Can anybody fly this thing?

Confidence in you
Is confidence in me
Is confidence in high speed

I stopped at the patio and choreographed the rest of my evening handily, directing Caleb to go and fetch that perfect whiskey and I would meet him back here with my best glasses and the giant ice cubes that we only use for these occasions. He was surprised but refused to show it to give anyone the satisfaction as a witness. He nodded and strode toward the boathouse quickly while I went inside in search of a slip dress and a warmer wrap. When I returned with a tray with cheese and bread and fruit on it with the glasses prepped and ready he was already there, having dragged both of the big chairs right to the edge of the grass overlooking the cliff.

He smiled when he saw the food. You're either very thoughtful or completely ravenous. 

Both, of course. Always. 

He grins and pours our drinks. An inch for me and slightly less for himself. He shouldn't be drinking with all the pills he takes for his heart and he shouldn't be getting me drunk either. But we are teenagers and we break all the rules whether they are designed for us or not.

I hold up my glass in a toast.

Here's to that pool being the only thing saving my sanity these days. It was flip and insincere. We all know I have no sanity at all. But he grins and says he is still waiting for that midnight swim for two.

I remind him he'll be waiting a while unless he wants to have it with PJ. I'm narcoleptic. I'm rarely awake after eleven and if I am I'm sick to my stomach because of it. If I ever got a whole night's sleep I would be better but these days I awaken if someone else dreams and am bolt upright if I hear a toilet flush five neighborhoods away or if Dalton pets the cat. Dalton sleeps on a different floor.

All that besides being woken up constantly by Loch or Ben or both and then they argue about letting me get some sleep, for fucks sake.

Yeah. None of that circus leaves much room for being up late on purpose.

He changes the subject. He wants to know what Sam is up to these days. He's digging for information casually, offhand. He's being sneaky but it's late enough and I don't know why. I put my feet up on his knees to distract him and it works. He starts stroking my leg absently and sits back with some cheese and his glass and stares out to sea.

Sam is helping Ben with me, I tell him.

Interesting turn of phrase. 

Well, it's not like Ben has the issues, is it?

Oh, Ben has issues. He's the one who took off like he was on fire. 

I gaze at Caleb with open hostility. He was, though. 

Touché. I don't know how he manages, up against Lochlan. 

You admit Loch is a force to be reckoned with. 

No. Loch's a vagrant, for fucks sakes. I meant his hold over you. 

Same thing. 

No, it isn't. 

Well, it's getting late. I crunch a cracker into my face and stand up, mainlining the whiskey like it's water and throwing the ice cube out onto the grass. Thanks for the company and the drink.

Why don't you take a break from the drama for the rest of the evening and come stay with me.

Because mine is the bed I made and it's where I must lie.

Or you could shut it the fuck down already and go where you'll be cherished. 

That's the only thing I've never had to seek out. I laugh. The heat is creeping into my cheeks, across my chest. I'm drunk because this probably wasn't whiskey after all. Goodnight, Diabhal. Sweet dreams. I blow him a kiss and by the time I drunkenly spin around and hit the ground Loch is there to catch me.

Saboteur de memoire.

He offers a hand and I take it, rising up out of the water, droplets running in rivers down my back and legs. He smiles as he wraps me into a towel like a big cotton burrito and then leaves me to dry myself quickly before holding out my wrap. His arm comes around me once again and he squeezes with his hand and bicep only, planting a kiss against my temple. His skin is flushed and singing against my cold wet skin. 

Neamhchiontach, he says. His eyes are high-tide, deep-end, night-sky. My faded sage greens stare back evenly. 

No, Diabhal. 

How can you give a refusal to a question that's yet to be asked? 

I know what you're asking. 

Cole's been gone a long time.

The floor opens, a faulty hinge letting go, leaving me dangling over the abyss. He squeezes tighter still and I feel as if when he lets go I might fall and die. 

I won't let you fall, he tells me and I look up into his eyes. They're so earnest. Earnest and blue. No deception. No evil. Patience with a tinge of frustration, hopefulness with a pinch of despair. He's a recipe for certain disaster, this one, and I don't know whether to demand he stop reading my mind already or hope that he already has. 

Too late. 

Come for a whiskey, he says. Let's get you warmed up. 

There's a voice inside that keeps him
On the path of righteousness
You can't break his stride
Or change his mind
'cause he won't second guess

We lay in bed this morning plotting a secret flight back to Nova Scotia to attend the Big Ex and go see the Trews at the King's Corner pub in my hometown.

Don't tempt me. I'll go in a heartbeat and I'll be early.

Next time I head home please remind me to do it with that weekend in mind, please.

***

I went for a walk on the beach this morning by myself, the sun blinding me, the heat already creeping up the backs of my legs and underneath my nose and ears the way it does. I went through my Sam-lists in my head in which he taught me to prioritize and neatly order my past, present and future on invisible white note pages I keep filed in my brain, lists he will raid later as his alter-ego, the Memory Thief.

He disagrees greatly with August and Joel at this point. He thinks I'm doing well and that it's not a phase of any kind, that I seem to have found enough comfort to be able to ride out Ben's existential crisis without going down with the ship.

It's probably due to Lochlan, who yells at my unchecked OCD tendencies and drowns my abandonment fears and somehow manages to not be awful at doing either. He makes me sleep. Makes me eat. Makes me stop moving and let things go when I'm clinging to them with everything I have.

I was always better with him. He never exploited my weaknesses nor did he demand that I balance on my strengths. He would just point out the obvious quietly or obnoxiously loudly and we'd get on with our day. It's a rustic kind of unfinished love, rough around the edges but the engine runs good and it's dependable.

Sam said it's the healthiest relationship I have. I don't disagree with him but I find it ironic that it was once the relationship the whole world didn't want us to have thanks to some possessive friends, a significant age gap (at the time, doesn't seem so bad now) and Loch's wanderlust, a trait that turned out to be contagious and incurable.

When I have enough for the thief I leave my head and shut and lock the door on the way out. Sam has a key. I don't need to be there when he arrives. I turn to go back to the house and I see him sitting at the top of the stairs, coffee cup in hand, curls all over now. He says they weren't this prevalent before the last few years. Loch always says the same thing, that I'm tightening his brain so his hair has to fight to grow, taking winding routes and ending up curly on the outside of his head. It made me laugh even though it was technically an insult. I didn't mind. He looks weird without curls so we're even.

Mark down that it's a good day.

The concert was great. Possibly greater was coming back to bed this morning and then waking up at ten all casual, like I do that all the time or something. Inwardly I soared. Outwardly I feel almost human at last. So far I may have texted everyone I know to tell them that not only is a sunny Saturday and we should all meet at the pool later but that I slept until ten!!

I got back seventeen Good girl!s, four Awesome!s and one Good job, kiddo. 

Kiddo? Gee. Thanks, Gage. 

Ben got up at eleven. I texted everyone that and everyone said Really? and then life exploded into chaos as it generally does on the weekends when instead of people eating breakfast in shifts it's a free for all with very few rules. The only rule being if there is a junky cereal with only enough for one bowl left it is saved for the kids. Also don't get between Ruth and whatever she makes because she gets amazingly hangry in the mornings. 

Jethro Tull is on the stereo this morning (Aqualung. I love this song. If I can steal Loch's phone from him I'll switch it to repeat one and be so happy. Or Heavy Horses but that one makes me sad) and Corey is drinking coffee. He doesn't even live here but he's off this week so he came to visit. At least he offered me a cup. I declined. I'm not going to drink it regularly though sometimes I want to. 

Joel is also here now because Ben invited him to swim. And talk. 

Christian is already getting some snacks ready for poolside. Every day is a big all-day buffet. Daniel refinished a bar cart while he was lame and they'll load everything onto that and carry it across the lawn. Or rather Christian and Schuy will. Caleb mentioned he could have a path or two paved so we can roll things down but then it degenerated into a plan to build some sort of racetrack for minibikes and Caleb deferred his offer because he doesn't want a racetack on such a beautiful property.

Sigh. 

Hahaha. 

This is what living with these guys is like. 

And it IS awesome.

My Canada is showing.

Oh my God. Whoever booked the One Direction concert to be on the same night as the Rush concert downtown should be fired. Might have to helicopter in.

I'm kidding. It just means we have to leave at like four to find parking. On the upside it's my fourth Rush concert and I have heard the rumblings that it's their last.

*sad face*

Favorite songs? Closer to the Heart and Faithless. Favorite live song is The Wreckers. Favorite thing is that they do their laundry on stage while they play.

Wish me luck. I only ever loved crowds when Loch was busking.

5110 days of Henry Jacob.

It's Henry's birthday today so I don't have a lot of time but I'm cooking so I have a little. Henry likes my cooking better than anything he can get in a restaurant. He likes the cakes I bake better than anything his father can order from a bakery too so I baked one yesterday, iced it last evening and tonight we'll have it with big candles lit on top that spell out *14!* because yes, this is a pretty exciting age to be.

He's learning to cook now, too. He's as tall as Lochlan, finally. He's great with the pets and I taught him to mow the yard myself, though he hates doing it because it's hot out and it takes forever. Caleb taught him basic money management (and how to shave). I give him a weekly allowance for walking the dog, folding laundry, taking out the garbage and recycling and emptying dishwashers. Occasionally he picks up the side yard after the dog and he vacuums and dusts and helps with meals. In turn he puts almost one hundred percent of his money in his bank account. He doesn't know what he's saving it for yet. The future, probably, he says.

He has a hell of a sense of humor, sporting a very classic-style delivery too. He hates shaving, by the way but loves to play video games and watch movies with us and he will enjoy chocolate cake for breakfast for the next few days very, very much. I got him a big book about the history of weaponry and a bunch of other fun things I know he will like. 

I don't like to say much about the children because I never wanted to trade their privacy for page views but Henry is a healthy, gigantic honor roll-making typical fourteen-year-old whom I love with all my heart and I'm proud of him. I'm not going to use this sort of platform to wish him a Happy Birthday. He doesn't have social media (no one of his age needs it) and he doesn't know about the blog so instead I'll just tell you that I do appreciate the fact that no one presses for more information about the children. It's been a hard limit for a decade, you wouldn't get very far. 

But it doesn't make me any less thrilled to be his mother, let me tell you. I wished him a Happy Birthday in person, when I woke him up this morning. The hugs he gives me while he is still half-asleep sustains me in a way I can't describe.

Brain dump. Ignore.

After a lot of false flags from Daniel's doctors he got his cast off this morning! He's so relieved, and just in time for our ridiculous hot weather to return later this week. The heat made him as uncomfortable as it makes me and he couldn't swim or even bathe properly for weeks on end.

Ben and I took him in. Ben is still fringe today. Every day I wake up expecting him to be different, to click back into himself and yet he remains on the outskirts of my emotions, refusing to connect. He's disappointed that we didn't shut him out and yet he was grateful we did nothing. I don't understand.

Physically we connected right off. We're horribly shallow like that. Give him my body and he'll easily manage it. Muscle memory. We're efficient and beautiful as long as we don't have to talk, it seems. Give him my mind and you may as well be throwing it at a closed door. It hits and bounces back and then slides down to the floor in a wet squishy mess. He refuses to open up. He won't engage past pleasantries. I've already threatened to send him back if he isn't going to be himself and he laughed incredulously and agreed with me. He doesn't feel comfortable suddenly. He feels like he may have ruined everything by leaving and yet here we are waiting for him.

I threw a coffee mug at his head and he caught it, set it down and left the room. He didn't fight back. He wouldn't stick around to wait for an apology though either.

Nolan said he needs a little bit of time. So did August. Claus has a hell of a voicemail waiting for him whenever he comes back from his travels and Joel said he would like to come and talk to Ben but I'm not sure I'm ready to press that option yet. It's there so I'm comforted but it's...Joel.

I figured spending some time with Daniel would trigger his usual self but not so far. They're taking a leisurely swim now and I'm supposed to be making breakfast but I'm not. I'm sitting here trying to talk myself out of my hole. It's in the garage and it's Jake and Jake in whatever form he is now (since apparently he isn't REAL anymore) is easier to deal with than Ben being so far away and formal.

Even on our worst months-long arguments of years gone by he didn't resort to this.

For perspective and to be fair, everyone (including Loch) says he's just uncertain, having missed three months of life here and he will settle in soon enough but of course my mind is blowing up the sky.

Caleb says we could coax him back faster with a special evening. Please tell me why Caleb lived and Jake didn't because I don't understand God in the slightest. I will resort to that if I have to because like I said, physically he's present and willing and able and damn near perfect. But I don't want to go down that road with Caleb right now. I'm doing so well without him biting me and tying me down.

I'm doing well without him, I mean. The other words don't even matter, really.

I just want Ben back. All of him. Like I said, I didn't jump for a reason and the reason is him.

Of course Pluto sports a giant perfect heart. I told you it was me.

Could you be vegan, Bridge?

Naw. 

How come?

I like my goatsmilk soap. Also, leather chaps. 

You have chaps?

No, but I like them. Not on myself though. 

Who has them? 

Jake wore a pair of Nolan's a few times and just...yeah. I liked them a lot. 

He liked being on Nolan's farm. 

He liked to play Jeremiah Johnson. 

Yeah. I miss him. He would have made a great old man. 

I bite my lip to ease the stinging behind my eyes and August lifts the pressure cooker of a subject, asking me instead if I'm going to come with him to Burning Man.

Is this a formal invite?

If you need a change of scenery, yes. 

I just got home. 

Yes but everyone went with you. This would just be you and me. Maybe Duncan. 

Honestly I don't think that would go over very well. 

I suppose. 

Thanks for the offer, though. I will live vicariously through you. 

It's harder than it is fun, so you're not missing out. 

Why do you go, then?

To see people. To watch it happen. I like magic, Bridget. 

Me too. 

I always forget you find it so easily. 

Sometimes I can't find any at all. This is one of those times.

He nods and takes a sip of his coffee before handing me the cup. I take a drink and make a face. It's cold.

More than what I wanted.

Oh, when you were young
Did you question all the answers
Did you envy all the dancers who had all the nerve

Look around you now
You must go for what you wanted
Look at all my friends who did and got what they deserved

So much time to make up everywhere you turn
Time we have wasted on the way
So much water moving underneath the bridge
Let the water come and carry us away

I feel like I'm being systematically dismantled from the inside out as Ben pretends interested disinterest, asking what Lochlan and I talked about in his absence. If we got anywhere. What we have decided and how we'd like to proceed. Later Loch wants to know if I feel different with Ben back. If I have regrets or a change of heart or relief. Caleb wants to know when I'm coming back to him, suggesting it will be easy if Ben distracts Lochlan like he always used to. August wants to know what's really going on in my head. Joel wants to see if I'm free for breakfast this week. Duncan subtly implies that Ben probably fell off the wagon but got back on while he was away and Batman wants to see if I'm finished with the drama of trying to juggle two human beings at once and possibly ready to move toward something stable, something new.

It's one of those days when flinging myself off the wrong side of the cliff seems like a perfectly viable option and it's a great day for PJ to hold my hand very tightly while he plays music I adore and reminds me that this is exactly what happens when I find myself in over my own head in my relationships with this bunch.

He only lets go when he has to turn on the oven or use the bathroom and each time that happens Sam steps in to keep me grounded. Oh, that's a good idea, I think as I hand Sam my last pound of flesh. But Sam doesn't say much. He's letting August do the heavy lifting and then he can maybe take the place of the good guy. I stare at him evenly as he pretends to be in deep conversation on the phone with Matt and as he talks I smile reassuringly and pull my hand away, backing up from my chair and heading for the door. Sam doesn't notice what he's done and I make it all the way to the side door but when I open it Loch is there sitting on the wall with Ben's guitar and he's singing old songs we used to listen to on the little radio we kept on the counter in the camper in 1983 and I want to cry because it sounds so familiar and yet now the words mean something completely different.

No further ahead.

I'm not a snob about flying, it's just rare to do so on public aircraft these days. There were too many people going to do it any other way. If I offended you with my one-percentism, I'm sorry. I'm a tiny clumsy, claustrophobic who always seems hungriest when there is no way to get food. Really we're used to taking the jet that Caleb leases. He said he wants to spoil me and I think he has. Maybe I should be thrown out.

Ben is back and life isn't a beach, soft and sandy. It's rustic, rocky and jagged. Dangerous, even. Unfamiliar, untested and strange. Some of this is like riding a bicycle and some of it's like learning another language. It isn't clicking. I know enough Ben to get by but I'm not fluent in the least.

It doesn't help that Lochlan is hardly speaking, content to nod and tip his head and whisper things to me but to otherwise not engage. The weeks we were given were time wasted. We don't know what we're doing. There wasn't enough time to find out. There were two millionaires and a lot of regular joes breathing down my neck and I feel squeezed and pressured and at the same time I twist in the wind.

There are no easy answers but at the same time when I woke up as the meat in the sandwich it felt right. And I always go on feelings, don't I?