Eight by ten, the size of a photograph to be framed.

Eight years to the day after marrying the most difficult, juvenile, fucked-up person on the planet, Ben still says he'd do it again in a heartbeat. He came home this morning with open arms for us, a huge bouquet of those amazing multi-colored roses and three weeks of intensive self-work under his belt because as he says, he is serious about keeping his sobriety instead of always being on the edge.

The minute I went into his arms I lost it. Fell apart in great wracking silent sobs and he finally let go of everything and everyone else and sat down on the floor and just kept holding on. Apparently I put on quite a tough face for everyone else but Ben is one of those people who, when they ask you how you're doing, instead of answer you just cry. There's something about his eyes. His voice. His arms.

Don't go away again. I hate it. I hate it. I blubbered at him but he just held on, squeezing gently, not saying a word.

***

He was nervous. I didn't realize how much. Coming home seeing all the renewed loyalties and blown-wide-open allegiances and he wondered if he had a place now that Lochlan seemingly holds all the cards again at last.

He said I put those fears to bed pretty quickly for him. I asked him why he didn't call and he shrugged. He's loathe to subject me to his darker side. He wants to be strong for me. He wants to be whole for me. I reminded him I don't care which parts of him are here, they're all good parts.

Some more than others. He winks.

Well there's that, I laugh and get another hug that ends in a kiss that makes my knees jello and my heart knock so loudly against my chest wanting to get out and fuse itself to him that we both step back, startled by the sound.

***

Eventually we had enough of each other and went and got Lochlan, who was given the afternoon off (yup, still working for Batman) so we could enjoy a micro-reunion together before the children get home from school and monopolize Ben with all the things he missed in the past three weeks. His Easter chocolate waits in the cupboard. His brother waits for his own reunion next door but here it was the three of us locked in yet another hug that was again, too long in the making. We needed this tiny moment. This breathless grip on the stairwell in the sun. This quiet reassurance that we're still the three musketeers and we love each other fiercely and with abandon. None of that changes, no matter what happens. 

***

Lastly, April 19 seems to be a fresh-start kind of day for me. If you go to the sidebar here to your left and scroll alllll the way down to 2006, a mere decade ago, it marks the day I first began to write about Jacob. It was our first full day today together. Ten years ago today. Of all days.

Seems like a lifetime ago, because it was.

Save the lizard, save the world.

Today I sent the kids off to school with PJ in the jeep and then I did my chores fast and by twelve sharp I was beside the pool with Duncan, who has a nice set of board shorts in a green pattern that matches my green bikini. He's got the Doors on the stereo for full Lizard King effect and he's optioning a lunch date of his own by suggesting we go in briefly to make up a nibbly-plate.

What the fuck is a nibbly-plate, Poet? 

Olives, cheese, crackers, fruit and such. For nibblies. 

I laugh. I can make that but I don't call them nibblies. 

What do you call them? 

Whore-doovers. 

He bursts out laughing. What is that?

Ben's french. 

Oh yeah. I forget he's American sometimes. He's been here so long. 

Been where?

Sorry, Bridge. Is he back soon? 

Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe if you call him he'll talk to you. 

He doesn't come to the phone when you call?

He's always conveniently busy even though I always ask if it's personal time and they confirm. 

Ben's got a lot of personal shit that he deals with, Poem. I don't know why the bikini doesn't liquefy his mind and fix it all but he's trying. 

I know he is. 

Maybe if you just wore that all the time it would be easier for him. 

Easier for who, again?

Mankind. 

I stare him down over the tops of my sunglasses until he gives in and goes to make us lunch. Works every time. Implied disapproval. It means I don't have to lift a finger.

Snort.

Everything.

Lochlan asked me out for a brunch picnic on the lawn, with one caveat. Could I ask that PJ help carry out the tray precisely at eleven? No sooner, and no peeking.

The kids are out with friends, roaming the neighborhood. Half the boys are still asleep. PJ is wandering in his namesakes around the house. Caleb has called a dozen times, Ben hasn't called at all.

That's a deal but only if I can make whatever I want.

Done. See you at eleven. He jams a kiss against my face and smiles and is gone.

PJ mutters under his breath. Elevensies and I laugh. We're the hobbits. The smallest.

At eleven sharp I collect PJ and the trays. I made breakfast. Fried eggs, sausage, toast and fried potatoes with apple slices and grapes. There's even a tiny vase with daisies on one tray. Napkins too and PJ has the big beach umbrella tucked under his arm with the worn quilt.

You're the best. I kiss his cheek as he opens one of the patio doors and then backs out to hold it for me. I have the lighter tray but it's still heavy and there are a lot of stairs involved. At the last second Keith swoops in and takes the tray because I would have dropped it anyway when I stepped outside.

Loch towed the camper all the way around the top of the point and brought it across the yard to rest parked at the edge of the cliff just west of the telescope platform on the rock wall dividing our property from Daniel and Schuylers. Technically the pool is in their yard as well. It's huge, all grass, stretching hundreds of feet from the house toward the cliff. Ours is smaller and juts out straight, forty feet of grass past the patio to a steeper, more abrupt cliff. Caleb has no backyard at all, for the boathouse is perched overlooking the cliff on the steepest side.

He did it so carefully you can't see tire marks. The truck is gone, parked back in the driveway. The door of the camper and all three windows are open, and he's set out the tiny bistro table and chairs, though we will spread the quilt and eat on it on the grass instead. There is room. The lower rock wall affords a better view than the tall wooden fence around the back of our yard.

We walk down. The food is probably cold. I don't even care.

PJ and Keith excuse themselves the moment they let go of their items and tells us to enjoy the afternoon. PJ winks at Lochlan. He is so glad I haven't lost my shit yet.

(Yet.)

We get the quilt spread out quickly, umbrella set up easily and Loch begins to unpack the food. I dish up brunch and he asks if I like the view.

I nod. I'm focusing on getting the food on plates. Getting coffee into mugs. Making sure we both have napkins, forks. The same amount of potatoes.

He takes everything from me and puts it down.

Peanut. Look.

I look at him.

No, look at the water.

I look.

Look behind you.

The camper.

Yes. The camper by the sea. What else?

You.

Yeah. Me and you. Complete with rings. And what else?

A girl and a boy.

A girl and a boy, you got it, Baby. (His voice breaks here. He's been so tough up until this minute. Henry is going to be signed over to his guardianship, at Henry's own request. Second generation, no less, to be in the care of this man. Hard to believe.)

I let out a long breath and burst into tears.

Let it out, and let it go, Bridgie. We made it.

Oh, the places you'll go.

(Incoming. Rare Henry post. For all you well-meaning folk, thank you. We have intensive counseling ongoing but kids are more resilient than Bridgets, thank fuck.)

I can hold Henry's face in my hands while he stands in front of me and I see glimmers of Preacher in him. Things I can't explain. Things I didn't want to see because I was so sure. Henry's temper is slow but fierce, like Caleb's. His humor easy and sophisticated. But there's something in his eyes. The way he moves. Big and graceful. The way he considers his words before he lets them fly. Nurture, nature, I suppose.

He looks like me. Same strangely-ashy blonde, same green eyes, same pale skin prone to furious blushing. But he's big. Six feet now. One hundred and fifty pounds of fourteen-year-old awesome that I refuse to expose to Caleb's evil ever again.

I'm sorry about all of this. 

Mom. Let go. It's fine. 

Fine? Fine isn't the right word for this, Bunny. How do you want to proceed here? You're fourteen. You get to decide. 

Can we just have Ben and Lochlan be.....uh... look after things?

Ben isn't , well, he can't-

Lochlan then. He can have twice the trouble. He grins at me. Oh my God. His big white teeth. Why did I let that monster talk me out of what is so obvious today it's heartbreaking?

It's a deal. 

Talk to him?

He already brought it to me. 

What happens to Da-..Caleb? 

Maybe he'll find an avalanche. 

Mom-

I don't mean it. Things are going to change. 

I don't want you to be alone with him every again. 

That won't be an issue, Henry Jacob, I promise you that. 

Hey mom? Is Jake- I mean Dad, actually in the garage? 

Depends on who you ask. I like to think he's there. In spirit. You know.

Why the garage? 

It's big enough for his wings, but dry so he can be comfortable. He never liked the rain. 

Henry nods but doesn't say anything. Probably trying to decide if it's okay to think your mom is crazy. But he smiles abruptly. I don't like it either.

Caleb has gone to Lake Tahoe indefinitely to stay in the big new house in the hills. He's called no less than thirty-eight times since he left.

May I fall apart now?

Barrister Outlaw.

He says he did it to protect Henry from being the only child without a living father. He did it to gain access and provide both children with stable parentage, time, resources and lineage. He guaranteed their futures, gave Henry confidence without doubt and provided himself as a role model for what hard work can accomplish. He insists it was for the best interests of the children and nothing more.

I want my paperwork, I repeat. The actual test results. I want to see them.

They're in the safety deposit box.

And you're going to get them this morning, along with anything else that pertains to me, my children or to Jacob. And while you're at it, maybe take some time to book a long vacation because I don't think I want to see you for a while. 

Bridget-

No, we're done here. 

Part II: Placeholders and placetakers.

I have a headache. Chiro care isn't working, I actually think it's making it worse. Ben isn't coming home, he really needs his program so he's asking me to have faith that he will come home strong enough to take over (just two more weeks, Bumblebee) and in the meantime, well, Lochlan continues to have some freakish, sudden magical knack for making this feel like just another sunny week here on Point Perdition.

Besides, he's only had to peel me up from my facedown position on the floor of the garage six or seven times so far. No biggie.

But I'm not worried about me. Maybe he's right. Maybe somewhere deep down I knew all along, though I got abrupt confirmation when Henry charged into the living room and shoved Caleb away from me. It became so clear. His movements. His words. His face.

(Henry had come back to get a book and walked in on Caleb's threats and he didn't like what he saw. Not one bit.)

He's not yours, I said. And Caleb was so surprised by Henry's sudden out-of-the-blue aggression that he agreed with me.

Patience, please. (This is not Part II.)

I should have listened. Should have tried harder to pay attention to the sounds all around me. Should have followed my instincts. Should have given Lochlan and Batman the attention their concerns deserved. I should have pushed harder, should have fought louder, should have followed through.

I should get Ben home, for this probably constitutes a family emergency if ever there was one but at the same time I'm paralyzed by the Very Big Things, whether I knew, whether I suspected all along, whether I wanted to admit it even as I don't understand how one person can continue to be so cruel.

It's been in front of my face the whole time but I've learned not to trust myself and that is the worst part of all. How can one person be undermined to the point where they no longer believe their own thoughts. So easily molded, scared into a shape that I never fit into. Threatened into a life that didn't have my name on it. Abused from scratch. To become this.

I look in the mirror and shake my head.

I don't know who she is, sorry.

I need to give credit to Lochlan here for finally stepping up and taking control. All the times he folded when I needed him was probably an act of reserving his strength and resolve for this.

I should figure out how I'm supposed to mourn the loss of someone who isn't dead, because I've lost one more here, The Devil slipping through my fingers as I tried to look the other way, and failed to pay attention to the fact that he was standing here unraveling my whole life, one ribbon at a time.

I had other plans and he took that from me and then he took everything else. Things would have been so different. Things would have been okay. Writing here would have been fun instead of painful. Life could have been good.

It would have been good.

It should have been good.

It will be good. 

Come to monster (Part I).

Take my life
Take my faith

He took hold of my resolve in the dark and stripped it off me in one fluid motion, stinging me with a sudden cool rawness that took my breath away.

You held out a little too long, Neamhchiontach. That takes the game aspect away and turns it into work. There's a price for that.

He drops the resolve on the floor and I watch it roll away into the dark. I won't find it easily again. He knows this. He steps in close, pressing his chin against my temple, his hand sliding up into my hair to hold the back of my head. He breathes in.

You smell like Loch. 

Fancy that. 

A shove lands me hard on the couch. He puts his hands on the back of it and leans down into my face, waiting until I raise my eyes to meet his.

Two days. Make your arrangements in the next fifteen minutes. 

I have two hours. 

You have what I say you have. I get one day to tear you apart and I'll need one to put you back together. 

What do I say to him? I say it thickly, words of molasses dipped in panic. I can't understand myself, choking on tears and shock. He's going to brute-force time spent. Worst possible outcome.

Tell him you miss Cole. Not like I haven't been a proxy for him my whole life as it is.

What'll you say to her? I ask him, looking for accountability. He has a soft spot for twelve-year-old me that doesn't exist with me now. Maybe I can save her even if I can't save myself.

I'll tell her what I told her before. If she makes it easy it won't hurt. If she fights back, I hurt Lochlan. Bridget, I'm reaching the point of no return here anyway. There's bound to be some collateral damage besides you.

So the minute Ben is gone you call in your cards?

I've waited MONTHS for you. It's in not only your own best interests but also those of your friends. It was foolish to think you could try and ghost the living.

I let out a shaky breath and say nothing, nodding while the tears keep rolling.

Thank God I get off on your cries or this would be more difficult than it needs to be. Now make your calls or whatever you need to do because you won't be sleeping in your own bed tonight, Princess.

Still ringing.

Iron Maiden was unreal. Loud as fuck, entertaining as all get out even as they didn't play Aces High.

They played Fear of the Dark, though, which made up for it in spades. I'm pretty sure Bruce yelled LET ME HEAR YOU VANCOUVER at least a dozen times, if not more. My head exploded only slightly before Eddie's and my ears are still buzzing hard and loud.

I seem to be making a habit of traveling around Canada watching rock shows that feature large inflatable critters. It's hilarious.

I got searched twice and patted down once, with apologies. Apparently I look exceedingly dangerous. I ate very awful concourse food. I rocked my face off but I didn't get a shirt because they were hideous. I was told that is the point but I still couldn't bring myself to do it. PJ told me I lost all my credit as a metal fan and Caleb picked that exact minute in the merch crush to bump into Lochlan and deliver a great elbow which saw a magnificent effort not to begin a brawl in the hall. They were separated like kindergartners by the rest of the boys and then Caleb proceeded to spend every break in the show angling to invite me over.

I didn't go.

I fell asleep with an incessant ringing in my ears, eyes burned by pyrotechnics, lips repeating lyrics, neck sore from doing over-forty headbanging, which is actually more like very enthusiastic nodding and zero dreams. I did not, however, fall asleep during the show, which is a first.

I'm kidding.

Okay, well maybe not.

(Admit it, you're still stuck on the image of Caleb tightly packed into the center of a huge crowd trying to buy t-shirts. Yes, I am as well.)