12:37 left in the third.

Leafs are up 4-1 over the Bruins.

Ben came home to eat some crow for dinner and watch the game with me us.

Things are going to change.

In need of a prophet.

I opened the garage door and just barged in, hands full with the recycling bin, skipping the light, I don't need it. I began to sort things into bags-paper in green, plastic in purple, metal in orange, when his voice made my heart stop.

What are you up to, Princess?

I drop the tins and turn around and there he is, leaning against PJ's jeep, which had the soft top stolen off it two weeks ago in Burnaby and so it's been parked in the garage because we live in a rainforest. He ordered a new top from the dealer but it takes forever.

I thought you weren't coming back here, Jake. 

What's wrong?

Nothing. 

You haven't greeted me like that since that one time you tried to leave me. 

I'm tired and I have a headache. 

So then tell me what's going on with Lochlan and with Caleb and then you can go get an aspirin. 

Why? Not like you can fix it. 

Maybe you can talk through it with me and fix it yourself.

Channeling Ben today, are we?

He's not around enough.

He flew in to sabotage my trip and then he went back to work today.

Sabotage how?

I shrug. You know Ben. 

Jacob's whole face changes and his generosity is gone. What are you up to?

I stand in front of him and play with my rings, I feel very small all of the sudden. I stick my lower lip out unconsciously. It's complicated. 

Uncomplicate it. 

Gee, how? Apparently they are all evil. 

I think you're the evil one. 

Fight fire with fire, Jacob. 

Bridget, this isn't you. You aren't vindictive and shallow. You don't play people. You just need everyone. But it doesn't look like this when you do it. This is deviance. 

Defiance. 

Both, then,  from where I'm standing. 

You're not actually standing here though. I'm just crazy. Why make the effort to be anything else anymore? If I'm going to spend time with Caleb I'm going to take the rest of his money, clear and simple. If Ben is going to work around the clock and then demand my loyalty then I will punish him too. And I don't know what to do with Lochlan and that's why my head hurts so much all the time from thinking too hard. 

You're right. It's complicated. 

I can't fix this anymore, Jake. I can't even see which end is up. And now you're back and everyone's just going to freak out over that too. 

Bridget? Who are you talking to?

Lochlan's standing in the door. He still has that awful look on his face from when he confronted me hours ago with the rest of the money from Caleb. The money I tried to hide until I figure out exactly what to do with it, because I've never had this much at once before and I've decided that I have to come first so I'm not even considering giving it back. He didn't expect to feel this way about it. It's as if he's waking up finally. Motherfucker. I love him and I hate him. It's exactly the way I feel about myself right now.

No one. 

Jacob, you mean.

No one, I repeat and he dissolves into frustrated tears.

What are we doing, Peanut?

I wish everyone would stop asking me that. I don't know! 

Heavy traffic.

And tell them I couldn't help myself
And tell them I was alone
Oh, tell me I am the only one
and there's nothing left to stop me

I am sober, unpacked and rested when I am summoned back across the driveway for a post-mortem on the trip and also because Caleb can't decipher my drunken scrawled expense notes and he wants to on Sunday morning. Mother's Day for crying out loud.

I appear in the kitchen and he hands me a fresh mug of black coffee which I take, gratefully.

How is he? He, meaning Lochlan, who understandably doesn't do so well with these trips, or my absences in general.

I wouldn't know, I haven't had much time to see him yet. I am cross at Caleb. Good coffee doesn't change that. If he's going to monopolize my time then I'm going to let myself out of our contract so ungracefully he'll wish he never met me.

Let me know if he gives you any problems, please, Bridget.

What? No. This is none of your business.

It's my business, he assures me. Speaking of which, I have your renumeration here. He hands me a white envelope. It's sealed, monogrammed. Thicker than it should be for a single cheque.

Your wages plus stipends for each day plus a bonus for the short notice and the efficient work.

I nod, slowly. I don't understand, though.

I need you with me, Bridget. I work better with you around.

Oh. I'm around.

I mean when you work here.

Sorry, Boss. Not going to do that again.

Let's wait and see, shall we? Good luck with Lochlan. As usual, he doesn't deserve you, and you're the quintessential hybristophiliac, running after him anyway.

You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?

Yes. I'm aware. He grins. Take that back to him and open it together and someday you can tell me why I entertain this charade so generously.

He steps toward me, kissing my cheek roughly before opening the door for me. I hand him my still-full mug and he takes a sip. Thanks, he says. See you tonight for dinner.

(The kids planned a big Mother's Day dinner. Guess who they invited?)

I realize I didn't explain my notes to him the moment I stepped onto the deck. I go back to the house and find Lochlan. He is stirring slowly, still in bed, his tousled curls making him look chaotic and beautiful and insane. His hair grows like grass in the rain. I wish I had that problem.

Where'd you go? He mumbles, eyes still closed.

To get my paycheque. I open the envelope and pull out three cheques and a handwritten note. I look at the cheques and my eyes get wider and wider. Then I look at the note. 

Well? Loch says. He hates this but at the same time, this is the con, alive and well and executing perfectly, with everyone understanding who is conning who.

Except me, I've lost track.

I pull one of the cheques out to show him. The smallest one. The rest I fold back into the envelope, pretending it is trash to be thrown away.

That isn't a paycheque, Bridget, it's a purchase. I think he just bought you. What in the hell is this?

If only he knew.

I used to believe in Forever.

I suppose I could continue on with the whole phenomenon about how Caleb is only actually nice to me when we're alone and when anyone else is around he becomes a quiet psychopath, or I could talk about the fact that Ben had loaded his laptop with the most amazing Soviet Winnie the Pooh movies, that I didn't know existed! Jacob would have found these hilarious. I've always been sad at the Disneyfication of Pooh since they bought the rights and I was already pissed when Classic Pooh turned into wacky forties t-shirt Pooh. So this made me happy. I watched it the whole way home on the plane. And I'm only a little drunk now so there. A wee bit. Celebrating being in one piece, always. Still. Mostly. Ha.

Circus Circus.

(Where there is that broad, sweeping warm daylight there is also narrow, cold half-light in which we exist between the fires Loch starts and the ones I put out (or maybe it's the other way around). But Lochlan isn't in this post, sorry. Ben is. Ben flew in yesterday afternoon to wear the crown and Caleb has turned back into a frog.)

We both know this ends
But what if no one knows
No one knows how to kill us in the end?
This is all you need for who you are
This is how a good man goes too far

I don't need much to show you
Only enough to control you
Bury your head inside this
And gather the darkness that finds it

I think I'll die if you deny me
Swallowed alive in eternity
Give me a way to be the agony
That knew you all along

Caleb draws his thumb across the tip of my nose, his fingers touching my ear, just enough that he and I both noticed I was holding my breath.

He bends his head down close to mine and lifts my head up at the same time until my nose bumps against his cheek. His breath is warm. He smells like bourbon and cedar and smoke.

Breathe, Bridget. 

I shake my head and swallow. His other hand comes up to cup the back of my head and I resist until it's too late. I always figure Caleb will someday just pull me off my feet, twist his hands and that will be that. If I don't get pushed off the cliff first.

This way he could just say he didn't mean to, but he broke his doll. Then he'll find another one. Or maybe not. Not like this one was mass-produced. She'll be impossible to replace. Some delicate balance of that knowledge keeps me alive, I'm sure. Or maybe I'm wrong and it keeps murder in the forefront of his mind.

Ben pushes me forward still but I lean back against him.

No, I say. Clear as day, break the mood like glass under the full moonlight.

Cole is the only one who could ever soothe your homesickness away from Loch. Use that, Bridget. You'll feel better if you just let go. Just a little. That's my baby girl.

Ben's hands release me while the others tighten slightly. Here we go, lift and snap. (Just get it over with but don't kiss me. I don't want you to kiss me, Cole.)

I put out my hands and push hard against Caleb's chest. I don't go anywhere. Neither does he.

Don't make this difficult.

Don't do it then, I whisper in his face.

He abruptly drops my head and turns away. Maybe she needs another drink, he tells Ben.

Ben runs his hands up over my shoulders and pulls me back against him firmly. He doesn't do anything else. I turn my head to the side and inhale his flannel shirt. Soap. Rain. Uncertainty. Resignation. My perfume on him. Flowerbomb. Transferred by touch.

She doesn't. And she doesn't need you either, I slur but they completely ignore me. Jesus. For good measure I yell my safe words. Gingerbread! Wenceslas! Fucking listen to me!

Ben ignores them like he always does, his fingers squeezing my shoulders, his thumb rubbing against that trigger spot. I'm like a dog, half-expecting my leg to start twitching in time with my heartbeat involuntarily as he rubs. I'm frustrated that Ben caves in so easily without even pausing to recognize my concerns. He has tunnel-vision. He's oh-so-very-easily swayed. He was told I needed him so he got on an aircraft and came to me. Only I was doing okay. I don't need him. I don't need any of this but I'm glad he's here now and I'd do anything for him.

Even that.

Caleb appears in front of me again with a glass, which he forces against my lips. When I try to resist Ben's hands tighten around me. Drink some. It'll help you relax. 

Only God can help me now. 

He smiles. Then I guess you're on your own.

Paradise, unincorporated.

(I've decided my next career will be in making amends.)

I don't want a kiss goodnight
I just want to stay here forever
I don't want to close my eyes
I just want to stay here forever

He took me dancing.

The day wore on, the champagne wore off and Caleb burst in through the door near midevening in a mood I can't even describe to you. Change. We're going out tonight. Wear something....ridiculous. 

Mmm...okay?

I picked a sequined, shimmery silver dress and stilettos with serious bondage-caliber ankle straps. He stepped back into the room ten minutes later almost matching me. Not in a silver dress and stilettos, in a casual grey shirt and darker grey pants. We're coordinated.

Don't worry, it was all a show. We're not coordinated and can't actually dance all that well but we gave it our best shot and then a slow song came on finally. At last. I suggested we pack it in. Dancing in stilettos is not a fun event. It's like never getting to the end of the wire. Always balancing.

One last dance and we'll leave, he says.

I should have realized his lies are so easily told by omission but I was drunk again and having a blast so I agreed. He held out his hands. There we go. Coordinated in arms, at least. We can't make fools of ourselves or each other moving this slowly, anyway.

He didn't say a word, he just held me and swayed with the music, a slow circle completely around three times. He smells like hotel soap and clean sweat and cotton. His hair is all messed up and the grin seems to be permanent and she sees all this and tells me I'm on my own, finding a door in my brain and opening it, walking through and closing it again. Twelve is gone, replaced by a worthy opponent. I can slay anyone in these shoes and this dress. They are weapons and I'm strong and brave and foolish and near-shitfaced.

I'm thinking all this and he's thinking about food.

So we leave and go for burgers. He doesn't even ask if I want another four hundred dollar meal, he just drives until he sees a brightly-lit sign and an ordering window and he asks me what I want.

Onion rings. And a sprite, please! He orders those and gets the same, plus a burger. Big men get hungry. I always forget and live like a bird. We find a parking spot that has a view of the strip. It's four in the morning and nothing is slowing down, though the lot is almost empty.

He holds out his burger, offering me the first bite. I take it. So good. I should have ordered one, I tell him. He tears it in two giving me half, and I'm finished before he's done chewing his first bite. I go slower with the rings. I see the door in my head open just a crack and her eyes peering through. She doesn't trust him. She doesn't know why I'm having fun. She doesn't like it and so she stuck around when I thought she was gone.

When I realize Caleb has been staring at me without moving or speaking or chewing for far too long I return his gaze.

What?

We could do this all over the world, you know. 

I nod.

Just think about it. 

I nod again. That would be cool. (I thought he meant he has more meetings and I can tag along).

I feel a sudden tension as his breath catches. Bridget-

I wipe ketchup off my face with a napkin and burp really loud and laugh, clapping my hands over my mouth. What? Sorry. Yes? Oops! Haha! Geez.

Marry me. 

In my brain she flings the door wide, her small shadow casting darkness over my mood. She shakes her head. She makes the rules. She runs the show. I make myself wait though. I wait until I can speak properly and then I change the subject.

I'm tired. I think we should go back to the hotel now. 

He sits there staring at the steering wheel for such a long time I begin to wonder if I should have taken that time to get as far away as possible from him, just in case. Finally he picks up my hand, kisses my palm and smiles grimly. You're right. Busy day tomorrow. If we're lucky we can get a couple hours of sleep. 

He starts the car and we drive back to the hotel in silence.

Lobby. Silence. Elevator. Silence. Hallway? Silence. Room. He stops and opens his mouth as if he is going to say something but he changes his mind and instead he pulls me back into his arms. I go willingly. I always have.

I'm sorry, I tell him. He's told me he's sorry a million hundred thousand times and I feel bad for hurting his heart. Their hearts. My heart. 

He pulls back and brushes my bangs out of my eyes. Well, you didn't say no, right? He starts laughing and I see his eyes glassing over but just a little. He's pretty smooth like that.

Goodnight, Diabhal. 

Goodnight, Neamhchiontach.

High and lonesome club.

I said Caleb was very busy and that I would have to work hard to catch him up because fucking hipster queen wannabe Lucas couldn't roll his tongue up long enough to actually accomplish anything useful and now...

Well, NOW I'm in Vegas and I've just ordered lunch and really I don't understand how this place can be anyone's on-purpose destination vacation because it smells like a dead hooker floating in an overflowing ashtray outside and it's full of broken dreams and hard hearts, people who only smile at you when you're cashing out with over five figures.

My Monte Cristo sandwich cost $32. I guess the cheese will have gold flakes and high hopes and come with a monogrammed paper napkin.

I don't have high hopes. I used to find this place so grown up and so exciting. Now I just find it depressing. I bet it finds me depressing too.

Batman has already threatened to put me on a plane and send me home, Lochlan was just..I don't even want to go there, and Ben probably doesn't know where I am because he hasn't picked up his messages. I'm not even working. The Devil is at a meeting. He didn't need me there. I worked on the plane and suddenly I don't need to do anymore.

I think I get it.

A knock on the door and I stand way up on my tiptoes to see through the peephole. It's room service.

Champagne? Sure. Leave the bottle. Yeah, I can pour my own. Don't think I need this glass, though.  Can you get me anything else? Sure, I could use an icepick and a steady hand and once I've forgotten my own name I'll probably enjoy myself right? Maybe take in a show. Check out the tables, right, okay. Oh, you say you have something that will let me forget my own name without the icepick lobotomy?

No, thank you, I don't think that sounds like a very good idea. Times have changed.

Devout and doubtful.

Sam finds me outdoors this morning. I'm drinking coffee, still in pajamas and one of Ben's hoodies, my headphones permanently affixed to each side of my skull. Perfect balance. I need a second pair to stuff up my nose for a center channel.

I need a lobotomy too. Still, I mean.

Grieve-Right strips, he says. Bridget, you're far too clever to be doing paperwork for the Devil. 

You used to say he isn't the Devil, that the Devil was no longer a tangible form, if he exists at all. 

Then I moved here. 

Then you moved here and now you see.

I wish you would talk to me about him some time, Bridget.

Another day, Samwise. My hands are shaking now so I grip the coffee cup like it's death. I don't need you to be a keeper here, you know that right?

I'll do whatever I can to help you. And I think you should finish the letters. Soon. Not because I want to cause you any more pain but because I actually think they could help. 

Then you've read them. 

No. Jake told me about some of them. 

And you didn't stop to ask yourself why he was doing that, Sam? Not even once? I close my eyes tightly. I didn't mean to accuse Sam of things no one could have predicted in a million years but yet I just did.

I feel his hand slide around my neck. He kisses the top of my head and lets go again.

After an endless silence I open my eyes again but Sam is gone. I know he'll be back without hard feelings. His bible is resting on the concrete beside my chair, the bible that used to belong to Jake that I gave to Sam, who continues Jacob's long habit of making tiny notes in the margins, sticking post-it notes on important pages and using photographs as bookmarks. It's no longer a bible, it's a time machine. When I lift it up to my lap it opens on a picture of me and the children, and when I take the picture out this is the highlighted verse on the page:

1 Corinthians 10:13  No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.

In the margin, in Jacob's handwriting it says <B, as if maybe he wanted me to take this passage and remember it, find comfort in it, or maybe it was his proof that I am the Devil on earth. If you tilt your head to the right and look at my initial it's actually the symbol for a broken heart and I don't know if that was intentional or if my lobotomy is going to be this slow and painful until it's complete.

I'll ask Sam when I return his bible to him after work. Because I'm a glutton for punishment and so is he.

The very definition of funny and sad.

Apparently I slipped and I'm in trouble with everyone, though they're having trouble being mad at me since I look like I've been in a prizefight today, the explanation for which is the dumbest one you will ever hear.

I tried a Breathe-Right strip last night after complaints that my congested self kept certain people awake. Once I managed to pry the fucking thing off in the shower this morning it left a lovely bruise under each eye. It's just wonderful. And I still was noisy so it was all for nothing.

And I don't own concealer so I get to own this look today. Why don't I? You ask. Easy, I answer.

I tossed everything but my Diorshow mascara (waterproof, I'M NOT A TOTAL IDIOT) and my Dior Addict lipstick (Incognito for day, Bellissima for night). That's it. Fuck the rest. JESUS. Life is too short for all this fucking crap and I'm too old to figure out primer/spackle/highlighter/contour/blush/eyeshadow/liner/settingspray/bronzer/magicwands/goodlighting.

I mean, get a grip. It's a face, not a craft project. 

So the trouble I'm in is for agreeing to help Caleb, who doesn't need my help but wants it and I willingly spoil him without knowing exactly why. Stockholm syndrome. Masochistic tendencies. I don't know. It depends on who you ask.

Maybe I just have trouble being mad at him, because he looks like Cole.  And I was going to make a very bad joke here about soon not having to work for Caleb to make some extra money after I become the rich inventor of Grieve-Right strips that you affix to your broken heart every night to help you sleep but then they'd probably all just call in reinforcements and medicate me and I still have a ton of work to do today.

Maligning magnates, making mischief, marking Mondays, missing ministers....er...argh..

And I looked to see that it was she
Just some abandoned little crook like me
Adieu, adieu, and fare thee well
This was the ending, please

Oh, whoa...
I was attached on bended knee
But I declined my leave

But who could blame
A fraction of her being?
She is cheesy, she is scrawny
With her uncanny styling
I'm teasing, she is pleasing
She just has no wit

I'm singing as I pull blackberry vines. You know the neat thing about blackberries is the birds bring me the seeds and then I spend several hours a week pulling the plants out. The birds get food, I get strength training. Some of these vines go five feet into the ground. If you don't pull them out they take over. It looked weird last summer when I had blackberries and roses together. The grapevines are starting to sprout at last too, and soon I'll be run off my feet with yard work, which I couldn't keep up with if I tried but I'm anxious to be as stubborn as possible teaching myself to use the electric trimmer (I've got the lawn mower down pat now) and not allowing anyone to help. So there are deep grooves along the edges of the property where I removed the long bits of grass and the short bits and everything else too so I'll just plant some grass seed and water it well, okay? Shhhhh.

Then we'll check the trees that will produce three, maybe five tiny salty, dented rotten apples if any at all and the lilac which isn't doing anything at all yet except doubling in width and it ate a blooming something-or-other that was beside it and is now under it. My green thumb is possibly out of control.

On the upside the roses always look beautiful.

Lochlan is laughing at my choice of song (but nothing else, trust me, crabby crabby boy) but there are so few songs that I like to sing that fit a warm sunny day like this one, that I can actually hit all the notes, remember all the words and not drive everyone batshit in the process. Because earlier today I spooled up some Fleetwood Mac and was reprimanded with several of my nicknames in varying degrees of caution, from at least a half dozen different boys.

I got frustrated and I finally asked the nearest person (Caleb) if he had any requests.

He looked up, annoyed. Whatever you like, Bridge.

Ah. I see. He is bent out of shape today because Luke was unceremoniously dismissed this morning after pulling out his phone once too often, taking a picture of a painting Caleb has in his living room, posting it on Instagram and having the nerve to say since he can't take pictures of the hot boss's girlfriend (what. the. He didn't say the boss's hot girlfriend. Oh, you thought I was surprised at the girlfriend part? Ha, we'll just save that for another day now, shall we?) that he can take a photo of a painting of her.

No...no, sweetheart, you actually can't.

Caleb took the phone from him, deleted every photo of me, the house, and everything else that didn't belong to Luke and told him he better learn a thing or two about discretion or the only job he will ever have will be the kind that pays ten dollars an hour and certainly doesn't involve anything worth instagramming, if he is still able to afford a phone at all.

 I think Luke gets it now. Some lessons you have to learn the hard way.

And I actually called the agency on Caleb's behalf because I'm not sure which one of us was more angry at that point and Caleb decided to take the day off after that. Some Mondays just don't start even when you pull and pull on the rope. Sometimes the rope just comes off the reel, and with nothing to turn the crankshaft, well, you're just fucked. So it's a short week already because he's already said several times that this is the worst week for this to happen, that he has a trip scheduled for Thursday.

And so...Caleb has promised me a thousand dollars an hour to get him up to date because I didn't realize how much work there was. I'm thinking Luke did NOTHING except openly gape while he was here. That won't happen again.

So tomorrow I'll put on one of those 'too tight for the amount of chocolate cake I have had in the past two days' dresses and go and see how long I can stretch out my workday! Maybe by the end of the week I'll have enough to replace my car, and he'll have had time to find a replacement assistant.

Somewhere right now, I'm sure Jasper is breathing a sigh of relief at not having to deal with Luke again.  I should have taken my cues from him but damn, he's such a sullen bastard all the time.But maybe it's in the job description. Only those who are truly petulant can be effective at managing people of this caliber. Or maybe I'm just wishing Jasper was easier to deal with because I'm already dreading tomorrow. No amount of ridiculous pay in the world will make that go away.

Unless..

Unless I start instagramming every fucking thing I do. Which, well last time I did that they shut me down, they just couldn't send me back because there was nowhere to send me to.