Part two: Proof of identity.

All you are
I have made
All that I wanted
I gave to you
I have no sympathy
I show no mercy
All that I hated
I placed in you

Sunday afternoon in the rain I stood at the very edge of my cliff and I looked out over the sea, sand and grit and bits of concrete stuck to the bottoms of my bare feet, wet hair tangled from the wind, wrapped in one of Ben's big hoodies for warmth but I couldn't get warm.

Low tide.

I stepped closer and that was all it took for the house behind me to explode, doors opening, voices eaten by the roar of the wind in my ears.

The fastest runner reached me first. I could tell by the pattern of his feet and the lack of heavy breath. Caleb.

Princess.

I'm not going to jump, if that's what you think. I need to see them. This is as low as the tide is ever going to be.

Ben's voice next.

Bridget. Sweetheart. We really need to move those so you can see them safely. It's okay to make a mistake.

I've made so many, Benjamin.

No, you're doing pretty good, actually. But we can change them so it's easier.

This is fine.

Not for me.

These were for me and for the children.

And what do they have? They aren't allowed here.

I have ordered smaller plaques and a tree for each.

Isn't that good enough for you?

No.

What can I do, Bridget?

Let me come here without everyone freaking out.

I'm sorry, Bridget, I can't do that.

Traitor. You all want to forget about them.

Never, princess.

He took my hands and bent them up behind my back and held on a little too firmly and I knew that if I stepped away from him I wouldn't die. It's sad that I can't ever give these men that same kind of comfort. I have tried. I can't pull it off for stupid stunts like these.

He came around and stood beside me, still with the painful grip on both of my hands, and he leaned out over the edge.

I know why you did it.

Tell them.

I thought PJ would at least ask you not to come here alone.

He did.

So why are you here?

Because I don't listen.

Ben laughed. A short, sad laugh and he squeezed my hand.

I want to make it better. I thought this might help you, princess. Maybe I screwed up.

I could have installed her downtown in a safe location.

Caleb's voice broke in, a jarring reminder that there were eight other people watching our exchange.

Ben dropped my hands and turned to face Caleb. Caleb's face changed from contempt back into fear. I'm still standing right on the edge. One big gust of wind or rock slide and I'm at the bottom of the cliff where PJ installed the bronzed plaques engraved with the names of my dead husbands, their birth and death dates and one line I chose for each, which I won't share right now. He used concrete screws, and drove them in when the rocks were almost dry, the words facing the cliff so technically you can read them with binoculars from here but you can only see them at low tide and they are not accessible on foot, only by boat. He said it was a fool's errand and cursed me the entire time, and Chris held the ropes and didn't say a word. We don't have a boat. PJ rappelled down.

Ben-

She's not yours, asshole. Stop acting like him. You aren't Cole. She can't get Cole back. You're fucking with her head so bad. Just stop it.

I didn't have to turn around. Thanks to history, I was well aware that Ben would charge Caleb and probably knock him down onto the wet grass and then he'd let him get up just to hit him again. Then the others would intervene because it's not a fair fight. Ben only ever had a fair fight against Jacob. They were the same size. Everyone else is just dumb to pick a fight with someone who can't control their emotions.

With someone like me.

A different voice now. Sweet Daniel.

Bridget, come here.

I turned and wavered slightly and Lochlan closed his eyes. Praying. What the fuck.

Please, Bridget.

I shook my head.

Stop fighting. All of you. Just stop it. This isn't what I wanted. Go away.

We know, baby.

Ben stopped and helped Caleb up, and then came back toward me and I put my hand up.

It isn't PJ's fault, and it's not Chris'. Cole and Jacob belong there. I put them there and I want the, to stay there. Please. Please don't take them away.

What am I supposed to do Bridget? I can't put a safety net around this place. I can't watch you twenty-four hours a day.

That's why you have help. You're all my safety net.

When the trees come, and the other plaques, will you go there instead?

Unless someone comes with me here, then yes.

Oh, Jesus, Bridge, you're killing me. Come here.

He put his arms out and I left the edge and went into them, my customary face plant into the buttons on his flannel shirt a welcome shell-dotted warmth, the percussion of his heartbeat proof that he would keep his word and leave the plaques alone. He kissed the top of my head and I wrapped my arms around his back and looked up at him. Tired in the harsh light, sober and anxious, quietly smug in the display of affection that comes so easily for him while the rest wait for me to make the first move.

Lochlan turned and walked back up to the house, shaking the rain out of his hair. Caleb examined his clothing to see if he would be forced to drive back to the city to change before doing anything else and the others just watched. Quietly. Respectfully pretending to stare out to sea but honed in peripherally, ever mindful that Ben and I are the collective instabilities and when mixed together tend toward impulsive, dangerous pursuits. Mindful that we whisper and they usually miss it.

Who speaks the words you'll listen to, Bridget?

I don't know, Ben.

He just holds on tighter. I still have no answers and he's the only one alive who understands what this feels like.

Crypt tick.

Tomorrow's baking includes banana bread, chocolate cupcakes with chocolate icing and peach cobbler. If I bake the fruit into things it tends to get eaten a lot faster.

I'll keep the pears to carry. They come in handy.

Now here's a picture of a volcano. In a different country even. This is Mount Baker in Washington state. Coy, I know.

Tomorrow I'll finish what I started on Saturday. I promise.

You know one of the strangest things about Caleb? If he's angry and he walks into the room, the temperature instantly drops by about ten degrees.

I find that freaking weird. But really, his emotions aren't my concern. I have enough of my own.

Part one of one of the hard parts.

I had my head on PJ's shoulder, face against his neck. I wasn't going to move because if I saw what was in his eyes, I might let him off the hook and I didn't intend to do that. No, I intended to make him risk his life to fulfill some strange idea I had that I would probably regret later but for right now it needed to be done this way.

Chris stood in front of us, waiting. I could see his boots but I didn't look at his face either. Just in case.

Are you sure, Bridget? Because once it's done we can't undo it. You can't touch it. You aren't allowed to get to it. You have to understand that.

I know.

So what happens when you need to see it?

I can call someone to come and help me look at it.

And maybe if we get a boat..

Yes, but only those ways.

Are you sure?

I think it will be okay like this, PJ.

Chris shook his head.

Chris. it will work. It makes sense.

None of this makes sense, princess. Put a bench in the garden. Screw the plaques on it. Done. This isn't an idea that ever should have been taken seriously.

Don't condescend to me, Chris.

I'm not, Bridge. I'm trying to keep you safe.

His eyes flashed and I was treated to the perfect vision of Chris in full armor, holding his sword. Glorious red beard flaming his moods into fruition.

I know. But please.

The plea brought PJ's arm a little tighter around my head.

Let's get this show on the road guys.

Going now to fix the plaques from the benches to their new locations. May die in the process, cross your fingers. It's pouring, and slippery and I picked a hard-to-access place.

More later, if I survive.

Oh, stop worrying. PJ is coming too. And Chris. He's the expert climber after all, well, since Jake isn't here anymore. Jake would have had NO trouble with this task. But if Jake was here I wouldn't have this heavy piece of bronze with his name on it, now, would I?

Boy, am I grumpy! PJ is in for such a treat.

Happy Endings.

She's okay!

There are no right opinions on this, trust me.

I read the news.

And the hardest job I know of is being a parent.

Last night I had tears come up when Ruth came bursting out of school with her sign up sheet for band next year. Is she that old already? I thought.

Tears again, mixed with laughter when Henry attempted to pour himself into his summer pajamas and said they were fine, when they were suddenly three sizes too small. Is he this big already? I thought.

I struggle daily with the small decisions and big ones too. Trying to strike a balance for their lives between fun and nurturing. Limits within which they are free spirits. Caged birds or butterflies in a net. I try not to be a helicopter or an armchair or whatever the parental behavior tagline du jour is from the New York Times but really, everything is a judgment call, including our interpretations of how other people parent.

Do I let them have french fries on the side? I know they'll eat more that way but are they getting enough vegetables?

Do I let them stay up until ten to play Rock Band or should I insist they take their books and go to bed at eight-thirty so they have energy for the weekend, when they can stay up later?

Do I insist on the rain boots in the downpour or let them wear sneakers and have wet feet all day so their friends don't say they are babies?

Do I let my sixteen year old child sail around the world alone or do I forbid it and risk her blistering resentment for the rest of her life for not allowing her to achieve this goal? Goal, defined loosely here. Item on bucket list? Fool's mission? Incredible achievement? Once again, everyone's going to have an opinion. But raising a child involves having to be the bad guy sometimes too. It's far easier to give in to your child's whims than to stand your ground and resist, keeping the limits you have set because they work for you and they work for your child. You know your child best. Your child's awareness of self develops so slowly, it's like summer pajamas you don't realize you have grown out of until it's too late and suddenly you are self aware. But oh how they nag and mope and become impossible.

But it isn't too late. Self-awareness continues to develop every moment for the rest of your life and things you thought were so important and so necessary fail to be so and having the freedom to try and fail and try and succeed or maybe just think about trying are just as important as common sense and rules of thumb. You'll never be as smart as you think you are when you're sixteen.

Maybe teenagers don't need to be sailing around the world or climbing Mount Everest or breaking records, getting sponsors and writing books. Where do they go from there? Is the pursuit of a early-life goal worth not getting the chance to live the rest of your life because you squandered your years on a foolish teenage idea? Or is it so incredibly intuitive to have such a thirst for a goal at that age that all attempts should be made to achieve it because that is what you were put on earth to do?

I don't know quite what I'll do if and when Ruth comes to me at sixteen and tells me she wants to break some difficult, dangerous record that few adults, let alone children, would attempt. And I doubt I'll have any better answers for you when she's twenty-six, or thirty-six, or twelve for that matter.

I just remember yesterday I was envious of her logic, because she said she chose the clarinet to play in band because it's small and easy to carry up the hill.

When I was eleven, I picked the french horn. I also grew up on the side of a hill.

Maybe she is meant for great things. I hope against hope they don't include winding up lost at sea. Keep your fingers crossed that Abby's parents don't live to regret the choices they have made in allowing their children to carry out their dreams, I can't imagine what they feel right now. And above all, keep your fingers crossed for Abby. She has her whole life ahead of her.

I wonder what type of parent she'll be?

Some days I do better than anyone else, oddly enough.

We don't talk about these things, normally.

All wet hey you might need a raincoat
Shakedown dreams walking in broad daylight
Three hundred sixty five degrees
Burning down the house
It was once upon a place sometimes I listen to myself
Gone come in first place
People on their way to work baby what did you expect
Gonna burst into flame

My house is out of the ordinary
That's right don't want to hurt nobody
Something sure can sweep me off my feet
Burning down the house

PJ met me at the door this morning, rain dripping off his beard, leaving a pool on the tiles. He nodded. Voraciously.

You got it right, Bridget, except for one thing. We would have stopped him. You know? I can be as selfish as the rest of 'em and some days I would have loved to throw preacher off a cliff myself because he locked you down so badly but at the end of the day the hurt he brought upon you is something I never would have let him get away with and ask any of us, we would all say that to you. At any hour of any day. He didn't have the right to do this and I still don't know how you get out of bed in the morning sometimes.

For this, PJ.

And I went and took my morning hug from him, fourth in the day so far. They average twelve minutes apiece, you know.

Chivalry under pressure.

You told me you loved me
That I'd never die alone
Hand over your heart
Let's go home
Everyone noticed
Everyone has seen the signs
I've always been known to cross lines

I'm sure I have the perfect vision of how it went.

His face was drawn and tired, dark circles underneath his pale blue eyes. He stood in the clearing and waited, the forest quiet and dark around him, no sun or sounds able to penetrate the trees this deep.

He didn't have to wait long. Suddenly they were close at hand, some approaching on foot, others dismounting and leaving their horses without a word, just the customary pat on the flank that means stay here, I'll be back soon. They approached him with reverence, awe and courage and he nodded and met their eyes easily, despite being the only unarmed man present for hundreds of miles. They approached him with heart, and that's why they were chosen in the first instance. That is all that ever mattered. Not life, not death.

He raised his hands to welcome them and his face was joyful. Loyal until the end. Some of them were spattered with blood, some had dented armor, one was recently stitched, one still clutched two swords, one in each hand, fresh from the battlefield, still breathing heavily, eyes wild.

The right choices. He exhaled.

Give her everything you have. Do not mourn the changes of her mind. Lift her up and encourage her. Be near when she calls your name. Do not despair when she fails to acknowledge you in favor of another. Provide for her. Protect her. Fight for her. Love her with all of your being. Failure will not be accepted. Make your pledge now before your brothers and before God and honor it for rest of your lives.

I will, said out loud, a chorus of deep voices, himself included and he nodded, satisfied that these were good men, men of their word.

I have done all I can do now, my brothers. It's up to you now.

Brief looks of confusion flickered across their eyes and one by one they stepped forward to embrace him, exchanging hard knocks against backs to confirm their pledge and devotion to each other, to their cause. Deep within their hardened souls they knew he would no longer be with them.

He shook a final extended hand and brought his fingertips to his lips and then extended his hands to the collective once more as his eyes filled with tears. He turned around and jumped off the cliff. No one made a move to prevent his actions, they were busy making their way out of the clearing to fulfill their covenant. No one saw what became of him. Their only focus now was her.

Yes, I bet that's exactly how this happened.

Circle once and come back.

In the distance
Light years from tomorrow
But far beyond yesterday
She is watching
Heart aching with sorrow
She is broken, as she waits
Hoping that when all is said and done, we learn to love and be as one

Oh Starlight
Don’t you cry we’re gonna make it right before tomorrow
Oh Starlight
Don’t you cry we’re going to find a place where we belong
And so you know you’ll never shine alone

I came home late last night.

One last chance to show you the kind of man I can be, he said as we boarded the plane.

One last chance to show you I mean you no harm, he said, as he took my hand and kissed it and a shiver went down my spine.

One last chance to show you I have always loved you, he said as he lifted his cupped hand and poured hot water down my shoulders and over my back. I closed my eyes and leaned against his chest, my forehead against his clavicle. I let his arms draw me in and I let go of everything I was holding. My worries. My fear. His request for this moment. I let the heat of the water overcome me and my mind was blank, gloriously parked in a wooded glade, not racing down the asphalt at two hundred kilometres an hour. Picking flowers would have taken too much effort, I just stared into the sun through the trees.

Princess.

I jolted and my nose bumped his ear as I raised my head. Caleb passed me my wine, against my better judgement of things made of glass in the bathtub. I took it but he held it for an extra beat in case I wasn't actually coherent.

You fell asleep.

Almost.

He smiled his millionaire smile and I took a sip from the glass and when the steam cleared from my eyes I made a note that he wasn't Cole and that was okay because he was Caleb, like Cole 2.0, new and improved, richer and longer lasting and I laughed out loud and I swear to God that man doesn't count his worth in terms of dollars anymore but that's what men are like when I am around.

It was a good weekend, an uproariously fun weekend, full of airplanes and crowds and wine and kind Russians and kind Czechs (?) too and singing and sleeping and holding our breath that first day during qualifying when I thought I was about to see a plane crash with my own eyes but thankfully it didn't and I'm glad for the health of the pilot and for the fact that last night I had to board the teeny-tiny private jet to come back home. I'm glad for Ben because he had an absolute blast and came away with a new effort to get and keep his newfound sobriety in order to regain his wings which could someday make him the oldest pilot in the air race (but don't tell him that part) and he was content to share his stake in Bridget with no strings attached like the ones that tie me to Lochlan because I don't need-need Caleb. I just want him in my life and I'm done making apologies to the one-love folks and to the boys. I'm just done making apologies period. I'm finally at a place in my life where I can choose what I want and maybe that's mixed with a tiny streak of recklessness for the simple fact that I can't bring the dead back to life. But only for color and flavour. I like my recklessness light.

Suffice it to say there's a huge comfort to be gained from standing in between the Dark Lords. I never once felt like a ghost could sneak up on me, never felt the need for Lochlan's comfort, the kind I have sought out religiously since 1979. I just wanted to have fun and I did, so everyone should be happy for me. My face hurt from smiling. That doesn't happen. Caleb and Ben? Both romantic and that doesn't happen all the time either but when it does it's like Christmas mixed with fireworks and cotton candy and God. Like holy sticky exploding things.

NICE.

Snort.

Ben even bought me flowers, which I brought home with us. Gerbera daisies in the colors of the planes I liked best because I mentioned in passing that I wanted to have so many flowers in the house it would be positively stupid. Because he hears everything and misses nothing and tries so hard to accommodate my every whim, even the really stupid/bad idea ones, and because he's so incredibly generous with me I think all the boys should get down on their knees and worship him if we rolled like that but we don't.

And Lochlan didn't much like the fact that I went away with Ben and with Satan but when I came back he was quick to be cajoled into a long hold and then he could see how he has an addiction of a different sort and in his heart he lives on his knees for me, and that's ironic because in our spare time late at night he would spend hours standing in the middle of the dirt road behind the tent, long after the crowds had filtered away, teaching me how to juggle. Patiently. Tirelessly.

One last chance to make you the star of the show, Bridgie.

And now I am.

And oh, I think I finally having the juggling part down. At last. This is awesome.