I just realized he's still calling Caleb Lucy. As in Lucifer. That's when this crosses back from frustrating to unbearable.

I know my soul's freezing
Hell's hot for good reason
So please take me

It was easy enough to play the scared card and he backed way off, stepping away into the edges of twilight where it was hard to see him but I could breathe a little easier. My chest squeezes hard in toward my heart and I want to make things better but this wouldn't achieve that. This would make it worse.

Take all the time you need.

(How long will you live? That will be the time I need.)

Please come to me if you have any questions.

(Why do you do this? Why can't you just let her be. She was TWELVE, for Gods sakes.)

I hope you'll consider this very seriously, Neamhchiontach.

(In what universe could I even hope to consider this? This isn't serious. It's ludicrous.)

I nod and try and breathe. When I go back into the house Lochlan tells me I look pale.

It's cold.

If it were, you'd be pink, not whitish-grey, Peanut. He looks unimpressed so to actually impress him, I faint.

I hear the yelling (why do they always yell?) and I try to sit up but I don't think I have any energy left. He pulls me up and I lean against his chest, my back warm suddenly. I felt so cold. I don't really understand. My fingers are icy. My eyes burn.

What happened? PJ leans down in my face.

She was outside with Lucy. He probably poisoned her. Loch's voice is so ragey sometimes. It makes me sad. If only he knew.

I shake my head. Psychic overload. Like the lights. 

You didn't put out any lights, Peanut. 

The night is young. 

Not for you, it isn't. He stands me up but holds on tightly, picking up one hand and waving it comically toward PJ. Say goodnight, Bridget.

Goodnight, Bridget, I tell PJ and I am taken to bed.

***

Batman was right. Why did he know these things? What else does he know that he isn't telling me? Why would Caleb think his latest proposal would be something I would ever consider in a million years? Oh, but for my horrible curious streak I wouldn't understand but sadly I do. Perfectly.

Today x 5

-Today I spent quite a few minutes twirling around the Alexander McQueen boutique all by myself, an oasis in a sea of noisy, fighty shoppers who kept bumping into me to the point that Caleb finally stepped in front and barreled through with a scary look on his face that spread the crowd like the red fuckin' sea.

-Today I've had a piece of cinnamon toast and a bowl of spicy ramen and that's it and I'm starved but dinner is a free-for-all because lunch was bigger than usual. Was it? I'm not sure. Plus it was right at noon and usually on days off lunch winds up at threeish. I'm so discombobulated.

-Today I learned Lemmy (Ian) Kilmeister died after finding out he had cancer on Saturday. That's terrible but he lived and rocked hard and he's already missed. Ben's been playing Motorhead at top volume ever since we found out. Ben was so in love with him. Everything louder than everything else, after all. We have matching hoodies with that on the back.

-Today I still feel a little like I'm being dragged around my life caught on a truck, scraping on the pavement, ankles bumping slack over potholes and pedestrians. I am slowly feeling better but it's coming in half-percent increments spread out over days each so don't hold your breath for any great new year resurrection here or anything.

-Today I took pictures and didn't worry too much about anything, not the drama of the past week nor the uncertainty of the future. I just wandered and looked and watched and let everyone make decisions and I let it go.

Oh, hey. Drive-by because I'm still Christmasing and refuse to stop.

This Christmas was downright blissful with all twenty of us on the point enjoying what somehow morphed into a four-day pajama party thanks to the snow/rain and general level of contagion here. We didn't have any visitors and we hardly ventured out, save for Sam and Ruth who had to work a little, and Ben who caved in and made a Burger King run because he's incorrigible and wanted a spicy chicken sandwich. But it's okay because two hours after that he ate half a pie.

I just looked at the pie and gained a few pounds. Oh, and then late last night we finished the chocolates only to take apart the box for recycling only to find a whole other trayful underneath. More chocolates! Yay!

The wrapping paper we managed to flatten into a tiny bagful. The turkey we boiled down to a pile of little bones and made soup from, though the soup went into the freezer because there's still five platters of actual turkey in the fridge to be eaten.

We could nuke the road at the top of the hill and never have to leave the point again.

And I have been snuggled to bits.

It was perfect.

Very gentle wolves.

(Your semi-annual reminder: I can't really write about all of our family Christmas traditions because I try not to write about the children so please don't find it weird that it seems like they don't exist here on the page. They're the center of my universe, I just afford them the utmost privacy. I protect them. I am the mama bear.)

Once again the laundry is up to date, I made poached eggs on English muffins for breakfast and my nose is really so stuffed I think someone filled it with cement when I wasn't looking because I can never breathe but my bloodwork came back fine, blood pressure a little high and I have an inhaler and some more antibiotics and I'll get better eventually but I pretty much live like I described yesterday and that's why I get run-down and then get sick. This many people living and working together means germwise we're only marginally better than an elementary school.

Actually, nix that. We're probably worse.

I thawed some icy hearts with the egg mcmuffins and on the rest I used my honesty. August doesn't get in trouble because he did nothing wrong so I took my lectures right up front, facing-forward, openly and without apology. Crossing lines? Always. Inappropriate? You betcha.

Anyone actually mind?

Nope. When she's gone they get sleep. When she's near they get comfort. Company. Something to hold when you feel like the planet is going to fling you right off.

Lochlan doesn't like any of it but still made the terrible suggestion that they set up an invisible fence that would electrocute me if I went to the wrong areas.

Didn't you already try that and I got blown off my feet?

We'll keep it to the inside. And that wasn't me.

You forget there are places inside you don't want me to go.

(I keep my cuddles to safe targets. I can only imagine the outcry and resulting implosion if I went and cuddled with Sam, or Duncan. Or PJ. I actually miss my PJ cuddles. He locks his door now. Keeps out my demons, he says without meeting my eyes. Oh.

August isn't a safe target, Lochlan tells me. He's a Jacob-clone. He's an enabler. He comes across as wanting you to be healthy but he's as sick as everyone else here.

You really are in fine form today, Lochlan.

I just wish you'd stay put.

Nothing has changed in thirty-five years of him saying that. But he's just pissed because I accepted an invitation for some eggnog tonight at ten from the Devil. Like I said, I don't want anyone to be alone at Christmas. He's going to be around the house all day every day but at night he'll go home across the driveway to his own bed. They think this works but I know the lonelies attack in the dark when you're by yourself and all the bad thoughts come crowding in to dismantle the hard work you did in faking it or being cheerful or at least being constructive.

That's when they come and I feel like if I can't stop mine just maybe I can stop theirs.

Now I have to go and start cooking because I'm making eight tourtieres and a big bowl of hot crab dip for tonight's dinner. We were going to have lobster tonight but there's no room left in the fridge. Or in Sam's fridge, or Caleb's or August's or the big professional series one next door at Schuyler's. So much food. I feel very thankful even though I have to eat with my mouth open and my hand up over my face these days to maintain politeness because breathing is such a struggle.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

No gift to bring.

Ugh. Up at four-thirty for God knows why. Did all of the laundry, fixed the broken Christmas ornaments and tackled the mending pile. Wandered. Saw a light on in Andrew's room across the yard and several at Batman's. Ate a banana, got heartburn. Went outside. Stupid sun won't come up. It must be stuck. Maybe someone can give it a push later. Rolled downhill into a little hole and also got stuck. Contemplated dragging the driveway toward me but at the other end is the boathouse so instead I pulled toward the right and eventually climbed out of the hole long enough to make it up the steps to August's flat. Knocked five times as per instructions when I can no longer speak. Stomach hurts. Head hurts. Heart hurts. Christmas hurts? This is new. He opens the door in boxers and yesterday's t-shirt. Arms out. Hard hug without an ending. To be continued. I drop back in the hole but he's got me by one arm. I'll be okay.

He mumbles something about getting me better drugs and maybe a SAD light too and leads me to his bed where he crashes hard, one hand still grasping my arm as I dangle on the edge of sleep at last. Fall into dreams of some other big Newfoundlander with an accent thicker than whipped cream, more colorful than a rainbow. Cry in my dreams. Wake up to August holding me so hard he cracked my ribs. Head feels clear, stomach doesn't hurt anymore.

Not supposed to be here.

Not supposed to use him as a surroJake but he's the closest I will ever get ever again and frankly I don't care and I don't think he minds any more than he used to. Gave him something he needed too. It's Christmas. No one should sleep alone.

Arghhh. Leafs lost 3-2 to Arizona. FFS. But I still made money.

Winter carnival.

Lost all innocence
Infected and arrogant
You burn all your life
(There's no telling you)
No deliverance
Consumed by the pestilence
Of hate, you're denied
Deep in your heart does it still remain?
Do you think you can bring it
Back to life again?
Is it still in your soul?
(No saving you)
Where's the deviant
The unholy revenant
That has made you this way?
Made you fall for this hate

I don't actually celebrate winter. Sorry. I've lived in places that were colder than Mars. I was born on a peninsula on the coast of the Atlantic ocean with the relentless wind and snow and I learned to drive on ice before I learned how to properly fuck and yeah, okay. I miss winter.

Alot. Which is hilarious because it's a claustrophobic, helpless feeling to be trapped indoors against the elements, counting meals and candles and hoping the power stays on and the furnace keeps lit and maybe we should have a better backup plan or tickets to Bali or some such thing that could save us when it gets so cold even the mental demons take up refuge right inside our heads, shivering.

The kid in me misses the snow, I guess. It signaled a break from work. Ever seen a Ferris Wheel covered with snow? Me neither but I think it would be beautiful. Imagine the lights. Instead it's packed away in little pieces in a warehouse because Lochlan said it would rust to shit if let outside in the elements over winter.

Yeah, wouldn't we all be ruined if left in the snow?

That's why I'm here now. Back to the beach only rarely do I have the heart to make them hear that it's the wrong beach. Wrong ocean. In a place Lochlan left for a reason but a place from which it's easy for the rest to do business. Close enough to LA without having to live there (God forbid) and yet still here, in Canada because I refuse to leave. Sorry boys.

But it's winter today. Officially. So...wooo? Let me dig out a light sweater. Let me marvel at the fact that I still haven't put on shoes to walk to Daniel's house across the backyard because I don't actually need them. Let me laugh at people warming their hands on lattes and standing in store lineups in Uggs and long down-filled coats and toques. What fucktards. This isn't cold. I can show you cold.

Lochlan says the cold is in my eyes. That I'm suspicious of change and disdainful of things I don't understand. He's careful not to call me harsh but that's what this is. All of it.

Happy winter.

Definitely on the wrong list this year. I wonder if I'll get any presents? I could ask the Devil (he would know) but he would also give me everything without even blinking, except for the one thing I ask for.

Because he would be cold now, Caleb tells me. And that wouldn't be good for you. 

And you are?

He laughs. Of course I'm not. 

The end of the high point. Going to bed now.

Yes!

The Leafs won 7-4 against the Avalanche without hardly trying. Joel bet wrong and had to pay me everything in his wallet plus an IOU. I'm going to go into business as a bookie and go 1:2 odds on every game. Because DAMN.

Maybe they can turn this fledgling season around. Maybe I'll stop resenting Joel so much.

Wait.

Naw.

Solstice.

(Good enough for my walk on the beach this morning.)

Ben is stacking driftwood. We make sculptures out of it. Lean-tos. Houses. Huts. Swear words. Boxes. He's quoting Baudelair's Windows as he works. It's sort of depressing but poignant. The sea is swirling in this storming, cloud-filled morning. She's dark and angry, disjointed and unsatisfied. I kick her in the teeth as I'm unsatisfied as well. Two pieces of glass and an empty crab shell is all she had to offer me even as I gave her my heart, destroyed as it might be. It's been repaired but it's of higher quality than most. She shouldn't complain so.

And I can't breathe, even as he gets to my favorite part: "In that black or luminous square life lives, life dreams, life suffers."

I sneeze and he interrupts himself to bless me, waiting for me to thank him before he resumes. We sometimes rely on pleasantries and courtesy to bridge the gaps between being able to connect sufficiently, fully-emotionally. We sometimes don't talk when we're alone together, trying to figure out after all these years how to exist on a common plane without constantly taking things from each other. Time, comfort, solace. Flesh.

When he is done ("But what does it matter what reality is outside myself, so long as it has helped me to live, to feel that I am, and what I am?") he says, that's it then and takes out one of Lochlan's zippo lighters and sets it on fire. I look up to see that he has made a Christmas tree. It's ten feet high and three-dimensional, topped with a nearly-dead starfish we found on the steps. It's beautiful and it's smoking now with the effort of trying to keep a flame pressed to cold, salt-soaked wood. It's meaningful and worth it though we will probably get another ticket for illegal burning on the beach even though this is inaccessible private property and none of anyone's business because nothing is in danger. It's relevant and righteous and bitter and loud, is what it is. Because that's Ben and eventually Ben catches up to all the rumors and the talk and the snippets of life and love and drama and he says enough, she's mine anyway and he shows his teeth and the wolves all retreat back into the shadows of the woods at the edge of the sea.

Missed the lighting of the fourth candle but also finally excused from any more singing.

(Too sick today, sorry.)

Ben traced the steering wheel bruise on my back this morning while I lay face down in bed lamenting another visit with the old Russian doctor later in the morning. When I see the doctor he takes my blood. I'm sure he plans to drink it to retain his youth or something because in reality he's probably well over a hundred years old and just appears to be in his seventies because that way he blends in.

He says we'll have the results in a day or two. Just making sure none of my levels are elevated, making sure there's enough iron. Making sure there's nothing worse going on as I fight off the worst colds and flu-bugs of my life, seemingly one after another. My kidneys do a poor job and when they aren't causing problems the headaches come and fill in the gaps.

Exhaustion, scolds PJ.

Stress, Lochlan says softly.

Violence, Ben offers unhelpfully as he covers my back up again, pulling the blankets up tightly around us. He's wrong. There was nothing violent about my encounter with Lochlan in his truck. I climbed into his lap just as he was getting ready to leave and he can't resist me. I might have strained against his hands at one point, as people do when something feels very very good. Ben is always a little put out if he isn't there to see it for his own eyes and incredibly quick to protect me if I come away injured.

Caleb thanks the doctor for his attention and tells me I get so run down, why don't I rest more, and sleep more or at least take better care. There isn't time, I tell him. We can sleep when we are dead. 

He frowns and lets go. There's no use trying to talk to me when I get like this.

Ben pulls me into his arms and keeps me there. I like it, it feels safe. He is present lately. Attentive and kind and here. A little break for Christmas. He only allowed a half hour to go and see the doctor and then I was to come right back and I did as fast as I could, switching to a soft t-shirt and long-john bottoms and crawling back into the bed. Loch has promised to come up as soon as he's done bringing more wood in with Gage. PJ said we could come collect dinner later and take it up. Ben puts on a movie and says something but I was asleep again before I could process what I heard.