Residuals.

It's seven in the morning and Ben and I are sitting on the cliff, legs swinging.

What do we do now?

Live in the moment, baby.

I don't think I like this particular set of moments.

Okay then, let's drink some coffee and watch the sun come up.

And then what after that?

You plan too much. What about just taking things as they come?

What about actively seeking your dreams?

Tell me your dreams.

I don't know what they are anymore. Things have changed so much. I used to know. I used to have a plan.

And what happened?

Life happened and my plans fell apart.

Right, so maybe plan less and watch more sunrises and maybe a new plan will come about.

How much time did you spend with Jacob again? You sound just like him.

More than you might realize. I kind of liked the guy.

Shut the fuck up.

I cross my heart, pig-a-let.

Hey Ben?

Yeah, Bridget?

You're totally ruining this moment, imitating him.

But you're in it now, at least. And that's what I was aiming for.

Well you got it. Straight through the heart.

Yeah....

Yeah what?

Oh nothing, I was waiting for you to break into that Bryan Adams song.

I said straight through.

Close enough.

Not even.

If we keep bickering we're going to miss the part where the colors fade.

You need to stop reading my blog.

I can't help it. It's fascinating. It's like the junk drawer of your brain.

Really? How so?

A scrap of REM lyrics, some love letters, a paperclip bent into the shape of a heart, some dead birds, a thousand seashells, some faulty, unlit stars and a Slipknot CD you didn't tell anyone you still had. It's a shadowy drawer though, hard to see everything in it. I bet it keeps going forever, you can just keep pulling it out and you never reach the end.

Sounds perfect.

Kinda like you.

My eyes filled up and I shook my head. Not even close. But I know what's in your junk drawer, Benny.

He wagged his tongue at me, Kurgan-style. Yeah baby.

No, not that junk drawer.

Okay, what's in it? Serious now.

It's empty save for a guitar pick and a pair of rose-colored glasses.

Exactly. Now tell me, Bridget. What the fuck is cerulean?

Hush, now.

Bury all your secrets in my skin
Come away with innocence, and leave me with my sins
The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again

So if you love me, let me go.
And run away before I know.
My heart is just too dark to care.
I can't destroy what isn't there.
Deliver me into my fate
If I'm alone I cannot hate
I don't deserve to have you
My smile was taken long ago
If I can change I hope I never know

I still press your letters to my lips
And cherish them in parts of me that savor every kiss
I couldn't face a life without your light
But all of that was ripped apart
when you refused to fight

So save your breath, I will not hear.
I think I made it very clear.
You couldn't hate enough to love.
Is that supposed to be enough?
I only wish you weren't my friend.
Then I could hurt you in the end.
I never claimed to be a saint
My own was banished long ago
It took the death of hope to let you go

So break yourself against my stones
And spit your pity in my soul
You never needed any help
You sold me out to save yourself
And I won't listen to your shame
You ran away - you're all the same
Angels lie to keep control
My love was punished long ago
If you still care, don't ever let me know

A wild night and a new road.

Every whisper
Of every waking hour
I'm choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool
Oh no, I've said too much
I set it up

Consider this
Consider this the hint of the century
Consider this
The slip that brought me to my knees failed
What if all these fantasies
Come flailing around
I've said too much

Ben confronts me late last evening in the upstairs hall.

What's the point, bee? Why are you still trying to reconcile Cole and Jacob's war anymore? It doesn't matter now.

Good, they're all still reading. That makes it easier.

I'm not doing it for me, I wrote that for Caleb. Just because I give someone a cookie doesn't mean they are forgiven.

Who? Who isn't forgiven?

But I didn't answer, I just walked around him out to the balcony to say goodnight to the sea.

As if no one is watching/Disinformation.

(The pearls and cameo pinks competed with the cerulean and cyan streaks of blue for attention this morning and they had it from darkness onward. Rapt. Hypnotized by a moment and she went back for more, standing on the back steps watching the pinks dissolve and the brightest blues fade into pale representations of themselves. The culmination of warm light with such vibrant colors is a gift, albeit a fleeting one, like life itself. She spins and spins and hums to herself even though she can't hear it. She can feel the vibrations. That's enough.

Dreams are popped like balloons, words thrown around carelessly, regret and frustration remain bookmarked right where we left them, ready to pick up and carry along. These days are hard, she said, and he knew exactly what she meant in spite of the fact that she's on a different page. He has already read that one and can advise her of excitement or sorrow to come. No, don't tell me! She implores him not to give away the surprises, if only that she can discover them on her own. Otherwise there is no point.

The rain threatens to melt away her transparent facade so that all can see, voyeurs clawing at her emotions. Blatant, curious stares returned to her instead of comfort. She shakes her head in denial and she goes and does what she was going to do anyway.)

***

Dance, Bridget.

I was! Sorry you missed it.

More, then. I can wait. I want to watch you.

Suddenly I'm embarrassed but I push my chin up and tell him the moment has passed. Sort of like the sunrise.

I saw it. It was beautiful, no?

It was.

Thanks for the cookies in the kitchen.

Oh! You're welcome. How many did you have?

The plate.

You ate them all?

Yeah, they were so good...I'm sorry, was I not supposed to?

I was hoping Cole would get a chance to have at least one.

I didn't know. Look, I can say they were taken to the station and enjoyed. I've been talking to Cole anyway. Letting him know that if he has any concerns or if he needs to talk to someone I'm here. If I can help him-

It's okay. Everything's alright.

My mind is racing. He's talking to Cole? Oh, maybe this is not okay and I just try and do things the way I think they should work and then if they don't work I wait for help. But I don't know who will help with this. Andrew is always away. Lochlan? Are you kidding? Don't even ask. Christian might feel as if he is forced to pick sides. Daniel is a big monkey, he throws food and makes me laugh but he's not strong enough by half. Duncan is too busy with his rhyme-less poems and his minimalist image and Caleb could buy a fix but then his shadowy private backers would come looking for payment with interest and I can't even go there. Ben? I try not to complicate his life, he does that enough for both of us and he's never home either so here I am, knees dirty, tape in hand, trying to refasten the corners of what used to be a pretty picture to the heavens, keeping it level with the horizon.

But I didn't know that Jacob was trying to reach out to Cole. That's unexpected. Unscripted. Mindbreakingly touching to me. It leaves me almost as warm as it makes me angry. A surge of courage brings me to my feet and I am back in charge of my emotions for a precious few minutes. His words will be useless anyway. Thrown against Cole, who will swat them away unread. Unwelcome. Unnecessary and suspicious. It would be believing war strategies told to you by the enemy you are trying to defeat. Cole isn't stupid. This is only going to make it worse.

I'll make more cookies. Cole will like that.

Jacob nods but he's not buying it. The expression on his face has been upgraded from mild chagrin at not saving any dessert to overwhelming concern at my excuses. I reach up with both hands and try to form his cheeks into a smile. I pull his beard gently, tugging on his face but he only winds up looking darker and more dismayed. I turn away.

If cookies can serve as a catalyst, it's time you leave him, Bridget.

I turned around again and smile with what I hope is a light scowl. Bright and fake as anything. It's not that. I'm just still embarrassed that you almost caught me dancing in the sun.

Such a bad liar, princess. I hope you never fix that. His eyes soften now. The color matches the sky I witnessed this morning and I am humbled. I see God in his eyes. How fitting for a preacher to show this to me.

I shake my head. Would you believe me if I told you things are better?

He watches me struggle to maintain my position, perched on a slab of subterfuge so sharp it's leaving deep grooves in my skin. They begin to bleed.

No, Bridget. I wouldn't. It's far too late for that.

On a Tuesday it's an accident, on a holiday it's on purpose.

(The crush has loomed long on the beat poet too, but we mostly ignore it. I still worry about him though.)

Duncan is standing outside in the pale sun. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, sunglasses in place, he strikes a casual pose on the edge of the lower cliff on the opposite side of the backyard, where I rarely go because the view is better on the right side, away from the city, toward the open ocean. He's in his vintage swim trunks. They fail to make him look any more modern for his retro-ness, he's still as close to a real live lizard king as I will ever be again because he's one of three who eschew haircuts until the others start referring to him as a girl. It puts his appearance squarely in 1972.

He is staring at the water and shaking his head.

This is going to hurt. He doesn't seem concerned though. Maybe he isn't right for his role here. You see, Duncan is normally second in command around the house, after PJ. (Yes, it takes two full-sized men to look after one tiny princess on a regular basis. One because she's fast and two, because she's hypnotic.)

He flicks his cigarette to the ground and tells Ben Time is money, friend. Then he takes a swan dive off the edge. I yell his name with alarm, they had yet to clarify whether or not it's safe to jump off this side. It's all been theory and conjecture up until now! I jump up and go racing toward the edge and Ben puts his arm out and when I hit it full on and bounce back he catches me nicely, and then Dalton and Christian are over the edge too and I say something about waiting to see if Duncan has survived when I hear him calling to me from the water.

And then oddly, Lochlan says Ben, don't you dare.

Cue the screaming.

Too late I figure out what Lochlan means, as Ben throws me off the ledge.

I scream all the way down and when I hit the water Duncan yanks me to the surface instantly. Good thing too, since the cold water takes my breath away so I open my mouth to breath. A reflex or an instinct, I still don't know.

I look for an angel to come and envelope me in warmth to carry me to the top again so I can go inside and stand inside the fireplace until my flesh dissolves into lava but none appears. I ask Duncan if there's a fast way back and he says no, we have to swim around to the other side, to the beach.

Oh what? Really? I won't make it.

Sure you will, come on.

He tucks me under one arm and sidestrokes easily along the rock wall and I sort of feel warm suddenly. Not because he's cute but because I have hypothermia and I stop talking and sort of become distracted watching the clouds. We're at the beach now and I hear Ben hollering the whole way down and then a giant splash somewhere behind me and PJ is standing there with an armload of blankets and boots and coats. I swear at Duncan while I am wrapped up like a mummy, shivering.

He declines the offered warm clothes and shakes his head like a dog.

There. You wanted new traditions.

Not those kind. Not death-defying, dangerous, crazy ones.

What other kinds are there, Bridget?

He's grinning at me, dripping wet, shaking like a leaf, eyes wild and it suddenly dawns on me that Jacob must have been a mirage. A representation of all the pieces and quirks of the rest of the boys, all wrapped up in a pretty package. I can almost see exactly which facets of his personality and his demeanor match each of the others in turn and sometimes I am floored by the similarities, the familiarities involved.

I meant m-maybe I would m-m-make some different foods or we would s-s-switch to opening presents on Christmas Eve or s-something.

Oh. Then you'd better talk to Benny. He said you seemed sad that there wasn't more excitement lately.

That wasn't w-what I was t-t-t-t-talking about, Duncan. Besides, I already had a s-s-s-swim this w-w-winter, remember?

Ben is out of the water. He's as white as a sheet. He shakes his head too and said that was invigorating but he won't be doing it again because it will take him more than a year to pry his balls out of his throat with a dull fork.

I start laughing and shivering while the boys cringe at Ben's description. He's never been one to censor himself. We make a great pair.

We chalk the whole thing up to a bad idea with flawless execution and resolve never to try to make it a tradition again. Some things just don't fly, like Bridgets off cliffs. Something tells me I'm not the only one relieved to find this out.

(Tonight the only one who isn't still cold is the only one who didn't jump in. Go figure.)

One more trip around the sun.

2011.

What can I say about you?

I'm grateful for our health, for our continued independence and for our safety, relative to those times in earlier years (and mere weeks ago) when it could not be guaranteed. I'm grateful for the music, the warm house and the beautiful views, a stack of books to draw in and games to play, a reading pile as tall as myself and arms that are always open for me, not matter what. I'm grateful for the food on the table and the memories from which we have learned lessons and found resolutions from. I'm grateful for my life, let's not split hairs on that one, either.

But I'm looking ahead now, not behind. 2011 was another year of change and adjustment and learning to find comfort in new settings with new rules and fresh routines. It was a very very good year with two weddings. No one close to me died either. Hooray for the most basic grace of all.

It was a fine, fitting year and it is over. Any last attempts to pin significance on it will be met with helpless laughter, because we are simply out of time. Try again next year, about eight hours from now, Pacific time.

Happy New Year. May 2012 live up to your dreams.

Here's to beginning again.

Sláinte mhaith.

Ha. Doing shots and drawing entire Jethro Tull album covers from memory. Not sure who our social coordinator is in this house but clearly she is awesomes.

The ballad of Highway 99 (gold, guns and girl, singular).

The money from the sale of Caleb's waterfront condo was earmarked and I didn't realize it.

Caleb is still eating crow, crow that costs a fortune, crow that must taste like caviar and dreams or he would have stopped by now and reverted back. All diurnal business has ground to a halt, anyway. The nocturnal kind is not up for discussion.

When people ask he simply says he decided to retire early and get out on top. That he has most definitely done, having always made sure he had everything precisely in order, not leaving anything to chance. Well, except that one thing in Tahoe but I think or I hope or maybe I'm almost sure that's been looked after now too.

It was easy for him to close this chapter on his life, he did well enough and saved enough and invested successfully enough that he wound up with more than I thought he would.

When his heart gives out like Cole's did Henry will be taken care of. Caleb will not tell me what his will holds for me anymore. This after I told him over the summer to take me out of everything, that his legacy rests in Henry and not in me. He refused to discuss the matter. I threatened to give it all away. He laughed and asked me what made me think he hadn't already done that? I was put in my place rather quickly. I will never bring it up again.

Yesterday we all spent the day playing in the snow up at Whistler. Caleb disappeared quite early on. At one point he sent a text saying he was taking in a few open houses and would meet us at the restaurant for dinner but I didn't get my messages. It was raining so I zipped my phone into my pocket and left it there.

At seven Ben finally reached him and told him we were heading home. He declined to travel in the caravan of trucks and said he would be along in time to say goodnight to the children.

When he arrived home he had a very good bottle of wine and some news. He's put in a bid on a house up there. Maybe to use it as a base and save the ninety minute drive back and forth when we want to go enjoy some snow. I snorted when he said that, for I am still the last holdout, thanks to that isolated final winter in the Prairies. The boys have embraced the mountains in a sort of primal mutual adoration and I still stand behind Ben's arm and scowl toward anything cold, while I pull my wrap tighter around my shoulders. I can be forced to enjoy it but then I am happy to drive away from it. So making me stay there overnight would just be all sorts of punishment now.

Oh, wait. Nevermind.

He asks for a cookie and I tell him Ben and Cole ate them all. I think I leave him unsettled and uncomfortable and on edge. I smile at the thought. Payback will take place over the next twenty-eight years, and then perhaps when I am ancient, tinier still and completely frail I will call it even. He better make it to that moment or I will be vastly disappointed. This is the work Batman and the others have been doing behind the scenes. If I can't manage to leave Caleb in my past then at the very least I am being positioned to always have the upper hand.

Except that all of this hinges on Caleb's reluctance to start up again with his evil and I never know if I can count on his compliance or if it's just another game. Maybe all of this is a game and I'm playing right into their hands. Maybe Ben is still being puppeted and maybe Lochlan isn't learning his lessons the hard way. Maybe both children still belong to Cole and maybe Jacob went running back to Northeast Asia because that's where he first found God. Maybe pigs are up there blocking the sun instead of clouds but I didn't notice and maybe the joke is on me.

I've gotten into the very bad habit of putting on five or six of the same clothing items at once to be warm and standing out on the very westernmost edge of my cliff for hours. Thinking. Thinking hard, something that requires all the concentration I can gather up. Thinking alone while PJ frets and whines into the phone with Ben or follows Duncan around to do something, after being told that he can go and amuse himself and I will return to myself in an hour or two, three at the most. Ben will tell him not to worry because Ben's faith clearly comes from a place of certain and utter earlier brain damage and Duncan is usually preoccupied and not paying attention so he fails to put weight into PJ's concerns. PJ does not rat me out to Loch because Loch would shut the whole mess down, or at least try. The ghosts, well, they do nothing. Maybe they wait for me to cross over to their team. Maybe they wait to see me go back inside. Maybe they can do something but maybe they have hopes that surpass selfishness, even after life.

Maybe I'll learn to appreciate snow again and maybe I'll still wish ski hills were four minutes long and twenty bucks a day, like when Loch used to take me to Martock, instead of Caleb throwing his fortune around on the pipe dream of retaining whatever spark still lights up between the two of us when we are in close proximity. I don't intend to stop using him any time soon to get my fill of Cole-time and he wouldn't deny me that even if his life depended on it.

Sometimes I think it does and so I spend a lot of time glued to the edge of the cliff, trying to think in the wind. What in the hell is he doing? And what does it have to do with me really?

***

Update: He didn't get the house. The loss doesn't bother him at all, he's one of those people who shrugs it off. Another one will come along, he says when pressed to explain his chipper demeanor. When the agent asked him if he would like to go ahead now and put in an offer on another house, he declined and said he was going to wait for the spring to see if something else caught his eye the way that one had. He listened for a few more moments on the phone and then laughed and said, Yes, I do know what I want in life. Briefly his eyes flickered to me and then as quickly he turned away, pretending to stretch. He hung up the phone and said the ninety minute caravans, for now, will continue.

I pointed out I'd rather be surrounded by sand than snow and maybe he should be looking for an island to buy instead. He just pointed at me, jabbing the air and nodding, and walked out of the room backwards.

And then PJ whispered that I am so evil he can hardly believe it sometimes.

Last night I took two of the snowman cookies and put them on a plate. When everyone was busy I slipped out of the house undetected (no worries, the alarms only go off if I leave the relative safety of the backyard, toward the cliffs, not if I step onto the driveway) and took the plate to the garage. I unlocked the side door of the garage and went inside. It was pitch dark at ground level in spite of a small amount of ambient light from the loft windows above. I didn't turn the lights on, I don't think I ever do when I go in there. I just walked across the floor in the dark to the back wall and set the plate down gently on the counter.

I turned to leave and smacked right into Ben. I think I broke my nose and all of my toes in doing so. He's a wall.

What are you doing, little one?

Nothing. Ow. I didn't know you were behind me.

Do ghosts eat cookies?

I am so busted. Mine would, I whisper and put my hands up over my face. I'm sorry Benny.

He pulls my hands back down. Don't be sorry. I would do the same.

Really?

No. Jake can get his own fucking cookies. And I doubt Cole ever ate them. He probably stacked them up and stood on them so he would look bigger. You know, like Loch does.

I laughed. Oh my God I laughed.

And this morning when we went back for the plate the cookies were gone.

A special performance for an audience of one.

Do you remember this?

That qualified as the World's Most Amazing Christmas Present. The ocean in my arms. The beach. Everything I love in a hand-built box, personalized with my name. I still open it every single day. I have worn the paint off the lid. Some of the roses are missing. There is still sand everywhere all the time because I can't leave well enough alone.

And Ben is still listening, because on Christmas morning he brought me the circus.

The music, the lights, the dizzying spotlights, the ear-splitting, repetitive music. The Fire-thrower, the Fortune Teller, the Magician and the Ringmaster too. The tricks and traps and gasps of an appreciative audience (me) kept me from pinching myself to see if I was dreaming.

And I had no idea what he was up to. None. Not a thing until I was manhandled out of bed that morning, dressed and blindfolded and led down the steps into..heaven on earth. I still had no idea until I heard the first note of the music and my blindfold was taken off.

They put on the greatest show on earth.

My presents were delivered by each performer in turn, each one more surprising than the next until the lights were turned up and Christmas day proper could begin. Everything was rehearsed and choreographed down to the minute. He made a full sized tent even. I begged him to leave it up but let's face it, it took over everything and it had to be dismantled. I would have lived in and around it forever, if you're asking.

I daresay I didn't pick my chin up off the floor until dinnertime. I was cooking, stirring gravy while the music of Fucik's Gladiators played on a loop through my skull. I still don't understand how he pulled it off.

I also still don't understand how Ben turned out to be such a formidable romantic. I just know that positively all of us were entranced, and a little bit in awe of how he managed to top something I thought I could never ever come close to again.

He said it was nothing, but he's wrong. It's everything.