Clarified (like butter).

In case it wasn't clear (is it ever?), no, Batman isn't going to come back to the fold. I'll take my New Year's Eve check-in calls and keep the emergency number and otherwise be smart enough not to bite off more than I can chew.

Who isn't guilty of doing that from time to time?

Things have also not changed with Caleb. He doesn't gain any ground in knowing the full spectrum of his brother's colors. He doesn't have the upper hand suddenly again, and no, he hasn't said much since our endless conversation. I think I've rattled him good and frankly it was very good for me to get some things out. Secrets are like splinters, they fester, working their way to the surface eventually anyway.

He's traveling to New England this weekend to one of his big spendy private clinics for his usual annual physical and check-up. I keep my fingers crossed and I don't miss him but I do worry. It's a strange feeling to wonder how he is and still attempt to keep him at a safe distance from my thoughts. I'm not sure I'll ever find a way that works that makes everyone happy, so I just work at making sure no one feels left out.

Forty days and forty nights.

I caved first.

Why?

The Dark Knight Rises. Penciled in on my boygenda, which is a small dayplanner on the kitchen counter where I keep track of plans with the boys and the boys' plans and their trips and tours and whatnot and there it was: July 20 TDKR/Batman (only it didn't say Batman, it said his actual given first name which is none of your business) and so I called his cloak and dagger number and I left a brief message asking him if our date was off and I should find a willing replacement to take me to the movies or if we were still on, to go as friends and nothing more?

I never received an answer, he just drove to the house to collect me in the Batmobile (Ha, kidding, he drove his car) and off we went to the theater. He bought me Skittles. We sat way down front and a few people gaped at him but otherwise we were mercifully left alone and I didn't know it was three hours long but gosh, am I ever glad I went because I loved everything except for one little part.

Bane's voice.

I couldn't make out what he said except when he shouted and even then it was a massive struggle so mumble-Bane was sort of ignored in favor of the...epicness of everything else.

I will definitely side with the Justice League because as fun as the Avengers are, Batman and Superman have a tendency to make me cry. I worry about them. I fear for them. They are vulnerable in a way that the slapstick-Ironman and Toonish-Thor are not. I like them more.

I won't give anything away, I will just tell you I cried three times, covered my eyes more than once, and was completely aghast twice at new developments. It was that good.

It was so good, I'd like to go see it again. Right away. As soon as I can. But not with Batman. He brought me back to the house and walked me up to the front door where I automatically invited him to come in for some tea. He refused, standing with his hands in his pockets watching the fountain, shaking his head.

Bridget, if I hadn't pushed-

But you have and you will. And I need to just minimize all of the pushing and shoving right now.

It would be better if I could remain a permanent part of your life.

Better for whom?

Everyone.

Why?

Because Caleb behaves when I'm around.

He's behaving right now.

Only because he's in the doghouse. I know what he did to you. They told me-

Who told you?

Your husband.

Which one?

He laughs out loud. Pyro. Pyro told me. He keeps me looped in.

Godfuckingdamnit. And since when do you call him that?

Stop swearing and be a lady, for chrissake.

Fuck you too. And fuck Lochlan for tattling-

He's smart not to trust Caleb. Caleb is..I don't even know what Caleb is. He's a small fish in a big pond. He is out of his league, and not objective enough to be rational when it comes to you.

And you are? You have it all figured out?

Hey, I didn't bother you. I was gone. I was living. I listened to you and I didn't contact you until you used the number to reach ME.

What have you been doing?

Working, Bridget. Thinking. Living. Reading. I won't perish from a denial of access, don't flatter yourself.

I wouldn't.

Sure you would. You like to know we're all miserable, dying on the inside from a lack of your attention.

Fine. Yes. I like to feel wanted.

You are.

By you?

No.

Liar.

Yes. And you can call me whatever you like, just don't call me Batman anymore.

Why?

There were those who could destroy him, so clearly the shoe no longer fits.

No one can destroy you? Wow. Maybe you are a superhero.

Yes, and you, Bridget, as it turns out, are my kryptonite.

Fine. You're now Superman. That's what I'm going to call you from now on. Congratulations.

By the way, Part II of the Watershed post is up. Right here, in chronological order, the day after Part I, if you are so inclined and not using a feed reader to read my journal.

I'm sorry it doesn't say what you think it might. Cole and Caleb's folks are still alive and savvy enough to visit the internet, I don't intend to make things any harder for them than I already do.

NO VACANCY (full for the summer).

Actually we're not adding one. We're replacing one.

Since Corey's head explodes every time we spend more than four hours in the same location (yeah, love you too, buddy), his time was short-lived and he's uh..I don't know. Gone again. He doesn't say much and so Gage! Came back! (Remember him?) and is going to stay on until about Halloween and possibly beyond so AKA forever and here we go, now. There is no more room at the inn.

The only Gage-specific rule we had to make up was 1. Please, for the love of God, no more alcohol because Gage equals party sometimes and we seem to have run dry on purpose. Well, except for the occasional toast or nightcap. This is a really good thing. Especially for the princess, for if she can't hold her liquor she'll damn well make someone else do it. Or so said Loch, who just..well, he's cranky today. What else is new?

Lochlan has also turned blonde finally. I think it happens overnight each summer. His burn darkens to coffee with cream and his hair takes forever and then suddenly he's all strawberries and rays of sunshine and brown and gold and different and familiar and beautiful.

At least in theory. As long as you don't look directly at him or ask him anything he deems foolish. (Bridget, what the fuck? Go inside. We'll talk about it later.)

Jesus Christ. I can't win.

Fragment (running by the lee). (Part II of II.)

Tell me the bad things first. Don't spare me.

I look up at him sharply. It makes sense. Maybe we need to do this. When I begin to talk I feel Caleb tense around me. As if he is bracing himself for the very worst. As if he is some sort of saint or angel.

And I am succinct and truthful. I speak clearly, not mincing words or softening things. I talk about Cole's flaws. His debilitating flaws. I try not to psychoanalyze him as I talk, I just enumerate everything as if I am dictating a grocery list. I feel really detached suddenly, and I press further back into the crook of Caleb's arm, which has dropped down around my shoulders possessively. His grip hurts slightly. I know he is holding on for dear life, and I keep going.

I find places to stop and hide. Places I shouldn't describe and still I press on. Some of these things I have never said out loud before. Some of these things I will never say again. Even when Jacob asked me, I could not answer. Because I did not want to be seen like that in Jacob's eyes. I didn't want to change the way he looked at me. I didn't want to ruin things because he would have self-destructed sooner, of that I am sure.

When I have gotten all of it out I stop, a worn silence remaining. I am exhausted. I'm surprised that I held it together. Caleb kisses the top of my head too firmly, telling me he's going to make some tea for us. He pushes the blanket back around me tightly and disappears into the kitchen. Six minutes later he returns with a second, smaller tray and I realize I am famished. He slices some bread and cheese and we take a break, saying little, daring each other to stack up the jalapenos and eat them without making a face. He fails. I do not.

When we're done eating he takes both trays back to the kitchen and refills our tea mugs, bringing them back for us to hold while we talk. It's close to four in the morning but the sentry remains outside in the garden unless my eyes are playing tricks on me but I know they're not. He asks a few very blunt, difficult questions that I answer to the best of my ability. He's struggling with this.

This was not what he expected.

This is not what he knew.

This changes things, reversing the Pandora mechanism clicking into place one section over from where we thought we once were.

When we settle back in to our respective positions, he asks for the good. The reward for a hard night. Sing the praises of the one that has just been thoroughly vilified, change tack now, and sail towards a new light, blahblahblah. Find the good, Bridget, and get back to your happy place, hurry-quick, the sun is coming up and the wind is dying down again.

And I give him that reward just as the sun begins to rise. I tell him all the good things and I watch as he panics inwardly, hunting for a place to put everything in a tiny vessel that stows nothing, instead scattering it all over the globe, always leaving the wrong things behind and using precious weight for things of zero consequence. It's a delicate balance and we're always swamped and in peril. We're always sinking. We're always far from shore with no rescue in sight.

Oh and you know what else I loved about him? Even when everything was awful, if he was there, I felt safe. Even when things were bad, he was home and I felt safe. I always felt safe with him, even when I didn't.

I watch as Caleb visibly relaxes, for he knows that power well. It runs in the family.

We stabilize abruptly, stop taking on water, and head toward the shore. I have ceased to make sense when I blurt that out and I realize I can't say anymore, he can't process anymore and we're done for the moment. Maybe we'll pick the conversation up another time. Maybe we'll never talk about this again. It was unceremonious, outwardly unemotional. Yet I can hardly believe the weight that has lifted.

It's time to go home.

In my bare feet I walk carefully across the driveway, slipping into the cool, dank garage just for a moment.

Jake is there, standing in the center of the open room, hands clasped in front of him, eyes closed. I whisper his name and his eyes open. In them is a far greater sorrow than I have ever seen before.

Oh, Bridget, he says.

I close my eyes to protect myself. When I open them again Jake is gone and the garage is empty.

Another time, Preacher. I can't do this right now. I just did something really big and I need to think about Cole for a little bit.

Watershed (Part I of II).

I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you
Where have the times gone, baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?

If Happy Ever After did exist,
I would still be holding you like this
All those fairy tales are full of shit
One more fucking love song, I'll be sick

He made Eggs Benedict and juice for us and sent me home without my shoes at eight this morning. My voice is hoarse from talking. And it's fine because this time I'm not going home in the condition I went home in last month when he summoned me and I went in blind. This time I went in with my own rules and I promised to bring the wrath of God behind me if he broke a single one but he has no intentions of doing that again and so last night I locked the door behind me and turned to face him bravely in the dark.

You're afraid. His blue eyes glint black in the dim light. The hemlocks surrounding the boathouse obscure all starlight from entering through the skylights tonight. I know these rooms by touch. Sort of how I know all the boys by the way their skin feels, their body temperatures. Caleb tends toward the cool side, in spite of the fires of hell he burns within. They don't affect him the way they do me, I guess.

I'm not, I lie.

Again, if you won't be honest this will be difficult for you.

There's that phrase again and it jives perfectly with his evil but not at all with his honesty. I wait without responding. He puts his hands up to my face and I flinch and give myself away. He stares at me in the dark and then abruptly he reaches out and turns on a lamp. Come with me, he says, and takes my hand.

He leads me over to the couch in the center of the room. It faces the television and a wall of windows behind that. It faces the sea. He pushes me down and grabs a blanket off the lower shelf and tucks it around me and then disappears to the pantry, returning with two whiskeys on a tray plus the bottle, a block of cheese and a baguette with a knife sticking out of it, some olives and a tiny bowl of jalapenos, because I love them.

He queued up some music and settled in beside me, his arm up over the back of the couch behind my head as if we were romantic interests. As if we had settled in for a date at home.

He asked me to tell him what I remember about Cole. Not as a form of torture or punishment for my shortcomings, but out of the curiosity of an older brother, now an only child.

And so I did.

And this is not something we have done before.

I am usually moving to fast for them to ask. I don't slow down. I don't sit down. I make my mistakes, I make my corrections and I just keep moving all the time and then the ghosts and the emotions can't catch up to me and most of the time I think that's a pretty good thing. I'm not in therapy. I don't take pills, I just never sit down unless I'm writing so in essence the boys still need to shoot me in the ass with a tranquilizer dart to get me to sleep.

Whiskey works but I cut myself off so maybe low lights and jazz and some snacks help fill everything in and BOOM, I'm down and he opens the Pandora's Box.

If I name the things I remember will I change the future?

No, I don't believe so. Not in this case. Ask me about Jake and I'll still run screaming but for Cole I think I can manage.

He leads. Caleb makes a good counselor. He's a little bit tender, gracious and patient. Attentive. I am pretty sure I'm the only one who sees this side of him. No, I'm completely sure I am.

I begin by answering his simple prodding. He gets up and walks around the room, turning on a few more lamps, making everything cozy. I note that we can now be observed if one were to venture to the lower end of the driveway where the rock wall begins. I am sure that someone is there but I don't want to look, I am too cozy and almost weirdly thankful for a chance to indulge in this.

I am honest. It isn't long before he stops having to prompt me and I just began to talk. Soon he sits back, settling in to listen as I tell him about a man he hardly knew.

Life preservers.

I take the champagne when he brings two glasses out to the railing. Our new tradition, forged in the trenches where someone told the Princess and the Devil to co-parent peacefully.

Here's to the beautiful mother of my son. He holds his glass up. I blush reluctantly and take a sip. This is supposed to be reciprocal but I change the subject.

Cheers. He's an amazing little man.

Caleb takes the compliment anyway, even though he gets little credit for it, since nature is something that scares me to pieces in this case and nurture has had clear sailing for over a decade now.

So, why didn't you write something different on Friday?

What do you m-

I thought you would have talked about Cole, and the six years of him raising Henry as his own, and instead of paying your respect on that day you give life to Lochlan's fantasies instead?

My face turns the color of the envelope peeking out of his shirt pocket. Ashen grey. My first instinct is to throw the champagne in his face and the glass over the railing before storming off. My second instinct is to turn cold and demand that he be ashamed of himself for trying to control my writing. My third instinct is to admit that...

..that I forgot.

I forgot that Friday the thirteenth marked six years since Cole died from the complications of his heart exploding. It was wrapped around me and I broke free and because of that he died.
Six years. Henry turns eleven tomorrow and it seems like so long ago when I was trying to have a birthday for him because he was turning five and that's such a big deal and I couldn't do it because I couldn't feel anything but death. Not a thing.

Ever since we've made a huge effort to separate the two days and now I see why they were all so patient on Friday and I wasn't aware of the date past being so fucking happy it was a hot sunny Friday and that meant two days of no work and everyone being around and I worked steadily toward today's celebrations with only my son (and the living) in mind.

Because it's private and I've decided I will keep him that way. I lie and swallow the rest of my champagne in one huge gulp. It burns my nose and my throat as I watch Caleb's face turn angelic, a sweet smile filling in his cheeks with just the right amount of tears in his eyes and I know I played my part the way it was written for me.

Just like I always do.

He pulls out the envelope and I'm caught so off-guard I take it and open it on the spot. With dismay I see that this invitation is more complicated than most, and that I won't be permitted to be forgetful in the future, because just as I think I might be one step ahead of Caleb, I look up to find he is in front of me, reaching out to push me back a little, just so I constantly have to make up ground. So I never get ahead.

I've decided I am livid with myself when I look up and see the look on his face. We have competing emotions of surprise and disappointment written all over our faces. He takes the envelope out of my hands, replacing it in his pocket without breaking his gaze.

You don't have to accept the invitation, Bridget, but please don't ever lie to me again.

Bear sighting #18 occured late this afternoon when we ventured halfway up the hill to a field where we like to fly kites and walk. He was on the opposite hill having some raspberries and he didn't seem all that perturbed to have company until we laughed a little too loudly and he went booking straight across the field and into the trees below us. For a moment I thought we were going to have to make a break for the road but I wasn't all that worried, he was quite small and mom was nowhere near our side of the meadow. I'm guessing she would have been watching from the line of trees as we infringed on dinner time.

Four star daydream (the replacements).

(This worry is completely unrelated to oh..everything else. But it's here nonetheless and someone who turned out to be completely unqualified told me once that I should write down my worries so that I might let them go. Instead it highlighted them and now they fester and burn.)

Lochlan is in a much better mood today.

He has allowed his brain to melt all over the inside of his skull and he isn't expending much energy on anything other than softly teasing me. He came to find me when he got home from his meeting. It seems weird to see Lochlan going to meetings but that's how he gets paid. He goes off in the one suit he owns (a medium-brown linen that goes well with his red hair) and then comes back and finds me to show me his cheques, direct from Batman, who would rather expend the energy to do absolutely everything in person instead of doing everything the easy way with the technology at hand. Though it seems to me the wealthiest among us share that trait of being so old-fashioned in business. Huh.

Today we sat out front weeding the gardens just because I wanted fifteen minutes of sun to help even out my Neapolitan tan. Loch unbuttoned his shirt three buttons down because he is choking in the heat. The jacket he has already abandoned, tossed overhand to land on the porch railing up above us.

You think you'll have any parts that match any time soon? His eyes are twinkling. He's looking rested, in spite of the unease he carries about living in such close proximity to Caleb. He hasn't touched a drop of alcohol for a little while now as he attempts to find better ways to manage the tension aside from drowning it. He's made some amazing changes. I'm not sure all of them are good so I give him my worried, silent eyes instead of what he is seeking, a gentle comeback.

I pass him back the two cheques he held out to me only after registering a practiced blank expression to conceal my stunned surprise. He is working for far more than I realized and the stakes have just become that much greater with the addition of the extra digits. It's all coming back now.

Don't, Bridgie. It's not the same thing.

I was there, remember? I don't know if you're aligning with the right stars, here, Locket.

The only people I align with are you and Ben and the kids.

Then give up the curse of doing commissions for Batman's contacts.

The money is too good. I'll work the run and when it's over it's over.

He said the exact same thing to me in 1985 and so I wait. He presses his forehead against mine and keeps his eyes locked on me. I try to look anywhere but directly at him but fail. I start to laugh but sob at the same time. Just quietly, just once and he reaches out and pulls me in close.

I'm not doing anything but trying to make a little money while I can, peanut. I'm getting old. It's about time I had a proper savings account. I have a daughter going to college like...tomorrow, it seems. Jesus Christ.

I can give you money.

I don't want the Devil's money.

Then I'll get some from Ben.

No, everything is okay. This will be for us. I'm using Batman, that's all. He's got the connections and maybe Cole knew exactly what he was doing.

Cole got eaten alive by their attention and it went to his head. His ego exploded. He became someone els-

I'm not going to ever be anyone but me. I promise you that. I'm just a loser with a paintbrush.

He said the same thing once.

I'm not Cole, peanut.

He stiffens and I can't breathe, his arms are so tight. I tuck my head under his jaw, wiping my nose on his shirt. You will be.

Never. He whispers it and brings up his hand to hold my head pressed hard against his chest. Not in a million years. Not for anything.

Finding my bearings, he calls it. I love that.

Oh, and since I got rid of Twitter, I suppose you want to know that I am up to bear sighting #17.

She comes to the yard just outside my bedroom window every night around midnight now. The blackberries aren't quite ready yet. She's eaten all the cherries. She ate the garbage that PJ left outside the garage in error, bringing her two cubs out to the driveway with her that night. We were enthralled.

I don't want her to touch the grapes in the vineyard and the orchard doesn't make any apples anymore and so we stare at each other in the dark now, our stomachs growling in unison, our fear of each other keeping us rooted in our respective places.

She is so huge and quiet. I would not stand a chance.

She needs a name.