I come in and he's washing dishes again. I frown. That's my job, Jake. You don't need to do those.

I want to, Pigalet. 

Okay but when you wind up with dishpan hands you're not touching me. 

I let you touch me with your hands. 

I wear gloves when I wash pots. But that's not a fair comparison because your hand is so big it covers my whole face. You wouldn't feel mine the same way.

He smiles sadly and then I abruptly realize I have conjured up one of the most bittersweet memories we have.

Sorry, I tell him.

He shakes his head. It's okay, Pigalet. I'm just killing time while you kill everything else.

He presented a blindfold and I balked.

It's morning, I'm so tired and I don't think-

Bridget. Relax. This isn't what you think.

I wait, back against the wall, dress in my arms because I was busy finding all of my things when he walked into the room, impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place.

Would you relax? Please, babydoll? This is a good thing.

He's said that before and it was only ever good for him. Well, that might not be entirely true but I had to be broken in first. And we all know that's never a fun prospect.

We have a flight to catch, Bridget. Your things are already in the car, I had them sent over, and when we land, you will asked to put this on so that our destination remains a surprise until the moment I choose to reveal it to you. No worries, the flight crew is well-versed in discretion.

I have school and work and Cole won't-

Cole has his show. Does he ever have time for you during those? And school can be made up. I've taken care of everything.

You can't take care of my job.

What job?

You quit my job for me?

If you need things, ask me for them.

I need a job. We don't have a lot. We're trying to save for-

Just ask and I will give you what you need.

This has nothing to do with you.

If that were true we wouldn't be here. Now put your dress on. He ties the blindfold around my wrist and turns to leave but then he comes back and holds out his little mobile phone. I don't even know how to use it.

You will have to call Cole to tell him you love him. Some things I can't do on your behalf.

But then last night this happened.

This is not cooperation, Ben, I tell him from the table where I have been ignoring the dinner we made in favor of throwing out desperate half-thought-through ideas in an effort to get him to stop moving long enough to talk to me past the chit-chat of what we should cook or do or fix at any given moment.

(Us, Benjamin. Fix Us.)

He would tell me he's trying and then he'd turn and do something different.

He ignores the comment and instead asks if I want any more mashed potatoes. I look down at my full plate and give in.

Sure. Load me up, I say to his back and roll my eyes.

And I missed the smile and the wind up, and a big ball of mashed potatoes hit me in the face. I was so surprised I ate fully half of what he threw, just by virtue of where it landed and then I burst out laughing and jumped out of my seat, grabbing my plate and chasing him out the front door and down the steps where he inexplicably turned and I ran right into him, dumping my dinner against the front of his shirt.

The plate hit the ground and he's still laughing but he says Go back inside, Bridget, hurry. There's a fucking bear in the driveway. I turned and ran back up the steps and at some point I was too slow or the bear was too close because Ben grabbed me and ran the rest of the way across the front porch and inside where he closed and locked the door. We looked at each other and laughed because we're covered with potatoes. Ben has a green bean balanced at the top of his shirt pocket. When we look outside the bear is licking the plate.

We have not gone back outdoors since. Which is fine by me, because we finally started talking. About bears and elephants and the future, too.

Memories play through while I sleep now and I can't make it stop.

His fingers trailed down my hair, tracing my ears, lips, and chin. Collarbone. Elbows. Fingers. Breasts. I'm breathing shallowly, evenly, flat on my back in the quilts, having invoked my non-slip grip, as they call it, goosebumps on top of goosebumps. He is all eyelashes and desire and yet he's made no move to change position. He finally puts his head down in frustration against my ice-cold skin.

I can't make you warm, Bridget. Why can't I make you warm? 

***

In my dreams Jacob and Ben have squared off in the snow again. Ben is not as strong or as emotional but he has so much more to lose. His pride. His stake in our friendship. His place in my life.

You fight like a girl, Preacher, he laughs and gives Jake a shove. Jake returns the favor with a roundhouse and Ben hits the ice, crumpling like paper, unable to defend. But the smile never leaves his face. Why don't you take some of this enthusiasm out on him? He points into the house where Lochlan sits in the center of the couch, one arm flung out wide, the other flipping the zippo half-strength so he doesn't ignite it, and I am curled up in that open arm, watching a movie from the thirties, parroting the dialogue while he tries not to smile at how I sound in my starlet voice.

Jake looks at the window just long enough to miss Ben's return throw and takes one right on the jaw. He staggers and goes down on one knee and the opposite hand, putting up his other hand in a motion to stop.

I don't need to be able to fight, Benjamin. I only need to know how to love. And that, he points back through the window, is something I don't even think I could begin to challenge.

Dress/Code.

For my next item on my bucket list I want Ben to twist my waves into a funnel shape and then roll me vertically between his hands until my hair fans out like a troll doll.

I never stood by the logic that a bucket list need only be populated with lofty aspirations or magnificent achievements, because I also want to pee-write my name in the snow someday, like the boys can do. I just can't figure out how.

In any case, I did get my clothes back because it's very incredibly stupidly-cold here, as one expects in the Prairies in October. Stupidly stupid cold. When I was finished my motorcycle ride I could have etched a lovely design in the glass doors. I might still have that ability because I haven't warmed up at all and blue lips and rock-hard nipples really isn't a great look for me, in spite of what you might think.

Trust me.

We finally went shopping. Ben is gigantic and we needed groceries that Nolan doesn't keep here, living alone. I think he lives on coffee and instant oatmeal and we tried that and I was okay but Ben ran out of energy quickly. He has new callouses on his hands from splitting wood and sore muscles from working hard after living such a soft life in the studio. He loves this. I think if we didn't have obligations he would stay here forever.

We called home. Spoke with the kids, and all the boys. All is well. They wanted to know how we were doing. Ben ignored the question after I fumbled an answer because we haven't addressed anything past getting the chores up to date and being together.

I made chicken pot pies and tea and we didn't talk, we just ate. I yawned and we went to bed and slept and slept and slept and Ben woke up smiling and I threw my arms around him and he said he liked being alone with me but I had cold skin and he was going to get my clothes for me.

I did not have the heart to point out that my usual heat is from convection from Loch, or that there's an elephant here in the room with us and we haven't fed or walked it yet.

But he does not need to be told these things. He already knows.

She stood in the doorway, the ghost of a smile
Haunting her face like a cheap hotel sign.
Her cold eyes imploring the men in their macs
For the gold in their bags or the knives in their backs.
Stepping up boldly one put out his hand.
He said, "I was just a child then, now I'm only a man.
Do you remember me? How we used to be?
Do you think we should be closer?"

Update.

We found a dirtbike in the barn.

GUESS WHAT HAPPENED NEXT.

Banishing Point.

An hour away from home,
The lights come on.
Standing at the side of the road,
I am in awe.
Amongst the snow and trees,
The freezing cold,
I thrive on each sorrowful note.
For the moment, all is still,
A tranquil pace.
The ease of being stranded,
In this compassionate place
Amongst the snow and trees,
The air is cold and clean,
and for the moment, I am at peace.

I would have helped with the farm chores today. I would have stacked wood and fed and watered the horses and mucked out the stalls and cleaned up the gardens, harvesting the remainder of the pumpkins and squash. I would have gone for a ride maybe to picnic rock and brought a thermos of hot chocolate and maybe we would have gone and bought some groceries since we don't have much here. I would have helped spread manure (yes, me, I can do these things) and I would have washed curtains and done some fall cleaning chores inside while Ben was winterizing the tractor and the trailers into the waning afternoon light today.

I would have done all kinds of things but Ben hid all my clothes.

Bring me the motorcycle.

I need to ride around the yard.

Commitment to purpose.

(We're here. Back on Nolan's farm.)

Just for added effect this morning, Ben drove past the castle and my breath caught in my throat. He looked at me but I pretended to regard it somewhat nonchalantly, pointing out the fact that they still haven't done anything about the windows or the hedge, for that matter and that the whole street looks broken down and tired now, in comparison to the fresh view of a modern Pacific neighborhood where hope lies in every wave on the ocean and in every ray of sun that makes it through the fog to hit land.

I hate it here. Those final three months living here alone did something to me, something on a level with angels and violence and history that permanently altered my psyche.

We hit the highway and drive far outside of town, continuing long past where any sane person would have already turned and gone back, loathe to be out in a rural area at dark. We have a rented truck, and it smells like cigarettes and loneliness, like low-grade depression and contented discontent.

Ben absently tells me to stop writing descriptives in my head and I smile in spite of myself. He is smiling but it's one of those anticipatory, nervous sort of adrenalized almost-hopeful smiles that make me want to scream simply for knowing exactly how he feels.

It wasn't until we pulled into the driveway that I allowed myself even the same smile. There's the woodpile. There's the tire swing. There are the horse trailers.  A little farther down the drive and the grove of trees thins out just a little and then the garage looms and then to the left, the house, a modest, open post-and beam constructed oasis in the deep woods.

Beyond the house is my beloved picnic rock and the creek and the trails and more woods. I jump out of the truck and take a deep breathe and the cold air rushes into my lungs and Ben gets out and pulls our things from behind the seats. We packed light. We have seven nights to fix what is broken. Seven nights to try and reaffirm whatever it is we have that we can't quantify but it's there, it's there like a concrete wall bursting out of the ground and blocking out the sun.

He turns to me and tells me we'll be okay. I nod. 

It isn't until we reach our room and he puts the bags down on the bench behind the door that I see him in that funny dim mid-afternoon, sun-beaming-in-at-knee-level light that the thud abruptly starts up in my chest, my heart hammering a million miles an hour, the tell-tale lurch of a broken organ when I look at Ben that signifies that I am still alive and I still love him in spite of my ability to sabotage everything that's good. In spite of our plans to tear everything apart.

He saw that lurch and the relief flooded into his eyes, further softening them into something beautiful, something I know so well and something I keep throwing away as I chase the past, hoping if I can somehow catch it it might save me from the future.

Miss Universe (Underdogs and overdrive).

Ben came over and rested his chin on the top of my head, standing directly behind me as I looked out the window into the dark. I leaned back against him and he put his arms around me.

Why aren't we packing?

It will only take a half hour or so.

True. Are you looking forward to it at all?

I twist around so I am facing him. Of course I am! Are you?

Yes. Though it's fucking cold there I think. Why else would Nolan leave?

He's not going on a tropical vacation, if that's what you mean.

It was a joke. A very bad one, considering.

Nolan is going to a funeral in Colorado. He needed someone to take care of the property for a week. We need a break and so we were selected to fulfill this duty. The only caveat? Only bring each other.

I was so excited until it sank in, exactly and now I'm not so sure. And he can see that without my pointing it out and we are mostly deluding ourselves here and clearly we really need this trip to sort some things out and then we'll be back for the big First Anniversary parties and whatnot.

But still.

I turn back around and stare out into the night. I count Mintaka, Alnilam and Alnitak.  Betelgeuse. Saiph. That one I never forget. It's the same as safe.

He's not coming, Bridget. You can count all the stars you want but you already had a break with him and I know it wasn't ideal but this is our time now.

I turn back around. I know. 

Maybe we shouldn't go.

We need to go, Ben.

I think we do too. But I have to wonder if I'm delaying the inevitable. Same sky, same place and all that. I've reached a point where it's finally beginning to sink in that I am the first runner up here and he's the fucking beauty queen. 

In spite of myself I burst out laughing and clap both hands over my mouth but it's too late.

You think that's funny?

No. You just never do that. 

Do what?

Make analogies. 

Sometimes the best parts about you rub off on me, Bee, but it's the worst ones that I need to learn to live with. 

Those are the ones you figure out first, not later, Benny. 

What do you mean?

I married you knowing you had issues but I can live with them. 

I have issues, do I?

Tons. 

But you married me anyway. 

Yes. 

Thank God for that, Little Bee. 

But do you? Do you thank Him or do you curse Him for the strife he has brought along with the unanimity?

You know something, Bridget? I have stood by and watched as you have fought to make peace with the dead and the living alike and I watch you struggle and fall down and get up again only to be knocked down and I don't know why you don't let me help you.

So you don't get hurt. 

See, I don't think you'll hurt me. I don't think you could hurt me. 

Oh, Ben, you don't even know what I'm capable of. 

See, that's where you're wrong. Because I've seen it all and I'm STILL HERE.  

Maybe that's a mistake. 

No, that's the only thing that's right. He smiled at me, and his eyes were shining so bright I thought they might explode into a million new constellations but instead they gradually softened back into the warm brown that I know so well and I tried to smile back but it's hard because I don't trust myself. I was raised to be wrong and to be nimble and fickle and old habits are so hard to break it's like they're made of stone.

This world is only going to break your heart.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

He's on a roll presently and I don't know what to do about it short of wait for his intensity to wane. Like it always does. He'll get distracted by bright lights and the remains of the day and forget what he was so focused on.

He was fooling around with the guitar and stole the opportunity, singing a song I haven't heard for a while and my goosebumps rose up and he laughed softly and asked me why I was invoking my no-slip grip when he hadsn't even touched me yet but the song had left me rather speechless, lobotomized and frozen stiff.

Exactly the opposite of the effect he thought it was having.

I shook my head. He further capitalized and kept on singing. And he sang it over and over again, almost five times until on the fifth time Duncan called down the hall for him to Can it already. We get it. 

He put the guitar on the floor and settled back in, pulling me in close, kissing the top of my head.

Just like old times. He whispered.

We couldn't afford a guitar back then, Lochlan. Or a couch. Or a roof that didn't leak, for that matter.

Do you have any good memories of life before obligations? 

There were always obligations, we just had fun fulfilling them so it didn't seem like a burden. 

It was so simple. Everything is so complicated now. 

Only if we let it be that way, but yes, all of my memories are good memories except for the ones that are bad. 

Thanks for clearing that up. 

Anytime.