked him.

No, the inevitability of life won him over, he just takes the time to look for things most people will never see.

I doubt he saw anything. He was trying to help me.

Exactly. So why won't you let him?

Because it means giving him up forever and I'm so not ready to do that.
He was three inches from me then, because he could hardly hear my whispers.

You don't have to give up anything, Bridge. I wouldn't ask you to do that.

He puts his hands on my arms and I pushed him away.

Ben, you can't ask me for anything at all.
And with that I turned and walked away from him. Because the past month of my life went by in a dizzying blur and it went by in drips and fits and starts like molasses (morelasses). Taking forever, agonizingly, slowly. I can't figure out which end is up, which road to take or what to do next.

Ben, no, he has it all figured out. Jacob had it all figured out and Bridget, well, as usual she has no fucking clue at all.

Less like Jake, more like Bridget.

Wow. There's an abrupt turn. Joel just left an eighth message. He has cleared his (light) afternoon schedule and is bringing soup for lunch and the 2-pack DVD of 28 Days Later/28 Weeks Later.

Since if you can't beat a zombie, you might as well join her.

Tonight is dinner for twelve and the Christmas concert at the school.

Staring down the longest day of the year.

    You're right
    I can never lie
    Let me go
    Try to find a home
    I can't wait
    Try to stay awake
    Dead inside
    Bothered by the lie
    You're right

This morning the lights were too bright, the world was too quiet and the pain hurt too much and I made it all the way to the fifth floor lobby when I turned around and jabbed at the button, willing the elevator doors to open and then swallow me whole again before Joel could turn around and realize I was no longer right behind him.

I failed and he turned and came straight over to where I stood with my eyes shut and he took my arm and bent his head in and asked me quietly where I was going.

Home, I whispered.

He shook his head and straightened his back and asked if I was going to spend my days hiding in my ivory tower playing loud music and disintegrating slowly or if I was going to get my head on straight and get through this, expecting me to fall into line.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped in and turned around to face him and I told him that today the music was going to win.

The doors closed on his surprised expression and I am now home with the music on so loud I can feel it in my blood, Jacob's shirt on over my clothes and seven messages on the answering machine from Joel telling me he isn't falling for this and I have been rescheduled for tomorrow where I will be expected to be the person my children are depending on.

He is way too much like Jake.

A little relief, a fourth post. I have no life.

Hey, baby girl.

Hello, Lochlan.

Ben's fine. He came to me before I could go track him down.

Can you talk him out of going to see Caleb?

Too late.

Oh, shit.

No, he's fine, Bridgie. He's here for the night. We're toasting to new beginnings and talking about you.

Oh, that explains the nickname-fest.

I'm on my way to bed soon. Parenthood and alcohol don't mix.

Loch, is Ben drinking?

Of course not. He's not supposed to, right?

Right. Thank God. So he's okay-okay?

The devil didn't eat him, if that's what you were worried about. His soul appears intact, anyway.

I'm glad you called.

So do you want to fill me in on what happened between you and Caleb?

No, not really.

I could always get Ben drunk and then he'll tell me.

That is so not funny, Lochlan.

I know. Sorry. Are you okay?

Should I be?

Eventually. Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow. I just didn't want you to worry. Ben said he would have called but that you're not speaking to him.

Yeah, I don't know what we're doing. We're fighting.

He thought this would be smoother, baby.

There's nothing to be smooth about. I'm not property.

No one thinks you are.

Everyone thinks I am. I was bequeathed, for fuck's sakes.

No, I don't think it was like that. I think Jake wanted to eliminate some of the pressure.

He didn't and I'm so angry, Loch.

Do me a favor, Bridgie and just talk to Ben. Sort it out so you at least are surrounded by magic and not tension, okay, please?

I'll try, Loch.

Thank you, now I'm going to bed while I can, Miss Hope just passed out cold on Ben.

Send me some more pictures, will you?

Will do. Love you.

Love you too.

Oh, I get it now. It was a cover. Distract her and she's a little hurt that Ben doesn't show up but since they're not so much as speaking she understands and then she comes to find out through the weakest link (ha, thank you Christian) that Ben has flown to Toronto to probably lose his temper all over Caleb because it's been a disaster in the making for weeks now.

Loch has gone to try to head him off. Which should be great seeing as how he's exhausted and a little busy at the moment. I'm so impressed, guys. I can't believe not even one of you tried to prevent this or at least tell me beforehand.

I am out of the kid's school pictures and out of tickets to their Christmas concert. The principal, aware that the kids have several 'honorary uncles' who are close, called to ask how many tickets I might need for the pageant and laughed when I said ten.

I love these guys. Truly I do.

The concessions stand.

I had no idea an elephant and a Christmas tree could peacefully coexist in my living room, but they can.

Between last night and this morning, Santa sent his largest, cutest group of elves in pairs and groups here to make sure the surviving Reilly family has Christmas no matter what decisions I make. I was told that, many times over. There will be no more pressure in either direction from any of the guys.

A tree arrived. It was lit and then decorated, mostly by Ruth and Henry, who were handed various ornaments and the other more touching ornaments were quietly re-wrapped and put away again. There's a wreath on the front door and one on the back gate. The lights are on outside. There's a small mountain of presents under the tree and stockings are hung on the banisters because if we put them on the woodstove we'll burn the house down.

Someone put reindeer antlers on the dog. The cat did not go for hers at all. I laughed until I cried and then I did both at once.

There are brownies defrosting and a turkey freezing. There are invitations that I can accept or not, depending on what I decide about going away for Christmas. There was PJ, Joel, Christian, Mark, Rob, Sam & Lisabeth, Andrew, John, Jason and his wife Julie, August and even a phone call from a busy, sleepless Lochlan letting me now that life is going to go on and they'll make sure I am not left behind. I could hear Hope crying in the background and I was so warm.

There was only one absent elf, for he owns the elephant that is crowding me out of my own head.

Except that children don't drink coffee.

Two sweaters, a wool coat, softened wool scarf tightly tied around my neck, my hair pulled back in a smooth chignon, only my gloves are off as I sit across from him in total silence, both of us lost in quiet habits as I twirl my wedding band around in circles on my ring finger using my thumb and the side of my little finger, an action that sometimes ends in fluttering, and he plays notes on an imaginary fretboard, left hand only. It's like having coffee with Buckethead, and I'm tempted to laugh out loud but instead I put on my sorry face and focus my attentions on the frosted window and the wintery city beyond the glass.

Why is the light so dim in here, and the coffee so rich? Why has all the color drained out of his once-warm golden brown eyes as we meet on neutral territory to try and find some peace? Why is it all so pointless and why can I never get warm? Why won't he just talk to me and better still, why won't I talk to him?

We don't talk, instead I stop twirling my ring and reach across the table to stop his fingers and he covers my tiny hand with his big one and he stares at me and I notice the circles under his washed-out eyes and the set of his face. His own sorry face mirrors mine and I abruptly decide that I can't look at it anymore.

He sees the change in my eyes and grabs my hand tighter but I pull away in spite of his efforts and before he can consider saying whatever he wouldn't say when we had each other's full attention, I am gone in a blur of colors, scents and emotions written all over me: robin's egg blue, brown, sandalwood, blonde, mourning and despair. Thankfully he doesn't chase me.

Thankfully.

I hailed a taxi to take me home, settling in the back seat and taking my phone out of my pocket, reaching PJ who had agreed to look after the kids at the last minute. His curiosity was rich in his words but he didn't ask me any questions other than how long I would take to get home. I guessed ten minutes and we hung up. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and then realized I left my gloves on the table beside Ben.

I pulled my phone out again and stared at his name on the already vibrating phone. I answered without speaking, and he said only that he had my gloves and he would bring them the next time he saw me, without making any plans as to time or place. He told me to put my hands in my pockets, that it was cold. An instruction you give to children who don't listen. Careful, deliberate instructions as if they don't know any better. He hung up.

I hadn't even noticed how cold my hands were. I put I them in my pockets.

I didn't watch the game so the Leafs lost.

Good distractions today included oath-inducing windchill temperatures, an offer of full help in grocery shopping, an afternoon in a dark movie theatre watching The Golden Compass and dinner with royalty (Burger King). It was kind of a fairtytale-hamburgery wintery day.

It was nice. Christian made me laugh not once but twice and now I'm typing away wedged in the crook of his arm on the couch while he flips through every channel on my TV and spoilt boy that he is, points out I need satellite TV and then there would be something to watch.

I'll be asleep in about fifteen minutes I bet. I need to send him home.

I seem to have survived my first full day alone in spite of the ever-choking grapevine now clamoring to let me know that Ben is telling people he is now planning on moving.