Game of chance.

He's down on the back patio practicing with his torches. Eating fire. Slow burn tricks and human lighter stunts that make me smile. Showy stuff. His arm still hurts. They refused to cast it anymore. He refused to let them anymore. He said it will heal on its own, eventually.

I am inside, washing pots and pans, watching closely since he is out there alone. I turn and quickly scan the room for my phone in case he goes up in flames and I have to call emergency. My face hits Ben's chest squarely and I bounce back against the sink.

Ow. You really have to stop sneaking up behind me.

You really should wear those tiny things that help you hear me, bee.

When I wear those I can hear Mars sneaking up behind me, Benny. Possibly Jupiter too.

He laughs and spins me back around so I can keep washing dishes while he puts his chin on my head and leans forward to look out the window.

Fuck, I gotta learn to do that.

Why? I'm guessing you have enough talents.

Oh really. He leans down and plants a kiss directly behind my ear while squeezing me so tightly I hear popping noises in all sorts of different places.

Crushing me should not be one of them.

Depends on the circumstances. He wraps his hand around my throat and pulls my face to the right to kiss me. I struggle, pointing out that I would love to cuddle as soon as I'm finished the dishes and Lochlan comes back inside.

Why? Do you have plans?

I always watch him to make sure he's safe.

Too bad he couldn't do the same. It's out before he can censor himself.

Low blow, Benjamin.

True story, Wee-Bee.

We engage in a thousand-yard staring contest. I'm not going to continue to defend Lochlan, my position on that is well-documented. I'm allowed to point out Lochlan's epic failures and he's allowed to point out mine, as they pertain to each other. No one else will get that privilege. Ben changes tactics, because he doesn't think it's worth continuing either.

How about we rendezvous at eleven then? A hot bath with some rose petals, just for my beautiful bride.

I nod but my eyes flick toward the window again, checking the patio. Ben misses nothing.

Eleven then, he frowns and shoves me toward the back door. He points at me. Why the hell is everyone doing that lately? Don't get too close to the fire, okay? You'll get burned. He does the Kurgan impression again, winks and turns away, walking out of the room.

I stop long enough to pull on my shoes and then I run out the back door and across the deck toward the steps. If there's a show starting I don't want to be late.

I didn't mind the wait. I was watching the sunlight kiss the waves. All the way out past the sandbars where the whitecaps threatened even the best of swimmers. I swam out there once and only once. It was exhilarating, terrifying and life-changing. I'd like to do it again only that sort of courage is hard to muster and harder to maintain.

I can feel my skin starting to burn. I frown and pull out my sunscreen. SPF 15. I don't think it's working so I slip my sundress back on over my bathing suit. I don't own any sunglasses. I pull off the ribbon from my braid and let the wind comb my hair. That will protect my shoulders, ears and neck at least.

And then I see him, hurrying down the boardwalk, arms tight with the weight of the canvas bags he is carrying. He jumps off the high end of the step and slogs through the deep sand between the dunes to where I sit waiting, my bag full of sketchbooks abandoned beside me.

He drops down and scrutinizes me.

Sorry for the delay. The lineups are incredible with the tourists here. He frowns slightly. You're burning. Let's go back.

Can we eat first and then go right home? Always hungry. My stomach growls for effect and Lochlan laughs.

Look what I found for you. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a small bottle of Orange Crush, and then a second. It's like a scavenger hunt in every little town for us now. And this, he pulls out two bags of chips and then two sandwiches. I am busy spreading out the quilt that was in the other bag and then I check to see if there is anything else to be unpacked. At the bottom of the bag I find a folded up piece of notebook paper. Not so much folded, but crumpled.

I take it out and begin to open it up when Lochlan reaches out and takes it from me. He is abrupt and rough.

That's a list I made for my birthday plans, I should keep that. No worries.

But he's lying and we both know it.

He stands up and shoves it deep into the pocket of his cargo shorts. When he sits back down everything has changed. The sun runs to hide behind the clouds. The seagulls cease their cries along the cliffs. The waves smooth themselves and lurk under the surface.

He opens my pop and hands me the bottle. Eat, Bridget. We have a busy evening ahead. I think we can manage a quick swim though. He smiles gently now.

I nod and tilt the bottle up to take a sip. He is unwrapping the sandwiches. Egg for me, Montreal smoked meat for himself. They are from the deli beside the corner store. In exchange for the free lunch Lochlan will allow the owner's children to ride the Ferris wheel all damn weekend long, whenever they please. It's a small risk with a big reward: food. Something that is always too scarce on the road. No matter what we do we're always vaguely hungry. When I see deer at the edge of clearing behind the campers I don't want to feed them, I want someone to shoot them so we can barbecue them and then sleep deeply instead of fitfully, woken by pangs of hunger.

I have become a tiny carny, savage and with bloodlust in my eyes. At least that's what Lochlan describes me as in the stories he tells me late at night while we watch the stars through the little window above our bed.

I should have asked about that piece of paper again. I know what's on it now but it would have made all the difference back then.

A year of living dangerously.

(Oh, hello, she says as she turns around to acknowledge your presence. I don't know why you jumped. After all you were the one who went looking for her. And you always find what you're looking for.)

I was going to come in here and distract you with flighty, nonsense words. I was going to show you my resolutions for the new year. I was going to share my hopes with you, and my plans to become a better, new and improved princess, starting the year off right but then two things happened.

Thing one was that Lochlan and PJ got into it. I mean, really got into it. They took us all by surprise and since the dust is still settling I can't say too much yet. This is one of the hazards of an intentional family, in reality. In fantasy, this was a terrible, horrible no-good fight.

Thing two was that I looked at the list of resolutions I have typed up and I noticed that there are only two things still on the list that I haven't already broken.

So fuck that, I guess.

And no, one of them wasn't to swear less. Jesus, people. The rest of the world can mind their mouths, I like mine the way it is, thanks. Filthy as a Sailor, twenty-four seven.

And now since we've done nothing but watch four entire seasons of The Wizards of Waverly Place in the past two days while sick with the second round of the holiday flu, I need to go. The final movie starts in an hour, and I need to see who the family wizard will be.

I know who it is in this house.

Me.

Snort.

I really need to be wearing this right now.

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.