Naked pretenses.

I woke up because it was hard to breathe. There's Lochlan, in my face, all of his weight pinning me to the bed. He seems comfortable. He smiles. You're staying right here today because I'm making you, Peanut. Oh. He's going to assert his authority without any clothes on even.  

Why?

Because I can.

What about church?

Sam can pray for your soul. You don't have to be present. You have connections. 

The kids-

It's Caleb's day. 

Ben-

Has already gone. 

I have some things I want to do. 

He grins. They can wait. 

I have to pee. 

Nope, he laughs.

I try a different tack. People will be looking for me! They know I'm here-

Nice try, Bridge. 

I give up and he remains there. Kissing my eyelashes, nuzzling his nose up under mine. All low and quiet. Content.

I have to wreck this. Just because I need to win and I really want to get up.

Locket? I'm...so.....so hungry. 

Oh come on! So not fair. He lifts off and throws his weight down beside me. Why you have to play THAT card? 

(Loch has massive PTSD from the summers when we didn't actually make enough to eat properly and had to steal instead. He calls it battle fatigue though.)

Because I can. 

Wow. You win. But I will return! He shakes his fist mightily.

Right, okay then. Want some waffles?

Oh yeah. That would be good right now.

Saturday drive-by.

Going out for brunch. Ben kept his meetings up while he was with Duncan but he said we could go to breakfast when he gets home from his regular Saturday meeting with Sam. I'm ready and have my laptop in the front hall on the floor so I can keep my boots on and wait for him here. Eager? Me? Nope. What are you talking about?

So point forms because I hope I'm in a hurry.

• Charlotte Ronson beach spray is no more? I'm crushed. It smells just like Parlee Beach Bridget, circa 1977 and it made my waves curlier and even kept the pixie from doing that General Zod thing in the front. I'll be crushed if it's gone. Thanks for the warning, Sephora. Anyone know if Bumble & Bumble Surf spray is any good? I'll have to try that next. 
• Ruth and Henry dismantled and hid the components of Ben's bagpipes. Teenagers have zero appreciation for profound moments. For two people who can seemingly stay up all damn night online these two sure like their sleep. 
• Caleb has indeed started suggesting I travel with him to Dubai in November. I'm suggesting he take Lucas instead. Luke seems to like to travel, right? And he likes Caleb so win-win, I'm thinking.
• Lochlan described me to someone as an Indigo Child. I haven't heard that term in forever. We listened to a speaker talk about it on the circuit once in the early eighties and he never. let. it. go. If you open a book to the definition my picture is there. Probably with all of my other labels too. Are borderline indigos only partially blue? PJ asked that this morning like he was being clever. Nice. Loch snorted but shot him a look. Who likes labels? Freaks certainly don't.
• Joel and I watched The Town that Dreaded Sundown. It was fantastic! He's been gifted an open invitation to watch all new-release horror films with me. Just like old times. It's a trial run.
• I'm alternating The new Slipknot album (.5 The Gray Chapter) with the new (to me) Asking Alexandria album (From Death to Destiny) twenty-four hours a day here. Both incredible works of art.
• I'm going to be the new Slipknot album cover for Halloween, in fact. I love it. Keep in mind its supposed to rain heavily, I have no plans and the kids are too old for trick or treating at last. I'm not even giving out candy and I'm not going to the Devil's little party. I just want the outfit. It looks warm and comfortable.

• For those who asked, yes I am watching American Horror Story: Freakshow (though I'm a little bit behind now) It's a bit twee, campy and shocking. I like it so far though I thought it would be more in line with what I experienced. Thankfully I've never had to deal with a murderous clown, though the familial bonds they tout are true to life. So far so good. I still think Murder House is the uncomfortable masterpiece of the series though Coven may have stolen my heart overall. Who knows though? I'm excited to see the rest of this one, in spite of my upfront misgivings because the subject matter is so close.

Ben and Sam are home. Time to go for food. 

Flickering light.

Ben came back late last night and figured the best way to announce his return was to pick up his bagpipes out of their case and play Mull of Kintyre at two in the morning in the front hall. He managed to rile Sam and PJ a little (HA). Lochlan went down to say hello and I didn't wake up at all which only proves to me that holy fuck my hearing is only getting worse again because I'm a light sleeper and a heartbeat will keep me up if it's too strong.

I didn't actually wake up until Ben was in the room and I realized I could smell kerosene.

He reached into my dream and plucked me right out of it. Don't know why but I was glad. I was sitting in a field in the mountains with my goat (metal) while bagels grew like flowers all around me in so many different varieties. Except that when I got up close what I thought was cheese were brains and the poppy seed bagels weren't covered with seeds, they were covered with ants. I didn't want to get close to the blueberry ones, let me tell you.

So thank God for Ben's timing because I was done with that dream anyway. Also, don't eat Dairy Queen for dinner unless you want to sleep weird.

(He isn't a monster, by the way. The kids have an inservice today so no school, sleep in instead.)

When he had me close and awake and he said Hi, Little Bee and I said Arflugenkurp snop fleerbock or something, he laughed and said Duncan is settled in, everything's okay. I'm home now and then he gently dropped me back to the hillside where metal goat turned to stare at me while he chewed the grass.

At least the bagels were gone this time.

It was nice to wake up to Ben's face this morning too. Even if he somehow managed to wrap himself around Loch during the early hours of the morning. His chin was on the top of Lochlan's head and they were spooning something beautiful. I was shoved to one side with my goats. Either my dreams take up that much space or they missed each other something fierce.

Let's go with that because it's sweeter.

:)

(Parent-thesis.)

It just feels like forever is crashing down on me

(Ben, Christian and Dalton are still in the states with Duncan. Word is he's not cooperating much. I'm glad I wrote that cheque for his treatment so he can be paid to be an arse.)

(Right. So in amongst Christmas shopping (fuck off, I have a SHIT TON of people to buy for) and the usual incredible load of perpetual chores/grocery shopping and boy-wrangling here I'm not doing so hot suddenly. I keep thinking it's a blip but the days are dragging on and the fluttering has reached maximum...flutterage. Jacob used to notice before I even did but he never took his eyes off me. Lochlan took a few days. I had to swear at him enough and then he stopped and thought, the hell?)

Come on, he said. Bring your coffee. Take my hand. Let's go for a walk.

He asked questions, prodded for some good memories. He let me cry without being impatient or frustrated. He stuck out his hand for mine again and didn't let go. He didn't say anything disparaging about Jake save to remark on how amazing it was that Preacher was able to wade so deeply into an established collective and do nothing short of take over, stealing the girl out from under everyone's noses.

How did you even fall in love with him?

I don't know. That's my short answer to soften it. I think Jacob was a blinding, intense light and I chose to engage in epic romance for a short time period which was better than choosing not to.

But I can give you legendary romance. (Short answers don't work well with mind-readers.)

But you cut it with reminders and lessons and caution.

It's hard, Bridgie. Sometimes you're equal, capable, adult. Sometimes you're not. I have to defer to the little girl on the inside. She...she needs me.

His composure gets drowned by the surf. He throws his arms around my neck. Who needs reassurance now?

I'll always need you. No matter what, Loch.

I thought he had taken you from me forever.

Almost. The truth. It hurts but there isn't any point in sugarcoating these memories.

He lets me go, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand. Jesus. I feel like I'm fighting a war.

No one's going to take your place, Loch.

Tell that to Benjamin.

He knows.

Then tell Diabhal.

He blows smoke, that's all, Locket.

Don't underestimate him.

Don't underestimate me.

Thanks for the reminder. There you go, being an adult again. Does this mean you're ready for some distractions?

Such as?

Some breakfast maybe? I'll make it. Then maybe a show. 

Breakfast would be good but no show. You're supposed to be recovering!

Bah. If I was still on the road I would have been back to it already. I wouldn't have had a choice.

But that's the point. You're not, so you don't have to rush it. Get better. Take a break. 

There are no breaks here, Bridget. If opportunity knocks you have to take it or it tries a different door.

This isn't about fire anymore, is it?

A prize for the little girl with the balloon!

I don't have a balloon. 

I can fix that too. 

(Dammit if he didn't take one out of his pocket and blow it up on the spot. And then he did his trick where he makes it float up over my head on a string. When he asks how it's floating and I say, I don't know, how? he'll reply in a very high voice that it must be the helium. )

(I no longer ask how he does these tricks. He rarely tells me anyway. He refuses to dispel the magic.)

(Lucky? Yeah. Very.)

Places everyone.

I wanna go home
I wanna sleep in my own bed
I want a normal life again
Is this the end?
Is this the end?
No matter how hard I try
All I know is the road
All I know is the road

It was a bad day, that's all.

There are lots of them for me. Sometimes I fake cheer or at least usefulness until I feel better, sometimes I refuse to get out of bed, and sometimes I ask for help. Sometimes I can't breathe, I get these paralyzing full-body aches and it feels like it happened a moment ago instead of almost seven years. I wouldn't wish those feelings on my worst enemy (the one who lives in the boathouse).

I understand I can't bring Jacob back.

But I still would if I could. Know that I won't apologize for that. I probably should, but I wasn't done. I need more time. I didn't get a chance to plead my defense or touch him one last time. I didn't get enough. He got too much. He was overwhelmed. We should have helped him the way we help Duncan. The way we help Benny. Or me. Or anyone who struggles now, even a little bit. Every major change brings about a renewed effort to keep the group tight and transparent and supportive, even as we sometimes stretch and rail against things like brutal, cutting honesty or the lack of privacy or the absolute unwillingness to drop even the most innocuous things in case they turn out to be important.

If someone asks for help, just give it. You don't need to be an expert. You just need to be there.

I know a lot of people, both within and without the collective have suggested that I would be better off out of this environment. That the drama created within this dynamic is more harmful than less support might be.

Just no. I wouldn't be better off. I wouldn't even take the risk to find out anymore. It is what it is and we'll get through everything together from here on out, Duncan included, as soon as he finishes his program. I never said we were perfect or that this is some idyllic utopia. It isn't. It's difficult and sometimes hard to see the purpose of until times like right this very second.

I wouldn't trade it even for Jacob. So know that too.

He would be forty-four in a couple of weeks. I should be buying birthday presents and planning a dinner. Not lying here wishing I could bring him back.

Clairbuoyant.

Reluctant telepathy. That's the superpower I want. I've never answered anything different when asked because I'm too curious to settle for something flashy like invisibility or super strength. No, I want to know what you're thinking because I would guess it's never what you say out loud. No one is that transparent except for me and I'm exhausted, burnt out and spent for it.

I'm clear and ruinous. I let it fly, no matter what the thought, feeling or hope. It just pours out. No filter. If only you were all the same. We would all be dead. No survivors, no regrets.

I think they were looking for an excuse to send Duncan away. He'll be back in thirty-four days with conditions. Big conditions I don't think he'll be able to keep. I don't get a say. I pointed out it wasn't a good time to be sending away one of my primary minders and I was told that he should have taken that into consideration before he made himself a threat.

The fuck.

He isn't a threat but right now the only issue is he's drinking and he won't stop so he needs help. My needs are secondary. There are others who are here to look after me. Maybe the same people who should have been working harder in looking after him.

If everyone would just say what they think instead of swallowing the truth, have at the good and bad without burying their feelings until they explode under pressure, shooting up in the middle of nowhere, an unplanned surfacing, then we'd all be better for it.

No we wouldn't, Loch says. That would just make everything worse.

(Edit: Duncan hasn't been banished from point or kingdom. He's going to be entering a treatment program. I didn't think I was that vague. Long day.)

Off-plumb.

What you don't see that delineates any huge romantic gestures by Lochlan from any of the ones perpetuated by Jacob (that I have detailed exhaustively here already) or anyone else for that matter, is the fact that while doing said gestures, Lochlan is/was usually lecturing me at the same time.

For example? When the flowers began to bloom and I realized he planted them all around our lot, I tried to go out and visit them. He told me to stay out of the mud. And not to touch because dinner was soon and he didn't want to traipse all the way back to the water trailers so I could clean my hands (again).

The Romanian coffee thing? He took it and poured it out when I had drunk only half. Because caffeine, Peanut. You're only a slight of a thing and won't sleep for the rest of the week otherwise.

(There was no goat involved. It would have been so metal if there had been though.)

His parental tendencies interfere with the romance of it. This is his struggle now, to supersede his natural tendencies to baby and control me in favor of just enjoying the hell out of me now. Clearly I survived, albeit scathed, into adulthood. His brain can't shift gears though and that leaves us a historical, incestuous mess.

He will tell you he is not parental, that I am insulting. It's not an insult. He wants to take care of me. He always wanted nothing more than to show me the magic of the world from the safety of his arms.

So mission accomplished.

But still he never sleeps.

***

Sam did Jesus Beach today. That's what we call his outdoor services at the waters edge whereby he warns his congregation at the beginning of each season that certain Sundays they should dress down and he makes them hike out to the beach and does his sermon there, in the wind, the rain, whatever. It's beautiful. He comes back to do a pre-lunch, later service for the people who don't want to/can't hike though. Two services every Sunday and one on Thursday nights. He's getting a couple of extra people finally, he's grown the church to a size that has exceeded all expectation and we joke that he's the little pastor that could. He's been proactively busy without Matt here. It bothers him but he's sticking with keeping busy and he and New Jake and Dalton have been busy helping to build when he's not writing/studying/working.

He seems content and a little more centered now. He's my twin but he's far better at self-preservation and control and not at all impulsive in the manic sense. Mentally healthier, is the term someone used. But I'm not insulted. Like Lochlan, I simply try my best and sometimes I might not try at all but at the very least I can't be put out if someone calls a spade a spade.

I know my limits, my strengths and my weak points. I just can't guarantee which of them I can deploy purposefully on any given day.

I wish to be like Sam when I grow up maybe. Friends with Lochlan in a capable way that leave him confident that I can manage without his hand-holding but still in touch with my emotions enough not to go stiff in order to get through an emotional experience.

It will never happen but sometimes I wish it would. In any event, the romance seems to be the thread that decorates and strengthens every aspect of my life. And love isn't a fleeting thing, it's a foundation all on its own.

***

Jesus Beach couldn't save Duncan this morning. He went with me but he did it half-drunk and I drove and didn't talk because he's falling into the same hole over and over again as he stands there wavering, insisting that he went and learned and he's still learning how to put up warning signs that there's a hole there in the first place.

On the way back to the point he sat and stared at me. Flask in one hand (Jesus won't mind, he assured me) and leaning up against the inside of the passenger door of the truck he tells me,

Sam would go straight for you. 

Yes, I know, Duncan. 

Would you ever marry a preacher again? 

Not on your life. 

I wouldn't let you bet anything against my life, Bridget. I worry you might be bad luck. 

Might be?

Probably are. 

When we get home can I have some of what you're having? 

No. 

Nice. 

You're far too pretty to have a drinking problem, Bridge.

I have enough problems anyway. 

Yes, you sure do. Sorry I'm one of them. I aimed to be better. Some days it's too hard. 

Maybe you need to write more poetry. 

Maybe you need to fuck off, Bridge. 

We didn't say anything else on the drive home. That seemed to be lots. I handed him off to Ben and disappeared to cry in the laundry room, where PJ was all caught up and said he didn't need me and that was kind of the last straw because I feel that way a lot lately.

Duncan came and found me later and asked me not to take his crap personally. I'm sure someone ordered him to do so, probably PJ. Maybe Loch. Hopefully Sam, who had watched Duncan take sips from his flask during the service and had already 911'd the boys who didn't attend. Duncan said he's not all that proud of his recovery efforts because he wasn't doing it for him, he was doing it for us. The rest of the boys and me and the children and trying to be good and perfect and nope. Not working.

I gave him the same offer I give everyone who complains about life in the collective sometimes getting overwhelming. Forgiveness if you leave. Understanding if you can't remain. Financial help if required. Emotional support and affection until the end of your days if you just come and take it.

But he said he doesn't want to go, he just needs to figure out how to navigate this stage of his life, because cool will only get you so far, and he thinks this is the end of the line.

No fair fights.

Lochlan is not impressed. I'm recovering from a cold. We could have been seen, maybe by the Devil even. Ben isn't known for being gentle, what if I got hurt? On and on and then he makes a pointed comment about not needing to parrot random acts of romance from the movies to make me swoon.

Burn, baby.

Ben didn't like that comment. He said he's trying to do things differently because yeesh, if he brings me home a bouquet of wildflowers, he gets a story from me about how, once upon a time when we were on the midway circuit, Loch planted a garden of wildflowers around the camper and on the last day as we packed up the final flower bloomed, the garden complete.

That if he serenades me under the moon? He gets a story about how Lochlan lit the sky on fire and then pulled some acrobatic stunt in which he throws me up over the moon and then catches me on the way back down, with a double twist and a hang to thunderous applause.

If he makes me a cup of coffee? Yeah, Loch probably traipsed all over Romania for a square of organic muslin in which to filter hand-picked beans traded for a card trick in a boxcar from a traveler from Sumatra. The coffee tasted so good in the shadow of a Transylvanian sunrise. Oh, and I didn't like it black so Loch milked a nearby goat, probably.

He's not that bad, I tell Ben.

Oh he's not bad at all. He's the golden boy. I'll never win, Bridget.

He never held me upside down and dunked me in the snow.

Really?

He never lay beside me until I woke up and stayed until I could breathe normally when...Jake...

Yeah. Ben thaws a little. His chest puffs out a tiny bit.

He never wrote a sort-of famous song about me.

I couldn't use your name.

I knew who you meant. Everyone did.

Yeah. I bet he never fucked you on a beach or a motorcycle, or even-

Hey, let's not get carried away.

Jesus Christ. I don't even get that?

Sorry?

Man.

Thirty-nine years! You can cover a lot of romance in that long a time period, Ben.

It's not over yet. 

I thought we were all in this together. 

We are, I just want to be the Alpha Romeo.

That's a car, Ben. 

Not the way I mean it, it's not. 

Up against the cliff in the driving rain. Ben's coat weighs us both down but he hasn't noticed. He has one hand around my throat and the other under my thigh and he is determined to be spontaneous and surprising even though he said through gritted teeth that he just. wanted. one. single. minute. of. private. time. and every syllable was a thrust into the dirt for me, pinned between the rocky face of the beach and the giant. When he picked up speed I worried briefly that I might die but he readjusted his hands, letting go of my neck and scooping his other hand up under my other leg so now there's no turning back at all. My shoulders erode the earth and my ear gets scraped by a rock as he butts his head against the cliff above mine, shielding me from this strange mini-avalanche that threatens to do nothing, actually. His shoulders in the big coat shield the rest of us. No one can see us right here anyway and I don't even think anyone's home. I set out on offer of a slippery, rainy walk before high tide and wound up peeled out of most of my clothes.

Conventional and Ben are two things that don't go together. Good, because I've never been conventional except for once and that was a lifetime ago with a different giant.

He finds that beautiful sweet rhythm that always manages to send me off just before he follows and then his breathing is harsh, his hands steel cages. My head starts to pound. He stands me down at last in front of him and he smiles, looking at me with my sweater down to my knees again, bare legs and untied boots. My leggings are in his coat pocket. My underwear, I see with dismay, is on the ground behind him and he's stepped on it. I grin and point and he laughs and nods without looking. I'm going to leave it there, too, he threatens.

I won't leave it there. I'll collect it as soon as he gives me my pants.

But he's not rushing to do that either. Here, take the coat, he says and shrugs it off, wrapping it around me. This coat is a waterproof parka of a security blanket. But it's also a XXL blanket I can't actually lift. I stop in my tracks, deadened by the weight. He laughs and scoops me up, coat and all.

I'm pretty sure my ass is hanging out of this arrangement and it's cold.

Ben does not care.

Does Ben ever care?

No. No he does not.

He tells me to stop complaining or he'll put on The Notebook when we get to the house and I start to protest but then I realize he is trying to teach himself romance, using the movies for material. Here we are out in the rain again because he's had confirmation that this is Out There and Romantic and Breathtaking.

He didn't put the movie on. He got the coffee maker set up and then scooped me up again and carried me upstairs where he decided that a hot shower with the lights off and the doors locked was an even better place for us and round two almost actually did do me in. The hot water offset the ache in my muscles and the full-body soreness that took over before I could pretend I can be his match in all things.

The hot water ran out eventually though and he wrapped me in a towel and picked me up yet again and I haven't actually walked much today and am hoping to fix that when he abruptly pulls me in tight to his face, a foot and a half off the floor still but eye to eye which is nice when he needs seriousness.

But then he changes his mind.

What is it?

Just...nothing. You're beautiful. 

My head is freezing. 

Want your underwear? You can wear it on your head. 

What were you going to say, Ben? 

Coffee's probably ready. Let's go have a cup. I'll start a fire. 

Someone's rubbing off on you. 

No. I lit fires when I was a kid too, you know. 

I didn't mean-

I know, Bridge.