Burning man.

We will save your precious skin
Let the healing light come in
I'll cover you when the sky comes crashing in

Seventeen minutes after August hung up the last flannel shirt in his closet, he had a job. Sometimes his perfection astounds me. He's easy to hang out with, he wants for nothing. He owns six outfits (one is fancy, one is festival, four are for every day and I think it's time to buy him some clothes), one worn-smooth watch, a big backpack, an iPhone and a smile.

He owns one pair of shoes at any given time. He would be a hipster and you would be aghast at his stereotypical persona until you talked to him for eight whole seconds and then you'd be aware that you were just in the presence of greatness absolute. You would salivate with the coolness he emanates that you only wish you had and you'd be left wanting more time with him in the hopes that you could absorb some of his fucking awesome for your very own via simple proximity.

He's a God among men. You just don't realize it until he's left your vicinity and then you just want him back.

But he doesn't compete for the adoration. It's all implied. He doesn't have the charm of the resident lizard king, Duncan. Duncan's all unfounded ego. August has no ego. He's humble, he works hard, he listens so incredible well if listening were an Olympic event he would have all the gold and his only issue with being here, back home on the point is Caleb.

August doesn't like Caleb. Doesn't like his double entendres, his double crosses or his double-talk. Doesn't trust him, doesn't understand why he does the things he does and generally would imagine his life as complete if only there wasn't a real-life devil standing just behind each of their shoulders, and towering over me.

On the other hand, Caleb is the one who single-handedly facilitated this entire commune so we are all mostly polite to a fault and loathe to start shit because shit could see the whole mess scattered to the four points of the compass and we've been there. We don't want that.

We're a family now and as long as everyone treats everyone else with respect, it's okay.

Besides, Caleb is the one who hired August.

And gave him a really stupidly fucking large salary.

To look after me.

With one caveat. If August does anything to make me fall in love with him again, Caleb will throw him off the wrong side of the cliff, because he is done with that foolishness.

Yes, that's in the contract. Caleb's going to force emotions via paperwork. This is why he is the Devil and I'm merely an apprentice, I guess. So much to learn and no means to wield my future talents, which means I have to resort to magic instead.

You can apprentice in two different things at once, you know, and someone else got here first.

So sleepy. I just spent a good five minutes trying to wipe sunshine off my chair.

(It looked like a white mark.)

PJ won't stop laughing at me.

All the way home.

Guide my life into destiny
Climb outside
Reach up and paint the sky with me
Finding you has changed everything

We both break free if we make it on top
If one should fall we both will drop
We move together from here on out
What you need is what I’m about

Breakfast yesterday outside in the sun on the patio. Cool enough in the mornings for a sweater and jeans but I have forgone putting anything on my feet. Jake was right. Barefoot is best at home. He hated shoes. HATED them. To the point where there was a line of marks on the back wall of the hall closet, about knee high, where you could see where he kicked off his shoes and they'd land against the wall.

My toes. My toes are so happy to be in the sun.

I've gone back to coffee too. Only two or three cups a week. Coffee and toes. So happy. The narcolepsy reached a breaking point when I sat down to do some banking at my laptop and fell asleep mid-bill paying.

It tastes like shit. But I can pay the gas bill without blacking out and hitting a bunch of extra buttons. Now I understand the value of all of the steps required to complete the payment. I used to find it a pain. Last week those steps kept me from paying a $400 bill as $40023853.

(Not that it would have gone through, mind you.)

Why is our gas bill so high? Some of the fireplaces come on with the push of a button.

AND IT IS GLORIOUS.

Fire then no fire.

Fire then no fire.

Fire then no fire.

I could do that all day.

It costs $10 to run a gas fireplace for 15 minutes however. Your romantic moments are gilded and shine like diamonds here on the modern, easy-living West Coast.

Where was I?

Oh yes. Out under the cherry blossoms. Some of the trees bloom now. Some in July. And my toes will witness the whole thing.

But then the Devil comes and ruins the whole thing. It's okay though. Loch is in a great mood. Loch is also five inches away from me and all words will get filtered through his emotions like rainwater though a screen.

Caleb says he isn't the bad guy. That I'm an adult and he should not have to clear it with ten separate handlers to take a few days to get some work done.

Loch picks it apart. She's not an adult. He does have to clear it. The work isn't work. She didn't have to go. Shut the fuck up.

I snort. I actually love watching them bicker. It's like 1980 all over again. As long as they're not throwing punches or pulling me apart for a share it's very teenage and amazing to see their very different personalities go to war.

Loch then points out Caleb's new plan of feigning innocence and being accommodating isn't going unnoticed.

Caleb points out that Bridget's plan on trips now of either fighting and crying the whole time or showing up drunk to every event isn't going to fly. That the past two trips were disasters and that isn't acceptable.

Then stop taking her. She's not an adult, she's a child. This is your fault. Loch sits up and stares at Caleb. Caleb actually takes a full step backward.

(I would have too.)

Ben comes out and rolls his eyes. Ben actually fought for and won sleeping-Bridget-real-estate last night and Loch didn't fight him. But right now Loch is fighting everybody and it's my fault.

I kick Loch in the leg and he stops talking and asks me what I need. I tell him I need to apologize but then he cuts me off and says it isn't my fault and I shouldn't be coming to the defence of the Devil because he doesn't need any help.

And so I tune them out and look at my toes in the sun. Ben comes to sit behind me and I lean back against him, putting my feet up. Now my toes are in the air. It feels amazing. He gives my arms a squeeze and when I tune in again Caleb is gone and Loch is quiet and leaning against Ben too.

They both have bare feet. I didn't notice before.

Rules of engagement.

Come surrender your hidden scars
Leave your weapons where they are
You’ve been hiding
But I know your wounded heart
And you don’t know how beautiful you are

I'm still alive and possibly my liver is so wrecked and battered I'll never ever have to worry about waking up in a hotel room in pain and covered with mysterious, bloodied bandages because the organ traffickers will now forever pass me by.

Also my husband gave me the death stare upon my return because I was still drunk and slid quite ungracefully into his arms. He asked if I was done and told me to go up to bed. That he was going to talk to Caleb and that he'd be up in a minute. I performed one of my most glorious and well-known princess-maneuvers (passing out face down and yet still fully clothed) and Ben never came up.

Legend has it he and the Devil spent the night sitting on the front porch talking about all the things that are never going to happen again, like surprise work trips to do stupid things like plan decorating for a house when it could be done from home, or taking Bridget away from her safety nets when she's just about to leap off the platform to perform her act.

AKA it wasn't a good time.

(She's fragile)

Caleb bristled at this. He knows me as well as anyone. He's perfectly capable of looking after me. How dare they insinuate that he's in over his head or clueless?

Come out here, Bridget.

(Because I woke up at 4 and no one was there. I found them all out front on the porch, lights blazing. Loch is sitting on the steps facing away but listening. Ben and Caleb are each in a chair.) Loch just got in as well from his trip (see how Caleb operates? He stole my soul once and left a big pink cone of cotton candy in its place) and when I stepped outside Loch moved so fast to jump up and cross the porch to put his arms around me you would have thought he had built a time machine after all.) Caleb ignores this and keeps talking.

Did I harm you while we were away, Neamhchiontach?

No, Diabhal.

Did I get two separate rooms at the hotel? 

Yes. 

What did we do while we were at the lake?

Planned the decorating for the house with the design teams. 

Which part did you enjoy the most?

Choosing paint colors and appliances. 

Why?

I like it. I'm good at it. 

So you feel confident in your abilities?

Yes. I nod from Lochlan's shoulder. He is shaking almost imperceptibly.

Tell me what you didn't like about the trip, Bee. Ben's voice is soft. It's okay.

You and Loch weren't there. I don't sleep when I'm alone. That's why I'm up right now. 

Ben looks so relieved I almost cry on the spot but the hangover has dried me up and made me wince with every breath.

We're here now, baby, and you're not going anywhere without us for a good long time. He keeps glaring at Caleb. It takes an awful lot to piss Ben off. I think Caleb has finally discovered the line he can't cross and he is surprised, taken aback.

Can we go to bed then? I'm still drunk. I laugh. I can't help it. Shame makes me petulant and boastful.

Calebs' voice cuts through the darkness like piano wire. I'm sorry, Bridget. I was heavy-handed in getting you away. I'm sorry to both of you as well, Ben and Loch for taking her without permission. 

Like I am a car he jacked.

(Drive it like you stole it.)

Snort.

Loch doesn't say a word, he wraps his hand around the back of my neck and steers me into the house, up the stairs and down the hall to bed where I fall into bed again, dreaming of trying to swim in a sea of paint chip cards back to shore, where Ben and Lochlan wait for me in the dunes but Caleb has his hands around my ankles and he won't let go so I can't get anywhere.

Oh and if anyone is up for it, I would love to trade my 1986 Original London cast stage recording of Les Miserables for the 2012 Les Miserables film soundtrack.

It's up next. You've been warmed. I know all this words!

I was waiting for someone, something to happen
Something ridiculous climbing the walls
And falling in what I now would call your bluff
Please don't call it love

I figured out fairly quickly why Caleb was so easygoing and jovial over the beginning of the week and on his birthday. I figured it out from my seat in the tiny plane as I stared into the bottom of my champagne bubbles because I've decided that if he's going to pull this shit all the time then I'm just going to get rip-roaring drunk and be so obnoxious he'll never want to bring me anywhere again.

And at a glistening dandelion-fluff weight of ninety-seven pounds, this is going well. It's far easier than I thought and I'm pulling a buzz nice enough to remember my punctuation but forget I can't yell fuck off across a crowded restaurant.

(Sorry if you were there. That was me and I really didn't need him pulling out my chair like some sort of gentleman, because he isn't.)

No more restaurants. Only take-out but that's okay, the hotel delivers alcohol and he's BUSY which means I can get shitfaced on a Friday morning, a Thursday evening and hopefully a Saturday too. Which is funner than I remember. Must be the different between good liquor and the cheap stuff we buy because half of us are unemployed and undereducated and the other half who know their booze don't drink anymore. They are sophisticated. I am clearly not.

That's fucking fine by me.

Lake Tahoe, I love you but I don't want to be here right now so I'll just apologize in advance because the only way to deal with him trying to talk to me is to put my headphones on and sing Fiction Family songs at him at the top of my lungs.

I only know two-thirds of the words! Go me!

Snapping elastic under my chin.

Slightly defective
Not what I had planned

This is my Saturday today and I'm working my little butt off cleaning up.

I waited until everyone was up and out of my hair this morning and then I finished my tea with a new book (the Trudeau one I got for Christmas) and then had a hot bath with some of my Lush goodies. PJ cut all of the bath bombs in half for me (then they last twice as long) and impulsively I threw in two different halves. An eight-dollar bath but I would have paid eight hundred because it felt so good.

I didn't drop my book in the tub but I made the pages all wavy with my wet hands.

When I was beet-red it was time to get out. Then I had to spend twenty minutes scrubbing glitter and seaweed out of the tub.

That isn't anything new actually. Lochlan said that's what I'm made of. Glitter and seaweed. He laughed and asked if maybe he could join me for the next decadent bath. That we could make his skin as red as his hair. I find that amusing. Loch hates baths. He thinks it takes too long. He lives on the run.

Then I had to have three people help divide up the food left from last night. It seems when you put out a potluck request without parameters from all men you'll get red meat and Mexican food and very little else. We ate until we couldn't move and it looks like there's enough left that no one will have to cook until Easter. And we're still cleaning up this afternoon.

But it was fun. I kept my streak of making Caleb cry when he listened to his birthday speech from me and by the end of the night everyone had put their party hats on John, who looked like a big papery hedgehog.

Caleb's own speech made me tear up too. I didn't expect that. Instead of his usual assurance that he'll do what he wants he said he was humbled by the outpouring of love and generosity and time. That we're not his friends, we're his family and that he couldn't have chosen a better group within which to see his son raised. That the only thing missing from the night was Cole's presence but that Cole lives within him now so he is here after all, in spirit.

I sniffed really loud and at least eight sets of eyes looked at me. But it's okay. I'm the sap of the family so I do this often.

(Cry, I mean.)

Caleb loved the cake that I made, and liked the numbers for his age instead of an equal number of candles and he was touched by the photograph I gave him. He stared at it and commented on every detail he could spot. His size. His youth. He said the only thing different about me was my hair. He said Cole had such an eye for candid photos. He asked how it was that he hadn't seen this one before and I just shrugged and said I was full of surprises.

You are, he smiled. Thank you for this. 

I nodded.

John put all of the party hats on the chandelier in the dining room. It's twelve feet up in the air so there they will stay and most likely burn the house down.

The dog fell asleep under the table and we forgot about him. The kids were sent up to their rooms at ten-thirty. It was a school night.

The record player scratched along the edge long after we forgot it was on, too.

Sam and Matt danced close. By themselves, far removed from the table where the rest of us sat and drank our faces off on a Tuesday.

And the unintentional, nefarious king surveyed his kingdom, pleased with what he has done.

Same age as Tom Cruise.

There's a big beat
You're sleeping in my memory
Like Satan
Lonely
So I'm with him
Floating, loaded
Enough to be released

It's more than the less you say you do
It's more than the shot that gets you though
Born to buy into something
Born to kill

It's a birthday-day. Caleb is fifty-two today. Which seems old, and everyone tells me he's too old for me but just remember this: he's a year younger than Jon Bon Jovi and a year older than Brad Pitt.

I KNOW!

Besides, sugar daddies are supposed to be older, and more distinguished and in-charge. They tell you where and when and then off you go.

I usually get a dress code too.

(And a bunch of other instructions that are none of anyone's business.)

Starting with a breakfast-date. Birthday breakfast with candles in the waffles because he's still a little silly in spite of his distinguishment. He's still a little overjoyed that no one made a fuss about his plans with me today, least of all August. They all knew August was coming out here to stay. He talked to them over Christmas when he was here and they all managed to keep the secret even as I wondered out loud if cutting Joel loose was the best idea. If I would be okay without someone here who is trained in people like me.

I guess I don't have to wonder if I'm getting better. I'm not or August wouldn't be here. Even though I'm glad he's here it pretty much confirms that I'm crazy. I don't know if I'm okay with that but I don't have a choice.

Like in what to wear. Caleb requested a pretty pale pink dress that he likes but it's cold and I couldn't find the little matching jacket so he gave me his suit jacket and now we match like a couple which is probably what he wanted and he stole my jacket.

Which must mean he's crazy too but I knew that the moment he saw me walk in (slowly) and his whole face fell. He asked if I was okay and I shrugged and reminded him Ben came home last night.

(Snort.)

I'm beautifully fucking wrecked is what I am.

He did not find that amusing in the least. I told him to lighten up and by gosh, he did. He totally did and he clapped when I sang Happy Birthday along with the waitstaff at breakfast this morning. Because birthdays should be amazing, even when you've had a whole lot of them.

Like fifty-two of them. Jesus Christ. When did this happen? I remember his sixteenth birthday. He got his drivers license on the first try. Later he had five beers and he and Lochlan got in a fight.

Another tradition if you're keeping score.

The rest of the day is filled up too. But this year without the big group outing that saw a table flipped in what was a very lovely restaurant we're no longer allowed to enter. Instead we're having a sort of pot-luck here at home and everyone is cooking. We'll eat on the patio at the big table that they brought up from the vineyard already. I blew up a thousand balloons this morning. We'll put the heaters on and the tiny lights. And party hats too.

Because you can't have a party without tiny paper hats on grown men.

You just can't.

Besides, it'll look ridiculous when they start swinging at each other. I figured at the very least I could assist in making them look even more foolish than ever.

(In the meantime, I've very nervous about that and the present I got for Caleb. It's a photograph he's never seen of the two of us, taken by Cole when I was sixteen and Caleb was twenty-four. I had it blown up, printed in black and white and framed for him. It's really amazing in itself. I just hope he feels the same way.)

In a girl called catastrophe.

Remember how we started
Because since then I'm a waste

Caleb is more than a little angry that he paid a lot for a show but we're still going to move forward with our plans, Ben is ecstatic and Joel, well, Joel is gone.

But.

But.

Ben brought August back. A five-day detour to go and get him and ship his stuff and bring him home.

Jacob's parents have moved to a cute little condo in town. The homestead was too much for them now. Death ages people. Especially when you're in your seventies when you lose someone. They haven't coped all that well but at the same time they're doing great. They live in a semi-assisted building now and August's reason for being there has been removed, essentially. And August is a prophet and a saviour and a nomad too and he needs to be helping to be alive and so he came back.

He's the first one to ever do this and I don't even know if I can look him in the eye for how humbled and honoured I feel right now.

He came back.

No one's ever come back for good. Usually they just vanish and die. Sometimes they die but don't leave. Sometimes they set me up to fall so hard I think every time will be the last and I will break to bits.

But when Ben got out of the truck I was already running down the steps and then when the other door opened I stopped and stared and then burst into tears. I thought it was a surprise visit. I thought August was temporary but then he grabbed me up off the ground in a hug so hard I think my ribs are liquid now but he told me he was home and the rest of me dissolved too.

Don't worry, I did say hi to Ben and maybe forgave him for the extra time away, under the circumstances.

And I haven't let go of him since.

Hard-crack stage.

You break around me
You say that I should give my heart a rest
Let me wash away the painful words I wrote

We can smother out the flames within my soul
No more standing by the way that I believe
We can smother out the flames with gasoline

There I was, riding high on a cloud over the mere hours left in...life with Joel here and Caleb had to pop my balloon with the demand that we join him in private to discuss the impending plans that I've discussed with precisely no one here. Not Loch. Not Caleb. Just Ben and the lawyers.

The plan was to shift all of the legal right onto the carny and give him a goddamn safety net.

Yes, him. The one who never needed a net for himself but if I was up there he wanted two. One standard, one secondary in case the first one failed because for all of the talk about carnies and circus folk trusting each other with their lives, well, that's a myth, folks, just like Happily Ever After.

We had a couple of drinks. Strong ones. I could feel my ears buzzing louder as the level in my glass went down. Loch got friendlier and less tense. Caleb didn't drink at all, and just watched and finally Loch pulled me out of the big chair and said we were going.

And Caleb asked for a private show. He promised he wouldn't leave his seat. But if we maybe melted some sugar he would finance the tax issues himself as payment and we could skip all of the hassle. A forever offer. A humiliating admission that floored both of us.

It was a lot to ask for and at the same time it was nothing at all. This is muscle memory, rehearsed warmth, maximized returns for all. We know how to do this. I measure my breaths as practiced while Lochlan threads a tiny flame from between his fingers, chasing it across my skin, using it to trace the night, connecting us to the stars. The only thing I hear is the crackle of our heartbeats synchronizing, wrapped in an occasional whispered reminder from Loch, single words at a time. Wait. Go. Stop. Sometimes a warning in the form of half my name. Finally a conclusion. Okay, as he lifts the palm of my hand up to his lips and blows out the flame. It's an incredible show and yet I've never seen it.

Without argument Caleb says it's late. His voice is quietly strangled as he tells me to take Loch to the spare bedroom and we sleep drunkenly, solidly. Loch's hands fall away as he turns to get comfortable and I dream of Ben behind a wall of airplanes with no way to break through.

At three-forty-five a hand slides over my mouth and I am picked up right out of my dream, carried down the hall in the arms of the Devil to his room, where there are candles lit everywhere, flames to make me feel safe, to make him feel familiar.

He does, but not in the way he always hopes he will.

I am not returned to the guest room, instead falling asleep in Satan's arms because my eyes and arms are so heavy and I'm so grateful just to stop moving for a moment and I'm wildly narcoleptic, unapologetic, frenetic and drugged again to the point that the words aren't coming when I need them anymore. And Satan is the last person on earth who is going to correct this for me without my express input.

So we sleep. At least for twenty of the heavenliest moments of Caleb's life before Loch barges right in and takes me back but by now we are awake, it's almost six in the morning, the sun is coming up, I am bathed in sweat and surprise and exhaustion and it's time to go home.

Caleb sees us out without speaking. No one speaks. It's a little bit amazing. We're all in shock, I think.

Outside his front door Loch turns back and takes my hand, pulling it up to his mouth, kissing the back of it firmly, with a squeeze. I squeeze back harder than I ever have and he kisses the top of my head.

He doesn't own us.

No, he doesn't.

Then what was that?

Something in the drinks, that's what it was.

We're going ahead with the lawyers then?

Yes.

We stare at each other. Just a show. Nothing more. It isn't us. It's us in character. Our carefully cultivated performance. It isn't who we are. He can't have us. He gets a show, that's all. He gets a taste of the life and then we pack up in the middle of the night and run for the next town over, where no one knows us and we hide in plain sight, freaks of the night, beggars of the dawn.

Loch whispers that he loves me and we head home. I never say anything in return. My head is reeling. Every time this happens I have a harder time separating that girl on stage in the flames from the girl who puts the fires out with her tears offstage. I have a harder time breathing. I have a harder time just coming down. I feel high and sick and out of my league and I just want to go home, if only I could remember where I felt the most like what that is.

He doesn't move though. He waits while I pitch and reel and then when I stop and focus finally I blurt it out. I love you too. I don't love that. I don't know what that is but I don't love it and I don't want to do it ever again. 

I know, Bridget. I wouldn't either.