Theatre of idiots.

Jacob's dad walks into the kitchen early this morning.

Doing a little writing, Bridget?

No, just checking the news.

I don't know why I lie about the writing. They know I write (hello), they know I write daily if not hourly and that I chronicled every single day that I spent with Jacob. In some ways my writing is far too personal to even acknowledge which is ironic, knowing the mediums I use. I guess it's the journal that was/is private, began in secret. Cole was so surprised to learn of it, I've never been the one to bring it up since.

Jacob's parents are incredibly glad to see all of us, most especially the children. They are almost thrilled that nothing ever changes and the first order of business today will be to replace the window in the garage and take Lochlan in town to the dentist, since Ben and Lochlan already managed to conduct a fist fight in the side yard, complete with broken glass and teeth. God Bless Lochlan but he really needs to think before he opens his mouth because he is the smaller of the two and it's always his teeth in the grass. Ben couldn't quash an impulse under threat of death and frankly I think the whole throw down in Bridget's honor is not nearly as honorable as it once was, you know, back when we were in high school. Nevermind the fact that I didn't go to high school with Ben.

No worries, they made up five seconds later, and Ben gets to be the one to take Lochlan in town and then Lochlan gets to be the one to explain to the children why it's wrong to punch people.

Jacob's father laughed, while his mother ran to get ice in a towel, marveling exactly how little has truly changed in all these years.

I could say the same.

Jacob's parents are love. They both look well and as good as they ever will be, missing Jacob so dearly. Life remains black and white for them, and their daily routine changes little. It's nice to poke around a little and make the calls that will bring someone to fix the things that they put up with and chip away at making their lives as easy as we can. They are so proud, it isn't an easy job.

I have not gone into Jacob's room yet. The door is open, I got halfway down the hall. The kids went in and I had to send August in after them because I was afraid they might disturb things. They didn't, and Ruth and Henry were more touched then I expected them to be, to be here again. They have been back with Caleb so their last visit was without me here and maybe everyone is just backing off a little and seeing how I am doing and not pushing and it's all very gentle and quiet but the wind still blows. The relentless wind.

I'm trying not to be difficult, trying to find the good in all the little things and I've been eating the feelings as they come up, dry-swallowing the hard parts before my eyes get too stingy and my hands start to flutter. But no one is dumb. The only thing is I probably would have cracked but the fact that the boys followed me here to continue to be my knights means I now have an obligation to pull the fuck together and make it a successful visit that doesn't end with those grim looks over my head as they wonder exactly how long the road back will be this time.

I would say I'm faring a lot better than Ben and Lochlan, who will be heading up the immature end of thing this time but that's only because I waffled yesterday and basically hammered Ben into the ground and I'll atone for that when he atones for the equally unfair things he does.

Trust me when I say we are even, and forgive me when I fail to tell you why.

Sometimes I hold all the power which makes life difficult when one would prefer to fall apart. I've done that so much it hardly seems worth the fallout anymore, especially this far from home.

And so instead I sit in this kitchen which boasts so many coats of paint over the years it has lost its corners and is growing smaller, and look out over the ocean that still makes me cry and try to understand how I would have ever been enough to make Jacob change his plans of coming back home after graduate school to live in the town he grew up in and instead come chasing after me.

Bridget versus the ocean? It seems like such an easy choice.

At least to me.

I'm sure there's going to be many emotional rollercoasters to ride before we leave here on Thursday. I'm thinking that for some of them I may just wait at the bottom this time.

And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go walk on the beach before lunch. Out here, that's where he is.

I am slow. the distraction of a day and a bit in Montreal gave Lochlan, PJ, John, August, Andrew, Duncan and Sam time to get to Newfoundland ahead of me.

So they would be here when I needed them.

Good morning, Jacob.

I am still in Montreal. We crashed Sophie's party last evening and she seemed touched that we are continuing on to Newfoundland this morning. She looked well and whatever jealousy issues I have with her didn't seem to come up even once. She wrote a hasty note to bring along. I sealed it in a hotel envelope because I didn't want curiosity to get the better of me and it would have. Her relationship with your folks is far different than mine. I don't know which of us got the best of you. I am always hoping it was me.

I'm leaving soon to fly out. We've had a few delays and I'm reduced to emptying out my head because I've done everything else. They are off looking at the plane. The kids have fallen asleep here beside me as I sit in this stupid molded chair. I have all our coats bundled around them to make it comfortable. It isn't.

Once I get where I'm going you will be different. Fondly remembered, anguish in the time that has elapsed since your death. Everything you ever did, said or thought was good to them and I won't have it any other way. The flight was a desperate action. Uncharacteristic but understood because they have no choice. Horrible feelings to have to have but overall they are so proud of you. You are still Jacob with your beautiful white-blue eyes and white-blonde hair and your size fourteen feet. Oversized in every way.

In my concrete room, you are twelve feet tall. I walk in and look up and up until it hurts. I could hide in your wings if I could bear to touch you.

I don't actually know why I'm here.

I guess I do, in a way. Ben is trying to tick off whatever list I can come up with of things I need to get done before the week that I would like to take back. If only I could do anything in this entire lifetime of mine it would be to take that week back. October 24 right through November 7, 2007 because right up until that moment I thought I had my forever.

I fought too much, Jacob.

I fought to make you everything and it wasn't fair.

Bear with me, I've got to get this out now, because I'm really sure that I'm going to step out of the truck and step into Jacob's father's arms and he'll smell like Jacob and talk like Jacob and I'll waver ever so slightly like the old Bridget and the world is going to end. I wager I have about five hours left to my life if that's the case and why anyone would want to allow my children to witness that I will never know.

I'm sorry.

He was everything and now he's missing and I filled the space in with Ben because Ben seems to be able to take a lot and keep on going and he's not smart enough to understand that he made a big mistake with me and maybe that's okay because better me than some vacuous tramp who wants to ride his coattails. I'm not good for him, Jacob. But I know why you did this and I know you're there standing in the middle of the room right smackdab between us when we argue. I know you watch when he touches me just as much as he ever did and I know that unlike everyone else Ben isn't going to just get up and walk away from me and never come back.

Sad that the flightiest, flakiest, most immature one of the lot is the one who turns out to be the pillar of strength, isn't it?

I'm talking about Bridget.

I don't think I should go anymore. I know I'll disappoint them. I don't think anyone has a sweet clue how hard this is going to be on me and how much it will serve to reverse time and take me back to when things were different. I've been numb for so long. The dead lurches in my chest from when Ben says or does something so unlike him serve as my emotions now.

You have all ruined me, but you, Jacob, most of all. I am not your game. I was not some prize to be passed around and you guys all seem to think that my feelings aren't as important as your egos and your places among the others in this twisted brotherhood. I am tired of being the target.

I can see Ben from here now. He is walking toward me from the other end of the concourse. He's got a blind focus that means we're leaving now. Caleb is walking beside him. Sorry, gliding on hellfire that he carries around with him as a party trick. I'm supposed to keep my shit together and start working for him next Monday, a week from today. Right now I think I'd rather impale myself on one of the barbed wire fence-posts that barely keeps people from venturing over the edge of the cliff where the pretty white house sits where you grew up. These two dark overlords are running this show and I'm not all that sure that it's right.

I have made so many mistakes and I have let myself be taken in by charming words and smothering attention and Ben's peculiar, incredible generosity and loyalty and a private history with Caleb that has now driven Lochlan away. I'm not sure I've done the right thing, truth be told. I'm confused. They're exploiting that.

And now I have to figure out how to put it all together while everyone who matters watches from the sidelines. It's far too late for changes.

You could have prevented all of it and you didn't. And for that, I won't forgive you, even though I will love you to the end of my days.

Yours forever,

b

Waking up in Montreal.

We lock our souls in cages
We hide inside our shells
It's hard to free to the ones you love
Oh when you can't forgive yourself
forgive yourself

Last night I panicked. I didn't want to go from the frying pan into the fire and for as much as I love the thought of seeing Jacob's parents and getting another immersion into him proper as much as I can without venturing into the place where I keep him in my heart, it's not an easy thing to do. Add in Caleb traveling with us and I may as well just implode.

I tried to but it didn't work all that well and so Ben pulled out the music and started playing it and he was focusing on upcoming bands like Switchfoot because hell, if you don't know the story of the words wrapped around my ankle from one of their songs and how I think sometimes music is sent to save people who don't want to acknowledge God just quite yet then there is a way for you, my friend.

Ben is more aware of this than anyone in the entire world and he grabbed the headphones and twisted up the dial and rocked me until I stopped shaking and then he rocked me just a little more.

And then he finished packing for all of us which is why I have two unmatched black stiletto boots in my bag and not a single bra. Which will be interesting and at some point I'll have to rectify that but for now he is my life raft in a sea of trepidation because I suddenly don't want to go on to Newfoundland and it's only because I want to be selfish. I want to sit back and take in as much Jacob as I can take in at my own pace because otherwise he just steamrolls over me and I'm reduced to the tiny Bridget who is rescued without any input at all and do you know what means? That means that you're always holding the bike up and steering that bike and then you proclaim that the rider is riding! Only you can never let go again or the rider will fall. I am the rider and he is always holding the bike. Ben doesn't hold the bike. He points it out. He might even stand it up and dust the seat off. Then he stands back, admiring me on it and suggests I bike down the street. Slowly. He says he will wait right here. With bandaids for my knees.

And then he'll close his eyes.

But that's okay. Maybe that's better than always holding me up. He can't and shouldn't always hold me up. He can't save every day and step in and take over as the replacement hero because there is no hero in my story unless it's me. Only I won't get on the bike because honestly I don't like bicycles. They're too high up and they make me nervous and I had a lot of steep hills in my universe growing up and too many boys egging me on to go faster and I could never pull it off quite like they could and it's so easy for them to forget I'm not as capable as they are.

So the trip is a bicycle, the arrangements are Ben's encouragement and the bandaids are Ben and Caleb for when I fall off and shred my skin like ice on the pavement. The music was Ben's way of reminding me that I might not fall off. That I should just keep listening because oh, in a little over two weeks Hello Hurricane comes out and it must be meant for me to keep because that is a post title from June of 2007 that I made (!) that now rests in the archives of Jacob, long off the internet and maybe they will come and play here another time and into the future stretches song after song that I can sing the words to until I know them by heart which leaves no room for errant short-term memory like phone numbers, times and people's names (sorry, H.) and I have that weird inner peace of mind that I can conjure up from that.

I keep getting waylaid by forever and forget to live in the present. Forever is overwhelming and expectant and pressure. Forever demands results and plans and intentions and forethought. Then now is a rush, a clumsy trip over a discarded idea because what if it's not good enough? What if the results are different from the plan? What if none of it works? How do you balance going and getting a coffee and watching a movie when it doesn't further the future? How do you continue to believe in promises and breathing deeply when every time you slip and get comfortable everything gets ripped away from you?

Constantly living on edge. Neverending fear. I've yet to find a professional or a drug that can take those two things away from me, and yet both disappear in two instances: when I get a hug and when I listen to music.

Now you know.

I'm off to get coffee and go explore Montreal. One of those weird living in the moment moments, I guess.

If you see us, come and say hello. Be prepared to give a hug.

New money.

One of the joys of sometimes being able to charm Caleb into the use of his private jet means that he will weigh in on the traveling plans altogether. While I was off collecting Ruth from her class he was deciding that our week should involve a little more fun just in case.

So we are leaving tonight, making a day and a half stop for a little adventure before continuing on to St. John's. Ben thought it was a wonderful idea, a brief chance to spoil Bridget before she starts working again. A little fun for the children before Bridget surrounds herself with the History of Jacob and cracks up again.

Caleb is determined to bestow whatever brotherly advice, assistance and attention he would have spent on Cole on Benjamin instead, and I just get attention period because he is like that with me. And so on that note, I will have to review the concert when I come back. In tandem with our trip. I'm really going to miss the guys but I'm taking the big one with me. He is enough trouble all by himself, but boy, am I glad he's coming too.

See you Friday!

Ridiculously talented cro-magnon men.

What a desolate day. I got up at seven to walk the puppy, having learned I clench my teeth in my sleep and maybe that explains waking up with headaches all the time. It was still dark outside. Winter is knocking on the door. I have it barricaded. Hopefully it will hold for a while.

I'm about to drive downtown to pick up Ruth, who has an early art class each Saturday at a lovely gallery downtown. She will come home with paint on her clothes, clay under her nails and fresh inspiration, for she loves art as much as her father did. As much as the boys do. It keeps them civilized when otherwise I think they would grunt, accept a plate full of meat, beat their clubs for entertainment, go slay another wild animal with their bare hands and then invite me to be wrapped in the animal skin blankets they make and keep me safe through the night. I get all that now plus music and visual arts to keep us refined!

Maybe it's a silly day. Maybe it's just going to be a quiet day.

Maybe something great will happen.

Or maybe I will try for a nap. I do that every five years or so, just out of the blue.

PS I realize I never reviewed the Metallica concert. I will, perhaps tomorrow! It still feels like it was all a dream.

Covenants.

(The crunching noises are the broken records underfoot.)

The quieter drone this morning surprised me. Muffled by cold air, muted with soaking fallen leaves, it was more peaceful and yet far more frightening this morning as I walked quickly down the concrete path, using muscle memory to stay upright over the places where I remember that there are large cracks and the plates have lifted just enough to make you crack an elbow or twist an ankle rather badly. I'm glad I had so much time to learn this route by heart, because it's dark now and it's so much harder to get here. I squeeze Ben's hand, pulling a little. He stumbles slightly and my heart lurches because if he trips or falls I can't catch him, there's no way I could hold him up or rescue him from a falter the way he has done for me countless times. It makes me feel helpless. It makes me feel responsible.

He isn't feeling well this morning, running a fever, strung out on exhaustion and the weight of the world that presses down, leaving us blind with headaches and clenched teeth. Change has come, and we are testing how it feels, dipping our feet into it, bravely venturing in for a quick dip and then hurrying back to the edge where we sit and regard how it feels without truly surrendering to the newness. Not quite yet. Soon.

He is trusting me this morning. There is fear but also curiosity and concern. There is the protective nature that once made the decision that led me to latch onto Ben like a barnacle on the side of an old sailboat because his focus is singular but loving. He doesn't want to control, or change, or fix, he simply wants to be here. In his own way with the fireworks of emotions he sets off randomly and without warning, he is a simple creature at heart. He rules by his heart and nothing more. Only his heart is missing because I have it. He has mine in return.

We haven't quite figured out how that works but it will come. It is still new. It seems like forever but it's not.

He looks at me and I point to the door. He opens it and then stands back as I enter without hesitating.

Jacob is standing right in front of me. Wings outstretched. I think we woke him. He is so beautiful I want to cry. He looks right past me to Ben and cocks his head, smiling slightly, thoroughly confused as to why I would bring Ben here. To see this.

Cole makes a soft noise from somewhere up above in recognition. It's been years since they have seen Ben and I didn't warn them. I didn't warn him. I didn't know what to do.

Every time I walk through this door I feel bitterness mixed with relief. It's a safe place. Getting here is so dangerous but the room in itself is inviolable, sheltered. I turn and look for Ben and bump into him. I can feel the tension roiling in him and also that same relief.

What are you thinking, princess?

Jake's focus on me is intense and singular once more, recovered from the surprise of seeing Benjamin in this place because Benjamin knows death and does not like it and thinks I am completely insane sometimes for having made this room. But I didn't make it. I found it! I just surrender to their arguments because there is no point in doing anything else.

He wants to know where I go. I am showing him.

Do you think that's wise?

It really doesn't matter if it's smart. He's not ashamed of me. I can be myself.

Because he has worse problems.

Because he doesn't have an agenda.

A noise from somewhere near the ceiling registers Cole's protest. Jacob frowns, but it's the fake frown he used when he was disappointed and wanted to appear to be troubled. I've had time to study all of his expressions since I kept him.

There is no pretending here, guys.

I see that.

Cole lands behind Jacob and I gasp. Rarely do they stand together and I turn slightly to put Ben in my peripheral vision and it's really amazing to see the three of them at one time and oddly I want to know what color Ben's wings will be someday but then I eat that awful thought, chewing without swallowing because that is precisely why I'm here.

I need something.

A real smile from Jacob, and curiosity from Cole, who always had so much trouble showing any emotion, other than anger and regret. I mistook regret for love. I will never do that again.

I need you to hide him.

From?

Everything bad.

Bridget-

Please, Jake.

He frowns, for real this time.

Fear incapacitates you, Bridget.

No. It doesn't. It creates resolve.

Hopelessness.

Determination.

Only briefly.

Wow, Jacob. As much as I would love to stand here and shake and freeze to death I didn't come to trade big words with you. Will you help me or not?

Help you. Keep him alive?

Yes.

What makes you think I can do that?

The same gift that lets you lie to my face about why you taught yourself to fly. The same gift that enabled to you fool Cole into thinking you were friends so that you could watch over me. The same one that made me think you were human. You never were. You were a dream. I'm asking you to take that focus now and watch over Ben. I can't lose him.

What will kill him is the-

Just don't say it. Keep him fixable. I can't do more than that. I have to keep this at the beginning of the fear or I will stop moving and it will win and I can't allow that.

He needs to do this himself.

He can't! That's why I'm here. I can do this. I'm stronger.

And you'll pay the price.

I should have paid it a long time ago. I didn't ask for this. I asked to take the place of anyone, everyone, I wanted to be the one.

Bridget, don't you talk like that.

This is not a life, Jake. This is breathing through a whole different kind of fear.

Cole stepped forward and stared at me. Hard. An intense, uncomfortable scrutiny that I never appreciated but understood. He nodded at me and smiled and my heart broke with relief.

Thank you. I mouthed it because I knew I would never be heard.

Cole shook his head and spoke, finally.

We're not doing this, baby girl. You are.

Everything went dark and I knew my time was up. We felt our way to the wall and back the way we had come when I heard something. Or I thought I heard something, anyway.

I turned around because we had just stepped through the doorway and I was too late. The door slammed shut in my face. Ben looked alarmed, pulling me toward him, for a split-second wondering if I had left some fingers or toes behind. The noise from the abruptness echoed down the hallway, deafening both of us.

I stared at Ben in the dark. He stared back, maybe finally understanding a little bit of my faith and what my God can do and why I need to keep that room but why he's never allowed to ever come here alone and how I can rectify loving and hating both of the men I keep in that room without going outwardly insane in the process. Why I will protect him until the day I die, and why I was able to extend that day that much further away from me, when before I would have welcomed it with open arms.

Instead, I will use my arms to hold onto him. And I will keep him safe. I have all kinds of resources at my disposal to ensure that this time, there will be no broken promises.

Pour that sugar.

There are no coincidences and Ben has a greater pool from which to fish for reinforcements than I ever realized, an extended network of friends that will give you the teeth out of their mouths if yours are not strong enough to chew. Okay, that sounds disgusting but I like nice teeth and I've seen a lot of amazing smiles lately. It seems that one of the first things someone does when they get a big fat royalty cheque is to run off to the dentist and do things up right.

That's awesome.

Then they drop everything and go stay with friends. Rolling in like vagabonds from the road with a list of meals they want me to make a mile long because I have a "real kitchen" and I think I'm in for a whole lot of running and then I notice that oh my god. They aren't just coming through and stopping in. This was a special trip. Because things needed to get done and hearts always can use a few extra-strong stitches to hold them together and hugs are something everyone needs and no one can buy.

Ben took longer to figure that out then I ever have.

I'm imagining the boys get a weird cross-section of life here in a short time span but there's nothing I can do about that....

Except go make breakfast.

I hate goodbyes.

I will return all the emails in a day or two. I promise!

Mmmmmm, making two big dinners for tonight. Beef stew in the crock pot and a shepherd's pie. Did a little grocery shopping this morning, dog walking and such. It's the last full day of most of our company and then tomorrow will be rather hectic. But above all, I'm going to see my doctor and I'm going to point to my sore throat and swollen glands and say help, jesus, please. Lose a few hours of sleep and the germs rush in and overtake Bridget. Feasting on her vulnerabilities.

Ah well.

Back to the mayhem.

Monday.

And if hope could grow from dirt like me.
It can be done.
Won't let the light escape from me.
Won't let the darkness swallow me.

There is always a singalong when someone plays Down.

There will always be so much attention paid to the Bridget, children and animals that we all implode under the watchful scrutiny of those who hold us within their love.

We will always run out of milk, cookies and bread first, though the turkey, gravy and cornbread stuffing wasn't far behind. The coffee continues to flow, a river of alert cutting a violent path through the sleepy forest, the fog low and thick in the trees.

Snow persists here and there, mostly in the odd, misshapen attempts made by all the children to have snowmen witness the welcome Canadian Thanksgiving, and hearing that the place we head next will be sixty degrees warmer in the winter and yet for some reason they find it cold and still make pilgrimages to buy remote car starters and electric blankets. We marvel at our ability to continue to build such character and to smile through our wasteland of a winter and we know these days are coming to a close, and there are brighter, warmer days on the horizon.

The sun is finally up here, two hours after me.

The puppy has gone back to sleep at my feet. If Henry hadn't made it all the way to ten last night he would be here now scavenging for bagels and honey, juice and a warm blanket and some weekday morning television shows. He really thinks that next Saturday night he'll be able to make it til eleven and watch The Addams Family. I have my doubts.

He is like his mother, who persists in being an active participant long past her expiry time, hiding yawns behind hands and happy to get up and fetch things if only to stay awake, determined not to miss a moment of these times and then forced to pretend she doesn't notice when they all collectively call it a night on her behalf. So she pretends not to see when hours later, she wakes up and gets up for a few minutes and sees lights under the ill-fitting, tiny bedroom doors because no one was truly tired (my time zone seems to be lighthours ahead), and everyone is quietly reading as they wait for the sleep that ambushed Bridget, an unwilling victim, hours before the rest. It's the gift of her own particular brand of endearing exhaustion.

But it is Monday morning, and there is much to do and places to go and music to hear and more good food to eat and a lot of must-dos this morning, like laundry and preparing homework for tomorrow, and life resumes the pace it has set even though we would like it to stay slow and warm and at the perfect volume.