Home is where the wi-fi connects automatically.

I've been a mom for a decade and a half and it feels like it still isn't real. I was still a little girl in my brain, playing house, playing dolls, seeking stereotypes and forging ahead with my plans for the perfect family when Ruth was born, even as I stood in lineups at the bank, at the grocery store, at the hardward store marveling that people actually thought I was an adult. Then I blinked and suddenly the children are taller than me, so sure of themselves where I am not, navigating the world with ease while I remain behind scared to death of everything yet mindful of nothing all the same, careless as I careen from one day to the next, outrunning my own adulthood with the same speed that I outrun my shadow.

The children are my greatest achievement and my fondest wish, the biggest love I will ever experience but in a different way for this one that can't be killed, fought away or shut down. They are voracious, ridiculously sophisticated readers and just about as stubborn as me. They are argumentative, selectively forgetful and effortless in their plans to move ahead and see everything that's out there, knowing that I'm right here when they get hungry, when their hearts get broken or when they run out of money, means or mayhem to get into.

They watched American Hustle with us last night and now call the microwave the Science Oven.

Happy Mother's Day.

Perpetual redemption and sliding back into sin.

Ben looked across the table at Caleb this morning and said, You know what? You can cover shit with money but it's still shit. 

Caleb asked him if he had something he wanted to say.

Ben nodded. I just did. You're a piece of shit. 

Caleb nods, looking at me. I see you told him the rest of your tales. 

It's ongoing, I say, sipping my coffee. If the table is going to go over I really want to finish my coffee first.

What made you think you could do that? Ben is not holding to his agreement to be calm.

I was twenty years old and I thought the way to take the world was by brute force. That's why I've spent thirty years trying to make it up to her. 

Sort of trying and sometimes not trying. 

She told me to go away and I left. Jacob had her through the awful years. She was a lot more stable with me. In face, she seems better than ever now, with me right here. 

OH my God. You're not going to take credit for that. You know who gets that credit? THIS GUY RIGHT HERE. He points at Loch.

So Caleb points at Loch too. This guy? The one who took her out there and put her in the middle of a fucking carny nightmare? That's no place for a child.

It was fine until YOU showed up. 

HEY. 

They all look at me. I was loud.

Stop it. The only reason it's coming out now is so it's out and we can move on. Otherwise leave him be. He's literally paying for his crimes. He's worked hard. 

He got lucky. We don't need him. 

I do. I need him. Henry needs him. This isn't going to turn into a war. No one touches him. 

What about you, Loch? You're fine with this?

Nope. I never said I was. I don't want him anywhere near us but it's necessary. Sometimes I think he purposely got you pregnant just so you'd always be tied to him, Bridget. 

Caleb laughs. That's exactly what I did. This is a multiyear plan. 

There goes the table. I don't even know which one of them flipped it. I just know he was smiling when he said it and that means it's a lie. He's seeking forgiveness from me and me alone now.

Safety off.

Well the rain exploded with a mighty crash
As we fell into the sun
And the first one said to the second one there
I hope you're having fun

Band on the run
Band on the run
And the jailer man, and sailor Sam,
Were searching everyone
For the Band on the run

Yesterday Caleb put Lochlan's money back into my hands and told me to put it wherever I wanted, though he recommended all sorts of offshore holdings and local market GICs in rotation. He's not dumb and he's not giving up easily. I've told him to drop the whole thing even as I work to set up everything he's suggested. This isn't coming from a place of rivalry, it's coming from a shared fatherhood. They're freakishly respectful of each other as fathers. Sometimes I think that's the only saving grace we'll ever have here.

And Joel's position without tenure means he is still in danger of losing his job but Caleb has made a safety net for him too and at least for the meantime he leaves to go to work and I don't have to deal with him. I haven't invited him for any meals nor have I done anything other than be ambushed by him in the driveway a couple of times as he says hello. We've managed to weird each other out completely. It's great. I live for those moments where people walk away from me curiously unhinged and shaking their heads. It's the ones who stare and wait for me to disappear from their view that unnerve me in return.

Ben stands twelve feet away, watching everyone watch me and I ignore them all. His shadow blocks the sun, shields the rain and keeps me ever so slightly removed from the tsunami of memories that licks at my heels.

I knit my brows, concentrating. Forward. Which gear is that again? What if there's something blocking the way? Oh, right, it's my own self standing there holding a handful of ladybugs and daisy petals and completely unsure that it's so safe to be on this path after dark but it's the only way home so I brush off my hands on the skirt of my dress and follow them all.

Last night Ben gave us a time-limit within which to be one hundred percent sure we have told him everything because at this point he knows he's standing in the dark as much as anyone and he played a card he's never played before with Loch. He reminded Loch of the gift he gave him and that in return he wanted trust and transparency and truth.

So eloquent and fearful of the unknown but sure in his efforts to navigate into the future, using honesty as a beacon because as he's now reminded everyone, what we've done so far hasn't worked. He grabbed me up very tightly off the ground, into his arms and I wrapped my arms around his neck and agreed to everything he asked for. It's a first. A milestone if ever there was one from which to mark the distance we've travelled because I think maybe we're finally going to get somewhere.

I hope it's a good place but that remains to be seen.

Word-selfies.

It's amazing how subjects of importance ebb and flow here, like the tides. For months, I've wanted to transcribe Lochlan's wedding vows because they floored me. There were no funny poems or vocabulary lessons, just the most beautifully arranged words.

For a long time I've wanted to tell you I'm only marginally happier now that we've left the Prairies, trading months of bone-numbing cold and violent news reports for being further still from my Atlantic.

So many times I wanted to tell you something amazing or hilarious that Ben did only to have him say at the last minute not to write about that. We've struggled with the words. He wants to be anonymous. His issues became public (not by me) and he's decided that he doesn't like to be thrust into spotlights he doesn't walk under voluntarily. It's ongoing.

I wanted to tell you that I would resurrect Jacob if I could because he talked to me like no one else does. He listened. He didn't teach and preach endlessly. He didn't push me off in favor of getting things done, he didn't rush around and have no time. He didn't ever seem impatient or frustrated or busy.

Some days I want to point out the obvious, that my knees are destroyed and I can never run again. Bring the crazies in now, I have no means of outrunning my own thoughts. I'm sure running at some point was the only thing that kept me from turning around the bend into some sort of cartoon character in a straitjacket. I'm sure running emptied my mind, a trail of words bouncing off the road behind me every step. I'm sure that I've tried since and it's not going to happen and yet I can't find a replacement short of drinking and that's not a thing I wish to do with any regularity.

I need more time than I have. I've always been greedy with time, wanting the attention, the focus to never end, sucking the life out of whole men to the point that they perish for lack of replenishment or maybe it's just so horrific to watch me twist in the wind feigning solitude and abandonment when they're right here that it kills them slowly and then it kills them fast.

Maybe I can shift things back. Find a replacement for running. Cure issues that only exist inside my thick little head. Respect Ben, and Lochlan and the others and bury Jacob already, for he isn't coming back. Tell you the touching, important things and let the rest go. Learn to love where I am, where my children and my boys are and know that the place or the proximity isn't as important as the people even as I tell you all to leave me alone, for I only need the sea.

 

Joel's co-worker Oliver came to help him unpack for a couple hours. I think Oliver was a plant to help assuage my fears over Joel being here. I was brutally honest with Oliver. I think he thought the whole thing was desperately serious and completely ridiculous at the same time.

He said I should have a bodyguard around the clock, because he can see being alone with me would cause problems for some people.

I asked him why that's supposed to be my fault and he said he didn't know if it is. Then he revealed in the next breath that he's a Saint Louis fan so I pretty much wrote him off right there. Of course, he's American so they're fickle like that.

I would keep Oliver if he wanted to move in but Caleb's no-more-boys rule stands. Asher and Joel are not friends and were not to function as friends. I already told Joel that I'm not going to let him pick through the remainder of my brain and he said he had no plans to make things worse for me by being here. I responded by holding up his watch, wallet, keys, phone and pocketknife and told him I would make things worse for him, that he's been warned. He just laughed and asked me why I never did that when Jake was around. I said I did but only to Jake.

Then I cried again because stupid, stupid brain.

The boys aren't all that upset about this. They come from some strange place in which they commiserate with each other because Bridget does things to you. 

And they prefer to have trained counselors handy for emergencies. Even though his credentials and his public confidence are both long gone, he still knows what he knows. With August gone and Sam's skills as a counselor being more rudimentary they will welcome the break from needless second-guessing and the worry about whether or not I am doing okay, because Joel is supposedly magical and all-knowing.

The sad part is he did a very good job with me when I lost my shit. I still wish it had ended differently.

He says he's hoping to spend some time with me changing that but with him all my alarm bells went off because all I heard was he's hoping to spend some time with me.

I'm not afraid of him but I still don't know who was manipulated. Him or me? He should have had safeguards in place to prevent what happened but instead he YOLO'd it and put my well-being at risk and if he's going to be here, helping me, helping us and we'll be helping him (Caleb found out Joel was struggling to keep up with the cost of living here and also the victim of soon-to-be-cut budgets), then I have to be able to trust him and I don't anymore.

I think Caleb is stacking his deck. I think he wants to clear the air and he's going to do it with brute force and what I wanted a week ago and what I want right now are worlds apart. I wish he'd stop this. I wish he would just let sleeping dogs lie and I wish I could have a five-minute break from walking this minefield that is my life.

Lochlan has already been to see Caleb and told him there will be no forgiveness and also he doesn't want the money so here, take it back, it's all there. He told Caleb he has everything he needs and that's all that matters to him. He told me Caleb didn't say a word, that he didn't even look his way when he came in, nor when he left after dropping the envelope in front of him on the table.

Fuck right off.

Oh, hey.

Had a lot to talk about, wanted to tell you about my birthday proper (the one yesterday, not the one when I was nine, I already told you about that) but then Joel arrived with all of his stuff and will. be. living. above. the. garage. Caleb invited him.  This is not the twist my life was supposed to take today. Even Sam was all like, He's going to be living here? On the point? With us?

We should have kept Asher and then maybe this wouldn't have happened at all. Is it too late to have him come back? 

Honorary boy.

When I was nine years old I walked up the street, giving out invitations to my birthday party. Cake, games, treat bags. My mom liked to keep things simple. I had chosen Strawberry Shortcake as the theme, even for the invitations and I tucked each one carefully into a pale pink envelope that I wrote the boys' names on as neatly as I could.

LOCKLEN.

CRISTYIN.

CALIB.

COAL.

DILAN.

My mother bit her tongue and probably planned a back-up event, because the youngest boy was Cole, at twelve years old and no way would a bunch of neighborhood teenage boys want to come to a Strawberry Shortcake-themed birthday party for a little girl.

But they did. They wore their church shirts and pants and good shoes that they took off at the door and they handed me presents and they played the games I had picked and sang Happy Birthday to me and and ate cake and helped clean up when it was over. At the door they thanked my mother and collected their treat bags and we all agreed to change and meet up at the baseball park, except for Lochlan, who said he would come get me in five minutes because at that age I wasn't allowed to walk the path alone.

I watched them play pick-up baseball for the rest of the day and in between his turns Lochlan took a big stick and taught me how to spell their names in the mud the correct way. Oh. Lochlan. Christian. Caleb. Cole. Dylan.

I took the stick and showed him how to spell my name. There's a D in there. Bridget. Everyone else got it right on the cards except for him. He wrote Briget.

As we walked back when it got dark they sang Happy Birthday to me again and lit their lighters and it was the most magical thing I've ever seen. I opened all of their presents after dinner that night and all of it was hockey and baseball safety gear, in the smallest sizes they could find, though still slightly too big for me. But none of it was pink. None of it was fruit-scented. None of it was a hand-me-down.

My parents were confused but I was the happiest little girl on the block. I packed away all of my Apple Dumplin', Apricot and Strawberry Shortcake dolls in a box, shoved it far back under the bed and never played with dolls again.

Fight club.

How can I believe when this cloud hangs over me
You're a part of me that I don't wanna see

Jacob used to bring all of his paperwork and books into the dining room to work when I played piano. Sometimes I would be very serious, burning through Beethoven, Vivaldi, Borodin. Other times I would hack away at jazz standards or alternative rock songs. Sometimes I played Heart & Soul about five hundred times in a row. It didn't matter what it was, Jake would be smiling every time I stole a glance.

Sometimes I would turn around on the bench and yell WHAT? at him and laugh but he would just chuckle and keep making notes, books spread all over the table, his lap, the floor.

I thought he was happy.

I picked out a few notes on the piano in Caleb's living room this morning and wondered if he truly appreciated Scott Joplin's compositions as I started to play The Sting but I have forgotten how to play it over the years. And he won't stay on the subject anyway so what does it matter, so I cheekily switch to Chopin's funeral march and try to look very fiercely up at the Devil as I play.

Very funny, Princess. Caleb breezes past me, phone in hand. He shows me a photo.

Nice dog, I say and keep playing and he finally closes the lid on my fingers.

It's a horse. No games today, Bridget, I'm trying to get some things accomplished. They can deliver him tomorrow.

Delivered? Like a pizza? That's what I'll call him. I'll call him Pizza.

So yes? You like him?

I know nothing about him! Thick or thin crust? Pepperoni or chicken? Anchovies? Extra cheese?

It's a horse. If you don't want to be here then why are you here?

I want to know if you're going to rat yourself out or if I'll have to do it for you. That's the topic, Diabhal.

The topic should be the ease with which you roll your sordid words around on the internet like a wet finger in a sugar bowl. Your fucking blog-

That was the worst metaphor-

BRIDGET.

He picks me right up off the floor and pulls me in close to his face but then he doesn't know what to say. It's only when there's no space left that he sees how small I am in comparison. It freaks him out.

Your jealousy is showing. I tell him point-blank, false courage blowing a hole through his torso, detonating his heart too (since it runs in the family), knocking him down to writhe in front of me, a victim of his own clear intent. I'll morph into a helpless bystander, rushing away while his life soaks into the wet pavement in the glare of a pool of light from a streetlamp above.

What's gotten into you?

You're trivializing something you have no right to measure the importance of and I think for once you should just let me run this show so they don't kill you.

Ah. The fake courage of a little girl who had to be in charge because everyone let her down. I can smell your fear from here.

Just like a big dog, like that one in your picture. It's a bloodhound, is it?

We're not finished here! Don't you walk out that door! 

I'm walking. Watch  me! Rolling out the door, just like a finger in a fucking sugar bowl, Caleb! 

I'll talk to you later, when you've calmed down a little. 

I'll send for you when I want to see you. Don't hold your breath waiting, you'll die.

Ben's favorite sort of homecoming after being away for any length of time is to have us perform. He wrapped his hands around my head and kissed me hard and then pulled my head in against his mouth and told me what he wanted. He deviates a little but nothing I can't handle.

Well, mostly.

Loch takes you first, he whispered. Ben likes to watch. He can almost get off without being touched, it's extraordinary. I rain a chorus of mewls at him in protest. I haven't seen him in almost a week. I need him to touch me. They can work something out, I won't wait for him.

He just smiles and I get one more rough kiss before I am dropped into Lochlan's lap. Loch's a performer, he no longer minds. By the time Ben is spooling up Loch can disappear and sleep or he can hang out and watch. We've got this down to a casual science.

Or rather a lottery with the same winner every night. Jackpot. Bridget's a gazillionaire if sex were money. It's currency, that's for sure.

When Loch's arms slide down around my hips Ben pulls my arms back hard. I arch my back and he kisses me again. He's going to stay so close we can touch him, or rather, he can touch us. Loch swears at him and lifts me up, bringing me back down into his flames. I cry out. There was no foreplay, just need dealt all the way around. I fight to slow him down but he's hammering into me. He's putting on a show. He spoils Ben without even realizing it sometimes. Ben sits back in surprise. He doesn't want to miss anything. He reaches out with one hand and grabs my hair, twisting it up into one hand, keeping me up in the air until the tension threatens to tear my skin and he loosens his hold, running his hands down my throat, across my shoulders and down my arms to my wrists, which he takes and pulls hard once more, up over my head.

Loch's hands slide under my hips and I'm no longer touching the earth at all, I'm suspended here in the night on the moon, which glows white hot and hums with a electric current I can almost taste, a sweet metallic flood into my mouth.

Loch loses his nerve three-quarters of the way to heaven, pulling me close, shoving Ben's hands away, fighting off guilt and regret even as his limbs begin to shake as he grabs the edge and flings us over. His lips press against my forehead, his fingers tighten around my hips and he cries out, a harsh exclamation of joy followed by a grin of relief. His face finds mine and his hand comes up to hold my chin level with his as he kisses me. It's a long one. I can't catch my breath. He asks me how many and I say three and he laughs and then Ben pulls a little harder and I am in his arms at last. Loch lies beside me, smoothing my hair back off my forehead, tucking it behind my ears, telling me I am beautiful. Telling me to let go.

Ben gives me a longer kiss still and I wonder if they're trying to kill me. I get early confirmation when Ben leans up on his elbows and flips me face down, sliding one arm around my hips, lifting me right up off the bed, driving in so hard I scream. His other hand comes up to cover my mouth and he asks me if I like it. I nod. I do. I'm awful, evil, terrible. He laughs against my ear and tells me to let go and I nod once more as adrenaline and waves of euphoria threaten to knock me out. I can't breathe and he's forcing me into blackness and he likes it so much I trust him and I do let go and just at the moment I relax he loosens his holds on me and Lochlan steers my head to one side. He kisses me and then Ben kisses him. It's quick and perfunctory, though, nothing passionate. 

Loch strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. Then he gets up and leaves. Ben turns me back over, parking his elbows on either side of my head. He begins to move harder, faster, shoving me right up away from him on every stroke and I wrap my arms and legs around him just so I don't get hurt. He holds himself up with one hand and wraps the other arm around my back, lifting me up close against him.

I love you, Bee, he says as his grip on me tightens. He grunts and then cries out my name when he comes, slowing to the barest aching crawl. He brings me back down to rest against damp sheets and collapses against me, his thumb rubbing my forehead, fingers against my cheek.

I love you, Benny. I say it in my sleep for I have already gone to dreamland. It's right on the other side of heaven. Lochlan returns, pressing close against my back, pressing yet another goodnight kiss against my skull. Love you, Peanut. Sleep, Babygirl. I turn over and echo my words to him. Love you, Locket. Sleep, boys. Sweet dreams. And I'm out.