Saltwater heart.

(The title today comes from the best thing about Fading West, Switchfoot's ninth album that came out last night, inexplicably at ten on my iTunes. I listened to it in bed.

That will be my song off this album, a traditional, fairly safe album for the band and nothing like the ridiculously heavy, risky Vice Verses. It's still a solid addition to the catalogue and I'm proud of them for continuing to work hard in spite of the pulls of home in the form of growing families splitting their loyalties into three alongside surfing and music. Ahhh. The life.

Maybe once I've had my usual four or five loud listens right through I'll give a real review but groceries, I need to go get them.)

Saltwater running through my veins
Like a blind spot
Like I got caught
Saltwater like a teardrop
With a salt water heart

Jacob's parents are here. Why? I think Caleb is trying to kill me while he thinks he's working hard constructing amends. I opened the front door and there were Jacob's eyes, palest blue, cabochon-set into experience and sorrow, bottomless pools of pain and hope and memory and I almost went to my fucking knees there on the hard tiles in the front hall but Jacob's mom held me up as they fussed over me and my stupid broken arm, heart and mind.

A warning would have been appropriate. Who doesn't love things to look forward to? Apparently the Devil, that's who.

I need to feed them. Somehow the proliferation of beer and chicken burgers we keep on hand doesn't seem like a good idea. So we're leaving them to a grand tour courtesy of Daniel and Sam while PJ and John and I head out to the store.

Lochlan took off on New-Jake's bike earlier this morning and never came back. I tried to explain to him last night that nothing changes. It's being done in such a way that we pay little in extra taxes, and very very little of this is discretionary income anyway. Most of it is interest earned that is then rolled into something else to compound itself eventually into bricks of platinum or emeralds or something. If I really really want it I can get through but I would have to jump through hoops held by the bank and demonstrate significant hardship.

And as it turned out Caleb kept just enough to give himself a comfortable, well-padded existence and to keep full control of the point, or so I suspect from looking over the forms.

I expected no less, to tell you the truth. I knew he wouldn't give me the house or the land or fuck-all that would give me the upper hand. But he gave me a lot and with it I will build a time machine and if that fails then a reanimator and if all that fails, an automatic and painless labotomizer, and although Ben can suggest a bunch of those I'd like one that's permanent and not just day to day, traded for cash from some shady bastard in front of the mall.

But whatever. I need to go shopping. Bye.

A three-pack of five-minute curiosities:

My face in his sixteen-year-old hands. My eyes hostage, his fire starving all the oxygen from my doubts, his warmth keeping the cold trembles from my skin. In that moment when he touched me I changed. I grew. I metamorphosed from a wild, willful child into a dream without sleep, with singular focus and breathless, bottomless emotions.

He watched, fascinated, stunned. It was a visceral shift, profound and yet profoundly quiet.

He groaned and squeezed his hands, fighting for control. I kissed him again, biting his bottom lip and his hands left my face and slid around my hips. I stood in front of him in nothing but a ridiculous expression because for the first time I wasn't shy in front of him without my clothes on.

I may have been the only brave soul there that day because Loch smiled and kissed the end of my nose and then pressed his forehead against mine and said Not today.

I wanted to scream because I really wanted him right that minute. I thought I might burst into his flames and become part of his routine. I thought I might die unfulfilled if he didn't just touch me a little longer, a little harder maybe, a little so not-standing-up but I bit my own lip instead and he took it to mean I thought he might be rejecting me when I wasn't thinking that at all.

I want to eat you alive, he whispers and I nod. I don't even know what it means but I want it too. Whatever he says to do, I'll do it. I'll figure it out along the way. He's a patient, gentle teacher.

Please, Locket.

Soon. Wow.

What? I cry. I think I may explode and he laughs.

You're beautiful. 

***

You look like a wounded bird.

I whirled around, already on the defensive. I don't like being startled, I don't care who does it. What do you mean?

Your broken wing.

Fractured only. it should be better in a few more weeks.

Bridget, you can't trust Caleb.

I don't when it comes to me.

Then what are you doing?

What else am I supposed to do, Jake? Keep talking to ghosts? Keep pretending that you're not real so they think I'm okay? Let the money default into a locked investment when I might need it?

Why would you need it?

Emergencies.

You think money can buy a solution to every problem? Don't you know better by now?

It's not the answer but no way am I going to turn it down. I said I was going to take him for everything and I meant it. 

What happens when he finds out?

He already knows! We don't have to hide a thing. 

Then do I finally get to hear the whole story now?

I'll think about it.

***

He wouldn't take it, Bridget. He has the integrity of a hundred men. I admire his ability to hold to his values no matter what distractions he faces.

So what did you do?

I lied and said he was signing the alternative plan, that sees everything put into a family trust. 

I love that you spent zero time encouraging him to read the things he's signing. You're a great lawyer. Really. 

He'd never listen to me anyway and he's old enough to read. I don't know if he actually can, though. This isn't turning out how you expected, is it? 

Life? Not a chance.

Well maybe I made it a little easier, at least. 

Do you even hear yourself sometimes? When have you ever made anything easier? Did you think your generous donation to the Home for Wayward Freakshow Rejects and Teenage Runaways would absolve you? Is that what you were hoping for, Diabhal? Because it doesn't. 

Leaving marks.

Redheaded boys fond of singing British music sometimes do it so fucking maliciously. It's hard not to take this personally.

You dress me up, I'm your puppet
You buy me things, I love it
You bring me food, I need it
You give me love, I feed it

And look at the two of us in sympathy
With everything we see
I never want anything, it's easy
You buy whatever I need

But look at my hopes, look at my dreams
The currency we've spent
I love you, you pay my rent

Clear glass.

Explain what you mean about making Loch suffer. I stand sweetly at the door, my hands clasped behind my back, waiting for his response. Behind me is John, because on my orders he would do anything, as long as I can say it.

And Caleb is vaguely afraid of him because of that. John worked for Caleb for a brief period but Caleb found him a little unpredictable, with loyalties that would not quit and so they parted ways. John now works for a small security company and sleeps the mornings away after working nights. He also moonlights as a living, breathing copy of Zakk Wilde but don't tell him that. Caleb smiles tightly at us both and rubs his forehead.

Bridget, I'm not in a good mood lately. I meant that once he's no longer the wandering gypsy rat that you will stop mistaking pity for desire and move along to the next man who needs you. In effect that levels the playing field. 

You don't actually live under those sorts of delusions, do you?

You're well aware that I spend my waking moments trying to win you back, I don't conceal my obsession. 

John snorts and Caleb asks him if he needs something or if we can have a little privacy.

John says no and Caleb almost asks him for which and then realizes John isn't going to budge. I lean back in thanks and he gives me a quick squeeze. Caleb rolls his eyes and turns and waves us into the house behind him.

I'm attempting to pour all of my resources into staying alive for a few more years to see my son grow up and to make sure you are looked after. Sometimes I slip. I will try harder. I think I'm doing a good job of being agreeable and yet it's one-sided. 

Can you blame him?

Bridget, if our roles were reversed I would have killed him in 1983. I could have even if they weren't.

Why didn't you?

Because I didn't want to hurt you and yes, I see the irony in that, under the circumstances. I didn't realize the seriousness of my actions at the time and so I made my threats and I ran. I was twenty. I was a stupid kid. 

You were the adult. We were the kids, remember? 

And you were both more worldly than I was, locked away in lecture rooms all day. 

Studying law. Stop making excuses. 

I'm making amends. I'm about to give him the means to achieve his wildest dreams and you're worried that I half-assedly threatened him? If I did, I apologize. I just want to be left alone now. Well, you can stay but only if you feel like having a nap with me and not talking. 

Not today. 

Did you hear that, John? She said 'not today'. Which means there's a possibility of another day, perhaps. This is what a man like me lives for and she never fails to string me along just enough to keep my hopes up. Bridget, I love you for that. He turns his attention back to me. Really I do. You never shut me out completely. 

I start to talk but he holds up one finger. I'm an old man. Leave me my delusions that they may turn into dreams while I sleep. 

Prize at the bottom.

My blanket is the color of an Atlantic storm, my head sleepy like a wave. He comes into the room quietly and I can smell salt and earth and iron as he comes closer. I finally open my eyes and he stands there soaking wet, covered with mud, hair tangled and dripping, clothes ruined, watch and nails and the end of his nose streaked with dirt. He holds his hands clasped together tightly as if he has caught a small bird, except that it's not a bird. It's my heart and it's zombie-lurch-beating all over the place as he holds it.

I have it. I got it back for you. I got it back for me, I mean. Finders keepers, Peanut.

***

I will hide myself below
I'll be what you wanted
Kept inside I won't let go
Until I burn beyond control

Caleb tells me quietly as I finish signing things. That's all that I need right now. There will be more to do next week. 

Is it enough then?

Enough for what?

To buy what I need.

Bridget, just tell me what you need and I'll get it.

You know what it is. How much does it cost? 

You can't pay for that, Bridget. 

Why not?

The price is one soul for another and yours is not available, remember?

Then let me buy it back. I think I have enough now. 

No, not even close. 

Then keep your money. 

It's amazing. Faced with all of this, faced with me fixing his life too (he points in the direction of the main house), you still choose the dead over the living. I suppose I should be heartened by that since my brother is included in that but I don't. 

He isn't and I wouldn't bring him back even if I could.

Caleb walks right up to me as if he's about to haul off and show me his perfect echo of death but then he remembers that others are present. They might know of our arrangements but they don't need to witness intensely personal exchanges.

You can go. We'll do this early next week in the office. Tell your joker that he gets his no matter what and that he is to let you assist him in directing the funds. Don't forget. The last thing I want to see is him wasting my efforts. 

He doesn't waste money. 

Money changes people, Bridget. I was so hoping it would change you. 

Why? It's only made you meaner. 

It makes me impatient. I'm sorry if you interpret that as anger. 

It is anger. 

Time to go, Princess. And please don't ever speak ill of my brother again. He loved you and he existed knowing you loved someone else. We all have felt that and now we can't do a thing about it. Don't think that doesn't bring out the rage of all the angels. Don't think that doesn't make us ALL into monsters by default. Have Lochlan come and sign his papers this weekend. He doesn't deserve this but the least I can do is make us equals and then I'm going to make him suffer.

I liked you better when you at least pretended to get along with people. 

I could say the same about you, Princess.

No navigators on board.

(Aside from the fifteen minutes I'm about to share, today was a good day. Mostly because I found the ghost I thought I lost.)

You pray to stars that can help you get by
And all at once you forget to try

I'd go there if you let me
They're never gonna find me now

Someone went out and left The Grace on the stereo. Heads are going to roll right into the hole they're going to have to fish me out of when time permits because I took one step away from that song and the ground gave away beneath me. I spiralled around and around down to the bottom faster than it took me to turn around and widen my eyes at Lochlan, who dove for the knob on the receiver and missed. (He's smart enough not to reach for me, as one would think one would do when music that liquifies my mind comes on. No. Always turn the music off first.)

Life is a bit of a minefield in that regard, and that's why I fall in these holes. I blow up when I don't look where I'm going and fall in a hole put there by a previous explosion.

It's fine. It's better down here. I don't have to be beholden to the demon with the gun perpetually held against my skull who ruined my past and my future and has now started in on my present. It's fine because I have lots of company down here. Jake was sitting up against the wall when I landed. He winced as my cast glanced off the floor and he asked if it hurt. I said yes and he kept his face very neutral because with me hurting is better than feeling nothing at all.

He asks about Ben and I wave my hands to defer. His whole face changes to despair and I assure him Ben is doing well, I just don't try to explain him anymore.

I pull my arm up to my chest and bite my lip. Fuck, it hurts. This is not a good hurt, this is an agonizing throb and he tells me to have someone get me out. He doesn't call Lochlan by name, which means he's mad about how Lochlan isn't very good at checking music before I hear it and I think that's a bit of a tall order in a house where half a dozen people share a vast and eclectic music collection, and they try to do what everyone does, not coddle me by ignoring songs that trigger falls into holes.

I shake my head in refusal. I haven't seen him in forever and he wants me to leave? He says purgatory is getting difficult to navigate. That every time he leaves me it gets harder and harder to find his way back and he didn't think he would have to anymore but here he is and he can't explain it.

I told him that means he made a rash decision. He shakes his head. It wasn't. It was planned. Calculated. Unavoidable. Inevitable. I just made him delay it by several years.

My cast thrusts itself through my ribcage, splintering bone, cracking ribs with an ungodly racket. My hand grasps my slippery, broken, stitched-up heart and pulls it out. I hold it up to him in offering and he tells me he lost that honor when he followed through.

I don't care. Just take it, it's yours.

What about Loch?

I don't know! He'll be okay. He's resourceful. He has Ruth.

Bridget, you have to climb up now. Right now.

I can't do it with one arm.

I can help. You can stand on my shoulders.

If I touch you again I think that will be it for me.

I know. Build a magic carpet out of my letters and float out. There should be enough. Have you finished them all?

I haven't touched them.

He did one of those indignant double-takes, as if he's completely disgusted and shocked all at once. It's the goofiest thing he ever did with his face and I loved it.  I realize I'm about to throw up, everything hurts so much suddenly, it washes over me, a tidal wave of memories that begins to fill the hole. I rise to the top eventually and Lochlan fishes me out by the back of my shirt. He's got a way with that, and yet all the seams are intact as he stands me firmly on the living room floor.

You could have drowned, Peanut.

Yes, I know.

You can't swim with one arm.

I know.

Jake isn't here anymore.

For you, he isn't.

Maybe you should read the letters.

No.

Bridget-

He stops abruptly, biting his lip, checking himself, refusing to go any further with his attempts to force progress where progress isn't to be had, and he pulls me in, kissing my forehead, wrapping his arms around me tightly.

Your heart. What did you do with it?

I left it in the hole, Locket. 

I'll go back and get it for you tonight.

You don't have to do that, you know. 

No, I think I should. He nodded, more to himself than to me. Yeah. I think I should be the one to get it this time. I said I'd try harder and I will. I am, I mean. 

Irreverent.

I'm in a long ruffle-y sweater, very tall knee socks that almost reach up to my neck (the joys of being five feet tall, NOT), a tank top and shorts. Basically pajamas with added things for warmth. I'm curled up in front of the roaring fireplace beside Lochlan, who decided to catch up on his reading and won't let me leave because every time I do something bad happens.

Not sure that yesterday was so bad but he's going to keep me with him nevertheless.

Caleb calls me and Lochlan's face twists slightly but not enough to admonish him for.

Bridget, you need to sign these papers. 

Send a raven. I will look them over when I feel up to it. 

Oh my fuck. This isn't Game of Thrones. You're keeping everyone hanging. Lawyers are expensive. 

So are princesses, Diabhal! 

Yes, I'm well aware. I'm trying to keep the peace, make you happy and get you better,  I would have thought you'd be more willing. 

Hey, you said the same thing in Vegas once, only instead of trying to get me better, you were trying to get me drunk and wondered why I wasn't more willing. Do you remember?

What does that have to do with this? 

More than you realize. 

I hang up on him and Lochlan bursts out laughing. 'Send a raven'. You do realize he could have easily countered with 'Send a dwarf'. 

Dissolute (no one's project girl).

Are you finished with your voice lessons and ready to get some very important things looked after today?

Yes, Mr. C____. 

He paused but he didn't look amused. Bridget, I'm not in the mood for the brat today. I know that's a rare occurrence but now is not the time for your nonsense. This isn't the circus, this is the boardroom. 

This isn't the boardroom, this is the boathouse. Oh! By the way! Did I tell you I'm drawing a map of the property?

You can tell me later. Let's go, we have a lot to get done. 

I walk into the living room and there are lawyers everywhere. One of them is mine. Oh, wait. Two of them are mine. My heart sinks. He's taking Henry.

But Caleb sees the look on my face and is almost as fast as my anxiety is loud.

This has nothing to do with our arrangement. Except to say I tried to keep you shielded from this and I've reached a place where that is no longer possible. 

What do you mean?

He took me back outside to tell me privately, holding my hands, watching my eyes as I went from sure he was lying to sure he was dying within minutes.

Although he assured me he isn't going anywhere, he really has to take better care of himself. The stress of trying to manage all of this isn't helping and so he's going to take some of my unending suggestions and simplify, liquify and rearrange his holdings so that it's easy to handle but perfectly secure. The board will be dissolved. My proposal comes to me as a done deal even though I've done nothing to deserve it.

I nod and then tears are rolling heavily down my cheeks and I make no move to hide them. Every time I cut him off it seems he hurts a little more. This is my fault. I must be the heartbreaker.

You are, he laughs with glassy eyes, answering my reasoning out loud. And the fact that you continually defer or bank, ignore and sometimes outright refuse my money only serves to confirm that you are the one who should have it. 

Are you dying. I don't ask questions anymore, I just brace myself for the worst with statements, dry and bitter. I literally square my shoulders and lock my knees and when I look at him he is a bit covered with glitter and with sad and with resignation too.

Someday yes but not soon, if that's what you're worried about. 

You can't die ever. You're not allowed. I bend over to pick up all of the pieces of Bridget that are suddenly popping off everywhere and scattering all over the floor.

I know. I know I can't but I will someday and I'm going to see that when the time comes you are well-equipped to deal with it.

What do you mean?

Bridget, it's begun to dawn on me that no one has been able to fix you yet. So I'm going to. I have things at my disposal that no one else does and a history with you no one else shares or even knows all that much about. I figure I am the best suited to helping you get better.

Better?

Less prone to burst into tears and run off to sit on the rock wall in the pouring rain when you catch a surprise memory of Jacob. 

Hell, I do that when I have a rough time flossing my teeth these days, I think it's a universal-Bridget-thing, not a Jake-thing. 

Then I have my work cut out for me. 

Oh, this sounds relaxing and stress-free for you! Yay!  What about Loch?

What about him? I am entitled and encouraged to spend time with you. He can retch and moan all he likes, that won't change. 

It won't work, you know. 

I've tried everything else. Literally everything, Princess. Let's just take it as it comes and see what happens. 

You can't fix me. Besides, I'm not yours to fix. 

You as much mine as anyone's. A group project. Collective effort. 

No, I'm not. 

But you are.

Cover me.

And through it all
He offers me protection
A lot of love and affection
Whether I'm right or wrong
And down the waterfall
Wherever it may take me
I know that life won't break me
When I come to call
He won't forsake me
I'm loving angels instead

Caleb asked me to come down and go over even more paperwork yesterday and after all manner of threats, coercion and yelling between he and Lochlan both I finally just went, just to keep the peace. Just so the kids don't have to come home and find their fathers at each other's throats once again because some things never change and all of their attempts to get along are nothing more than selfish means to ends.

I went but further assuage the hearts at home I wore red and I refused to look at anything. I lay on the floor in the living room and blasted Angels on repeat, practicing my singing and God help the Devil, he didn't touch the stereo, instead eventually leaving. I remained there until the sun went down and then I sat up and went home. I left the song on just so as not to go quietly into the night and all that.

He sent a message to me late tonight ordering me to try again tomorrow but to leave Jessica at home.

I'm still deciding if I'm going to do that. Maybe I'll bring Robbie instead. Because it's his song, not Jessica's. Yeesh.

Wool & wood & frost.

He has a thirty-five-year-old cableknit sweater in a shade of oatmeal-ivory that I can't replicate in order to properly darn the elbows and underarms and when he wears it his hair is virtual fire. Today is definitely a sweater day as he comes in from chopping wood. They take turns, mostly but Lochlan is the one who seems to actually look forward to it. He comes inside with bits of wood hanging off his sleeves and mixed in his curls but he looks energized, puffed up. PJ walks past him and squeezes his arms, letting out a high-pitched squeal and a giggle and then the rest of us begin to laugh because we did not expect that.

He shakes PJ off and comes over to hug me. He smells like cedar and hemlock and salt. I don't think there's a better smell out there for a man and five years ago I would have said something else, perhaps.

Wood's done. I'm not stacking it though.

I don't blame you. You didn't have to do all of it.

We're good until spring.

I pour him a hot cup of coffee. I can hold things again. I can manage a little better each day.

He ignores the coffee and pulls me back in against him. He's a solid wall. I don't know where the muscles came from. He's always been ridiculously strong-armed but it was invisible strength and that's no longer the case. His neck is wider, his shoulders impossibly hard. The sweater is doomed.

We should go back to bed.

Still got some wood to finish up, do we? I swat him with the dish towel and forget there's a row of boys at the island eating breakfast. They are all studying their dishes and trying not to laugh. I blush pink and try and be really busy cleaning up for a few minutes but it's still frustrating, it takes forever.

Everyone's been great, almost better since Asher came and went only he didn't actually go, he's still here, but as a guest and not an employee until I figure out what to do. Batman is patiently waiting for my decisions and I don't actually think Asher has anywhere else to go, honestly so we've been including him at dinner and for movie nights and morning patio lounging though it's cold enough for frost here so the heaters have been on outside. I still go out and so does everyone else. The sunrise is so late so why not?

Hence all of the wood-chopping because it's always so dim and dark here. I could pay extra to have it delivered already split but if the alternative is Lochlan looking like this then I think next time I'll just tell them to bring us the trees whole.