I like my songs with singers.

I think I've figured that much out. Instrumental jazz like last night with The Gordon Grdina Trio, John Scofield and Medeski Martin & Wood for the kickoff of the Vancouver Jazz Festival wooed me something fierce but I kept thinking the whole time they would all be so much more killer if they just had singers.

I know. I'm an incredibly green jazz fan. So wet behind the ears if you tell me a genre secret you'll slip and fall. I'm a predictably safe jazz fan. Glenn Miller, Ella, Louis. Mainstream, soft and friendly, over-quickly jazz.  Last night was over three hours of incredibly complex listening, rising, falling, give and taking, crazy-making jazz, let me tell you.

I did get to try another new pub too and I also got a refresher course on the art of precisely how fucking dirty Granville street is.  The thing about Vancouver is it tends to be so busy looking at the pretty scenery beyond the skyline that it fails to notice how dirty the window is that it's looking through.

And that's too bad.

But I did really love finally getting to see some serious jazz, even if I know nothing about it, and I got to groove down and out between the masters of music and money while doing so, because Caleb took Ben and I as his guests and yes, of course he wanted something. He always wants something and that something is always me but as a front he said he wanted a one-on-one (HA) chance to talk to Ben personally about everything that transpired between when I turned twelve up until after I got electrocuted. His goal for the night was to make it up to Ben using me, or something that made more sense in his fast talk at the theater than it did in his sheets later on.

One.

When he took my chin in his hand I figured I was about to get another face-to-face can't-get-away-from-me-now-Bridgie lecture but instead he tipped my face way up and kissed a spot just under my jaw.

My knees liquified and I haven't been the same since. But that's how Lochlan and I seem to fight and then make up. Ben came around too, eventually and we went out last evening to celebrate and came home to celebrate a little more. Maybe it's one of those times when we can just breathe a sigh of relief. House is full up. Everyone's okay. The kids are loving the teachers strike. Duncan's employed. Joel hasn't been murdered. No one's killed Bridget yet either. Caleb's eating crow for breakfast, lunch and dinner and Ben is celebrating his AA birthday today.

One whole year. 

This morning Sam put his hand out straight against Ben's forehead and prayed for him and we all watched in awe. Ben is only very receptive to God if he's channeled through Sam and Sam is the closest thing Ben will ever have to seeing success in the program. Duncan is watching with interest because he's only just started and Loch didn't even choose to continue because he and God aren't so close and he'd much rather do it on his own. Loch has an incredible sense of self-discipline I've yet to see in any of the others. He was always older than his years and rarely prone to making a mess of himself that he couldn't clean up easily.

But some of us aren't that good at being independent, honestly and there's more like us than like him.

Everyone's shaking Ben's hand. They can be so formal and it makes Ben blush sometimes as they call him brother with so much love in their voices, love in their eyes.  They pound him on the back and clap him on the shoulders and throw their arms around him and he feels really humbled by this. So he should. Please make it stick.

No more promises, no more keeping score
No more wondering what I stay here for
We broke the awkward silence with polite and practiced lies
But we were just preparing our goodbyes

I'm listening to Phish's new album Fuego today. It's streaming on the NPR website and I am being generously humored because it's as good as Hoist and I keep cranking the speakers up louder and louder. PJ already left and Caleb arrived in his place, lured over after hearing the notes floating on the heavy post-rain salt air, bent on more apologies and further reintegration into a broken and disjointed household.

I'm thinking this is perfect sunny-day long road trip music when he says, This is perfect road trip music. 

My brain wants to take him in that second and darken his hair and his eyes ever so slightly, give him that slow mean smile that used to be deployed like a weapon and call him Cole but my heart isn't even in good-enough condition to flex and include anyone else, not even Caleb. It's too busted up, too patched-together so instead I tell him that I have plans with Loch for the afternoon and there's Loch now, coming in to the library as if on cue.

Caleb asks Loch what our plans are and Loch screws us both by deferring, saying we don't have any plans today. Caleb feels worse because I lied and I feel worse because not only does Caleb think I lied to him, I know that Loch lied to him just to make both of us feel bad.

Effective.

Also shitty.

Just a little longer.

I will travel the distance in your eyes
Interstellar light years from you
Supernova will fuse when we collide
Awaking in the light of all the stars aligned

This song is crack to my brain, Starset's Telescope.You put in your best earphones and turn it up all the way and stand outside in the driving wind, closing your eyes. You just listen. It's how I get to know music. Don't fault me, it's the only way I can hear it. Concerts have become a frustrating experience in finding out repeatedly that no, the mix isn't muddy, I'm losing what I have left.

Everyone gives me their most prolific sympathy faces and I stand there pointing out so belligerently that it could be worse, it could be my eyes.

I can do deaf. I'll sing no matter what, I'll play the songs on the radio in my mind but you can't fake sight. You just can't see. It would always be dark out and that scares the life right out of me.

So I stole Ben's monitors that he uses when he's recording, the ones I'm strictly forbidden from touching and I went outside to listen and I got through five or six tries and I realized that sometimes when my brain sings my soul overhears it and I somehow summoned the devil.

I take out the monitors but I don't turn. I wait, studying my shoes. Studying the waves.

It's been weeks, Bridget. We have a lot to discuss. What does a man have to do to see you? 

Sing like an angel. I put the monitors back in and press play.

When I check next (two more rounds) he is gone but Loch is sitting on the steps, smoking a stolen cigarette, wearing his top hat, stifling a shit-eating grin. I can't help myself but I smile back at him so evilly I'm surprised I don't burst into flames.

Transcriptions and telescopes.

You’re out there
I hear you calling from behind the star fields
I feel you radiating energy like eternal northern lights

Far from the the sun
Where no one knows
I’ve watched you from my telescope

When I opened my eyes it was dark and cool. I could hear car horns and faint music. Caleb was sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his suit, tie loosened. He tucked my hair behind my ear and smiled. I sit up and rub my eyes, leaving slight black smudges underneath my lashes, finding it weird that I fell asleep so hard. I'm still wearing the stilettos he chose at one of the stores in the lobby.

Everything here is bigger, higher, brighter, louder, he told me. Pick out something that you can wear when we come here.

The strip is also costlier than any place else. The shoes cost close to two thousand dollars. I paled but he didn't even notice. That's four months rent. We came back upstairs so I could change and then he proclaimed me hot as hell. He would know. We went back to another floor, where a door was opened and there was another casino inside, but no signs on the door.

We were handed drinks from a tray and then Caleb turned to me. I have a quick game here. I nodded. I would watch, maybe. He said I am lucky. But he shook his head. I have a job for you. Take these, he handed me two chips. I want you to spend one and double the other. He kissed the side of my mouth and then walked away toward another room. I found a solitaire table and promptly lost three hundred and then I squeezed the other chip and hoped I was as lucky as he thinks I am.

But I wasn't and so I grew paler still.  Another two months rent.  I finished my drink and found an empty space at the bar. The bartender looked at me sympathetically and asked where I was from.

New York, I lied and emptied the rest of my glass.

***

I will travel the distance in your eyes
Interstellar light years from you
Supernova will fuse when we collide
Awaking in the light of all the stars aligned

I see you watching over me across the sky
Overcoming projected on my eyes eternally
I find you in the night

When we first arrived at the hotel he took my hands and placed them against his chest, standing so very close I had to look way up under his chin until he looked down at me.

This is the only way you can visit your soul, Bridget. How does it feel?

His eyes were so blue they turned black and I didn't answer him because I didn't want to believe it was true. Maybe that's why I'm no longer afraid when I'm alone with him. Or maybe that's a myth too.

***

Far from the sun
Where no one knows
I’ve watched you from my telescope

I will travel the distance in your eyes
Interstellar light years from you
Supernova will fuse when we collide
Awaking in the light of the stars aligned

When Caleb found me I had declined a new drink many times over and the bartender had given up, spending his attentions on some flashier sugarbabies at the other end of the bar. The Devil kissed my cheek, apologizing for taking a while, asking how I did with my task. I showed him my empty hands and he laughed out loud and kissed them both.

Well, what did you play?

Solitaire.

Not a lucrative table. Next time try Roulette. He scoops me off the stool and steers me toward the door. A guard hands him a cheque which he looks at briefly before putting it into his pocket. Once outside, my curiosity gets the better of me.

What did they pay you for?

Those are my winnings. 

How much did you win?

Enough to bring us here many times a year and buy you many pairs of shoes. He kisses my cheek again and we go back to our suite.

***

I will find you
I will find you
(I will find you)
(I will find you)
(I will find you)
I will find you
I will find you

I sit on the bed, shoes still on, trying to wake myself up. He takes off his jacket and tie, throwing them on a chair and then he comes back and sits in front of me. He leans in and kisses me hard but I push him away.

I lost all your money at that game. I can't pay it back. 

You're not supposed to.

Then tell me what you want me to do. 

He leaned me right back in his arms until he was lying above me and I was between his hands. What do I want you to do? Simple. When we travel you are to pretend you are my wife. Even when we're alone. There will be no second-guessing, no talking back, no arguments or power struggles. You act as though I am the choice you made. You act as if I am yours and I will provide for you and all you have to do is smile and not drop the act. Do you think you can manage that? It would be from when the car picks you up to when it brings you back. 

No. Because it's a farce. I married Cole. My laugh ends in a sob. I'm so sleepy. I think he drugged my food.

He takes my wrists in one hand and wrestles them up above my head, twisting them against the pillow. The pain makes my knees go up involuntarily and I cry out.

Did you forget who I am? Because I'm not Cole. I won't hurt you and then come back with humble pie and roses. I'll hurt you and then come back and hurt you some more. 

You wouldn't do that. I stare at him with inebriated hate in my eyes, softened only by the sleep I was taken out of.

 Why wouldn't I?

Because I'm your wife. (I can't even hear myself concede in a whisper under the din of the capital of Second Chances).

He smiled and only tightened his hold. That's my good girl.

Lobotomized goodbyes.

August went home today and I have a zillion more cracked bones from his gentle but completely crushing hugs and I have exacted promises that he will be back before Halloween if we're lucky. He stayed a few extra days, as he is without formal agendas these days and is considering hanging out a shingle in the tiny town where he and Jake grew up. It's not actually a town, it's little more than a village and so people there trust him because he's an Insider and also because he's capable. They respect anyone who is capable and fuss after those who are not. He's caught up with all of the work repairing and replacing a lot of things at Jacob's folks place and is finding himself idle again suddenly.

I said he could stay here and Caleb would be able to replace Joel but he said that wasn't so good, that he wanted to be my friend, not the keeper of my mind and everyone but me breathed a sigh of quiet relief because they never trusted me not to charm him to pieces and because I never failed to earn that suspicion. I couldn't help myself.

So off he goes. We loaded up his bag with American chocolate and Japanese sugar and he boarded a plane this morning.

And I didn't cry.

I think my incident a week ago shorted out my misery centers because I haven't actually cried much this week or maybe they are right and he is good for me in that he is like Sam. Positive, comforting and skilled. I think anyone that is soothing to a scrambled brain is automagically a good thing and a very important person to have but he isn't mine and I can't keep him, hard as I try.

I'm glad he came out though. It's very exciting for me to be able to show my friends how I glow in the dark now. It's something you definitely have to see in person.

I'm not sure there was ever time to draw a map of how to be the one left behind when someone dies, whether by their own hand or by God's. I'm not sure I ever wanted to be the flag bearer for a group of people who exist without their consent, and I don't think I want any microscopes or infamy for just putting words down the same way I put one foot in front of the other, the way I can only take one measured breath at a time, the way I put the posts up and take the judgement and mostly otherwise just keep to myself. I'm not your poster child, your how-to/DIY, your widow hack, your curiosity so please don't tell me I am because I don't want to know and I don't want anyone to ever think there's a right way or a wrong way to do anything. Whatever way you live your life is your way and it doesn't matter what anyone else does, says, or thinks, okay?

Okay.

I saw Caleb today and he left me an envelope for tonight. The pain in my head is finally receding like the high tide and I stopped sneaking bourbon in between Advils when Lochlan caught me. He took the envelope and burned it and then he didn't say a word, heading off with Ruth for their day together to celebrate Father's Day. Henry and Caleb started so much earlier, because they are early people and Ruth and Loch are late people now.

Kind of funny how that works.

I may go down to the boathouse just to say hello. It's been a while. Ben said I can have six minutes. I can't thaw him out at all.

Six.

Last night I lay in the middle of the big bed trying to describe my headache to Ben, who was asleep and not actually listening.

It's like I think my spinal fluid is leaking but I'm afraid of the test. Maybe my brain bag is sagging because the pressure's too low because all the fluid is pouring out from when I fell. But it's supposed to go away if you lie down and I still have the pain.

Or maybe it's karma. Maybe it's punishment from God for being so indecisive and subversive with Cole and Caleb for so long. Though Sam says God isn't into that.

You know something? I'll stick with the tumor. It's a brain tumor and I must be tough as nails because it hurts so bad but the headaches hardly slow me down at all and a mere mortal would be on the floor from this pain. But I'm a boeing and so I don't notice. I wish I had a normal pain threshold and then I could just check out of life and sleep but I don't get to do that. 

I kept going. I think he was snoring but I just needed company and a shoulder and he has the biggest one and also is amazing at not fixing things because he has his own things he needs to fix and he treats me like an adult.

Which is kind of funny since I'll never actually be one.

I'm pretty sure at this rate I am marked for death only it's going to be slow and torturous and the soundtrack will be my husband snoring really loudly. Or maybe he was trying to give me a clue, showing me that I could just fall asleep like I was threatening to all along and maybe the pain would go away.

Eventually I did fall asleep but the pain didn't stop and the whole house swung back from Glad you didn't die, Bridget to Maybe you still might and I just want to wave them away and remind them of my wicked constitution and reassure them that I'm okay.

I'm not okay but I'm okay. I just don't want them to worry. I do enough of that for everyone.

'Not only stitious, but stitious to the extreme, hence SUPERstitious', as Loch always says.

If in the next iOS update Apple is indeed going to be able to remind me where I parked, then I'm going to need suggestions on what to do with all the new free time I'll have, that would normally be wasted walking around parking lots with a keyfob out, clicking the buttons to make the vehicle beep and then trying to triangulate where the sound came from with my mediocre acoustic wayfinding skills.

I couldn't go out today anyhow. I had big plans for my last kid-free day before school finished but since the strike notices have been officially tabled that day is today and it fell on a Friday the 13th/Full moon double-whammy and so I'm home because I am the most superstitious person you're ever going to encounter in your life, I promise.

Huh. 

I do have to go out around suppertime to get a boy who will need a ride home but otherwise I think I'll stay right where I am and eat leftover tourtiere and listen to Deepfield and Otis Redding and Medeski and watch my nerve lose itself in the maze that is my little fried brain. I'm a little scared that this Sunday night's Game of Thrones season finale is going to offer me all new characters that I don't remember and possibly be completely unrecognizable. This would be a travesty even Apple wouldn't be able to fix so let's all hope for the best while I keep working on this headache and wait impatiently for the day to flip over to the fourteenth, because safe.

That's me in the spotlight.

Consider this
Consider this, the hint of the century
Consider this, the slip
That brought me to my knees, failed
What if all these fantasies come flailing around
Now I've said too much

Joel says that my OCD tendencies are waning as the weight of the world wrings them out of me, and that's not a bad thing.

August isn't a threat. Neither is Duncan, for the record. Ben understands this. He's bristling at the fact that I have three settings: destructive overwrought emotion, endless nondiscriminatory affection, and abject debilitating terror. August showed up on a great day and got bombarded by my inappropriate affection, God bless him, he never ends a hug first and Ben is tired and sometimes just wants to be The One, much as he loves the others and he doesn't seem to realize that he is The One, but that when he disappears for long stretches I feel helpless and homesick and so I try and spread the love in the form of making sure everyone is always willing with cuddles for me. It makes it easier but Ben isn't around enough to know this.

He's still vaguely pissed about the money thing, not because it was something only Caleb could do (it isn't) but because I happily agreed and it stole his thunder.

It didn't.

I have boundary issues and I never know when enough is enough. Also abandonment issues in that I exhaust myself working for endless confirmation that everyone is still here, that I am still loved, that everything is alright.

We recouped $4250 from the cliff, by the way. Lochlan put it somewhere for safekeeping. Hopefully in his wallet. Give it back? What? I can't hear you. Are we falling back on our old habits of stealing in order to buy small amounts of comfort because it's an easy pattern to fall into to blame the world for everything while we isolate from it?

Probably.

And yes, I am considering the possibility that it was indeed a work trip for Caleb and that the rest is either a red herring to throw me off or he really is dying and wanting to experience everything before he does. I am not afraid of this. I don't know what will happen but it's not the terror with which I consider the deaths of the others. And I just can't, so I'll drop this entirely right now.

And leave it shattered on the floor while I go lie down snuggled against PJ's shoulder while he reads. It's pouring rain today and I have a really bad headache and Joel just won't shut up.