So rattled I forgot to actually post this.

Every year around this time I put on my tightest corseted business dress, my highest killer stilettos and pull my hair into a tight chignon, secured with a glossy black pencil. Then I pick up my calculator with its three hundred buttons and I get to work, doing taxes. For the whole collective.

Every year I hold myself so tense I get headaches, neck aches and general all-over body aches. I have been known to paint rooms, reorganize my handbag and drink my face off instead of sitting down and starting the paperwork. Eventually I get my act together and churn out most of them in the same week. The dress and shoes change daily but the little scowl remains. I hate taxes but I refuse to let any of the boys pay a tax preparer to do the same job I can do (with a little prodding and a lot of promises of rewards).

This year Caleb gave me an extra week's leeway by not having the T4s prepared on time. Any other year the boys had their paperwork ready to roll and we had to wait for forms. This year the forms were out and we had to wait for Cale. And to top it off, he always throws a red herring into a box that is meaningless to everyone except the CRA and I have to sort out if it's important or not. Batman? He had the forms ready for me the first week of January.

Add in the fact that we're in a new province and I am still unfamiliar with the provincial tax laws. For example, we pay our own provincial health premiums here. Most other provinces roll them into taxes. Therefore, they can't be claimed under medical expenses. So yeah, a few fits and starts this week as I call the CRA several times just to make sure I'm not making any mistakes. So far so good.

Once I had everything I barricaded myself at the dining room table with many sharpened pencils and swear words. I looked up the word 'tax' on my blog, and then 'taxes' to show you exactly how tense I can get about finances and wound up reading the entry from where I sold the hundred year old castle that killed two men and had to be reinvented and left behind.

I did not cry, but I had that weird stinging ache start up behind my sinuses that means tears are imminent. So I came back to this page to finish up, because it's late and I need to pull dinner together. Dinner is in two shifts, remember? One for the children and the secondary boys who start early and roll in early and one for the princess and the primary boys, who usually roll in sometime between seven and eight at night, which makes for long days but I am far more rested than I was a year ago. And I can't really breathe in the corset but I look great, and between looking good and having a head for numbers I suppose one could do a lot worse.

But that's just me.

The taxes are done now at last and I'm going to go put on my pajamas and make a stiff drink for myself and spend the evening visiting with each of my boys to give them their good news. You see, not only do I do the paperwork but I keep a close eye on their totals to make sure they never have to pay in. Good luck getting that kind of service from some faceless tax preparation kiosk.

Also, I'm really cute in pajamas. So bring on the rewards. Lets start with a cookie and move on to sexual favors after that.

Unsound methods (Outstanding, red team. Outstanding.)

(You want to know who the memory thief really is? Well, I'll give you an epic hint. It isn't me.)

Complement the atmosphere
Fill the ground with all our tears
Dry them up to make it clear
We do no wrong

He holds out a rose. He's covered with grease, and still in his dark blue coverall suit from the garage. He was late leaving the shop because the owner wanted him to finish a brake job and then wait around for the customer who didn't want to leave his car overnight. The rose is artificial. The only place still open is the convenience store and he didn't have time to go to the bank anyway. It's 9:47 pm and I blew my curfew forty-seven minutes ago. As long as I say I was with Lochlan and not sitting on the swings in the park in total darkness trying to act bored instead of scared for three hours straight I won't get in any trouble.

I take the rose and he looks at his feet and shakes his head like he has water in his ears. Lochlan's self-doubt is as visible as his flaming hair

Happy Valentines Day, peanut.

I thrust forward the card I made for him. The envelope is too big, borrowed from the desk in the front hall. Maybe next year I'll have some money to buy a card with an envelope that matches but then again I probably won't. I'm a very good drawer though. Lochlan's been teaching me life studies or whatever he calls it. I draw him in poses. He gives me one minute per pose, sometimes five if he doesn't have to go to work early.

He opens the card.

I made it just for you! I crow.

He nods. I can tell. I love your artwork. I'm going to keep it forever, okay? Test me on that twenty years from now.

I will then. I smile, I am so pleased with myself when I make him happy.

So I got a new job, peanut. A job with the show. It starts at the end of May. I applied for it a couple weeks ago but I didn't want to tell anyone and jinx it. I won't have to work at the garage anymore.

Where will you be?

All over the east coast, even down to the US. All summer long. Maybe more once I'm done school. Midway and the circus too. I can alternate depending on what's happening.

I am so excited for him my heart catches in my throat. Never have I seen him so happy. I give him a hug and say Congratulations because that's what people tell you when something great happens to you and then I'm suddenly aware that the feeling I have isn't happiness for his news but an abrupt realization that he's leaving. He just GOT here, into my life.

I start to cry and drop the rose on the ground and he pulls me into his arms. I am now covered with grease and sweat and he holds me really tightly and rocks back and forth as we stand there and says to me, Now see, Bridget, that's the best part. You can come with me. Did you really think I would leave you behind?

Close the door before it's late
We were born to love and hate
Turn it down for our own sake
We do no wrong

You fill your ears with every note
Direction seems the only hope
Its crowded, let's create now
We do no wrong

He puts me back down and tries to wipe my cheeks with the cleanest parts of his hands. It doesn't work. Now I look like an extra from Apocalypse Now. We watched it in his parent's basement last week. They have a VCR. I didn't like it because it was about wars so I re-braided my hair and tried to appear interested, like the older kids seemed to be. I was just happy it was over, eventually.

And it also means next Valentine's Day I can give you something nicer. He picks up the rose and puts it between his teeth and winks at me.

I snatch the rose back from him and clutch it tightly. I don't know what he's talking about. How am I supposed to come with him?

Just think about it, Bridget. You can live in the midway. Ride every ride all day long. Have cotton candy for breakfast. Instead of visiting for a few nights you will be part of the show. I'm going to take the old camper or maybe even buy one from this guy the owner knows. It's a dream come true. No more shop hours and pink soap and crappy customers and low pay. I'll be in the entertainment industry. He grins, eyes sparkling in the dark.

His grin is contagious. I have no doubt he was born to charm. There's just something about him that makes him seem older than his years. Something about him that draws people in and holds their attention long after the lights go down and the rides are locked. Something that allows him to get away with things most people wouldn't dream of in a million years.

Common sense protects us
Everything affects us
To the outside light it's paradise
To the outside light it's paradise

I made him a new card this morning, a lot like that first one which he pulled out to show me. He's been using it as a bookmark for close to three decades now. Then he turned around and walked to the desk, and pulled out a big red fabric rose with a plastic stem, tag still attached. He gave it to me to hold while he dug his lighter out of his pocket.

And he set it on fire.

Power to weight ratio.

He presented me with the key. I jumped up and he lifted it way up over my head.

Tank is full, CD player is empty. He winked and I grinned.

How far? I ask eagerly.

Turn at Callaghan lake. But don't go to the lake. Then to Mission if you still need to stay out.

That's like four hours total.

And four back. Stay under the speed limit.

Yes, Dad.

He laughed. I'll tell Ben you're going.

I already did. He's getting his jacket. He's coming with me.

Oh. Well, then as long as the car is back by tomorrow disregard everything else. Well, except for the speed. Wait, does Ben even fit in that car?

Heh. I'll grease him up and push him in if he doesn't. Actually I might just anyway. That would be hot.

Bridget?

Yes, Caleb?

Please don't have sex in my car.

I turned around and walked out the door backwards, pointing at him. Don't you ruin my fun! And I laughed.

Honour-bound.

Why don't you come with me little girl
On a magic carpet ride

Well, you don't know what we can see
Why don't you tell your dreams to me
Fantasy will set you free

And just like that he shapeshifts back into devil-form, loathe to have anyone else connect the dots the way I can, making pictures of death where they intended a rainbow or perhaps a duckling. Caleb appeared at the kitchen door this morning, coffee mug in hand, hair slicked back with Brylcreem in his more customary corporate Cary Grant style, cleanshaven, button-down shirt and dress pants. I am used to that. He's always looked like that once he was out of law school.

Cole was the one who looked like he fell out of a repurposed sixties musical with his Trey Anastasio hair and Jim Morrison beard, leather cord around his neck until it fell off and paint-spattered jeans that forced my knees apart and made me give up any idea of defense that I could come up with, if I tried, which I didn't/wouldn't/couldn't. He would tuck his hair behind his ears and my dress would fall off.

So forgive me if I still feel like that every now and then.

Cole would have been forty-four this year. His hair would have been starting to see a few strands of grey, like Caleb's. Maybe he would have laugh lines like Caleb. Maybe he would have calmed down a little but he still would have ruled our lives, a job Lochlan took over and still resents to this day.

No one minds if I let my brain off leash. It is proclaimed to be healthy. It's proclaimed to be a good coping mechanism. Someone might be wrong on that note but hey, give me oxygen and I will breathe. Call me a duck and I'll follow you into the filthy pond in the middle of a city park and go for a swim.

It's Caleb's week to take the kids to school. We trade off mornings and afternoons. I like pick-up because I can hear all about their days and see that everything is in their backpacks that they will need to do their homework. He likes to not have to watch the clock in the afternoons when he gets buried in the odd consulting job or catching up with his old boys network or decides to practice his evil. Lochlan doesn't take the kids to school, everyone was fine with the status quo remaining the way it always was, children included, as they have input now in all sorts of things that used to be relegated to an eventual throw-down in the backyard and because of my need for a calmer house for their benefit there won't be any more of those. Lochlan's going to learn to rule his own reactions with the same self-control he runs the house with. Which is very little in all honesty but something is better than nothing.

A dirty pond is better than no river for miles and evil is better than dead.

Yes.

Evil is better than dead.

This is why I can't have nice things.

Jeans and a fisherman knit sweater. Hiking boots. Umbrella. Beard. Hair about four times longer than usual, for he has abandoned his monthly close crop and clean shave in favor of this rugged sort of casual mayhem of an appearance. I guess I didn't notice, to tell you the truth.

And then I walked out onto the verandah to say goodbye to the children this morning and saw Cole and felt my heart drop through the bottom of my stomach, leaving a flutter of butterflies scattering through my very being. My weak knees held long enough for me to get the rest of myself back in order and he smiled and walked up the hill.

I know. Yes. I'm aware Caleb does this on purpose.

And it works.

Let me entertain you.

I've come here to sell you my body
I can show you some good merchandise
I'll pull you and I'll pill you
I'll Cruella De Vil you
And to thrill you I'll use any device

We'll give you crazy performance
We'll give you grounds for divorce
We'll give you piece de resistance
And a tour de force
Of course

After several hours of walking the halls, terrorizing gift-shop volunteers and staring into bottomless cups of coffee Ben sits back in his chair and stretches, clearly restless. I am reading and loathe to put the book down so I sling my bag toward him and he catches it in his hands, plunking it into his lap and pulling open the zipper. Finally, something to do, he says.

I'm never exactly sure why he doesn't play games on his phone or something but Ben travels very light and is weirdly terrified of becoming attached to his phone. This is the longest he's ever had the same one, all previous ones would be stolen/left or misplaced in hotels worldwide. He's not good at keeping things secure. Maybe it's better that he remain ambivalent about the phone after all.

He digs through until he finds the first bit of lip makeup. He unscrews the top and sticks the end in his mouth. He frowns and opens his mouth wide, blotting the end of it on his tongue. LALALALALA he says. Yuck. What the hell is this, Bridget?

Lip stain, I tell him, deadpan. I'm trying not to laugh. It's supposed to be a serious day. Lochlan's getting the first of the last casts. We have given the power tools to Sam until Lochlan is healed so that he won't get out of it at the first sign of discomfort. I am holding my breath that this works or he is facing surgery and a lifetime of never throwing fire or pulling me out of the ocean with one arm ever again.

Why is it different? He is painting his tongue with it. He reaches out and grabs my arm and uses the lip stain to draw a heart on my upper arm with an arrow through it. He writes MOM in the centre and then draws another arrow pointing toward my face. I am frowning too now.

Don't waste it, it costs twenty dollars.

I'll buy all of them for you, then. Only it's gross. Tastes like a marker. He tries a second one. Same face. LALALALALALALA he sings again as he taps it on his tongue.

Exactly.

Why did you buy that instead of all the fruity yummy greasy deliciousness?

I got tired of the wind sticking my hair to my lips.

Was it the wind or just a good hard-

It was the wind. I don't wear lipgloss at night.

Maybe you should start. He wagged his tongue at me. It's striped red and pink now. I finally allow myself some out-loud laughter and resolve to wear the sticky stuff, even if it sticks to everything.

I start to tell him that, but he has moved on and is now taste-testing an orange mini-sharpie.

I didn't even know that was there. Should have used it on my lips.

Or maybe on his.

Tiny halcyon glows.

Don't put that on. It doesn't fit you anymore.

He is standing in the doorway smiling at me. I scowl and turn back to my reflection. Says who? I ask myself in the mirror.

I say. The color keeps you in the shadows and the fabric weight is far too much for a day like today. Plus it's one of your history dresses and this is a new day.

He is right. The heavy black vintage brocade is against everything today stands for in sunshine and warm wind. This is a mourning dress and rare is the day I don't pull out one of these first, before I'll consider something lighter, or maybe even jeans and a stolen band t-shirt.

Who let you in anyway? I scowl. I am still thinking, still considering. It's comfortable. And I like being in the shadows. I like keeping my head on my sleeve so they can see inside. Anything else is not me and I have had enough of strangers for now.

You did.

Maybe that was a mistake.

He crosses his arms and grins. I doubt it. You don't even have to get dressed to talk to me here.

You like that, don't you, Jacob?

My favorite part of the day was watching you roll out of bed with nothing but long hair and a sleepy smile.

Life was simpler then.

No, life was terribly complicated. Just like it always is, princess. Now, then. It makes no difference. You find the good parts and bear the rest.

Easy for you to say. Also hypocritical.

I was speaking about you, not about myself.

Right. Black dress it is, then. I shrug it over my head and when I pull it down he is gone.

***

Ben comes in and goes straight for Lochlan. They have their own language these days and I'm a little bit on the outside. He kisses the top of my head as he passes and asks Lochlan for an update on his hand. I had to take Loch in today for yet another x-ray and complimentary lecture. They're talking about surgery and titanium and horse tranquilizers and straight jackets and whatever else it's going to take at this point to heal him and keep him from using that arm.

Yes, they did indeed point out if he were to stop sawing off casts and punching Caleb he'd probably be all better already. I'd just like all of them to stop fighting, since it obviously serves no purpose except to illustrate how bloody angry they are at one another half or all of the time. That and I thought the days of everyone wading in to tear two brawling men apart ended when Cole and Jacob (the original dinner party brawlers) both took their leave of the planet.

I asked both Caleb and Lochlan separately if they wanted out of the current living arrangements.

Both said no.

So I said if they do it again, the rest of us are going to leave and they can finish each other off. Because hey! I can write a mean obituary. I've had so much fucking practice it's criminal.

I wanted to talk with Caleb about his conversation with Lochlan last week but he is running late and asks me to drive him down to the park so he can meet his dive group. He proceeds to turn the radio up in the car and fiddle with his watch the whole trip and generally evade my questions, and then once we arrive in the lot everyone descends on him and I am forced to stand and wait, keys in hand.

Finally he comes back and says to me that it's going to take a few minutes for him to prep his gear and I can talk to him while he does that. He is half into his dive boots and not paying attention, over my head, drowning my frustration. I don't like the fact that he dives any more than I like the cigars and the constant travel and the stress because all of it seems as if it would be hard on his heart but the devil persists in a lot of things, doesn't he?

And he is still the devil. I believe he lasted almost ninety days and not a minute more.

I have four minutes, Bridget. What did you need?

Why did you make Lochlan that offer? 'Here's a bunch of money, go away.' What the hell are you doing?

Why does it matter? It's not like he took it. Unless...were you considering my offer after all this time? The price I quoted. My holdings become yours and you are mine exclusively. He winks and smiles at me and I lock my knees against his charm.

You don't get to torture him.

But he can torture me?

He avoids you.

Every time you leave the room he describes something he did to you the night before. You think I'm wicked. Christ.

I don't know if I should believe him or remain on the side I'm on already. I stand there considering both options, weighing the oxygen left on the dial to breathe when Caleb stands up and nods toward the group. We're going. I'll catch a ride home with someone. He pulls me in close against him and wraps his hand around my head. You fucking beautiful little whore. You really think I can just let you go? He pulls me up off my feet, kisses me hard and then drops me back to earth and walks away, grabbing his tanks off the tailgate on his way. I watch as he crosses the road and heads down the steps toward the water.

I decide to stop at a few places on the way back and run some errands so it's a couple hours before I return. Caleb is home already, in the driveway organizing his gear. I pointedly ignore him as I cross to the camper and knock on the door. Lochlan comes out and smiles. His hands are covered with pastels and he's blasting Saving, the song that's been stuck in both of our heads now for a week or more. He asks what's up, reminding me I never have to knock. Tells me I look gorgeous. Suggests a movie later on tonight. I keep interrupting him and finally he stops and waits for me to talk. I tattle all my tales at once.

He said when I'm not around you describe some of our time spent to him. That the torture goes both ways.

My doubt becomes my regret as the look on his face changes to one of pure outrage. I should not question the logical one. Straight-ahead lies now, hey? he yells and takes off across the driveway where he pulls up into a superman punch the likes of which I don't think I've seen from him before. I hear his fist connect to Caleb's face. Caleb is still half into his suit and slow on the uptake and gets the full force of Lochlan's punch. I am right behind him and I throw myself between them when he staggers back. I feel small and helpless and afraid but I yell at them to stop and they do. They're not going to fight if I won't get out of the way.

Lochlan kisses his bruised knuckles and turns to go back to the camper. I let my guard down and turn to see if Caleb is okay when a blur of red, white and blue moves past me and they are on the ground now. The door slams and Andrew and Dylan come out and get them up and apart. Both of them look to me to validation or forgiveness or excuse. I don't know if I have any. I'm happy they waited until the children were already at school. I'm happy some of the others were at home to break it up before it got worse. I'm disappointed that their tempers still rule.

I'm even more disappointed that Caleb even presumed to think that he could buy Lochlan's exodus from my life. Last time I checked there were no price tags on my head anymore.

I guess I was wrong.

Dashed.

Call no man foe, but never love a stranger. ~Stella Benson

New Jake is kicking at the smaller rocks along the water while I stay within reach and scowl at him. I am allowed to come down to the beach but only if I bring someone with me who can swim. Lovely. New Jake volunteered and when pressed to explain his eagerness he produced a pack of cigarettes and explained sheepishly that he is down to two a day. Two is good, he points out and so I am given the all-clear and now he is hellbent on ruining my daily inspection for beach glass with all the kicking and rearranging of the shoreline. Low tide doesn't match any convenient hours for me lately so every piece I find is an absolute marvel.

(I warned you it takes very little to entertain me but you persist in your skepticism. Why?)

He laughs and take a drag. He doesn't like you, he says and lifts his head up to check the angle of the sun.

Who doesn't like me? I am coy. I know the answer but it will be interesting to hear an outsider's perspective.

Garland.

I turn and beat my head repeatedly against New Jake's shoulder. He doesn't budge. I know, I wail briefly and he laughs again and puts his arm up around me and rubs my back consolingly.

It's okay, Bridget. Maybe he will warm up.

He leaves tomorrow, if he hasn't warmed up by now he's not going to. Besides, I don't think I like him either. I pull my fingers up over my mouth in surprise. Not sure I've ever met a man I didn't like, much less a friend of Jacob's.

So the world can rest easy now knowing I'm not charming another man to the breakfast table nor am I adding another character to the cast here. Therefore no description is required and no words will be spent. August has given up trying to force things and Garland leaves tomorrow. They did go out and tour the city and have a great time catching up so all is not lost, it just has so very little to do with me.

Maybe someday he'll come back or when I go to Newfoundland we can find some sort of common ground but that's far off in the future because he hates to travel and I hate to be around someone I make uncomfortable. I might be a little monster but if you ask for space you're going to get it.

I reach into New Jake's pocket and pull out his cigarettes, taking one out and replacing the pack. He raises his eyebrows and holds out his zippo to light it for me. I take a drag and then hold the cigarette out in front of me as if it's something I've never seen before. The familiar throb behind my eyes begins in earnest.

I thought cigarettes give you headaches, he reminds me.

They do. The pain will be a nice distraction, I tell him and turn back to my search for treasure. The sun is warm on the top of my head, and this is the purest form of Lochlan's Win some, lose some lesson that he used to try to make me understand back in the day when I thought I could conquer the world instead of merely surviving it.

Goodbye, Garland, and thanks for at least being honest. I didn't kill your friend though, he killed me. And there is no place on a ghost one which you can lay blame, it just slides off and falls to the floor every last time. Trust me, I've tried.

1986 was a really rough year for some people.

I might not say I'm sorry
Yeah, I might talk rough sometimes
And I might forget the little things
Or keep you hanging on the line

In a world that don't know Romeo and Juliet
Boy meets girl and promises we can't forget
We are cast from Eden's gate with no regrets
Into the fire we cry

Bon Jovi came on the stereo this morning while I was painting and Lochlan scowled when I started to sing. His only beef with them (aside from their eighties hair) was that their most prolific album came out in 1986 and that was the year he tried and failed to get me back from Cole (you would think he also holds grudges against 1987 through 2012. Oh wait, he does so NEVERMIND.)

Had he succeeded I'm pretty sure we would have spent our lives stacked in an airstream with three mischievous and filthy-wild little kids and fifty bucks in the bank and fought every goddamned day for the rest of our lives but it would have been true love forever nonetheless.

Alas, things have not worked out that way.

Save for the airstream. It's in the driveway. Oh and he has less than fifty dollars in the bank and he's perfectly happy, thank you very much. Oh and yes, WE STILL FIGHT EVERY DAMNED DAY, LOCHLAN.

What an odd thing to hold a grudge over. Bon Jovi. Hahahahahahah.

(I realize you want to know about Garland. So do I. August has been showing him the city, I have barely seen the guy. Hopefully on the weekend that will change.)