Focus on Daniel, you idiots.

Looks like another day staring at this print in the hallway, which I love anyway, being a van Gogh fangirl and thinking about this message that was kindly forwarded to me:

No, man, she put herself squarely in between Ben and Caleb. Together they practically invoke Cole. Which puts her as far away from preacher boy as she could get. It's a knee jerk for sure. I gave it a year but she's still holding on to him so we'll give it another and see where she is then. What's sad is that everyone thinks they can be the one to make a difference. We all want the same thing. Makes me infuckingsane.

Update.

Thank you if you're praying. We've been home for a little while. Daniel has a hefty list of minor injuries, or maybe they're major, I have no idea, I'm just thankful it wasn't any worse. He looks like he got the wrong end of a hockey stick in the face. A broken nose, concussion. Some bruising. Okay, a lot of bruising. He'll be purple-dan by tomorrow. They're keeping him for a few days and then we'll bring him here and spoil him rotten for a few weeks.

It took a lot of convincing to get Schuyler to come here to stay too. He's still at the hospital with Daniel and is worse-off emotionally. They were fighting and from what I gather ultimatums were given and Daniel took off his seatbelt because Schuyler was going to pull over and let him out. But the ice was black and it was still dark and the car is toast.

Daniel was almost toast, and I'm so glad he's okay. So glad to the point where the other shit pales because this is bigger. I daresay it will be a cold day in hell before Schuy forgives himself and we all started suggesting he see a counselor. It broke the black ice around Daniel's bed, anyway. Even Satan showed up, since it was cold there in hell, to check on Daniel and give me the week off because I'm the closest thing to a mother/sister/lover that Daniel has.

You know what I mean.

I'm rattled. Going to bed now.

This morning Schuyler lost control of his car and rolled it into a ditch. Daniel wasn't wearing his seatbelt and he's pretty smashed up but he'll be okay. Schuy is okay. They were fighting. Everyone's shaken.

Prayers would be appreciated.

Metal Christmas.

Fall on your knees
Oh, hear the angel voices

Far be it for me to be the only one to feel things so pointedly.

Sam is gathering up his resources for another very special candlelight Christmas eve service at church this year, it's only thirty days away so he's doing well to work hard to keep it simple, stark and profound. And it seemed safe to reinstitute the highlight of the service each year, having lost it a few times since I began to share it with you. One year being the Christmas that Jacob had the cold to end all colds and actually gave up right in the middle of a sermon, and the other year was last year and I don't know what they did because I was hardly present and not in a position to do or remember much of anything past spending Christmas staring at the fire trying not to cry for Jacob, while Ben held my hand.

Maybe that's why this year Sam is giving Ben the glory moment of the service. I'm not even sure that Ben wants it, because Ben and church aren't all that friendly. But Ben and music, extremely friendly. To the point that I might be jealous. And if you recall me whingeing romantically about wailing, ragged male voices singing, I'm in for a treat.

Sam asked Ben to sing the closing carol this year. Ben with his beautiful three-octave voice. O Holy Night. A song that seems to give everyone chills. Only this year Sam would like to hear the whole thing. And Ben does fine til he hits the second Noel. He stops breathing or something and cracks the note but he's been working on it all morning and I'm almost a puddle on the floor. I'll need the next month to learn not to cry while he's singing this one. Some of the songs he sings, it just happens, like turning on a tap, but I'm working on it.

I held the phone out for PJ and I'm sure it made him cry too, he just won't admit it.

Ben shows up Josh Groban, anyway. I just need to convince him to do it without the guitar. But he's always put a lead on his carols. Doesn't everyone?

PS The hilarity ensues in email. Let me clarify one thing: This is for the late service. Sam will not be inflicting Ben on the early congregation. Ben scares the little old ladies with his tattoos and his nail polish, even though if they would just speak to him they would see how non-scary he can be.

Pair bonding.

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life,
I know you'll be a sun in somebody else's sky
but why can't it be mine?

I know his hands and his heart are hurting but he was there, last night. When I turned over to burrow deeper beneath the blankets in the cold air of night his arms opened to pull me in against him and I woke up fully and put my nose against his shoulder and opened my eyes and then closed them again. His hands slid up around my neck and then his thumbs came to rest in front of my ears, his fingers cradling my head against his skin. So, so warm. Kisses, hot, searching. I put my arms around his neck and he lifted me underneath him, exhaling out loud, trembling against me as he pushed me down hard, his hands leaving my head to wrap around my back. He kissed up underneath my chin, along that magic goosebump path to my heart and I locked around him. We didn't sleep anymore and when the sun came up he took my hand in his and pulled me with him under a hot shower.

So I could see the extent of the bruises. Both knuckles raw and the shadow of a landed strike on his cheekbone. I didn't say a word. If they want to continue to use their fists to solve their issues with each other well past their twenties then I'm going to ignore all of it. I can now. After a difficult morning in which I wanted to just stop worrying, Lochlan called me and said he and Ben made their peace, took each other to the ground and got over themselves, but he is going home to be with his daughter and regroup and he'll be bringing her back her with him for Christmas this year, if we'll have him. More apologies, more hesitant admissions that none of us seem to know what we're doing anymore and I stopped him mid-sentence. I stopped him because my conviction came bubbling back up from the depths and I said that I know what I'm doing and I know who I want to be with and I know I'll fuck up and tell you I don't but in my head things have changed.

I'm not cold at night anymore. The part of the night I did sleep, I slept hard, one hand stretched out to touch Ben's shoulder, forehead pressed against his arm as I listened to the sound of his peaceful, shallow breath. He doesn't seem to have caught on that when I want to wake him up at four in the morning, I can just put my hand over his mouth. What's good for the goose is good for the gander. But since it's already dark again, I'll spare you all my useless facts about Canada geese and simply point out that I will happily get no sleep tonight at all. At least, that's what I've been told.

Warpath.

Ben is home. And we're learning the usual character-building lessons along this way, learning about the fine balances that exist in all of us between our own selfishness and the need to protect the welfare, and well-being, of those we love. It's such a very fine line, you can see where we have all crisscrossed back and forth over it so many times, it's hard to tell it's even still there. It's the difference between what you really want and what you know is right, or better for everyone. It's a struggle, that's for sure, and if we need to be the poster children for building that kind of character then someday I'm going to be the most magnificently graceful human you have ever seen.

But who cares? He's home. He's home and he's plotting to go remove alpha from his selfish perch and some of the guys offered to help Ben because they're pissed at Lochlan for messing with my head so badly but really the risk is one I take and so it falls on me and I'm trying to assume that Loch holds his own internal struggle on a daily basis that means he is just as human as I am.

But he does need an attitude adjustment, and since Ben has no qualms about taking a good hard swing at anyone who threatens the fragile happiness of one tiny little insignificant Bridget, I think Lochlan would be smart to take his epic and flawed humanity and run.

A literary count (to ten).

I can't stand it
I know you planned it
I'm gonna set it straight,
This watergate
I can't stand rocking
When I'm in here
Because your crystal ball
Ain't so crystal clear

Let's take a few lines from one of Henry's favorite songs, add in a dash of conscience and stir it all together. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees, then turn it off, leaving the dish in all week long.

Dinner is served. We'll call it a recipe for disaster.

I bet you thought it wouldn't be such a big deal but it quickly got out of control and your saving grace is your inability to deceive, at least for long, and the constant headache and the hum in my ears and the songs in my head wore you down, you can't stand to see me suffer and so you caved first and you're really lucky you did, before I took the kids on a dangerous wintery three-hour drive for nothing.

Loch came over during dinner, with my letter. The letter Ben left for me because Seth is all business all the time and he took away Ben's phone, left Loch as the usual alpha in charge of city stuff and opted for some time away, a chance to deprogram Ben one-on-one away from his usual distractions. A heavily sanctioned plan by all involved for four days, just to get Ben grounded again briefly. Nothing but nature, trees and his own sober self. Which has always worked wonders to put Ben at ease in his own skin, a place he has never been comfortable.

They are coming back tomorrow.

Only Lochlan figured if I didn't get the letter he could achieve three things. Firstly, he could pay Ben back for their scuffle over who was in charge a whole whopping week and a half ago, secondly, he could drive a wedge between us, when he doesn't seem to realize there are two wedges already between us, in the form of ghosts, and three, he could move in on Bridget. You know, since he wants me and doesn't want me and generally makes my poor little head wobble in crazily dizzying circles.

Then he just couldn't go through with it because he saw something he didn't expect.

Me.

Missing Ben. Being hurt and lashing out in my old predicatble ways, but without my heart in it. Because my heart isn't broken anymore and I don't have it anyway. It's with Ben. All of my thoughts are with him and I'm here hanging on to what I thought was an interminable time alone, veering wildly between what I've done in the past and almost nothing less than normal to try and find a way to feel better, but not falling apart, not giving up, just settling into a functional despair.

Not like me, no. Not like me at all.

Time apart from Ben is a hole in the center of my chest. It's a burning, aching void where he is supposed to be and I....

....guess I didn't expect that.

We used to be comfortable as adversaries, almost secure in our own convictions that we were right and the other would come crawling back and we'd make up. This time felt so final it was as if I had buried him with the others and time stopped once again.

And of course, Ben thought I had the letter and was toughing it out. He kept telling Nolan he was proud of me. Nolan was just plain confused. Hell, everyone was confused because Lochlan told them that I wanted a break. He took a page from Jacob's history and attempted to isolate me in order to ensure my focus (and my dependence) would be on him.

It would have worked too. I do really stupid things when I feel rejected or worse, abandoned.

Only I don't think I am fragile miss Bridget anymore, you know that? And I'll tell you up and down, swearing on graves that aren't even settled yet that Ben is a welcome distraction but he's nowhere near on the scale of love that I once held for other men, and I'd tell you he drives me nuts and I may even tell you I'm killing time and so is he and that we're doing it together because no one wants to be alone.

And I would be a liar.

This is hands-down the best letter I have ever read. Because Ben is a liar too. And there is more to us than just a couple of fucked-up mistake-making, struggling failed human beings that you see before you. So much more. So stop trying to sabotage the best thing that's ever happened to me.

And now if you'll excuse me, I need to go express my disappointment. In 3....2....1....

Be easier if I had a job in the Keebler factory.

I'd love to say
Do you love me, but
I'm as humble as a bumble bee
I'd walk away
If you come with me or
I may crumble
For all to see

Well, it's Thursday and that means my first week of gainful employment comes to an end in about five hours and I'm glad because I have spent the day so far hiding at my desk looking out the window and hoping no one notices how red my eyes are, or my nose. Thankfully it's college-boy-lunch day and so Caleb has pretty much cleared the day so that he can fly out to go and drink and eat and smoke cigars and tell stories with his university and law school classmates. I asked him to send one of his henchmen to my house to collect the Lexus because I told him many times over I had no intentions of driving it and I think he thought I would change my mind. I didn't and I finally grew tired of it taking up half the driveway. Not that the driveway is full, mind you. We're short one truck because Ben has his at the farm. I spoke to Nolan last night. He said all Ben has done is sleep and eat and grunt responses at Seth, who spends a lot of time on the phone, and that they've been back to the city every second day now, so that's two trips back since Monday and still Ben won't call, because he's working on himself and he won't call. The last time Seth was here I met him on his way home and Ben had literally disappeared to the point where I thought something had happened to him, like that maybe Jacob had murdered him and buried his body in the dirt floor of the church cellar and then poof, he appeared, clean and rested and back to his old self but better because we all know how depraved his old self can be and that wasn't going to fly after what led to sobriety the first time around. And frankly this isn't flying now at all because he has a wife and kids and you just don't take off without saying goodbye and I know he's not far and I can talk to Nolan any time I please but it's not the same and it leaves me here alone which right now isn't good either.

God, why didn't I wear waterproof mascara? This morning instead of running I broke into the church and sat in the first pew where I used to sit but I don't anymore, with my headphones on, listening to music that Jacob sang most often because I keep a playlist that I can torture myself with because it's nice to feel even when it's painful and Sam appeared out of nowhere but I didn't say anything to him, I just held out my hand with the key in it and kept my headphones in my ears and I bet he could hear the music because it was loud. He shook his head and took my hand, closing my fist around the key, telling me I could keep it. Last night Loch yelled at me because he doesn't understand why I'd ever want to spend any time with Satan at all but he doesn't understand the need to keep the Coleries and the Jakories as they have come to be known and I know that nothing is worth more to me in this world then those things and they come from such unlikely places. In his own frustration he kissed me a little too hard and held on a little too tight and the really stupid part of Bridget's brain asked him to stay because she is so tired of being alone but he thankfully refused even though he wanted to because life has changed and all of the sudden no one wants to take advantage and advantage is being given out still because everything can't be changed all at once. This isn't fair but it's right and right is the high road, today.

I believe I'll leave early. No one will ever know. The doorman won't tell, I'll just tip him well to keep quiet.

Ah yes, little miss fragile. Pretend. You've gotten so good at it.

You know there's something missing.

Don't find nothing
No more coincidences

Pretty baby
Look in his eyes and you will see
Things will happen
But only if they're meant to be

Lochlan's going to roll his eyes. He's not a bad boy, he would never understand.

In the brief interim between when Loch broke up with me and I fell for Cole, I had a crush on Charlie Sexton. This one. (Please remember, this was 1985. Not the recent Arc Angels-version Charlie.)

He was such a bad boy. A loner with earrings, cigarettes, a leather jacket and a chip on his shoulder five miles wide. A guitar.

But this post isn't about Charlie. Despite how under-appreciated he is.

When I walked into work this morning, Caleb's new habit seems to be to cross to me, put his hand on the small of my back, lean in and kiss my temple, and then he'll ask me how I am and what I'd like to listen to today. This morning I said Charlie Sexton. He laughed.

I haven't heard that name for years.

Eighty-five.

You would have been fourteen?

Yes.

I see. When you and Cole got together.

Thereabouts.

No Jacob music today?

Fuck you, Caleb.

My apologies. It was uncalled for.

No, it's fine.

We get along very well, as you can see. This week I've gone from bitterly confident to miserably convinced that I shouldn't be working for him. Maybe the other guys are just wearing me down. Maybe old habits die hard and bad habits are hard to break, and please pick a proverb on my behalf and I'll take my blame and go home. Don't get me wrong, Caleb has been nothing but a gentleman (alright, almost) and as bosses go I think he would be so far among the very best kind to have, but I'm growing rawer as the week goes on.

Ben and Seth have gone to the farm and as per usual, when Bridget is out of sight she is out of mind. Ben has terrific focus. To the point where he forgets about me and everyone else is left to try and fill in around the edges of my issues with epic imaginary loneliness. Which can't be quieted and so instead I'm left to defend myself against a relentless onslaught of negativity about my new job and my boss and just about everything else I do. Or sometimes so it seems.

I need a hug. Probably be a while before I get one again.

Beat's so lonely indeed, Charlie.

Hell is caffeinated.

We found you sleeping by your lover's stone
A ream of paper and a telephone
A broken bow
Across a long lost violin

Your lover's angel told the captain's man
It never ends the way we had it planned
And kissed her palm
And placed it on your dreaming head

It's a sad day when your boss asks you to bring your violin to work and then makes you play for a cup of coffee.

I would have played for free, but he buys the very good coffee that I told him I liked. The Sumatra beans from the Human Bean, ground very fine. Served black, in a cup as large as one's head. That was my gift for my song today and now I'm in the throes of setting up my new (work) laptop and pretending that this morning didn't bother me one bit.

The contractor came by with his new plans, and Ben's surprise went out the window. The original suggestion of making the old turret into a widow's walk was shot down before he finished describing it. Simply because of the implications. Can't do it. Don't want to do it. Dear God. So Ben came up with the idea of taking out the windows in the upper old porch which is now a playroom and glassing in the walls to make an atrium. More usable than the turret, and then we could have plants. So many plants. All sun all the time. Bridget remains in the house instead of being on the roof.

Only he meant for it to be a secret for me and I stood like a fool and grinned at the contractor and told him that he needed to call Ben, that I wasn't supposed to know.

He said he would try, sheepishly. Then the car was waiting and I almost forgot it was time to go to work. Mike (Caleb's driver) waited patiently while I ran around collecting my bimbo shoes (whoops.) and pulling on my boots and got two laptops and he met me halfway up the sidewalk and handed me a Blackberry BOLD (HELLO!) and on it was a message to bring the violin so I went back in the house and got my case while Mike put everything else in the car.

And now I'm here. I think I figured out the coffeemaker and have pointed out bosses don't take their employees out to every meal and I brought a pear and a banana even and I won't starve. Caleb smiled (again. Stop that.) and pointed out few employees would adhere to a dress code the likes of his. I pointed out few girls like me would fail to indulge someone in a fetish and he asked me if that was so.

I just stared at him and then we both dropped it and started talking at the same time. About the weather.

I think it's already been a long week and I'm ready for a day off. Just from the psychological pressure. I'm the ninety-pound weakling and he is the bully.

Only holy, has Caleb been a busy beaver. Not only do I have a Bold which is awesome and my Blackberry curve is now happily living in my bra because the bold can be the bat-phone, but he had a desk made for me. A desk made from a Victorian gate, with a glass top and inlays made of beach glass and mother of pearl. And he put it in front of the big window in his office so that I can look out over the city. With a big comfortable overstuffed parlour chair I can curl up in. And it defies his masculine sensibilities because he has this behemoth of a wooden medieval desk already in the centre of the room and this beautiful little thing throws off the whole look. It's out of place.

Oh, wait. I just described Bridget, didn't I?

Actually, Caleb came up with that one.

He is spoiling me because after yesterday I don't think either one of us thinks this is going to work. But we're both too stubborn to give up without a fight. Okay, maybe that's just me and I'm projecting.

That's what seven cups of coffee will do for you.

Wait, what was I talking about again?