Heart murmurs.

Matt and I are the only ones brave enough to keep the owls company tonight.

What made you choose to be a part of this group?

Sam.

So then what are you running from, Matt?

Everyone's got their secrets, don't they? I suppose I want to get things right. I had a very long relationship once, Bridget. And I waited too long to make it into what it should have been. Marriage was a pipe dream in those days. Now it's an inevitability. My partner wanted it so badly and I ignored that while I finished school and started my career. I don't want to lose Sam the same way.

He's not the same man though.

No, but I am. Well, I sort of am.

But this time Sam is you and you are Sam. Does that feel strange?

I think I see what it is about you. There are no illusions.  You force us to confront the deepest levels of who we are.

I don't do anything, Matt. 

Indirectly yes. You bring out the men we are, instead of the one we think we are supposed to be, or are striving to be. 

I'm sure that's supposed to be a compliment, but-

It is! It's authentic. No one wants a fake, a sham of a life. We should all work harder to live transparently. That's one of the things that drew me here. No facades, no games. 

Oh, there are games. 

I think those are not what you say they are, not games so much as unresolved issues. Caleb, I know of. Sam struggles to understand your relationship with him. 

Sam had a front-row seat to Caleb and Jake's animosity for one another. 

Why? Did they know each other before? 

No. After Cole died I married Jacob and then Caleb came back and tried to pick up where we left off. Jacob wanted no part of that. Jake wasn't keen on a lot of the guys and our levels of contact. 

But?

But he mostly tolerated them. 

Because he loved you?

Because he tried to find the good in people. Even when there was none to be had.  That's probably what destroyed him, when he realized there wasn't any good in me. 

Is that what you think?

Matt, I try not to think too hard about the reasons. It serves no purpose now. 

Sam told me there are letters you haven't read. 

If I finish the story Jake becomes a memory. This way he stays fresh. If you don't finish the book you can leave it on your bedside table forever and it's a work in progress. That's the only thing that enables me to smile in any given day, knowing I don't have to end that story. 

Is it healthy though?

I'm not sure I care at this point. I followed everyone's orders and now I only listen to myself. It seems just as effective. 

You're smart, Bridget. 

No, Matt. I'm tired and I'm scared and it's just better to stick close to my boys and be disfunctional. At least it's familiar. It's safe. 

Can't beat that. 

Amen.

Security objects and grown men.

I think what is so aggravating about Lochlan is that he's the embodiment of everything I don't like about myself. He's a frighteningly hard worker, if only he enjoys what he does. If he doesn't like what he's working on then he's a miserable prick about it.

He likes flighty, fanciful things but works hard to be taken seriously.

He tries on moods, opinions and personalities like other people try on clothes. He went for capable, welcoming, together and wound up wounded, fucked up and blown wide apart.

And they say Sam is my male equivalent.

I don't know. I think I see Lochlan losing his mind trying to work a corporate gig and be BENevolent (as we're calling it now) and trying to maintain his generous spirit but these torches separately and together are too big to juggle and he's dropping shit all over the place.

That's hard to watch. Lochlan never ever makes mistakes so when he does it's especially painful. He suffers so quietly I never know what to do to make it better. Mostly I know to be there in his landing place so that I am the first thing he grabs to hold on to.

Most people have a teddy bear. He has a Bridget.

I put the money back in his account too. No way is he taking over paying for this. This was a gift to him when we let him in, so to speak and he's not required to contribute financially. He wasn't impressed that I did that but he was definitely relieved. He asked where I got the money and I said Don't. As in Don't ask because you won't like the answer but it's okay because I'm here and I love you and Ben does too and maybe just take a deep breath. Okay maybe another because you're crushing me and I can't breathe.

He finally fell asleep in the sun this afternoon, still in his button-down shirt and wool pants. Four meetings today and I think he drowned himself in buzzwords and needs to sleep off the inebriation. I know he hates it. I'll wait him out and then maybe we can blow bubbles after dark, unwinding with something magical and dumb.

Like us.

What would Bridget do?

I just noticed Sam is aging. I was looking at the lines around his eyes as he sat in the chair gently tearing strips off me, constructing a straw man so we could argue pointlessly into the night.

I never said Ben couldn't have faith.

You said it was Jacob's thing. Or maybe it's my thing. But why can't it be Ben's thing too?

Because Ben is..

Scary? Shallow? You don't like being labelled, categorized or marginalized, Bridget. What makes you think Ben would feel any different about what you're trying to do to him with this subject?

It's too late for Sam's difficult questions and I am busy looking at his caramel brown hair for grey.

What are you doing?

Admiring your face. 

That's a mutual activity. Not too late for us to run away together. 

Sam, I can't make you happy. I don't like it up the bum.

Me neither. 

Ah. Pitcher?

Depends on the day, Princess.

You play all positions!

What sport is this?

Uh. Baseball. I think.

Can we change the subject, Bridget?

Yes. Where did you want to run away to, exactly?

You pick a place.

Hmmm..okay. My parents house, circa 1976. The kitchen appliances are avocado-green. I'm wearing a brown turtleneck and jeans with Scandinavian embroidered trim. I'm helping my sister bake cookies. It's already dark out. We're excited about Halloween the next week. There is snow on the ground already. I'm going to be Bugs Bunny. I had one of those epic flammable plastic masks and bag printed with a bunnyesque visage...

Sam's in stitches now and I'm not sure he's even listening. He's dissolved into hysterics.

It actually isn't funny. I could have burned. Not like everyone didn't smoke back then, on airplanes and at the bank and in movie theatres. 

Did you plan on wearing your bunny suit everywhere? 

Of COURSE. I was five. 

Bridget, I think the highlight of each of my days is when you present to me the contents of your mind. But we should get back to my lecture. 

You know, just because they sent Ben home with a temporary Jesus Freak stamp doesn't mean I have to change. I accept Ben the way he is, just like I do with everyone, even you. 

Even though I'm a pitcher?

Now is the part where I break your heart and tell you all men are technically pitchers. 

All of them?

Yeah, except Daniel. He'll always be a catcher. 

I'm sure it should bother me that you even know these things but it seems perfectly normal. 

I know everything, Sam. Quiz me. 

How long until Ben returns to the Ben you know best?

Except that. Don't ask me that. It isn't fair.

Smashberries.

We might not starve. Schuyler's bringing Lochlan on as a partner. Schuyler executive-produces...things. Which means that he works for Caleb, mostly keeping an eye on his money. So I can't wait to see how this translates into Lochlan working for Caleb but I've been told to just wait and see.

Ben will be going back to work as a creative consultant for Batman but he won't be starting that role until after Christmas. For a lot of money. 

(Because Batman fixes things with money. Neat. I use super glue. Sometimes Hello Kitty duct tape.)

All of this was told fourth-hand to me by Daniel via Sam, who has thrown himself into playing peacemaker because it excuses him from planning his own wedding. I sort of knew about Schuyler's plans. Lochlan's weirdly good at people-things because he's a showman, an actor and Schuyler's been trying to convince him to come on board for years. Problem is Lochlan actually hates people now.

And Ben, I still don't fully comprehend what's happening with him. Was he even ready to come home? Was I ready for him to come home? Is Batman really going to take another crack at him so soon? Wait, you think it's my fault Ben can't stay on the wagon?

I'll have you know he had problems long before he met me.

Otherwise we're doing really well today. We grocery shopped together this morning, which was fun, the most fun part being where he carries all the bags at once into the kitchen and I don't have to carry any. Usually I make fifteen or nineteen trips and bitch very loudly to anyone within earshot for not helping faster.

Then we went out for a coffee for lunch before his next meeting. I swear he's been to eleventy-four billion meetings since he came home. But he actually reached across the filthy little table in the cafe and held my hand. He squeezed it. He said to ignore the weirdness, that he will level out. I finally found some bravery laced in my caffeine and asked him about the bible-thumping.

What do you want to know?

Are you recruiting? Do I have to-

No, it's just something that works for me right now. 

Is it going to work forever or fade after a fashion?

I'm not sure, Bridget. Why? Does it bother you?

Yes. 

Tell me why. 

It feels like you're taking a page from Jacob. It feels like that's his page and it's not for you to take. It also feels like you're going to become someone different and I liked who you were before. 

A mean introvert riddled with addiction issues. 

My Ben. My big tough crazy Benjamin. 

The only person it's not safe for you to be around. Well, aside from the Devil, I mean.

Most of the time it's okay. I lost this fight before I even picked it, I think.

No. It's never okay. I made a promise to you to not saddle you with my flaws. I promised to give you a stable happy life and I haven't delivered. 

So what happens now?

I work my ass off and deliver on my promises to you by getting and staying better. It's a day to day thing right now but I feel good. 

Because Jesus took the wheel?

No, because Jesus took the fucking bottle away. 

He snorted and laughed with his mouth open so I got a lovely view of pulverized blueberry muffin. So maybe a few changes would be good. I was hoping for better manners, anyway.

Yesterday, today and tomorrow.

Listen to the silence, let it ring on
Eyes, dark grey lenses frightened of the sun
We would have a fine time living in the night
Left to blind destruction
Waiting for our sight

That hug went on so long people started to wander off, maybe planning to catch up with Ben later, and then my stomach started to growl and he laughed and said at least my guts are talking to him and don't hate him.

Lochlan wiped his eyes and said something about allergies and reached one hand out to shake Ben's hand. Instead Ben leaned across the top of my head and kissed him square on the mouth. Then he got down on his knees in front of me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He pressed his head down against my shirt and apologized. Quite formally. Mostly for being away so long but also for trying to balance on the wagon so recklessly that he fell off, for giving me away, for not calling more often, and for leaving us high and dry with the household bills. And for the future grilled cheese he's about to request, because he's starving and no one makes grilled cheese like Bridget makes grilled cheese.

Then he stopped and waited for me to respond to his outpouring.

So I did. I can't believe you kissed Loch first, I told him and crossed my arms.

He was closer. 

I was in the middle!

He was still closer. Sorry, you're short. Jesus, sometimes I totally forget how short. 

Enough! Let me see you. 

He stood up and just waited, hands hanging loosely at his sides, shoulders squared. All six feet four inches of him. He looks pretty good. I smile and he returns it easily and that pushes me right over the edge and I begin to drop pieces of my composure all over the patio. He tries to pick up a few and then gives up quickly and opts for something different.

There's my kiss.

Finally.

I waited all summer and it was worth it.

***

Ben's routine is freakishly busy but incredibly peaceful at the same time. Up early. Meditate. Walk miles and miles. Eat a proper breakfast. Go to a meeting. Go to therapy. Eat a proper lunch, followed by tea and reflection. Then another walk. Another meeting. Writing, probably introspective journaling if you ask me (but no one has) and finally when I asked him if he wanted to come with me to the store, he hesitated. It's not part of his routine. Also, I interrupted his prayers.

His. Prayers.

Prayers.

Ben. 

There's no room for me. Jesus takes up all of my space.

***

Caleb is neither charitable nor gentle this afternoon when I get so disillusioned I send myself to the Devil's lair for a dose of hardbacked reality.

He's never been much for my romantic notions of the way things should be, nor does he ever have patience for my hand-wringing over the others. I figured if anyone could set me straight and tell me to smarten up it should be Satan.

Maybe the whole world has gone insane. He's not much help at all. He is standing at the counter organizing his new tea chest.

Because...I don't know. Teas need their own drawers, I guess.

What did Lochlan say afterwards?

Nothing. He says over and over that he's glad Ben is home now with us. 

That doesn't make any sense. 

I know this. What's happening to everyone?

We're getting old, Bridget. Maybe it's as simple as that. Maybe we all need each other. Maybe some of the drama is unnecessary and we need to stop fighting it and settle in. 

To what, exactly? Nothing is worked out. 

Sure it is. We carry on, life goes on from this day forward. 

What do you do?

I dabble in a few projects and help you raise my son. 

Is it enough?

Where you are concerned, Bridget, never. 

Okay, so at least you're still normal.

Adorable illusion and I cannot hide.

PJ put his hand on my shoulder. I was reading and I guess I didn't hear them when they were calling me. I probably did and thought I was sleeping, in dreams but that's because I don't like to admit I can't hear them from out here on the patio and that's mostly why I come out here to read. I turn and he tells me they have a surprise for me. I fold down the page and get up and when I turn around, there's Ben.

There's everyone. Waiting to say hello to him but he wanted to see me first.

The pieces of my heart fly together like magnets in space, fixing themselves back to a facsimile of a heart. It works, anyway. It thumps lustily once or twice. I hear grating noises and then wait as it smooths into a steady hum.

Seventy-five days, Bumblebee. You look smaller than ever.

I open my mouth but my throat is rusted closed. Finally I croak out. Tilt. 

What?

You...you're up there. I'm in tilt-shift to you. 

You're not doing so hot, are you?

I let my hands flutter. No attempt to save anything here. You left. 

But I came back. 

No one comes back. Everyone dies. Oh God. My brain won't engage and my heart won't shut up. I put my hands over my mouth and shake my head.

He finally comes down the steps onto the patio and pulls me in tight. I'm alive. I came back for you, for us, for them. Only I need you to be the brave one here for a little while, can you do that for me? Keep being brave and I'll get stronger every day and we'll be a family again. One arm leaves my shoulder and then another pair of shoes appear and an arm slides around my waist.

It's a three-way hug.

I lift my head and look into Lochlan's eyes. They're glassy, he looks relieved. What a strange world this is. He's holding on to Ben for dear life. It only serves to make me press harder into their arms while I start planning Ben's resurrection party inside my head.

Yay! Leafs win and the boysfixed my sads with drunkenings! Shit hahaha 

Prone to wander, prone to lash out.

This is what it looks like when someone's slipping.

So you lost yourself
So you lost your way
Found life through someone else
But you threw it all away

A whole morning without power or wifi gave me enough courage to sort through some boxes in the storage room.

All the boys seem to be working this weekend, or otherwise occupied and so I put on headphones and tucked my phone in my pocket and hit shuffle and I let it play for several hours until I had sorted through Cole's things and then Jacob's too.

I kept too much.

I tried to keep everything as if it would be some way to pretend they were both still here. I kept it in case I needed it. I gave away a lot, though. Books, clothing, vehicles, snowmobiles. Hockey gear. DVDs. And then the rest I taped into boxes and I put them in the dark at the very back of my heart and I kind of left them there until I could manage to do a little better.

I think I've decided I can't and may never do better.

 Opening some of those boxes was like ripping off a scab or ripping open stitches on a wound that isn't even close to healing. I can deal with thoughts of Cole. God bless him, he made it easy. He was so beautiful and terrible and now I have Caleb in Cole's image to fill in the hard parts when I actually do miss him. That was twenty years of my life, you know.

But Jacob's things I started to pull out and a whole slew of forbidden songs seemed to flood my ears, one after another, and my knuckles turned white and my eyes started to sting and I wound up curled up in a chair mostly paralyzed and I shouldn't have picked a time when Ben isn't here to do that because Ben is the one who's always been best at bringing me back around but maybe there is no going back now. Maybe purgatory isn't where someone goes as they wait for their soul to be assigned, maybe it's where the person who is left behind goes to spend the remainder of their own life. It seems so much kinder then moving on, don't you agree?

I gave it a good shot but I don't think it's possible. I don't actually have any courage after all, it must have been a reflection.

I put everything back and then I jammed myself in there beside my Jacob-boxes and I will turn terrible now and refuse to 'get over him' because he meant more to me than that.

So fuck you.

I think they switched brains.

He tried not to laugh but gave himself away. I had my head in the cupboard, trying to dig towels out of the back. I was singing along with Titanium.

You're not titanium, you're copper. You're soft, expensive and you turn green in the rain. 

Gee, thanks. Can you grab these? I hold out a stack of towels.

He takes them and gooses me. I shriek and smash my head on the inside of the cupboard.

NICE, LOCHLAN. 

Ha, I wasn't going to pass that up. You were helpless. 

Then you be helpful! 

He sticks his lip out, chagrined and then he smiles. Sorry, Midget. 

Yeah, yeah. Just wait until I get you back. 

Argh, shit. Never thought of that. 

***

Ben calls early and says exactly nothing. He won't say how he feels, aside from Meh, alright, you? He won't say when he's coming home. He won't say all the things he should be saying. We're stuck in purgatory here while I get goosed by the court jester and flayed by the sadomasochist.

Can you call back tomorrow when you can talk?

Huh? I can talk. There's no one here, Bee. 

Then talk, because you're not. 

It's hard to hear your voice. 

Want me to put on someone else? Or impressions. I can do those. So it won't be me. Who do you want?

What impressions can you do?

I can't do any, actually. 

Then I guess I'm stuck with you. 

Well you were, but then you left too. 

Too? 

Like the others. 

Bridget-

I have to go. Take care, Benny. 

I fucking hung up on him and died a thousand deaths on the spot.

Ón lá seo amach.

Before sunrise I get up, pulling on jeans and a warm sweater.  I tie my hair back quickly and follow him outside, down the path. We don't talk much, except when I confirm I hear him when he warns me of a slippery spot where the rain has left pools of water turning the boards slick at the top of the steps. It's not as if I can fall, I'm on the inside holding the railing. My left hand is held tightly in his right. His left hand carries the bottle.

When we reach the bottom he lets go. It's much more difficult to balance along the tops of the smooth wet rocks all the way across the upper beach at high tide but if anyone can manage it, we can. As long as it's not on an incline I will stay steady. Sometimes it's a blessing being an acrobat but mostly it's a curse.

When we get to the higher ground the sun brings the light forth. He tugs his top hat down a little tighter over his curls, untwists the wire holding the cork down and aims far out to sea. The cork shoots like a cannon into the waves and he lets the foam pour into the surf for a quick minute before taking a long gulp of champagne.

He turns back, giving me the bottle. I take it with both hands around the bottom and take a sip. He waits until he thinks I have had enough to make it a proper toast and then he says something I can't remember the translation for but I know it's a wish for good luck from this day forward.

I smile, passing the bottle back. He takes another sip and reaches down with one arm, pulling me in close against him, turning me so that we are forehead to chin. He looks down and I look up.

Happy forty-eighth, Locket. 

Thank you, Peanut. It is, indeed. With his bottle-hand, he indicates the sun now rising steadily into the sky, blinding us, turning the water from pewter to gold.