Following the green stripe.

He is pale and fighting for breath when I get in. The hesitation between words is what gets me collecting our things before he can make his pride shine. Inside of forty minutes we're at the hospital and he is sent right up. Oxygen. Painkillers. More x-rays. Please don't admit him again, tomorrow is his birthday.

Finally the room clears. It has to run its course. He is healing, albeit slowly. Stop pushing so hard. Stay down. Stay quiet.

Almost didn't make it to forty-nine, did I?

I'll tell you tomorrow.

We're missing dinner.

I put my head down on the bed and he puts his hand over it. We'll reschedule.

I'm sorry, Peanut.

For what?

I was trying to impress you. I took a chance and it came back and bit me.

Why would you need to impress me?

You're my girl.

Impress me by being safe, then.

You're weird.

You're the one in the nightgown.

Hey, cut me some slack. I'm an old guy now.

At forty-nine? Yes, you are, Lochlan.

You make me feel young.

Could just be all that fresh newness on your insides.

Aye, it could be that.

The high-functioning wards.

Joel was here this morning. Early. Whoever gave him a key is about to be ruined, he's a stranger and my children sleep in this house.

He will tell you he's one of Jacob's oldest and dearest friends and in order to make the big switch to being one of mine as well, he sacrificed everything. I don't recall asking him to do it. Jeez. My 'fondest' memories of the guy are being undressed by him in the front hall after I came home, after Jacob flew, and before that of him chasing me up the steps right behind Jake and then both of them holding me down while Joel slid a whole shitload of tranquilizers into my veins after Cole.

Maybe psychiatrists are not the best sorts of friends to have. I don't know any anymore though, so I can't answer that.

I need to talk to Ben. You keep saying he isn't doing so hot. Is anyone doing anything about it?

Sam walks in. His timing. I don't even know. I'm working with him.

Maybe he'd like to talk for a bit to someone else.

I'm working with him. Sam repeats himself. Joel misses the vitriol and continues to address me. Ask him or I will. There's too much at risk for him to have you two put up a wall in front of me.

You're unqualified.

I have the training.

And it's ILLEGAL for you to use it anymore, Joel.

So help your husband and maybe keep it quiet. Isn't he worth doing everything you can?

Ben will be fine.

You're an enabler, Bridget.

I'm PROTECTING him from YOU.

I'm not out to hurt him.

Then leave us alone.

What's going on? My patient comes into the room. Still raspy, still hurting but won't stay down. I start tea for him and turn back to Joel.

Joel was stopping by to offer some help but he has to go now.

Bridget, if you stand in the way of Ben's recovery you'll have to answer to all of us.

Threats? Really? Is this because I talked to August?

I could hear you.

From the front porch. You live a hundred yards away. Were you eavesdropping?

If he shows up and suddenly you have a laundry list of people you want him to fix then you need to look closer to home.

Oh my God. You're jealous.

No, I want to help. I want to make amends.

By moving in and secretly keeping notes on me for Caleb? You had one job, Joel. I guess you botched it good. Maybe you should save face and just go.

But Lochlan is watching Joel and he's not going to dismiss him the way I do.

Is that it? Is she right? Are you jealous of August?

I'd like to help.

And Lochlan roars. ANSWER THE QUESTION! His voice is so strained it hurts to listen.

Joel stands there. I don't know how hard it is to weigh the words but it's going to be better for him if he just admits his weakness (not like it won't be shared, diluted among them all) but instead he lies and says he just wants to help any way he can, and that he'll have a report for me on Caleb soon just so we're on equal ground.

I don't want that.

I do, says Loch.

Hush, you.

Sam says This isn't the way they play the game and I burst out laughing because he's right. Oh, he's so right.

Joel says he'll drop it off later and I see him out. At the door I ask for the key and he gives it and I tell him if he's hungry or he needs something that he can message me or PJ and we will feed him or whatever but he doesn't have the right to just walk in. He's a guest, not a member of the collective and that's never going to change.

Please tell Ben to come see me, Bridget. Don't be selfish now. You've never acted this way in your life. Don't risk it with Ben.

I shut the door in his face.

Rest real loud.

Aw fuck. Chimaira just packed it in after fifteen long years. God love 'em. PJ is near tears and now we're wondering who the hell is going to soundtrack the mosh pits in the kitchen every day.

Good for them though. Family first. It's a tough biz any way you shake it.

(Actual daily post to follow after the obligatory amazing seven-album listen through. This is how we mark time.)

Fleeting.

August stayed long enough to wash off the dust, get a haircut and a shave and read Joel's report. I thought he would laugh. I thought he might roll his eyes and give a colorful curse or two but he nodded and then he kept nodding and he said it was about right but he said it softly, defensively as if I was about to lash out at him or fall apart but it just proves that they don't understand unconventional people and basically it made me stick even closer to Loch and to Ben. Loch is still having some godawful chest pain and Ben is retreating from us but not physically and I had to ask August if he could just deal with him instead, that even at my worst I have a good net here but Ben tends to fall right through it. Probably because of the huge weight difference between us. Or maybe because the net was just never designed for the types of tricks Ben does.

I don't know but they were locked in the library talking for a damn long time and when they came out they both looked spent and grim.

Sam needs to step up. He favors me. Maybe they all do because Ben doesn't give them a chance. I'm a open book. I'll sing to you my flaws and read aloud from the big book that is my fears. Ben won't say a word until he's so far gone he's lost. So maybe you're going to first fix the easier thing.

Which, okay so no, that's not it then.

Can't be.

August is gone now, on the plane that's going to bump his slender knees through Edmonton, Montreal, Halifax and into Gander. It might take him the rest of the week to get home at that rate but he wouldn't stand for me rearranging his itinerary to make things easier for him.

So I didn't. But I also didn't stand for him agreeing with Joel because I know what's wrong with me, I don't need to see it on paper, I don't need it agreed with. I don't need the confirmation that I'm some sort of enigma who has so many things wrong inside her skull they practically cancel each other out at this point. Instead I just made devilled eggs and chocolate-covered strawberries and I soaked up all of the Newfie while I could because I sincerely doubt he'll be back again this way before Christmas and then I put on my bravest face (and biggest lie) at the door when he left.

The pilgrimage back from Nevada.

(Still waiting for my money, Diabhal, if you'd put a rush on that. What? Your assistant isn't handy? She's busy, sorry. Do it yourself for once.)

I'm still mostly strung out on stress here and unable to sleep, remember things or get past the end of my nose with my list of chores. Sam redelegated my Monday for me and triaged me right through the morning. I can't seem to let go of Lochlan's hand. I don't want to take my eyes off him. The thought of ever losing anyone else to an accident or illness or anything for that matter leaves a simmering fear always on the verge of boiling over and maybe I don't do as well as I thought I did.

Ben gave up and handed me off to Sam almost too quickly. Hurry up, he must be thinking. Fix her up and then come look after me because I'm the one everyone dismisses or forgets because I never keep my shit together long enough to be counted. 

He's wrong but try telling him that.

Sam is doing well. This house is a full time job, I think. Probably Joel's job but as long as he is here to create reports and feedback on me I'm not speaking to him.

I just want to sleep. I want to have a good dream. I want to eat pizza without feeling sick and I'd like to maybe watch a really good movie without poking holes in the dialogue or the plot or the effects.

And then I heard a big Newfie walk in the front door, but only because he was yelling our names.

And I flew off the couch, and Lochlan's head snapped up because he had almost fallen asleep and he said is that August? 

And it was. Fresh and wasted from yet another goddamned Burning Man, because this guy never learns.

Breathing now.

Convalescent day with the pyrowrecknical who has a lovely raspy lilt to his voice that makes my knees buckle just splendidly. I think he totally fucked up and didn't want to admit it because he likes to be perfect even as he makes zero attempts to belong, fit in or mingle with the norms. He'll always be the outsider and that will probably be his downfall but for the next few weeks he is mine while we run the gamut of pills and x-rays and pulmonologists (?) and side effects. He hates antibiotics and steroids just make everyone mean but he has to take those too because lungs are precious things.

I can spoil him with Netflix and cuddles and music. Maybe a drive later if he gets restless (he does, endlessly) and Ben promised to entertain him tomorrow while I go grocery shopping because I'm tough and I'm resilient and lately it seems like the bad luck is offleash and running free but the horse was going to die anyway, rarely have I ever had a really good trip with Satan and frankly after so long at it the fact that Loch had a relatively mild industrial accident is almost a relief because the odds are back on his side again now, even though it will probably be next summer before he gets to give it another go and I have been summarily banned from ever doing it again for the big fire-transfer kiss finale because now suddenly it's too dangerous and he said if this had happened to me I would be dead.

Granted, that might solve as many problems as it makes, but he has a point and I'm just glad our livelihood no longer has to depend on these sorts of things. We've seen people have to leave a show due to accidents or illnesses and it was never not heartbreaking for everyone involved.

Lochlan doesn't agree with me on being glad we're out. He wanted to be a lifer but I dragged him into the real world and I bet he resents me for that even as he says he never ever would, that I have shown him the sweet parts of life as I jam down beside him into the couch and steal the remote the first chance I get. Because girl movies, for the win.

Nothing else matters (if you can't breathe).

Long day at the hospital today because we took Lochlan in around three this morning after discovering he might have aspirated kerosene from his show earlier in the evening. He was coughing constantly and couldn't seem to take a deep breath. He kept saying he was fine but he's proud like that. He said if he sat quietly he would be able to recover but then he didn't and I started panicking.

No one wants to see that ramp up so Loch agreed to be seen.

(And then all hell broke loose as we ran into unexpected legal issues and next of kin issues and we had to call in his parents. This went over well.)

He was released a couple of hours ago. Apparently the fact that he has thirty years of experience in fire breathing/eating/throwing might have saved his life, but he's being treated anyway and will have half a dozen x-rays between now and Christmas. He's taking antibiotics to help heal his lungs and he's unwilling to say he won't do it again, he'll just make sure not to do it when he is tired/distracted/pissed-off.

Scottish people can be so ornery and wonderful.

I'm glad this one is okay.

Now I need to go fall apart. I always think I'm through the hard parts of life and life keeps telling me different.

Strike one.

This trip was tough. I didn't write or say much about it. I didn't want to. He propositioned me almost hourly. I turned him down each and every time. At night I locked my door. I would not eat with him, sleep with him or spend any leisure time with him. I hardly spoke to him.

As a result, we argued near constantly when we were together because he couldn't get it through his thick evil skull that just because he snaps his fingers doesn't mean I'm going to give in.

So he said maybe he should snap my neck instead and hopefully that would get my attention.

DIDN'T WORK.

I'm still here. Well, for the moment. Reading the paper and seeing the eleventh hour teachers talks failing and it looks like no one's going back to school in three days and I'm thinking I'll be homeschooling for a bit until they do. I did it twice before, it's not that hard. But kids need their friends too and freedom from home and it's always far easier to learn from someone who isn't Mom. We'll review the curriculum and go from there. It better not take long though. Caleb is still threatening to pull them and put them in private school. The one he likes is in London.

I don't think so and so far the judges have been on my side.

Lochlan just needs one more reason to throw that ax, too. Let's not forget he is armed. Also probably more dangerous than he looks.

But since tonight is the final Saturday night of summer, we're going to cast our worries aside and have a light show with some fire throwing and some bubble-blowing (solution mixed with glow stick innards) and turn on all the tiny fairy lights and make some magic. It's not so cold and it could be the last night without rain that we're still officially on summer break to do it in.

(Well, probably not at the rate the teachers' union and the government is going but just in case, let's call it as we see it.)

I'll be in bed early though. I'm tired.

Seasonal humans.

While I was gone Summer packed her things and went away and in her place Fall stands in boots and plaid, patiently waiting while I pack away my swelterweight belongings and haul out jeans, Docs and a cozy long sweater.

I've missed you, Bridget, he says and I smile because I technically hate hot weather. It makes me sick to my stomach. He's so handsome. If only he would stick around longer, keeping me in brightly colored leaves and hot chocolate and the soft pre-Christmas, post-Halloween glow, I might never wish for anything else.

I wish I had known you were coming, I lecture him as I rush around bringing in candles off the porch and putting away water toys and swim towels. Flipflops and summer rain jackets go up to their owner's respective closets and midweight coats and corduroy comes back. Plaid flannel is suddenly not a torture device but a damn fine fashion choice.

Beards are formally invited to grow back and grow long.

Fingers are always kissed and freezing.

Coffee is welcome around the clock, preferably with something else mixed in.

Not like we have to winterize like at the castle with the closing of doors, cordoning off of entire areas and putting up storm windows. Worrying about the ancient furnace and the remaining unprotected windows, tucking just another layer of quilts onto the beds. Finding cats in the closets, burrowed into things that fall off hangers.

No, here, Henry probably will stick to shorts until it snows, the furnace stays off until mid-October and Halloween is coats-optional.

I really love it. I love it when school goes back into session too but they're still working on that.

And I love a guy who decided the wood he cut in April wasn't actually enough after all and he's back out there at it again. But mostly not because we need wood any time soon but because it's best to face one's adversaries when one has a very sharp ax in one's hand, ready to grind.

When my feet hit the ground, Lochlan pointed at them and said, They stay there. On the ground. No more, Peanut. None of this. He doesn't need you. 

I showed him my prizes and still he was not swayed.

You belong with me, he said, and that's all he would say before he resumed making the woodpile taller than the garage. And that has a second floor. And Joel still lives there, sadly enough. I was hoping when I came back he'd be gone.

Ben said to let it all be, that Fall seems to be smoothing things out, that he is such a peacemaker where Summer makes people somewhat crazy and prone to being short-tempered and hasty. Fall, by comparison is chill.

He made me laugh, personifying it the same way I do.

Missed you, Little Bee, he said, delighted that he made me laugh right off the bat. Let's go pry the weapons out of Loch's hands and have a reunion dinner. It's going to be a busy week with birthdays, tonight is probably our only chance.

What's amazing about Vegas is that if a girl walks down the street in tears, everyone assumes that she lost a bundle gambling. Everyone offers her a few more chips, maybe dinner, a drink, a place to stay, a platitude about how it's just money, tomorrow is another day, everything is going to be okay, etc. until they realize they aren't helping and they fade out of the picture, their face blurring as the next face comes into focus but she just keeps walking and walking and thanks her Gods for kitten heels and empty credit cards and wonders if she should have a weapon so far from the busier areas because the US is different and riskier somehow and then finally he takes his sweet time showing up, telling her he didn't think she'd get that far. She reminds him that she's good at running and he accepts that because it's true.

Then he tells her to get in the car and they'll go home but when she looks inside the car she sees the devil and she doesn't want to go with him anywhere. He never shows himself to anyone else, just her and it isn't fair.