Gold stars and newspaper snowflakes.

What is that?

A Christmas tree. 

I know that but it's July, Locket. 

Right and I can't wake up with you here on Christmas day so we're going to have Christmas in July, and maybe Halloween in August and then tack on Easter in September. 

All the chocolate holidays! Yes! 

I'm surprised you still have any teeth. 

I still have half my baby teeth. And you won't be here at Christmas either, you'll be at home. 

I know and I dread it. 

But you'll be warm and your mom is a good cook. 

You won't be there. 

I'll be across the street at my house and you can come over for dinner. 

Okay. Do you want to hook the lights up or do you want me to?

You do it. I want to be surprised.

He said my name very softly a moment later and I opened my eyes. The tree was lit with a string of red lights and he had cut out dozens of tiny snowflakes from newspaper and hung them with pieces of a red velvet hair ribbon I thought I lost a month ago. It still remains the prettiest tree I have ever seen.

Can you leave it on so it's on when I wake up? 

It will be daylight, Peanut. You won't see the lights. But how about I leave it on until you fall asleep? Then you can take it to your dreams. 

Will you?

Of course.

Thank you. I'll never see a better tree than this one of ours. 

Oh, I bet you will. But not out here at the edge of the woods like this with the beach within yards of us. What a sight! It's almost as beautiful as you are. 

I blushed in the dark.

***

This year we decided to replace all the Christmas lights, after collecting a mix of regular and LED strings over the years in as many sizes and colors as there are in the stores. It got a little silly, actually and so we gave everything away and PJ and Loch went and bought new matching lights for the trees and for decorating, outside and in.

They brought home hundreds of red lights and Loch had a freshly printed newspaper too, in his parcels. He started to ask me if I remember anything about red lights and I interrupted him before he could finish and yelled CHRISTMAS IN JULY!!!

He grinned. PJ just looked confused. It's December, Bridge. 

No, actually it's July, PJ. 

Loch, you drop her on her head?

Long story, PJ. I used to be a romantic guy before all the others showed up. 

You still are, Locket.  I remind him.

I'm trying, Peanut. 

Well, you're doing a really good job. 

Galeforce hearts, revisited.

Because today reminds me of this day, only with a different soundtrack.

Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh, take me back to the start.

There's a lesson somewhere in here about not going out for lunch, deciding you don't like what is ordered (prawn salad yuck) and drinking to kill two hours instead. Those three glasses of good champagne and a piece of bread put my tiny little self on my butt and I was almost grateful when the buzz wore off eventually.

We made a big dinner to make up for the lack of lunch and Lochlan said it was ironic that he went to work to get out from under Caleb's control only to be gone long enough to see me over there almost every fucking waking moment.

He was equally unimpressed that after my case of the vapors earlier in the week that Caleb would agree to letting me have all of that champagne and call it lunch instead of getting something I would like.

(Caleb aways orders for me and never asks what I want, something Lochlan only ever did if he knew I would just get junk when there could be a vegetable or protein opportunity in there somewhere for a growing girl.)

He and Caleb had a little bit of a shouting match after supper in which Lochlan detailed all of the things Caleb won't be doing anymore and Caleb stood two feet away smiling tightly in the dark at the ground, putting his hands in his pockets and then taking them out, waiting for the inevitable punch but it never came because Lochlan's not going to hit Henry's dad anymore, he promised.

Oh, how he wants to though so I had to step up and take responsibility for my actions, which I readily did but it didn't matter because I'm twelve and twelve isn't old enough to take responsibility for anything.

Later Lochlan is almost asleep and he tells me rearranged his schedule to have tomorrow off because the week has been long and tough and he thinks I'm fluttering too much here right now.

Fluttering. That was always his way of describing how I suffer if things aren't a certain way. Sort of about to explode but hanging in there. Something like that.

So this morning he comes in with the paper and he's grinning like a wild man.

Put on your coat, Peanut. I have something that will make yesterday's champagne a distant memory. 

This isn't a competition, is it, Locket?

Maybe. He's still grinning so I run and grab my coat and we go outside in the backyard. He helps me up onto the low part of the rock wall and tells me to turn. Okay, turn a little more into the wind. Okay. He puts out his arms and tells me to fall.

Because of who we are I don't even hesitate. I lean forward, expecting to land in his arms. Instead the wind keeps me up. It blows steadily over the point and I laugh but then I can't breathe because it flows down my throat and freezes my veins.

I pretend to do the breaststroke and Lochlan shouts over the endless roar. Would you have done that if Caleb had asked you to? 

Never. I don't know if he's prepared to catch me. The wind dies down and I fall into Lochlan's hands, missing his nose with my forehead by millimetres.

That's how I know he's not worth punching. You've already made up your mind. He's a mark. He's a memory. He's not..

He's not a magician. 

No, he's not. Because I am. He puts me on my feet, kisses my forehead and watches as I lean into the wind again.

So much fun.

I wasgoing to write something useful but then that champgane lunch happened. I don't turn down Dom Peringmon because I never know if it will be the last time I try it. The Devil laughs and says it doesn't have to be, that if I want it every day I just have to saythe word.

The word?

The word is DANCE PARTY.

RIGHT NOW.

YOU SHOULD SEE PJ.

Blurred Lines is on and that metal God, that traitor to his beloved genre just can't sit still.

I am going to be so hungover late.r

Whatevr! bye

Here's where my selfishness will offend you.

I removed the tiny little one paragraph rant. I think I'm done with the pity party. Besides, Caleb spent the afternoon singing Atlas out loud, along with the stereo while I wrote personalized notes in his Christmas cards and threatened to write very personalized ones in those cards headed to the Russian mafia.

Things like Happy Holidays! So glad you didn't get me when you faked that loan default. And Ho! ho! ho! Merry please don't touch me like you know me okay thanks. 

It's water under this bridge but came back glaringly as I filled out five dozen stupid cards and saw those unfamiliar yet all too familiar names.

Urgh! How do you know so many people? 

These are not people, these are business connections. 

Still! Jesus! Too many of these. 

How many are you sending out this year?

Cards? I don't send cards. The boys all live here with me.

He just stood there and stared and then broke out into the chorus again and I couldn't help but smile. He's in a good mood and I'll tell you why.

Ben isn't being the least bit receptive to anything anymore but mostly me. He's actively avoiding me, probably because every time we have any sort of encounter it is evaluated, judged and supervised to within an inch of its life and he isn't good with that. He and New-Jake have gotten into some shoving matches over it and Batman has had to function as a parent. This confuses everyone for whatever reason. They didn't pay close enough attention the past fifteen years, I guess.

I want to jump up and down and wave my hands and yell I know! I know! I know! but I can't right here because I'm not impartial and prone to breaking into tears when I even catch a glimpse of Ben and I have begun to do two distinct but similar things. Firstly, I'm doing what Ben wants me to do, dividing my time between Satan and the Joker. Which is hilarious because everyone always says do this, don't give everything to Lochlan.

(He will take it all, the original thief of opportunity.)

And secondly, I'm going out of my way to make Ben hurt by really giving it my all. I'm enjoying my days. I'm baking cookies and shopping and writing and listening to music and flirting shamelessly with Duncan, helping Sam and Matt plan the wedding and messaging everyone, even Bailey who hardly ever responds and I'm not using anyone or trying to twist screws, I'm just trying on being happy without needing a specific reason.

Fuck, it's fucking hard and I'm exhausted.

And I have moments of unimaginable hurt when I see him and he hardly reacts and once I even blurted out that I bet he feels stupid to have some of those tattoos now with my name and the bumblebee and he just stared at me like I was the crazy one who gave up life for a bible and the Big Book.

I didn't know when I watched you take that drink that it would replace everything else. Why does it still do that if you aren't drinking anymore? Shouldn't your life return to being more important?

Not yet. I still want that drink more than anything. 

You are so fucked up, Benjamin. 

Yes, I know. That's why they call it recovery. 

They should call it stupidity. Because it's stupid. 

Bridget-

Sorry. 

Don't be. This isn't your fault. 

You know, you can say that all you want but it doesn't bring you back. 

I'm right here. 

No, you're not. 

Bridget-

Happy Birthday, Tucker. Is it everything you dreamed it would be?

I didn't wait for his answer. Caleb calls my name and I had Ben the wrapped box and I go back inside. Fucking Christmas. Fucking Coldplay. Fucking AA. Fucking tears. Fucking stupid fucking broken life.

I look at the Devil and wonder if I have any parts of my soul left to sell or trade for selfish gains but I'm pretty sure I'm fresh out.

Today is better than yesterday, in which I blacked out at the post office and so just...nevermind.

He brought his hands up to my face so I would look at him and stop talking. It took forever but I finally did stop and then he kissed me. Lightly, slowly this time, the whole while pulling off my sweater, unbuttoning all the things keeping us apart. He pulled his shirt over his head and then he turned me away and gave me a shove, face first into the quilts. When I tried to get up he was right there against me, one hand on the back of my head, keeping me down and the other hand spread wide across my abdomen, pulling me up against him. The faster he went the tighter he held my head and by the time he turned me back over to face him, to kiss him, there was very little left of me to hold because he used me all up.

My skin trembles and cools in the dark and Loch pulls me back in hard against his chest. He says things that make my broken heart itch as it heals on the spot and then it breaks free and takes flight and I can hear it exclaim high above the clouds as it shouts for joy.

One more kiss and I let go of consciousness and sleep so hard I missed the alarm and am late for work. So is he.

Again.

Which is okay, actually because when the boss (Caleb for the time being because sometimes things are busy and he mostly hates all of the temps the agency sends because let's face it: they're not me) expressed his displeasure at my inability to make it over in time for a conference call with the UK I gave him the same graphic description and wouldn't you know it, he stopped talking right away.

Makes for a lovely quiet day now. I needed this. I needed all of this.

Floss and batter.

1 1/2 cups buttermilk
1/4 cup of butter
2 large eggs
2 cups flour
2 tsp. baking soda
3 tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla

Matt and Sam let me spend most of Friday torturing them with my misery and then finally Lochlan was home and he did what he always does when he comes home from many hours gone. He grabbed me in close against his chest and rocked me while standing in place. Tight enough so that I can't breathe which is ironic because he's home and now I can, white knuckles showing color again, brain unravelling, heart filling up with blood, nerves repaired.

He tucked his head down against mine. You are a Good Human, you just give too much of yourself to people who don't deserve it. 

I shake my head and he says, You have to trust me. In this world where all of us are awful and selfish and reckless, you are selfless, sweet and careful. 

Great. 

This is not a bad thing, Peanut. Never a bad thing. And I missed you. I get a kiss that rivals just about any movie I've ever seen and he finally pulls away and winks at me. I brought you a present. 

A home lobotomy kit! 

What? No.... 

A bunny-pancake machine?

Uh. No. 

A devil-containment kit?

Oh, I could contain that fucker but no. 

Then what is it?

This! He unwraps a gorgeous little stained glass camper. It's a lamp. It's beautiful. It's similar to ones we saw in Tofino but this one is stubby. Like our camper was on the fair.

JESUS CHRIST THIS IS AWESOME! 

It's cute isn't it?

Oh it's SO cute!

I will make a list for Christmas with those first two guesses on it though. He walks over to the counter and plugs in the camper. It glows softly. I love it, it looks like home. I never had post traumatic stress disorder inside the camper afterward and I thank him for that. He always said bad memories shouldn't come from places, only people and he was right.

Where am I going to find a home lobotomy kit anyway, Bridgie? It's December. I don't have much time. 

Pshh. The hardware store? Seems kind of obvious. 

Sometimes you frighten me. 

You should have been here yesterday then. You would have been terrified. 

I heard. But do you want to know something? He's got enough money and time to travel to the best doctors in the world so there is no point in worrying about him. 

That doesn't mean I can just turn it off like a light switch. 

I wish it did. I wish I could be selfish and ask you not to care. Hell, I wish I could ask you exactly what I'm supposed to buy at the hardware store that comprises this kit because your brain literally terrifies me. 

A chainsaw, crowbar and a good claw hammer, Locket. 

And you do what with these things?

Open up the top of my head and take out my brain. 

Then what happens?

I'll fill the hole with cotton candy and colored lights. 

What will happen when you try to remember the past?

That's the good part. I won't be able to. It will be like starting fresh. 

You'll lose the good memories too. 

No, I won't. You can tell them to me all over again. 

And they'll go in one ear and out the other if you can't retain them, Peanut. 

Sure I can. Cotton candy is probably very absorbent. 

Naw, you better stuff some pancakes in there too, just in case it's not. 

This is going to be fun. 

I don't think it is. I think I'd rather buy a bracelet for you for Christmas than a chainsaw. 

God, Lochlan. I thought you knew me. 

Pretty sure I do, so chainsaw it is. Maybe I can incorporate it into my routine. 

Now that will be awesome. 

You'll be impressed with me every damned time, because you won't remember if I'm good or bad at it. 

I'm already impressed with you every time. You just don't believe me. I'll give you a lobotomy too. Maybe we should write down the memories we want to keep before we do this. 

Yeah. Good idea. And the pancake recipe. Just so we're ready. 

I woke up the next morning to find both of his arms wrapped tightly around my head like he was holding the whole world in his arms as he slept. When he woke up and I remarked on it, he told me he was.

I wrote this a long time ago and everyone's always teased me for my ridiculous sweet spot for all things Paul Walker.

I'm telling you right now, it isn't safe for me to love you.

Going to go gather up my action figures and cars and watch Timeline, Joyride and all the Fast and Furious movies a hundred million times until the shock wears off.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Walker and thank you for your blue eyes and silly grin. Like all good and wonderful things, it was far too soon.

All those places I got found.

Caleb has a whole host of new issues to deal with (not a great checkup by any means) and Joel was still here when we got home. I walked in and he said hey and I turned and went right back outside.

It's a love-hate thing. People want to know why I'm so hard on him. Well, I detailed it quite graphically at the time. Basically when Jacob flew I went away for a few weeks, because breathing was too goddamned hard and when I came home, wait, within twenty minutes of coming home, Joel had me out of my clothes and took me on the floor of the front hall, on his Hugo Boss trench coat.

I think they call it abuse of a position of trust, because he was my psychoanalyst at the time.

But I blamed myself, not him because I didn't know any better, but because I do that. I mean, I also mowed through half the guys in my life during that same time period and they are also in a position of trust, if you want to be totally honest.

Should I be quietly avoiding PJ every waking moment then too? (Yeah. Pretty sure I hurt him the most and still he's so amazing to me every waking moment.)

Instead of being mad or vulnerable I choose to believe that they were going above and beyond the call of duty, providing comfort, providing whatever I wanted, at their own expense. But Joel had no reason to do that. His job was never to provide anything but his expertise on my brain. Something he's still really good at.

I have to go inside, Jesus, it's five degrees and I'm tired. What a long day. My demon is slowly dying. I need a fucking drink. I need to get laid. I need a lobotomy and I need a vacation too.

I walk right past Joel into the kitchen and order a brandy from Dalton, who fetches it so fast it's as if he knows me.

Oh wait.

(No, not him, in case you're wondering.)

Then I text Lochlan. He's in San Francisco and he tells me he'll be home tomorrow but he won't be home until supper. Oh fuck, I forgot.

He says to stay home. He says please and I instead decide I want the better brandy because Joel won't be where it is so I walk out of the kitchen, out the side door, across to the boathouse where Caleb is slouched into the couch, reading on his laptop about all the things that are wrong with his heart that yesterday was better than ever. I tucked myself under his arm and fell asleep in seconds.

No brandy, no dreams, no Joel.

But no Lochlan either.

I wake up at four in the morning and drag myself back across the driveway, leaving the one with the broken heart still asleep on the couch. I wish there were tests and measures to determine how ruined I am so someone could begin a plan to fix everything that's wrong with me. Maybe that's what Joel would like to do but he was gone when I came back. Everyone is gone, doors are closed, lights are off.

This is hell. I know it. I would know it anywhere. I thought I was a Good Human but I guess not.

Holter tops.

Since I've held it together so long, they figured today would be a great! day! for a surprise visit from Joel, who still seems to function as their expert in the wake of August's painful absence.

Nevermind that Joel may or may not ever have been qualified. Nevermind that he isn't welcome anymore. They all just ignore me when I say that.

So when the Devil sent me a text asking me if I'd like to join him at the hospital this morning for his annual ticker-check I may or may not have been in his car before he hit send. Someone might want to take a note that I would rather sit in a waiting room than stay home and visit with Joel today.

Need a pen? Dictation? Whatever, get a clue.

So here I am, sitting on a hard chair being smiled at by gentlemen in gowns and every single doctor who wants to address me as Mrs. C today. Which is jarring and weirdly comforting because that used to be my name back when I knew who I  was.

Let it ring on.

I'm fine, really. I don't have a pantry to hide in anymore, living here and they took the doors off the library (it's being expanded. With a ladder for the top shelves even!) and so I've taken to some rather dramatic displays of self-soothing that work about as well as you'd expect. I really should go see someone or take something but the way I see it eighty-five minutes of lying in the grass watching the stars is as good a medicine as anything.

Also: Hypothermia.

If you ask Lochlan (which I don't recall doing), he'll point out that it doesn't actually fix anything. 

He has a point but at the same time it would have made things worse had I just remained indoors and exploded all over the walls in a fine red mist. 

Besides, PJ didn't just come out and peel me off the lawn and carry me inside so that implies full consent. And Duncan still doesn't think I can outrun his sorry arse so I was perfectly safe. I point that out and Lochlan laces his fingers through mine, pulls me in close to smash a kiss into my forehead and laughs shakily.

No, you're not. And they do a real shitty job of looking after you. 

That's because I'm old enough to look after myself. 

Right. That's why you're face-down in the grass before dinner?

I was face up, actually. 

Semantics. 

Oh, hell no. Face-down is a whole different thing. Then you should really worry. 

You don't get any less impossible as time goes on, you know. 

I know.