Misled/Miss Lead.

I will survive cause I want more
And I will create a bigger war
Then I will rule over and give you hell
And then you will do as I command
Cause I will be here when you are gone
Yeah I'll still be here when you are gone

The envelope arrived this morning by courier. White Canada Post, so I opened it right away, standing in the front hall in my pajama pants and a baby-pink tank top. A printed email fell out, folded and taped to a pewter envelope with nothing written on the front. I frown. He's just not going to dry up and blow away. I look at the email first. It's a directive from his lawyer, pointing out an option to have my lawyer direct me to visit with Caleb if I won't abide by the rules of our custody arrangement. I roll my eyes. This has nothing to do with Henry. I can email my costs for Henry's spring pictures and new clothes to Caleb. He's just decided to make things difficult because he misses me. Or something. Maybe the Devil is hungry for another soul. God only knows, he likes to lick mine and taste his future.

Curiosity (killed the princess) leads me to open the pewter-colored envelope as well. It's on his monogrammed letterhead. Two words, handwritten in his modern scrawl.

Bridget - please.

I sigh. It's going to be a long day.

I head upstairs to get ready. I am so tired. I need some coffee. I need breakfast. I shower and grab a black dress from the closet without looking. I zip myself in, carry my high heels downstairs and put them on by the back door. I grab the envelope of receipts and my phone from the counter and head outside. It's raining. Great. My hair curls as I cross the driveway and by the time I knock on the glass door of the boathouse I feel like wilted lettuce at the grocery store.

Caleb opens the door quickly and I give him my look. The look that says I know what you're up to and I don't want to be here.

Notice I didn't actually choose to involve the courts, Bridget.

The effect is the same. What do you need? I take several steps into the room as he closes the door behind me. I drop the envelopes on the counter and weigh them down with my phone.

He comes up behind me and puts his hand around my neck, pulling me close against him. You. I need you, he whispers.

I reach out and pick up my phone and turn at the same time. He is smiling. It's not a hopeful smile. It's one of those lie-smiles, where he decides for both of us whether this will be easy or difficult.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, princess.

You know, I haven't found that. Strange, isn't it?

He picks up my hand and shakes the phone out of it. He counts my rings. There it is. An extra. Are you ready to explain why you're wearing a ring from Lochlan?

No? Last time I checked I didn't have to get your permission to accessorize.

How quickly you've forgotten.

I'm not playing your game anymore, Caleb.

Sure you are, this is just one of those times where I have backed off in order to see what you do.

And what did I do?

You got closer to that fucking redheaded freak again. But where is he today, Bridget?

He headed out early this morning for a short trip. I frown. I don't need this shoved down my throat.

What do you suppose your husband said to him to make him agree to leave you here alone in the company of wolves? What do you think Ben would have to accomplish to make Lochlan leave, just as things were getting interesting around here?

Ben had nothing to do with this. Loch is going to see his father. It doesn't happen often but it was a good time for him to go. Who am I convincing? I sound doubtful to my own ears.

Is that what you think happened? He laughs. You might want to take a good hard look at your husband's attempts to suddenly set rules for you. Do you feel like you're back to obeying someone? That you're taking orders? He moves in closer and brings his hands up to my face so I can't focus on anything but him. Do you think at last the big beast is trying to rein you in just as you were finally settling into a pattern? My brain is hurting so badly. Still no coffee, and Caleb is trying to make me think about things I've been pushing away lately because it's too disturbing a place to go. You always submit so willingly to authority. It's so beautiful.

He runs his thumb across the center of my bottom lip and I suddenly bare my teeth and give him a shove. Ben doesn't do that. Stop it!

He decides releasing me is best and heads around to the other side of the kitchen, turning on the coffeemaker and giving me a generous smile. You might want to think about that, Bridget. And also? That beautiful new dress you're wearing? He's going to be angry when he learns you wore it for me.

As I'm walking out the door, he calls to me. You always pick the hard road, princess. You should really do something about that. My offer still stands, whenever you're ready. As long as it takes, I will wait for you.

I want love to walk right up and bite me,
Grab a hold of me and fight me, leave me dying on the ground.
I want love to split my mouth wide open,
And cover up my ears and never let me hear a sound
I want love to forget that you offended me,
Or how you have defended me when everybody talked me down
Yeah and I want love to change my friends to enemies,
Change my friends to enemies, and show me how it's all my fault.

Last night I took a glass of wine (which I swear I don't drink any more but you see we have a tiny vineyard and there's thirty bottles of wine in the cellar, which is not actually a cellar but the space above the cabinets as you head toward the dining room proper. It was wasted space so I christened it the wine cellar) and a box of strawberries outside to hull with Jacob's old pocket knife.

His favorite one went to Henry and I keep a different one for stupid chores like sitting outside wishing he was making fun of me for so much wastage on each berry at the expense of keeping my flesh intact. Because he would never cut himself and I always do so it's easier just to buy more strawberries than I need and sacrifice fully a quarter of each one to the slice of a blade wielded quite awkwardly. I was never good with knives.

I was humming along with the song I could hear from the driveway. Lochlan is in the camper. The lamp is on inside. I can hear the song plainly which means he is busy. Probably sleeping-busy. He could sleep on a roller coaster if only I wasn't screaming. It's one of the few sounds he won't sleep through.

And wow, I've told you nothing so far, but with so many words.

Anyway, Caleb came across the driveway and sat down beside me. I stopped humming and started listening. He asked what the star was next to the moon and I answered automatically, without looking. He shook his head. Interesting, since the cloud cover is too thick and there are no stars tonight, Bridget.

I look up into his face and see disappointment.

You want to argue.

Of course not, you're holding a knife.

I'd be better equipped if I smashed the top off the wine glass and used that.

I don't doubt it. You fight like a long-haul trucker.

Nice. Thank you.

Put the knife down.

Tell me what's on your mind and I'll decide if I'm going to put the knife down.

When are you going to come and see me? I have a list of things we have to go over and it's been weeks, Bridget.

Months, actually.

I'm well aware.

Then keep waiting. Unless you just want to have a throwdown right now. You're unarmed and I am dual wielding. It'd be perfect.

Not as easy to manage your life as you thought it would be, is it?

I throw the knife in the bowl and look at him. Is there something else you need or can I have some time to myself?

He leaned in as if for a kiss, pressing his cheek against mine. I had to listen hard.

Just remember, Bridget, when all is said and done, I will be your saving grace. He pulled back briefly, long enough to plant a long kiss on my lips and then he got up and left.

I walk the fault into the cold
The fate can take your breath away
I hope you don’t open the door
To see the ghost walk through walls
I know the smoke can choke your hope
A lesson learned push comes to fall
They walk away, they walk away
(I hope you don’t) walk away

Oh, why did you take flight?

And I'm not even drunk.

The new plan tonight is to sell everything and buy a houseboat. And live on it. On the water twenty-four-seven with the lights and the breeze and the sun and the rain and the seagulls and the whales and never ever ever have to pay property taxes or utility bills again.

I would have to give away all of my shoes. And probably my dresses too and the four drawers full of lingerie and the snowglobes, four couches and my books. The pets. The cars, too. Possibly some of the boys.

I am fine with this, I like small spaces and minimalist living.

I like the sea.

(Update: two glasses of wine later, Caleb texts me that I can have the yacht whenever I want it. I said houseboat you asshole. And I can't afford any of these ones that I'm looking at anyway so no one hold your breath. Now if no one minds I have half a bottle left and I'm going outside to enjoy it on land. I can look at the water, at least.)

Forty two inches minimum height.

It's called the Round Up. Other places call it Meteor or Zero Gravity sometimes.

Here, come and stand on the edge of the world, Bridget.

He smiles and I let go of his hand as I am buckled in tightly. He gets in beside me and fastens his own restraint without help. He'll be checked nevertheless but I am always momentarily envious of his self-reliance.

When the ride begins to move I close my eyes. Within a moment I feel his hand close around mine again and then something deep inside my chest soars just like that feeling you have before you burst into tears. He squeezes my hand and calls to me, Open your eyes! You're missing it!

So I do.

We are spinning up on one end at a dizzying pace, the lights leaving trails in my eyes, the music loud, so loud it almost hurts, but in a good way. Smiles and squeals of laughter are all around me. I scream and it comes out in a high peal of sheer delight that lasts on average twenty seconds. He always laughs so hard when he counts and then again when he tells me my new high score. I can't help it. To be honest, I can't hear it and I can't control it either.

I am in Heaven and Heaven is the midway.

Absolute and foolish bravery.

Slightly defective, not what I had planned.

After dark when all of the boys were squarely on my side, I took one of the torches and lit it. I was quiet, I promise. I held it against the wooden railing of the bridge that separates me from Satan. Eventually the whole bridge went up in flames but he didn't notice, because he was busy, and then Lochlan was mad that I took the torch in the first place and didn't clean it properly afterward and he pointed out that when one burns bridges they tend to leave one on an island all alone so what's the point if you are the only one affected?

I'm not, I insist. I grab another torch and light it. Lochlan takes it again and puts it flamefirst into the water bucket. He rolls his eyes. We have to find another way, peanut.

This might work, I say, and pick up a third torch. Lochlan kicks the bucket over and tells me we can do this all night but I am wasting my energy. You know those people you just can't impress, ever? They'll stand and watch your whole act, criticizing everything, insisting the fire isn't 'real' somehow and then when you pass the hat they walk away? He's one of those people, peanut, and he's never going to change.

Oh he'll change, I say above the roar of the flames. Just you watch. I can make him change. I've just never wanted to, before now. I didn't think I had the capacity to do it, before now.

But I do.

They're going to hate it.

When things get interesting around here I haul out Lochlan's big laptop and sit on the floor in his room pretending I can use all of his exciting art programs. It keeps me busy for a little while and then you get something new to look at. Like the new header above. Shipwrecks and soliloquies is going to be the new tagline here. I used Jon Foreman's Nothing in the world could fail me now for a hell of a long time and then I switched to Marc Arcand's In all the ways I've dreamed you, I chose a song to reach you, but I am so so fickle and loathe to put any more songs up on pedestals. Essentially they are all there already anyway.

So I came up with my own line.

It seems very fitting. Shipwrecks to honor my beautiful and violent Atlantic ocean and the mess of relationships crashed upon my shores, and soliloquies because, well, that's what this blog is. A place where I can talk to myself and describe how I feel.

Hope you like the header, in any case. It's certainly not perfect and so it fits in here just fine.

Just bring me all the fairy tales and I'll point out who's who.

Whenever you're sorry
You're not in my hands
You're in some other defect hands

Hey beautiful. I turn and he is there, black wings folded, paint-spattered jeans and hands to match. Dark brown curls hiding his eyes. But he is smiling, so that's something. Rough week?

I nod slowly. I'm wanting to look for Jake but Jake is nowhere to be found. I don't come out here to talk to Cole, we have nothing left to say. I start back toward the door but suddenly he is blocking it so I stop.

You need to do something for me, okay, paper doll? You need to not make any sudden moves right now. I want you to just hold tight to Ben and don't think about anything else right now. Can you do that?

I nod again, like a child. It's akin to being hypnotized. Cole's directives have weight anyway and the wings now give him all kinds of insight into my past, present and future so he knew I was playing scenarios through my head like reel to reel tapes and he worries (GOOD) that I might do something he wouldn't want me to do.

This is none of your business now, Cole. I tell him softly. I watch his nostrils flare and he shakes his curls back and just for a moment he is my lizard king again, the one who force-fed me a cure for homesickness that turned out to be a sham in of itself. The one who took over, raising me from fourteen to thirty-five. No small feat, especially considering he did so with Lochlan and then Jake, too, breathing down his neck. Cole the Great and Terrible.

No sudden moves, I give in and repeat his instructions. He's so very good at this.

Good girl. That's my girl. You're doing well, munchkin.

I look at the floor.

You can do this. Just keep going. Keep yourself in check.

You're gunning for your brother to win and I don't even know the rules. I'm not the one playing games, Cole.

Doll, who is filling your head with these ideas?

He stabbed you in the back over and over again and you take his side?

He looks up and smiles under a curtain of tousled waves. Blood is thicker than saltwater.

No it isn't. I turn and walk out on him again. It's becoming part of our routine.

Dissonance and the art of knowing a little bit about everything and a whole lot about nothing.

He left the house shortly after midnight Sunday morning, basket in hand, and he stroked flat out all around the neighborhood, dressed in a tux, morning coattails flying in the dark out behind him, spats making him appear to be gliding on air. The spats obscured his inline skates from view quite nicely in the dark and the giant rabbit head mask concealed his identity completely.

He threw tiny foil-wrapped chocolate eggs everywhere, onto the grass, front walkways, flowerbeds and gazebos, and rang a tiny handbell as he went. It was just enough to spool up talk in the neighborhood, among the youngest set, that the Easter bunny was real, because they all saw the same thing when they got up to see what was making that strange sound overnight.

This year it was not Lochlan in disguise.

***

What seemed like three nights was actually only one since we flew in overnight on Thursday and then out again on Saturday evening. I am so ridiculously underslept right now I have taken to gritting my teeth as I answer what are seemingly innocuous questions disguised as blistering irritants to my very being.

Ben took me shopping when we had a little free time on Saturday afternoon. He stood and smiled benignly while I tried on impossible shoes and scandalous lingerie and dresses that I'm not sure I could wear out of our closet for their sparingness. He bought everything he liked most and as we were leaving, my hand in his, with his other hand holding all of the bags, he said all of it could only be worn for him. I stopped in my tracks and just stood there looking up at him because he's never been one for rules or quiet derision and here it all is suddenly, far from home, a familiar format to him, a foreign concept to me.

He shook his head as if to clear it, giving my hand a squeeze, changing his expression to one of silliness abruptly, suggesting a bath and some room service later in the night. I nodded, still sort of frozen when he started to walk and I fell all over myself as I was pulled along with him. Abruptly he stopped again and turned to face me, rightening me at the same time. He laughed softly, looking shy and confused and so much like the Ben I fell in love with that I melted and ran into the sidewalk grates into the subway tunnels below.

Don't...

Don't what? I am trying to keep my hair out of my lipgloss. I fail. It whips into my eyes and he takes his hands and smooths my hair down, keeping them there.

Don't let me make you feel bad for missing him.

I duck out of his hands, turn and walk fast. I want to be out of this wind.

***

We pull in just before eleven Saturday night and I stand shivering as Ben helps the driver unload our things. He makes no move to tell me to go in ahead of him and I make no move to go in on my own. I am just watching him, so at ease with suitcases and strangers and his old routines. Finally it's us and he loads my suitcase on top of his and pulls them both easily with one hand. His other hand slides around my neck, pulling me in against his shoulder. He stops me and asks if I had fun.

I nod and he smiles. Actual fun?

I start to shake my head and all the composure I held so carefully all week spills all over the front walk.

It sucked, didn't it?

Yeah. Too much work. My shaky breath makes him laugh sympathetically and he nods. I know, little bee. We'll make it up. Maybe we can plan harder with a little more time and do something later on in the spring.

I am waiting. I nod politely. We won't. Ben is a huge homebody now. And I'm not all that far behind him, except when I am strung out feverishly from cabin closeness and wanderlust. Those times the sickness is horrible and the rest of the time I am completely fine. And he is as mercurial with his monopolization of my time as he is with everything else.

Go.

Hmm?

Go see him. Tell him we're home. Peter Pan needs his Wendy.

Which one are you, Ben?

What?

If he is Peter Pan, and we already know Caleb is Captain Hook, then who are you?

I'll be Tinkerbell. Plotting to have him to myself. He wagged his tongue but instead of being funny it was sad.

I know who you are.

You do?

Yes. You're Mr. Barrie. You're the one writing this story now.

Hope clouded his brown eyes into a pale tan reflecting the sand at the bottom of the cliff.

Ben, have you read Peter Pan?

I saw the mov-

Did you read the book?

No. Why?

Their relationship is as ambiguous as all hell. One minute she is his mother, the next they argue like siblings. She loved him when she was a child but it's never fully explored. It hasn't played out properly.

He leans over and kisses my hair and shoves me away at the same time, while he whispers Exactly. His face is grim but he flashes me a dismissive smile anyway and he turns and hefts the bags up the steps. When he gets to the top, he turns back to look at me and he nods toward the garage. I turn to look and see Lochlan. He is helping New Jake with something on the bike. The worklights they have set up blind me.

I sigh loudly to highlight my own frustration and turn on my heel to head across the driveway.

“Wendy," Peter Pan continued in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist, "Wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys.”
― J.M. Barrie

Touché, Mr. Barrie. Touché.

Safely home. Kissed my babies and boys, got the hockey scores, going to shower and go to bed. Forgot how much I hate the smell of plane fuel on bare skin. More tomorrow. Oh, and Christian sent me this earlier this morning and I love it. Really I do.

XO