Mulligan shots.

GO AWAY.

The epitome of self-destruction involves hauling out the speakers on the patio and patching them into the ones in the garage and then playing love songs from the early eighties so loud I've already blown five out of eight of these suckers and I fully intend to blow the rest. Dalton tried to stop me but I screamed at him and he backed away.

Wait, the epitome of self-destruction is being fucking drunk on a Monday morning! What do I win?

When the cops show up with the noise complaint any minute now I think I'll entertain them with a gunfight and then my big plan is to light myself on fire and throw myself off the cliff before anyone can stop me. I'm small, I'm fast and clearly right now I'm flammable, thanks to all of this bourbon in my bloodstream. I'll jump in slow motion to the strains of Air Supply or REO Speedwagon.  Chicago. Fuck, Hall & Oates, bitches.

I wonder what Jacob heard on the way down?

(The ipod wouldn't work when they gave it back to me. There wasn't enough of it left.)

Survival skills don't include microeconomics and other things the devil doesn't know.

He lingers in what is supposed to be a quick hug hello, his arms keeping me against him, his head bent way down, his nose almost touching my jaw, lips against my throat. My goosebumps have deployed, every hair on the back of my neck stands up straight and I hold my breath. Of all the stupid things in the universe to be caught in today, this tiny allegiance would have been the most unlikely. Except for, you know, nonexistent boundaries.

You smell positively intoxicating. What is that?

Jacob's patchouli.

(One drop goes so far that there's still a third of a bottle left. I kept it, okay? Sometimes I put a little drop in the hollow at the base of my throat and then I can smell it all day long. I'm sure I'll still be doing it when I'm a hundred and twelve. It reminds me of him. It makes me feel safe. Unlike the Devil, who makes me feel as if I'm perpetually in danger.)

Remind me to take you to get something new. Did you like the last Cartier? I thought it was beautiful on you. 

I shake my head and attempt to disengage from his arms but he's having none of my escape, in spite of how he skated smoothly past the question of my loyalties once again.

I do need to discuss something with you. Henry's recent choice of weaponry-

It's a toy. 

No, it's very real, Bridget. Wasn't the pocketknife enough?

A slingshot is a good tool for him to practice his aim with.

 You're determined to live in a Lord of the Flies type of environment. 

What would you prefer I gave him to work on?

A laptop. I've been thinking about introducing him to the stock market. 

Caleb, he's eleven-

I was much younger when I started enjoying my first dividends from penny stocks, Bridget. 

Woo. Lucky kid. 

Smart kid. 

He's smarter than you'll even be, Diabhal. 

I don't doubt that for a second, but I want him to know more than busker tricks and outward savagery, Bridget. I want him to be independent early on. Then he can have everything.

Like you do?

Yes. Except that I don't have everything, Bridget. 

And that's why a slingshot is more important than a paycheck. You can get a girl with life skills and busker tricks but you can't get one with cash. Well, you can, but she won't be the same quality. Come to think of it, that's rather ironic, isn't it?

I smile at him and he finally lets go of me.

When one door closes, another opens (and in walks a BOY! Or TWO!).

I'm going to be a landlady again!

Yes, I know. Most people collect stamps. Coins. Cars even.

I collect people.

My only prerequisites are that you have to be ridiculously handsome. You have to like my random drive-by ambush-cuddles, twenty-four hours a day. You can't be afraid of monsters, angels, demons, fire or children. You have to know how to set a proper table, sleep with a cat (or dog or child or homesick boy) on your head and fold the laundry exactly how I like it. Instead of PJ's method which is organized mayhem. Stacks of it.

That's it.

Oh, and don't eat my cake. EVER.

Those are the rules as I present them, always.

Enthusiastic nods were the response to my lecture. We've got a deal. They move in May first, into Lochlan's old wing, which will see all of the easels and art supplies moved to August's old room over the rest of the month. They will be just in time for Bridget's Birthday celebration 2013.

Who's moving in? What?

The future Mr. and Mrs. Matt and Sam. Newly engaged since 6:46 this morning, or to those of us who are less inclined to be so specific, sunrise.

YAY! Also: More CAKE.

(I would have more words but when they told me my head exploded. And when they asked if they could take me up on my previous invitation of permanent lodgings, the rest of me followed my head and now I'm all just confetti and sugar and struck happily dumb, awash in endless sighs of how awesome this is.)

No memory.

Jacob leans right into the mirror snarling as he ties his tie. He sings to his own reflection.

Pleased to meet you
Nice to know me
What's the message?
Will you show me?

I've been waiting a long time, now
Now here's the answer
You're all mine now

What are you doing, Jake?

I don't look mean enough when I sing, Princess.

'Mean enough'?

Fierce enough. I'm trying to be fierce. You see, Pigalet, that's what makes the ladies scream at the shows.

I see. 

Doesn't it? What do you think?

Maybe you should ask a lady. I throw off the sheet and stand up on the bed. I am completely naked.

Yeah, you're right. He winks at me. Seriously, what do I look like when I sing?

Like a country music star from the seventies.

Well, shit. That's not what I was going for at all.

***

Caleb is tying his tie in the mirror when I arrive. He's got a meeting today with Batman. I'm pretty sure both of them will arrive fully armed and dangerous. I bet Caleb has a knife in his boot. I bet Batman is already cracking his knuckles absently as he writes notes in his chicken scratch on a legal pad. He is usually ridiculously early for meetings and then disapproves of everyone else arriving on time.

See, Caleb is still a key figure in Batman's...um...empire, and they have to work together. Hell, everyone would work together if it wasn't for that one pesky little blonde thing fucking everything up all the time.

You look nice.

He rolls his eyes. You don't. 

Gee, thanks. 

I prefer you without clothes, but in this tie. 

I stare at the tie and it dawns on me that it's the same one he used to tie me d-oh, you know what? NEVERMIND.

I'm not going to the meeting. I need a day to window shop and just get away from everything and everybody, so, you know, I wind up in a car with Caleb for a couple hours because that's not escape at all, no.

Where are you headed anyway?

Marshalls? Holt. Robson. Everywhere.

Need money?

I'm not going to buy anything, Caleb. He fishes out a credit card anyway and I shove it in my purse. I won't be using it. He's ready so we head outside just as the car arrives. I frown at him. I thought he was driving.

I don't feel like worrying about parking today. (AKA he wants muscle there, you know, in case Batman IS armed.) Where would you like to have lunch after my meeting?

McDonalds.

Seriously, doll...

I am!

He just stares at me.

Sushi? I smile with all my teeth.

Better. He concedes.

Maybe someday they will have McSushi!

I sincerely hope not.

He holds the door open and I climb in. The song is still playing, oddly enough.

I've been waiting for my sunday girl
I've been waiting for my sunday girl, now
I've been waiting for my sunday girl
I've been waiting for my sunday girl, now

Pleased to meet you
Nice to know me
What's the message?
Will you show me the way down town?

A little incendiary.

I wasn't watching you perfectly still
I'm near perfectly dazed
Out of our hollow and into a space
Fire and water and space
Yeah further and further away

I'm trying to keep up, running along behind them as they make their way through the woods quickly in the fading light. I am stumbling, tripping over roots and rocks. I've already ripped the hem out of the bottom of my sundress, it's a handmedown from Bailey and it reaches almost to my ankles anyway. My sneakers are covered with mud and my braids have come loose but I'm game. I want to keep up with them and Lochlan already said three separate times to stay put, not to follow. That he would see me tomorrow probably, that they were going to do things that sixteen- (Caleb), fourteen- (Lochlan) and twelve-year-old (Cole) teenage boys do. Eight-year-old girls are not invited.

I am bathed in sweat and tears of frustration but I wipe my face and keep struggling to catch them. Wait! I cry when I see Christian's green t-shirt disappear from view. I run faster and promptly trip over my skirt again and go down on my hands and knees.

Okay, I can't keep up. He's right. I'm going to turn around and see if I can find my way home from here.

Then I look up again and Caleb is making his way back to me. He looks worried. When he reaches me he pulls me to my feet and tells me to climb on his back, that he will carry me piggyback the rest of the way. I wipe my eyes again and he asks if I've been crying.

No, I snap, and when he turns away I wrap my arms around his neck and he stands up, pulling my legs around his hips, holding them just behind my knees. He walks easily with me, moving quickly enough to make up time but not too quickly so that he won't trip and spill us both. It seems like only minutes go by and then suddenly he walks out into the clearing and goes to Cole, turning away from him. Cole puts his hands under my arms and lifts me off Caleb, standing me on my feet. Lochlan scowls when he comes back from the place where he had hidden a flat of cheap beer and a pack of cigarettes by the river where they fish and never catch anything. He's really mad. His ears are turning pink.

You going to carry her back too?

Caleb walks over to him and gives him a good shove. Lochlan shoves him right back. I take a step toward the woods. I don't want them to not be friends because I followed them even though Lochlan told me to not to.

Christian turns and grabs my arm. Stay here, Bridget. It's too late now for you to go back by yourself. It'll be dark soon.

Loch takes my elbow and walks me away from the crowd. They are passing out beers and lighting cigarettes. They're going to get in SO much trouble. Where were you going now?

Home so you won't fight because of me.

You'd be smart to stay away from Caleb.

He carried me most of the way. He's nice. (Inside my head I also add and cute. And tall. And strong. And he smells like soap.)

He's not nice. He did it because he knew it would bother me. 

Why would it bother you? 

Because I told you not to follow. We're going to have a bonfire. How late are you allowed out? 

I don't know. I said I would be back in a few minutes. 

Shit. Okay, I'm going to take you back now then and then I'll come back.

Can I stay for a few minutes and see the fire? 

He smiled and scratched the back of his neck as he stared at me. I don't know why, but I want to stay with him. He might not be as tall as Caleb but he's so much cuter and he smells like woodsmoke and fabric softener. It's not just that though. When I stand beside him I feel all weird and excited and happy.

No, because then I won't be able to find my way back in the dark. Plus the fire is usually my responsibility. I like to control it. 

Please?

No, Bridget. Say goodnight to everyone. We're going. 

I stick my lip out but I dutifully march back to the loose group of boys and tell them to have fun but I have to go home. I thank Caleb for bringing me the rest of the way and apologize for wasting their time.

A chorus of Awwwwww's and Sweet Dreams! rises as Lochlan reaches out to take my hand. Dylan sings a little bit of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Caleb sits in the near darkness, frowning. His eyes glitter in the dark. Cole whacks him on the back and hands him a beer.

On the walk back I ask Lochlan why he lied to me about being mad at Caleb because he helped me.

What do you mean?

Why are you really mad at him? I won't tell him or anything. 

How did you know I lied?

The way you moved. Your eyes. You're a bad liar. 

So are you. You said you'd stay put. 

We're even then. 

Yeah, we are. He squeezed my hand as we walked. How come you're not freaked out by being in the woods after dark?

Because you're here. And you didn't tell me about Caleb. 

Did he say anything to you about me on the walk to the field?

No. He didn't talk at all. I thought he was busy trying not to trip and drop me. Why?

Because I told him you and I are friends. That we talk alot. That you're old for your years when we talk about things that are important. He thinks it's wrong. That I shouldn't have anything to do with a girl so young. 

So why did HE help me then, if he thinks I'm too young to hang out with all of you?

Because he knows it would bother me.

Does it?

Yeah.

Why?

I don't know. It just made me really really mad if I thought he was trying to take you away from me only because he knows it would piss me off and not for his own reasons. 

A little shiver ran up my spine in the dark, tickling the back of my neck. I don't know why but I like it that he doesn't want anyone to take me away from him. I have heard a few stories already about Lochlan and girls, mostly that a lot of them want to go out with him, mostly that he's a charmer who has kissed and yet not told all over town. But since I've been here I haven't seen him with anyone at all. Maybe they're wrong.

If I had to pick between you and Caleb, I'd pick you, you know. 

He grins in the dark. That's good, Bridget. It will save me and Caleb the inevitable fight to the death.

Antipologies.

I can't do this. 

Which part?

Any part involving him.

Who?

Oh, Bridget, stop it. I can't deal with Caleb. Okay? I can't. I've tried. Nothing works and when he touches you I want to rip him apart. 

Now you understand how everyone feels about you. 

No, they don't. I've been with you for so long-

So entitlement makes you immune to jealousy suddenly?

It's not the same. He's your monster and you go to him willingly. What the fuck is that? What the fuck is with Ben just ignoring everything going on around him? I'm losing my fucking mind here-

Did you come to apologize?

Yes.

Accepted. 

What about you?

What am I apologizing for, again? Setting us up for life?

Breaking my heart, Bridget. 

I just stared at him. I was not expecting him to say that.

Cupric sulfate, cupric chloride, polyvinyl chloride and blind rage. That's where your colors come from.

If you can't soar with the eagles,
Then don't fly with the flock
Are you still getting by?
Was I your knight in shining armour?
Or the apple of your eye?
Or just a step, a fucking step to climb?

It's official. I have corrupted Sam with my musical tastes. We pretty much live on the same page of lyrics on a regular basis though. If he's listening to or humming something odds are I either had it playing the day before or I'll put it on the day after. If we find something new we share it with each other first and while I patiently wait for Stone Sour's  House of Gold and Bones Part 2  and Switchfoot's Fading West soundtrack to hit the shops I can soothe my twisted mind (and his) with Bring Me the Horizon's Sempiternal, released today. August and Lochlan have already memorized the songs. It's like the Beastie Boys but more melodic, more metal. I can't even describe it.

This morning Sam was playing it so loud in the church he took a page right out of Jacob's book of daily tasks. That or this whole area is filled with folks who have the police department on speed-dial because we're interrupting their yoga or something. He got a visit and a warning and a whole lot of compliments on the acoustics of the room. I know, right? (Not bashing the yoga crowd, just the concept of silence in general.)

And yes, Lochlan exploded yesterday/today/perpetually. I keep finding pieces of Mystical Fire everywhere. I always suspected he was made of it but I have confirmation now. How pyrotechnical of him. But he's exactly like me, says one thing, does the complete opposite. We are working on it. It's going exactly as well as you would imagine.

Rather badly.

He called me a name this morning even. A horrible one, and Ben wrestled him to the ground and threatened all kinds of things. Because Lochlan doesn't mind when he's the interloper but if someone else is, well, look the fuck out. I told him he was a hypocrite and a fraud for all of his sudden morals. He told me to grow up and I yelled back that I did! I DID!

So why do I provoke him so painfully? I don't. Well, I mean I do but really there are things you don't know. Yes, life should be simpler. Right or wrong, yes or no. Black and white. But it isn't and it never will be like that, I fear.

So we eat the music, grow the skin, soothe the ruined hearts and keep moving forward. He loves me, he just doesn't like me.

I taught him how to pull that off, I just can't tell you why.

He'll soften. I just have to give him a little space. Or maybe he has to give me space. See? This is why I play my music so fucking loud. It blocks out damned near EVERYTHING.

Bridget and the lake of fire.

Hear the inside of my brain today. Press play, go to track #3 and just leave it there all damn day.

Withering eyes catch you as you fall
 A bitter sigh, no one moves at all
Let me in for one more long disgrace
Just forget the same distractions you refuse to face
We both know that it's gone
But what if no one knows
No one knows to remember why it's wrong

This is all the pain a man can take
This is how a broken heart still breaks

I don't need much to show you
Only enough to control you
Bury your head inside this
And gather the darkness that binds it
I think I'll die if you deny me
Swallowed alive in eternity
Give me a way to be the agony
I knew you all along

Last night I bumped my nose against the shoulder of the Devil as he took us far out of reach of redemption on purpose, his arms a vise holding me to him. This morning my lips are still numb, my head and limbs hurt vaguely and in my fist is a cheque signed in his fountain-pen flourish.

I made my way down to the beach just before dawn to see if I could reach redemption on my own. The sun came up and drew a harsh line on the rocks. A challenge. Warm me, I thought. No, she said, there's nothing left of you for me to bother with.

I bent down at the water's edge, soaking the hem of my dress, pulling back my sleeves to show the sun how swollen my wrists are because I won't show anyone else. I gingerly floated the cheque in the sea, then I pressed it down until I was up to my elbows in the icy Pacific, my hem drinking up the heavy water, trying to hold enough of me to pull me in, pull me under. Seems I fight that wherever I go.

The ink runs across the paper, obscuring the secrets he bought from me, whatever ridiculous amount I asked for easily met, without hesitation. That's how I know he's the Devil. It doesn't matter how much it costs, he can pay for it.

I watched the zeros blur and vanish, the paper turning transparent in the saltwater. I picked it up, balled it up in my fist and threw it as hard as I could. It didn't go very far.

I don't either.

I sat down hard on the rocks and smiled at how awful I am. How far I can go before someone reels me back in. How I can climb down here to rock-bottom with such little help, starting over every day.

If you persist in destroying every document I give you just say so and I will switch to deposit. 

His voice doesn't startle me or make me turn around.

I don't need your money. 

It's part of our agreement.

You're not listening. 

Bridget, correct me if I'm mistaken. I'm fulfilling my end of the agreement, what about you?

I fulfill my end. 

But you ruined the cheque?

I'm not a whore (I didn't say it out loud, I only whispered it into the bubbles at the edge of the water). I don't come to you for your money.

Bridget, I can't hear you.

I turn my head and look at him. God. So handsome and I fucked him up too. Or he fucked me up. I don't know who even started it anymore. Oh right, he did. By default. Couldn't just keep his shit together and leave me alone in the first place.

I said I'm not a whore. 

No one says you are.

I raise my hand up to point up the hill. You..you just...gave me..

He looks up at the boathouse jutting out over the edge of the cliff and he looks back at me. Bridget, I thought you would appreciate an immediate, tangible reward but it seems to trigger a deep regret. I didn't mean for that to happen. If it's easier I will just deal with the financial aspect of this invisibly.

I nod. My teeth are chattering. My reward is not what he thinks it is. I'm not who I think I am.

It's time for you to go get warm. Have you been home yet?

I shake my head. No, I haven't. I wasn't going to walk through that door, my new bottom line weighing me down like a stone, a guilty, heavy, unchangeable stone. But I should go home now. I need to peel off this skin and try and grow something thicker.

Snap, crackle.

The only April Fool played on me this morning was a very strange half-hour in which Dalton sat across the table from me staring mightily at me as he slowly ate his bowl of Rice Krispies.

He just kept staring.

I did everything I could do to ignore him. I read the paper, I played with my phone. I drew patterns in the cinnamon left on my plate from my piece of cinnamon-sugared toast, and finally when I could take no more of his attention, I got up and stormed out of the kitchen in a huff.

Behind me Dalton called out,

But Bridget! You said you loved Rice Krispie STARES! 

(This was based on one of the first and last times I ever tried to read lips. I just can't do it. Things get hilariously fucked up and then they come back to haunt me years later, now, don't they?)

Lazarus lunch.

Lunch today was spread out on the long barn-door table Ben built in the vineyard so that we could eat outside without being relegated to the rather dull concrete patio at the bottom of the steps. I much prefer to sit out in the lower yard, surrounded by grapevines. It was so warm in the sun and so cold in the shade, I kept my soft angora wrap handy to pull up over my shoulders as the shadows shifted over me.

Christian finally drew Bunny Duty this year (see previous years here and here). For some reason he's never had his name pulled, and after a decade it became a bit of an inside joke and finally, on this final year of egg hunts for the children, he had the honor of dressing up in his morning suit (coattails and all) and the giant creepy bunny head, and he played it hilariously, zipping and zagging and being caught and escaping and the children shrieked and almost for a moment forgot how cool they are, and how old they are now, the wonder years diminishing in favor of being sure that everyone knows that they know that the Easter bunny is usually one of the boys.

I hope these years are short-lived and they find joy in the magic again sooner rather than later, but since I've been exposed as Santa Claus and a part-time tooth fairy, it stood to reason that the Easter Bunny would not be far behind.

Of course, had he not been so readily observable this year, we might have stretched it a little further. But that's it. Next year Henry will be on the verge of thirteen instead of twelve and they would rather have iTunes gift cards than chocolate eggs, and they would rather sleep until ten on a sunny Sunday morning than get dressed at the crack of dawn to go hunt treats out in the damp cool grass.

I thought about this as I put together the first outdoor lunch of this year. Devilled eggs. Coleslaw. Everything bread. Fruit salad. Roast beef and ham. Cheese. Homemade salsa and chips. Cinnamon buns and iced tea.

I don't have to enlist anyone to help carry dishes out to the table. They come looking for sustenance, for companionship. For family routines. I straighten Ben's tie and tuck PJ's collar back down. I ask Henry to go wash his hands (again) and I sent one more message to Caleb to find out if he is coming or not (he is) and then I check through the window beside the front door to see if Sam is here yet (he isn't). I debate calling him when I see Matt's car drive down around the fountain. Good.

I remind Andrew of the app that he asked me about earlier (Kitcam, so awesome) and I watch Duncan for a few minutes to see if he's got his flask or not (he doesn't). Dalton is still asleep and will eat later (no surprise there). Lochlan is juggling cans of cheap beer on the grass, stopping when he sees Andrew come down the steps, then offering him one as if it isn't a loaded weapon. Andrew thanks him for the cold beverage and then pretends to open it just as Loch loses control of his poker face. Andrew's been here a long time and he's aware of Lochlan's tricks so he aims the top at Loch before pulling the tab, howling with laughter as Lochlan jogs around the yard in a big circle, just out of reach of the spray of foam.

 Ben calls everyone to the table. Once everyone is seated and settled, Sam stands up and says grace. It's beautiful. Like the table. The yard. This life. These people. Matt leans back in his chair and watches Sam with a quiet smile on his face. Ben rubs his thumb up and down the back of my neck as I lean against him, enjoying the tiny tides of goosebumps on my arms as they rise and fall. Lochlan faces the head of the table to listen to Sam but his arm is stretched back, holding my hand. Ruth interrupts to point out there's a ladybug on the edge of the bowl and so she won't be having anything the bugs have touched and Caleb ignores her declarations, serving her a nice big spoonful of potato salad anyway. She dutifully thanks him with the worst look on her face ever. Lochlan watches her across the table as he pours tea for everyone. They are talking without saying anything. It's a slow but wonderful process and she works hard to bend her mouth into an agreeably pleasant expression. We hold up our glasses in a long-established pecking order. Ladies first, followed by the youngest all the way to the oldest.

Caleb finally holds out his glass and Lochlan takes it and fills it, passing it back. Caleb smiles and thanks him and Lochlan looks at the sun and then says he's sorry but there could be a ladybug in that glass of tea. Cue Ruth loudly proclaiming she's not going to drink any ice tea either and I say her name quietly because most of the time that's all it takes. Lochlan keeps going, digging at Caleb so I say his name too. He stops. Mercifully.

Everyone else settles down to the business of eating Easter lunch, a new sort of tradition we've developed in the past three years that far eclipses our previous traditions or past lives.

As the number of plates pushed away continues to grow along with voices rising around the table, Lochlan finally finishes his second helping. He winks at me.

That night. You remember so many small things. 

It was a pivotal moment in your life.

Every moment you're in my life is pivotal, Bridge. 

Not sure whether that's a compliment or an insult, Loch. 

It's a compliment, Idiot. That was an insult. 

I thwack my fork against his forehead and he scowls and rubs the space between his eyes. The sun goes behind a cloud again and I reach for my wrap but Ben is already pulling it up around my pale shoulders. He kisses the closest bone and thanks me for lunch, telling me it was good. That he loves these kinds of days, that everything is a resurrection here sometimes. I lean my head against Ben's chest for a minute. He's right.

Sam watches us. He nods enthusiastically at Ben. He's let his hair grow and now he has a wavy, willful cap of curls that suits him perfectly. He has kept an eye on the time and now he stands to the tune of the collective groan rising up from at least half the table. We're all too stuffed, too warm and too tired to move, but he has one more service today and so he has to get back to the church. Henry and Caleb have plans with an Xbox and Ruth wants to load up her phone with music so Loch will be busy for hours and I figure by the time I get all of this cleaned up with PJ and Ben's help again it will be time to start supper.

If I've learned anything at big holiday dinners with these guys is that it doesn't matter how late I delay a meal, how many servings they have during the meal, or how insistent they are that they're going to be full for days, weeks even, no one has ever failed to show up for the next meal.

Happy Easter.