They don't have ears either.

Oh dear.

I was poking around in the garden shed late this afternoon and I've been bitten by a spider. We are waiting now to see if my arm falls off or if I grow some extra limbs or maybe later I could stand up high and see if I can spin a web and swing down to the beach.

For now it's very red and bruised and tender and a bit warm and not unlike a bee sting. I think I'll live. Well, I hope I will anyway. Not the blaze of glory I would hope to go out in, anyway. A bug bite? Come on.

In brief.

We don't grow complacent for one another. Ben and I understand that in the blink of an eye or the turn of a heart or at the root of a bad decision life can change, and just like that everything is suddenly unbearable. We don't take each other for granted and we don't lie. We don't let each other hang, toes touching the breeze, without a net below.

We just remember to breathe and we do our best and when I wake up in the dark, in the quiet hours he is there and he is half asleep but still he pulls me over him and I am warm and I sit up and he holds my hands palm to palm and keeps me centered and I take what I need and when I am barely finished he slides me off and down underneath him now and his hands slide against my skin and his lips land on the top of my head and the bruises are set in stone from his hold. When we return to sleep we know it's for minutes only and then suddenly I can hear the alarm. Ben turns it off and returns to me and I am gathered into his arms and he squeezes me tight against him. I am waking up one goosebump at a time, incoherent, sleepy, feverish. He kisses my cheek and he is gone for the day and once again I am left to my own devices which are those that you kick-start and then proceed to use for trouble only.

He smiles when he leaves, and we begin the countdown to his return. Rocketman. Workaholic. Lover.

Yesterday after he sampled all of the baking I did (pie excluded, I will make that today), he offered me a motorcycle ride. A thinly-veiled attempt for some much-needed time alone together, something that once again seems to be in such short supply and it pains me. He drove up into the mountains, far away from everything and I clung to his back as he drove fast, too fast, and so very Ben-like. He leans and I am afraid, he races down the highway when there is no traffic, chasing the thrill that brought him to me in the first place. The attitude he wears like a cheap t-shirt slogan that has brought him everything he has and taken away everything he thought he knew:

Fuck it. Going for it.

Ben's a survivalist, a quiet man, a psychopath. He doesn't say much to very many people, he's busy saving all of his words for me. I cherish them, you know. I roll them over in my hands, feel their smooth letters and sharp edges and I keep them all, filed away alphabetically in big manila envelopes right beside my work. We both need to work on saying more, more often.

I would have started with Slow down, motherfucker, but frankly I was too afraid to open my mouth and maybe change our wind resistance or something and kill us both.

I told him this and he laughed.

Four and twenty poison blackbirds.

Don't carry me under
You're the devil in disguise
God sing for the hopeless
I'm the one you left behind

So I'll find what lies beneath
Your sick twisted smile
As I lie underneath
Your cold jaded eyes
Now you turn the tide on me
'Cause you're so unkind
I will always be here
For the rest of my life

Ben is home today and so the baking will be as follows: apple pie, banana bread and blueberry muffins. If time permits I will do mini pies, otherwise one big one will suffice. He eats, holy, does this man eat. I am so happy to have him home today.

He has given up on the fool's errand of trying to keep me contained and has progressed to talking about putting a rope swing out in the orchard, far enough from the cliff but close enough that when I swing out I would have that thrill.

Thrill. Not the right word by a long shot. Welcome terror might be closer.

I was driven in town yesterday to get my lunch by the water, promised the breeze and white linens by Satan but it turned into a working lunch and didn't involve any food. Eventually I called for the car and came home of my own accord because Caleb wasn't getting the message that these are not papers I need to see and why does he continue to waste everyone's time with this? He always said time is precious and time is money and any other stupid quote millionaires throw around when they want to confirm that you're aware of how much money you have and I guess that's the crux of the issue, isn't it?

He wants to know how high I'll go.

How much it will cost him to get me to leave Ben and just give in. We already played this game and Batman even got involved (which he only does when things get really out of hand) and Caleb had gracefully bowed out but really he didn't, he just switched gears and came back with a larger, sweeter offer and I'm still forced to politely decline but there it sits and I don't want this pressure, frankly because in his family hearts are defective and unpredictable and...

I don't love him.

Caleb doesn't seem to care about that part but it's my bottom line, something he should understand. I just keep refusing and he keeps offering more and it's reached the point where I'm even tired of the sweetness because behind it stands that elephant and I try not to encourage the whole zoo-thing. I told Ben what it was and his response was to offer a trip next month. Back overseas, check out Wacken, perhaps go back to Venice for a few days. That's his knees jerking in response and I said no more suitcases, no more reactions. This is where Satan is, and here in Ben's arms is where Bridget is and where Bridget promised to stay.

We slept easily. Soundly. I'm not giving in to the living and I'm not giving in to the ghosts. I just want to bake some things for the boys and keep the children entertained and safe and maybe have that swing put up. I think that would be nice.

And on the upside, I was forgiven for throwing the bracelet in the water. Chastised but forgiven all the same. Which leads me to believe that I could get away with murder.

We won't go there.

The voice of irrationality.

I ran. Fast. I'm quick for such a little thing.

Lightning flash and she's gone. Out of your sight. It brings up the familiar bile, rising in your throat but you choke it down and take off after her, screaming her name.

He caught up with me halfway across the field and threw his arms out around me and we went down, crashing to the grass, his head smashing into mine and suddenly it was night and the whole meadow was stars and fireflies and then it was day again and I'm sitting up but he won't let go. I start to twist away and he squeezes me. Squeals escape and it hurts and I kick him repeatedly and in a blink I am pinned to the ground, the morning dew soaking into my dress and my hair and I spit curses at him and snarl.

He laughs.

Calm the fuck down, Bridget.

I manage to turn my entire body over but my arms are still facing him. Oh the pain. He turns it up another notch.

Jake! Let go!

Are you going to stop fighting?

No.

He rolls his eyes and puts his head down against my shoulder. Our breaths are hitching, caught. I'm crying and he doesn't care. I keep fighting but he's like stone and after a minute I just give up. I can't get away from him. He won't let me.

My breathing slows. My chest stops thumping like a jackhammer. I'm quiet. He turns me back over but I just stare at the sky, watching the clouds move quickly. My green eyes mix with the reflections and turn gold. Precious resources, the sense I will need most when I can't hear anything anymore.

What will they do, piglet?

Lock me in the library.

Sounds familiar. You pick the locks yet?

Yes. And I think they take their cues from you.

Why would they do that? I'm dead.

No, you're not.

Maybe it's time to let go.

You say that like it's my choice to make.

I shove hard and he backs off. And with that I am up and running again, across the wide open field toward the cliffs, toward the water. Maybe the roar will block out Jacob's bad ideas. That's why I put him down there. So that I couldn't hear him when he tells me what to do. Everyone does enough of that, I don't want to hear it from him too. I don't want to hear them screaming my name. Not anymore. I only listen to Bridget anyway. She knows exactly what she's doing.

Okay, so not exactly. Thankfully if I stand right at the edge, when it's very very windy I can't even hear the voices in my own head.

I'll be spending a lot of time out there. I have an endless supply of bobby pins with which to pick the simple locks on the doors they secure in front of me and I've already figured out how to disable the stupid alarm. I'm not afraid that I am giving away all my secrets by talking about that here, this is as fruitless as their efforts to break the silence, and as useless as my efforts at change.

Folding blind.

So nice to see your face again
Tell me how long has it been
Since you've been here
(since you've been here)
You look so different than before
But still the person I adore
Frozen with fear
I'm out of love but I'll take it from the past
I'll let out words cause I'm sure It'll never last

And I've been saving
These last words for one last miracle
But now I'm not sure
I can't save you if
You don't let me
You just get me like I never
Been gotten before

Maybe it's the bitter wind
A chill from the Pacific rim
That brought you this way
(that brought you my way)
Do not make me think of him
The way he touch your fragile skin
That hunts me everyday
I'm out of love but I can't forget the past
I'm out of words but I'm sure it'll never last

And I've been saving
These last words for one last miracle
But now I'm not sure
I can't save you if
You don't let me
You just get me like I never
Been gotten before

I think it surprised me so badly that the roses bloomed a second time that I figured other miracles were likely and I took off toward the cliffs.

After all, the only one home watching me was Daniel, and he had been asleep for hours. I ran out of things to do and so I went down to the garden to pull some weeds and on the other side of the fence...all these new roses! Then as I looked more closely I could see the entire wall of bushes was full of new blooms.

Dark ones this time, but maybe I'll be gifted with another single baby-pink flower.

It must have been wonderful to wake up to the perimeter alarm blaring all through the house. Did I tell you they set one up? Yes, precisely for today or whatever day it would be that I would scramble down the path and stop just short of throwing myself into the sea but I sat down this time and hooked my hands over the edge against the wet stone outcropping that may or may not support all of my hundred and four pounds.

I looked down and to my delight, far below, affixed to the rocks just under the surface I could see them, in between breaking waves. My ghosts looking up at me. Jacob, most likely furious that I would put him somewhere so dumb and Cole probably trying to mentally connect with me to convince me to jump and spread the pain around just a little more, like a bad rash. He would do that.

That was as much of a thought as I could get out before I was grabbed from behind and lifted away from the edge, briefly, delightfully flying out over it, feet swinging in thin air, Daniel's arms locked around me because the one thing he never wants to be responsible for in his whole life will be sleeping while I die.

They've all come home now and have been yelling at me off and on now for over an hour and I'm getting tired. I want to change my clothes and put on something warm and dry. I want to swim out to the rocks and see the boys but I'm such a poor swimmer and PJ was right, this was the worst idea ever and I'm stuck wanting to get to them to the point where I don't think about much else other than the fact that suddenly, just now, I realized that everyone dies before forty and I'm going to be forty on my next birthday which means I'm already older and Jacob is frozen in time at thirty-six but he's supposed to be older than me and smarter than I am and why the hell has he done this and left me here? Why can't he be the one who has a little too much to drink and laugh and sing me a song?

Why is Ben in this place in my heart because I swore never ever and how the hell did I allow Caleb such prolific access into all of our lives in some sort of knee-jerk fashion to undo the years of restraining orders and forbidden contact that left him hating me and torturing me every chance he got and now we've reached some sort of wonderful, actual relationship, which everyone hates but I'm still testing the waters to see if they are warm enough and I'll make up what's left of my own mind, thank you.

No one loves me enough to stay.

They won't listen anyway. Just like they didn't when I pointed out I wasn't going to jump off the cliff and I was with Jake and he wouldn't have let me jump off the cliff anyway because he wouldn't want my light to go out. He always said Don't let your light go out, princess. Don't let the demons win. Don't let your head overtake your plans, pigalet.

I don't have any plans save for wanting to sit there in the rain, surrounded by roses with my Jacob and just listen to him tell me things because I'm happy he came but they wouldn't let me. They never let me do what I want to do. They never listen.

Oh I've done it now.

Portrait (She knew).

You know it's going to be a good day when Caleb walks into the room and instantly remarks on the lack of baubles on his favorite pastime.

Who are you, Howard Hughes?

He just winked and squared himself with his invisible courage for today. It's Father's Day, an awkward, difficult day for us where the boys jockey for position and are equally touched and left ruined by the gestures of the children to honor an entire room full of real and surrogate fathers, each one bringing something incredibly specific and necessary to their lives. Collectively the boys represent separate and equal parts of love and care to the children, and the children themselves have never failed to acknowledge that to the men who love them so much. They are like me in that regard. Instant forgiveness, instant affection.

However.

There are certain levels of affection and attention that the kids bestow on the boys. They have their own hierarchy, and they have their own preferences. PJ, Daniel and Benjamin are instant comfort, always available, patient to a fault, permissive and loving. Lochlan is their ready-steady rock. As long as he is around all is right with the world. He looks out for them in a strange, appreciative way. They understand his logic comes from a slightly different place. Caleb is Daddy Warbucks. As long as they behave properly and display their fine manners and intelligence they have learned they can have the moon from him. They also know that he is quick to anger and unforgiving. Like Cole. They do not ask for things, but they are drawn to that the same way I am.

Maybe because it's as close as we can get. Maybe it's because it's an authority that brings a small measure of comfort in the familiarity. It's what they know when everything isn't water fights and movies and stargazing and making ice cream. They know fathers are not fairy tales that are only fun. They know fathers will enforce the rules and be the final judge and jury. They know fathers will set limits and work to raise them up properly as well as happily.

Caleb arrived this morning, dashing and unhurried in his little silver sportscar and a crisp pair of jeans with a button-down dress shirt, looking like a forties movie star, acting like he had everything in the world, when in fact the only thing he has is now tied up in knots, tangled in the welfare of his brother's widow and her knights, because he decided to take a risk and place it all on black, betting everything he had on the only thing he believes in.

Me.

Baudelaire would call him out for this one.

Even in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction.

I am supposed to be making an effort to ensure that he is properly recognized as the living blood of my children, but all I can do is stand in the shadow by the window and watch with morbid curiosity to see how they react to him. A relief follows, and it's as if Cole had never left them, they simply replaced their memories with that of the uncle who managed to miss the first six years of their lives mostly and now suddenly we can't seem to take a deep breath without him making a note of it and rotating the world accordingly in case we miss something.

I broke his brother's heart so badly he died and for that I was given everything, including the gift I could not return, the confirmation that Satan owns my youngest child. I was forced to replace my memories of Cole with Caleb's face. And I have. I've been good. I have listened, like a child, as the rules were spoken to me slowly and repeated until there was no ambiguity left. I am now the most vulnerable, requiring the most direction, supervision and care. The children grow and mature and Bridget never changes.

It isn't a turret that the knights guard anymore, it's the nursery and so the jostling for position remains. The need for approval rusts into the metal on their armor and coats their shields in desperation.

An equal fool, I extended the lunch invitation because I always choked back this overwhelming, oxygen-sucking need to please Cole so that he wouldn't become angry. And then like a princess, I cast my coldest look around the room, reproach on ice, a challenge to question my final rule on behalf of my children. He stays. No fists.

Lady of the flies, the immature leader who fuels her needs with her wants and couldn't raise a glass half the time, let alone these two beautiful creatures born of rage and fear and then molded into something wonderful. That is thanks to the boys.

And that's just a sliver of today. A small taste, a single drop of the blood I spill to quench his thirst for more of me because I don't know what to do with these feelings and so I pretend. I pretend I'm alright and the kids are alright and everyone gets along and we give cards and drawings and I pretend, like everybody else, not to see how he stares at me across the table as he exclaims over the menu the children chose for lunch, so at ease with them with so much tension beneath the surface it hums a steady drone in my head, between my ears that I'm forced to excuse myself and leave the room, fearing my brain might start to leak out from my ears and my heart might follow that lead. I'll pay for this later. Ben will look for my hierarchy. Everything costs me something and I am emotionally unemployed.

It hurts. I don't know why. Some days are hard. The kids are doing a fine job though. They always do when they have everyone's attention. Just like their mother. And they know that in a short while he will drive away from the house in his silver sports car and we can go back to breathing full breaths and not watching what we say around him, just in case it is the wrong thing.

On the way out he cups my face and smiles ruefully, reading my unfocused eyes.

Considering Baudelaire?

Yes.

'I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no melancholy. '

'I have cultivated my hysteria with pleasure and terror.'

Very good one, Bridget. See you on Tuesday for a drive and some lunch?

No, I have nothing to wear.

Perfect. Just wear the bracelet I gave you. That's all you need.

I frowned as he kissed my cheek and walked out the door. I threw that bracelet into the ocean the day he gave it to me. And I hate the fact that he is Henry's father. I pay the price for their hierarchy. I pay dearly. As I look around the room and feel the eyes on me, I see that we all do.
It makes me sad.

I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
And stops my mind from wandering
Where it will go
I'm filling the cracks that ran through the door
And kept my mind from wandering
Where it will go
And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong
I'm right
Where I belong I'm right
Where I belong.
See the people standing there who disagree and never win
And wonder why they don't get in my door.
I'm painting the room in a colorful way
And when my mind is wandering
There I will go.
And it really doesn't matter if
I'm wrong I'm right
Where I belong I'm right
Where I belong.
Silly people run around they worry me
And never ask me why they don't get past my door.
I'm taking the time for a number of things
That weren't important yesterday
And I still go.

A new lip gloss collection for Ben to plunder.

I never did make it to very late last night. I believe I crashed about five minutes after I posted and was asleep in five seconds, another headache threatening to undermine the night. Another inability to sleep for any length of time save for a few precious hours in Ben's arms.

Today was a fast day that became slow. The kids and I looked after house things and gardening this morning, then made some lunch and declared it to be kid-time. We went to a new coffee shop and treated overselves to chocolate biscotti (the kids) and iced coffee (Bridget) and then went back and loaded up on popsicles to go. When we arrived back home, Ruth gave me a makeover. I'm still sporting the white lipstick, green and blue eyeshadow, copious cheek glitter and headband she chose for me, plus the tiny fabric butterflies she clipped all through my hair.

After my big makeover, we went back outside and drew hearts and flowers and music notes all over the front walkway with Henry who freaked if we walked on any of the lines and then he decided it was too hot to be outside anymore and Ruth took her drawings to the shade of the veranda, and I still have an inch of my coffee left and my brain is finally at cruising altitude for the day. I haven't heard from Ben for over an hour so I'm hoping against hope that that means he's on the way home and we might be able to have a dinner that starts before eight at night or more than ten minutes to talk about the day.

I hope Ben is on the way. He really needs to see this eyeshadow. And the butterflies. I have a feeling I'll be picking them out of my hair for the rest of the summer. And twenty bucks says he'll happily be Ruth's next customer. He looks awfully cute with butterflies too.

Day Tripper (and God bless Peter).

Please excuse the mess. Just pointing out I'm not touching the absinthe. No way in hell, no. Also, someone managed to dig out all the mashups (covers? homages?) of the Beatles, Cheap Trick and Type-O Neg.

It's going to be a long, loud and awesome night.