Eventually I'll tell him the coffee wasn't good but not now.

Let me stay here for just one more night
Build your world around me
And pull me to the light
So I can tell you that I was wrong
I was a child then but now I'm willing to learn,

Lying on the low white couch this morning in front of the glorious hard rain, the window my theatre screen while the devil makes me coffee. I'm his guinea pig. I'm not a coffee snob, nor am I oblivious though I maintain a cup of black questionably-aged coffee at a truck stop McDonalds in 1996 remains the best cup I've ever had, so I'm the perfect test subject for his new machine.

I just can't take my eyes off the rain.

We have meetings today and errands. I think he's going to pick up a Blackberry Passport. He asked me if I wanted a new phone. Heck no. And he has to switch cars for a day or so while his is serviced and detailed. He said he might get an Aston Martin and hesitated waiting for an impression to be made. I finally turn and gaze at him with my head aching and my eyes filmed with the beauty of the sea. What? I was just thinking about coffee from a truck stop and he thinks I'll be dazzled by his choice of cars?

But no, he wants to know what sort of latitudes Ben has extended to me in the past several days, latitudes I chose to defy and ignore. They won't help anyone, least of all those they are designed to console. But I see Ben thinks he's falling so he alternately throws everything at me with one arm and with the other he's blocking Lochlan's access to all of anything just because he thinks the minute that happens, well, it's over.

Ben is not falling though. He's just not feeling so tough. Why would he? Life isn't designed to be comfortable, I told you this days ago. It's all tears and white knuckles and gritted teeth and choked-back emotions punctuated with blinding black polkadots of pure soaring happiness.

So why would I tell the Devil anything? He already knows everything and so he invented a few more meetings (ramping up for fall, certificates coming due, need your input on these, and any other buzz phrases he can conjure for me on this bleak and beautiful grey fall day) in order to keep me close so I don't fulfill any of Ben's wishlist for self-destruction, now with built-in safety features!

Instead I'm going to sit right here for at least half the day signing a last name he hates and trying and failing to sing along with the Adele album I put on but don't know the words to. Because that's fucking annoying to him and today, I don't think I want to be anything but.

Sway (yeah, just perfect.)

You see, things were better before
The storm came and nobody wanted to breathe
And times were hard again for you and me

And I can't remember what time it was
That I'm supposed to be here now I'm late for love
For you take it all back from me back behind the door of love

We went to see Nolan for a few days, just Ben and I, a trip sanctioned only because Nolan's such a hardass with me. I can't charm him or loop him in or even deceive him and true to form I burst into tears when I saw him, telling him Ben won't talk to Sam, he won't talk to anyone lately and Nolan reassured me and then asked me if I could help inside and he and Ben would work outside and I found a neatly-folded mending pile and a decent station on the radio and I settled in front of the fire to sew, vaguely, coldly comforted by Nolan's open-heart policy for Ben, who kind of got shoved to the side somewhere between Lochlan's accident and Sam's inability to crawl out of his own grief over missing Matt.

I got all of the mending done the first afternoon and then spent the next two days looking out the window at the cold, Ben and Nolan out of sight, working on fixing the fence, getting the storm windows in while they worked to reinforce Ben at the same time. Nolan doesn't like to travel much anymore, neither does Ben so he made sure to have a very high-quality visit, accomplishing a lot, inside and out. It became obvious so very quickly that he really didn't want me there but he was not willing to leave me back at home, alone with the Jester and the Devil and at night he took out his resentment for me on me, tearing my clothes off, throwing everything to the floor, forcing his weight down on me, covering my face with his hand, refusing to listen, grinding me out so hard that I would start to shake and couldn't stop, even as I fell asleep locked tight in his arms, he couldn't stop it and it made him feel worse instead of better and it made me feel wrecked and awful.

By day I fielded the endless long-distance barometer. How are we? Better. How is he? Great. Doing really well. How often do you lie, Bridget? Ask me later.

And then suddenly on the last night there it was like Ben saw me, without a team. Without a squad or a staff or a wall. Without outside influence. Without clothes or makeup or even my long hair I used to hide behind. Just clear and focused and pure. Right there. Right now, Ben. This is either as good as things are ever going to get or we need to work hard to get back to the place we liked to be and maybe if you'd stop doing things that make you hate yourself, well, maybe you'd like yourself a little more. I'm not taking those orders you gave me for Sam. I'm not running with freedoms granted, I'm not changing a goddamned thing so maybe you should stop testing me and just BE with me.

Just be, as you always say. Take your own advice for once. Roll with it because this is who we are.

And he laughed and asked if I wanted less freedom and I sort of side-eyed myself and said, well, let's not be harsh here...but then we both started laughing and this time I didn't shake when he put his arms out. And I didn't cry and he didn't wish he could just have one drink and neither one of us felt pushed out of the room, pushed out of our own existence, we just saw each other and it's certainly not an end to the endless difficulties we like to make of life but it's a little bit of a safer place to be for now.

The ineffectual junkie.

Not by choice but by simple discovery have I come to realize that I was meant to experience life via my own white knuckles only.

There will be no escapism. No drunk forgetfulness. No free pass. No passing out. No drug-induced haze. No reprieve and therefore, no surrender. I won't get the choices given to most, excused by virtue of a controlled substance, forgotten because of too much wine. There will be no pain eased by a decision to throw it to the wind, no writing off of harsh moments or jabs of honesty because it will be experienced in full sober clarity.

I am positive I'm not alone in this, but I'm sure there are precious few others. Maybe there are a lot who just keep trying anyway but I know when enough is enough and I can be surrounded by people who can make the hard parts go away. They know their medicines. The cost, the reward, the side effects and the consequences. Maybe they are the lucky ones.

Or maybe in the end I will be the lucky one, the one with life in focus, that life that I can barely see as I squint my eyes half-shut to endure whatever comes next.

(AKA I'm not dead. Nice rumor though. I'm touched.)

Sleeping in the spotlight.

Take what you need, Bridget, but for our sakes, need what you take.

Ben whispered it to me a long time ago and it comes back to me now, words filling my head as I hesitate at the door, head cocked distinctly, listening hard for sounds in the house. How many times have I stood outside this door knowing things were on the other side that I could have if I wanted, but that I shouldn't but I did anyway. That the one here now needs more than I could ever provide. That permissions are granted but that it won't make it easier. That they will suck it up, absorb the blows, eat the pain, spit out the bones and be men and I will make it up to them, melting away betrayals, softening pain, swallowing fresh air to soothe the ache of regret.

I turn away and leave the door the way I found it, closed against a room filled with loneliness on the other side that will take months to heal. I can't fix this. I can't be a part of this. I can't put myself anywhere near this. I have enough on my plate right now and no appetite at all.

Formula one.

Somebody stepped inside your soul
Somebody stepped inside your soul
Little by little they robbed and stole
Till someone else was in control

I'm sure Lochlan is getting better just to prove to Ben that he isn't using his accident to earn extra time or attention from me. He blew me off twice already today when I offered to help him with things like breakfast and errands. He's very stubborn like that. He's always insisted there is no actual formula to winning oneself a Bridget. It's all about being in the right place at the right time and our darkened childhood street at nine in the evening on a warm summer night in 1979 was that place, he says. The rest is fate. The rest is the universe doing what it does best. Astronomy and Astrology are closely tied. The universe is a giant beating heart and we are the force that drives this big blue ball spinning rapidly through the galaxy, around the sun like a slingshot and back again, time speeding past us in a frenzy like hard weather. Time demanding to be spent before it's gone.

(Gee, Lochlan.You don't think it as anything to do with the way you've always done that, describing things to me in terms of love, in terms of things just being right because there is you and there is me. Nope. It was definitely hitting me in the head with your street hockey ball. You should always give your eight-year-old neighbor a concussion and then they will follow you around for the rest of your days like a baby duckling. That's the formula? Give me a break.)

He actually says all these things in between when I gave up on the new U2 album and put on my favorite one, The Unforgettable Fire. He sings along with the title song. He doesn't need any help to finish it today. That's how we seem to be marking his progress. They still insist he was fortunate to be so skilled as to be able to control not taking in any more of the fuel in an attempt to catch his breath. If he had panicked he would still be in the hospital or even worse and maybe that makes me clingy.

Like a moon, he says. Tied to a planet. 

More like a solar flare, I tell him. After all, if you're the sun..

He smiles.

Walk on by
Walk on through
Walk 'til you run
And don't look back
For here I am

Ninety-nine days until Christmas and here's our first present.

We got a deal. After a non-existent graduation for Henry, a reprieve from three terms of questionable marks for Ruth and an extra month+ off, it looks like the kids are finally going back to school.

Finally. The strike is just about over. They have a deal.

Caleb had given me a deadline of October first and then he was going to force my hand and send them to boarding school, but only because he doesn't like the private schools here any better than the public schools.

He's a hard sell, that Mr. Ivy League. He's up against me, a high school degenerate who went on to drop out of college. That wouldn't give me much leeway with our own family mediator, and so I had to pull up my britches and lean solely on my role as Mom. Which doesn't have much clout either. Mom's a former circus performer. Mom's deaf, has two husbands and some boyfriends and mom is under guardianship. They listen to Mom and then pat her on the head and give Caleb whatever he wants.

That's my life, in a nutshell right now. My lawyer takes all of my money. Okay, he takes all of Caleb's money. Interesting how that works isn't it? Yes. Shh.

But I somehow came out intact and the kids get to go back soon to their beloved school with the awesome atrium, double playing field and all their friends already in place. Thank God.

Thank Vince, actually. Mr. Ready got the job done, in spite of a short-sighted, heavily-skewed government and a tough bitch of a union besides.If the deal goes through it looks like this won't happen again until after Henry graduates. We squeaked through, I hope.

The pixie that roared.

(You can turn around right now and kiss me if you want to.)

I had a plan and Daniel didn't even bother to ask me if I was sure. He just took the scissors that I brought him and started cutting and pretty soon the pale blonde halo was all over the floor and my head was colder than I thought it would be.

He peeled the pictures of Jean Seberg that I had brought with me for reference off the mirror and nodded. You're so cute you I would almost go straight for you. 

From your lips to God's ears, Danny. I kissed him on the cheek. He was alarmed. Wait. He could blow dry my hair and put texturing mud in it but I was itchy and wanted to go home and shower. I borrowed a knit hat and ran across the yard like a tiny strike of lightning. No one caught me which is weird. Usually they know where I am and I can't get away from anyone. I wondered if I should take advantage of this sudden freedom but no. Itchy. Haircuts make me crawl all over.

Ben opened the shower door just before I ducked fully under the spray.

Let me see you. 

I walked back out, naked. Shoulders squared. Foolish and brave. Your brother's a rat. I was saving the surprise for the party!

Jesus, your head is tiny. 

What do you think?

I think I love it. You look beautiful. 

I smiled. I wasn't sure what anyone would think. I'm not sure which part of me cares. I needed to do this. I needed to lose the mermaid princess hair. I needed a fresh start this fall. I need a lot of things. I probably would have been better off asking Daniel to shove those scissors straight into my forehead and twist and remove the contents of my skull but hey, nothing lifts one's spirits better than a 'makeover', according to common advice so weee, folks, here we go.

It took one pea-sized drop of shampoo and exactly eight seconds to wash it and then I think it was dry before I hung up my towel. I high-fived myself in the foggy mirror. At least I think it was me. I look so different now, maybe it was actually someone else.

I walked back out into the bedroom and Loch was standing right there, in the way. Well shit! No surprise for him either as I watch the shock give way to pleasure. Not sure if that's because I'm naked or he sees my hair. Er..lack of it.

Okay, so maybe both. Let's just say it's definitely one strategy worth trying. Always present new scary things sans clothes. It softens the blow.

I try to square my shoulders again, try to look taller but apprehension squeezes me back down into a ball of anxiety so I fake it.

Let me see you. 

I square again. Got a well-meaning trapezoid this time, at least. Maybe a parallelogram.

Who cut it? Oh. He thinks Caleb shaved my head and now he's gearing up for war. I kick the weapons and armor to the side and deliver the forfeiture in person, with relief.

Daniel. He did a really good job, didn't he?

You look....

I hold my breath. Maybe I can pass out cold before he finishes and spare myself his disappointment as he doesn't like strangers anymore and my hair was his security blan-

Brand new.

Really?

Really. I don't even believe it. You're all eyes and bones now though.

Oh. 

No, I mean you look graceful and beautiful. Just. Wow. I don't even have the right words. Maybe you should have done it a long time ago. Just...so beautiful. We're lucky. You know that? You're so beautiful. 

The stranger blushes. Oh, well SHIT. No hiding that now, I guess. I try to be gracious. Thank you. 

Hours later I have heard good things from everyone save for one. The party was amazing. A great send off and a fun belated birthday do-over. Everyone was very kind and helpful and fun. It was a good evening.

 I am gathering up some of the empty dishes left in the barn when he fills the doorway.

Let me see you.

I turn to face the Devil, amused that he used the same words as both my loves. Amused that they all need a moment. I can't even square anymore, can't muster a lazy rectangle even so I just stand small and look at the floor. My bravery would have been smartly fueled by alcohol tonight but the party was dry.

I note he has one of his own glasses from the boathouse and is drinking whiskey. I hold my hand out for the glass and he flashes a bemused smile before handing the drink over. Once I've had it I can easily gather myself into a cube-type-thing and I wait for his reaction.

He holds his hand out for the glass and I hand it back, empty. He holds it up to his lips anyway and tilts his head up, eyes still on me. Not realizing that there isn't anything left.

(Oo. A metaphor.)

Wow.  He says it softly. I almost missed it.You're breathtaking.

No, I'm the boy I always wanted to be. We both burst out laughing.

No, no one's going to mistake you for a boy, Bridget.

Oh well, wait til you see phase two. I'm going to start wearing Loch's shirts and 501s and then I'll pass for one for sure.

Don't do that, he says. Just be you.

I didn't want to be Jacob's princess anymore, Caleb. Or your doll. I just want to be me.

I think you're doing a hell of a job then. Because you look like you.

Does this mean you're going to set me free? 

Of course not. But I very much like your haircut. 

Bash.

Tonight we're having a big party here, a belated birthday celebration for Lochlan (now a rocking ONE on the pain scale, he's a tough bastard) and a Bon Voyage party for Matt, headed overseas tomorrow night. It will be catered and servers are coming. I already cook for twenty people (give or take) on a thrice-daily basis so no one was willing to add any more work to my day. The only thing I was tasked with was making the cake and finding something suitable to wear to an event that will begin while it's thirty degrees in the shade and end when it's less than ten.

I used the wedding pans from the nineties, when Cole worked as a chef and we did wedding cakes on the side for friends and family. The cake is huge and gorgeous. I covered it with chocolate dipped strawberries and it's filled with strawberry cream and I want to eat all of it, now.

But I won't. PJ took it to the bigger fridge next door and extracted promises that they don't eat it either until after it is presented.

Now I have a date with my favorite hairdressers (Daniel and Schuyler!) and then a shopping trip to find a dress. I will tell you all about all of it tomorrow, unless it's still going on then, that is.

(Probably not. I rarely make it to midnight anymore, and if I do I turn into a pumpkin.)

Lines of credit.

I think I'll die if you deny me
Swallowed alive in eternity
Give me a way to be the agony
That knew you all along

I woke up today in an old familiar position, under Lochlan as he kissed up underneath my ear, my hands pinned over my head with one hand, his other hand around my throat.

Oh, well, someone's feeling better. Finally. But only a little. We took it slow. I'm not sure it's forbidden, exactly and we didn't spend hours or anything but he's whistling a happier tune this morning as he draws cartoons and drinks his coffee and says he's at a 3 on the pain scale today so hey, should I get credit for this or what?

***

Ben didn't sleep last night. I found him face down in a laptop on the big couch in his studio downstairs this morning and he woke up quickly, shook off the sleep and told me he had to show me something. He put the headphones on me and spun my chair away and I closed my eyes. We have a rule, no watching my expressions when I hear his music for the first time.

I'm terrible with them, honestly and it destroys his fragile ego to pieces so I turn away and I get three listens through and then he asks for my thoughts.

Not my opinion, which I don't and won't give, just my thoughts.

And Jesus. I struggled to be sure I heard the words correctly on the first listen. On the second listen I cried and on the third I was thinking, Damn, boy, you've still got it but you keep it locked up so tight and yet it shines through.

Even though it's a song about a tug of war, not with a rope, but with my heart. He credits me with giving him so much mileage as his reluctant muse. It's just dumb.

He pulled the headphones off me and spun me back around.

Tell me what you feel when you hear that.

***

Matt is being sent on some sort of scientist-exchange program. They delayed it for a long time based on his newlywed status but the time has come.  He'll be in London for seven or eight weeks working on a project. Sam is completely nonplussed and I remind him loudly and insensitively of the completely stupid things he said to try and comfort me with when they all moved out here and left me and the children in the Prairies for thirteen weeks straight.

He now sees why they didn't work, at least. Nothing makes it better except living for Facetime. At least he has the rest of us here for distractions and cuddles. I hardly even got that. He said it just proves I am tougher than he is. Who knew?

Well, I knew, but I probably don't get credit for that either.

***

Caleb found out that some of the boys were calling him Canadian Psycho behind his back and sent out a half-page email detailing the very definitions of respect and concession, that we all have to coexist here peacefully for the sake of Bridget and the children and inciting arguments via name calling would not be tolerated.

Or what, I think?

Because credit goes to me for not allowing him to banish anyone without my express approval. I'm not hanging anyone out to dry unless their behavior crosses MY lines, not his. Everyone has struggled and fought and built their character to a degree where they have earned the right to be a part of this collective and it would take a lot more than deploying a freakishly accurate nickname wrought by a beloved movie to change that. Besides, we won't give up who started it.

(I might get credit for that, too.)

Music makes us extremely melodramatic.

(Not sure if you noticed.)

I can be a better artifact
Or I can be a bitter king
I should know what I'm made of
But I'm starting to believe
That I can never leave

Maybe that's how like-minded individuals find their kindred spirits. In any case,  I went to check on Satan this morning and I could hear the record playing through the window before I even got near the steps.

I almost turned around but my muse, oh, sweet troublesome Curiosity, well, she demanded to know what was going on in the mind of the Devil himself.

She's so difficult sometimes.

I stole a glance back at the main house and went up the steps and down the walkway and was about to knock when the music stopped and he opened the door. I can almost sense you now. Exciting times.

I laugh at Caleb's face. Your deck is loud with these shoes.

Don't you mean your shoes are loud?

Yes. So you heard me. You didn't sense me.

No, I sensed you.

What do you want, anyway?

You're the one who came to visit me? What can I do for you?  Is this business or pleasure? He grins, clearly relieved that I'm..talking out loud. It's been a long quiet week here on Testosterone Point.

Neither. About Henry's thoughts-

Okay. You know something? First, you're compromised so if Jacob tells you something I tend not to take it seriously because he can't do that and secondly, I am flexible enough to comprehend the whimsical thoughts of a thirteen-year-old boy. I'm not taking it personally. I was his age once.

No, you were never.

Only because you never knew me at that age.  

Right so you were never. 

Is that proper grammar, Miss Writer? 

Nope. Not hardly. 

He laughs. Am I forgiven then for the awful Nevada incident?

Nope. Not hardly neither. 

Jesus, Bridget, why did you come to me? And speak proper English, please. He waits, handsome in his navy cashmere t-shirt and volcabularic perfection.

To make sure you were okay with what Jacob said and that's affirmative so....see ya. 

Wait! Don't go so fast. Want some lunch? I know a girl who really loves her cheese toast. 

Another day, maybe. 

Promise me. 

Can't do that. Gotta go.

 The whole walk back to the top floor of the main house to check on Lochlan and report for inspection since I was granted seven minutes exactly, all I can think is, 'compromised'?