One. Single. Theme. and it's sex.

Dalton just called from Denver. He and Dilly are almost home! Just three more hours and then freaking long weekend Friday afternoon traffic and they're mine.

And look. I need to address something. I don't often give a voice to things in the past between Caleb and I unless it's to complain about the amount of time I have spent bored in Vegas. I don't often point out that one of the hazards of being a little girl anxious for approval in a sea of close-knit teenage boys is that she often becomes a target for inappropriate behavior or far, far worse. What good comes of that? Want me to make a list of those who touched me without asking? Or who still does? I daresay it'd be easier to list who didn't/doesn't.

Here:

1.

Let's move on from there because it escalated anyway, because things like that always will and Lochlan couldn't always protect me. He had to work. He tried so hard. He lied to everyone we knew, including parents, teachers and bosses. He changed his life. He brought me with him to keep me safe and still it wasn't enough. He holds so much guilt for trying to save me and instead putting me in the line of fire. He can barely breathe some days because of that guilt but we manage and we'll be alright because we're so much tougher than we look. I love him. I always will. Like I said, we're tough.

We must be as I suddenly realize it's noon on a Friday and I'm about to throw a homecoming dinner for twenty people on four hours notice. I asked PJ to take me to the store. I can't drive on these pills, these ones make me ridiculously zonky-quick-sandy. He agrees and I wonder out loud what Dalton brought me home for souvenirs from Europe.

STDs. Really exotic ones though, because...Europe.

Nice. 

I know, right? Tres beaucoup!

Speaking of courage, I found a speck of it in my cheerios.

If I can get through tonight
I'm waking up with my wings
There's no way I can sleep my way through a fight
And I think I'm gonna like what tomorrow brings
Look at my eyes
Don't even know who I am
That's how I spend all my worthless time on the floor
Waiting for you to tell me I'm a man

But you and your face of light
It's a brilliant roman candle that separates the day from the night
It's that clean, clear truth that sorts our the wrong from the right
You and your face of light

Caleb wanted a Mea Culpa breakfast on the beach with me this morning and deferred when I tried to clarify.

Sorry, I'm having breakfast with people who don't hurt me and call it love.

I don't think there are any people like that on the point, Bridget.

You might be surprised, Diabhal. Also? FUCK OFF.

PJ's eyebrows go up and he asks very quietly under his breath if it's time to burn the boathouse down with Caleb in it and call it an unfortunate accident.

Of course not. We'll do it and call it Even-Stevens.

Sam snorts milk out his nose and almost cries from pain and sad-laughter. It isn't funny but I fare better than most. I mean, Caleb and Cole had years to patch me up so I didn't grow up fucked up and stunted, unable to hold down a relationship or hold a spoon so I guess there's that.

Ben might even stick around though he's made no promises. Seen him lately? I haven't. He wanted a partner in crime. Someone to be fucked up and depraved with. I don't want to be fucked up. I want things to be right. I want things to be fixed. I want things to be better than this. I deserve better than this. I have earned better than this and if the entire collective becomes collateral damage in the process then so be it. The winners will be those who took their knocks and hung on tight. The losers will be those who lied. Those who got greedy. Those who took advantage of me when I couldn't help myself. Hope you all rot. Because what horrible things to do to a little girl who wouldn't hurt a fly and certainly couldn't fight back.

You'll never believe what I've been up to.

(When I'm getting tired at the end of the day I get cranky and start trotting out the Buzzfeed-style headlines because why the fuck not?)

Things move so quickly around here, it seems. I was so busy yesterday I just didn't have time to sit down and write and the headache made sure of it. We got groceries for the long weekend. Four people, three cartsful. These boys eat so much.

The good news is I have enough points from the reward program at my grocery chain for an aircraft carrier.

Well, not really but close. I'm waiting for the ipads to show up again. Haven't paid for one yet.

We finished the spring planting in the garden yesterday too. Soon we won't need grocery stores. Well, as soon as we find a chocolate chip cookie tree and a dairy cow or two and possibly a lamb that won't mind being slaughtered. A perpetual pig for bacon and a frozen gyoza bush to round things out.

Yup, just need those things and I'm probably good. Gyoza are like some sort of heavenly snack only everywhere I go they bring me five on a plate and I always ask if they have a platter or something. I can eat about sixteen in a sitting, I swear to God and I would but they only bring me five. Oh well. I will keep looking for that bush.

The grapevines and cherry trees are already fruiting, as are the raspberries and strawberries and we've planted peas, beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, pumpkins, corn, carrots, sunflowers and radishes in the big vegetable garden. I'm excited.  Every morning I go out and check the progress but the nights are still cool and there isn't as much progress as there will be next month, or so Sam reminds me every single day. In the meantime I will busy myself trying to keep the grass alive under water restrictions already in place. The boys tell me I care too much but it's such a beautiful place, I want it to look like the utopia it feels like.

I also put the ghosts to rest and possibly one more of the living.

Things change, people change.

People age. 

All of it a trial. Temporary. Let's see if it works. Let's see what happens. Let's see where it goes. Let's see how it feels. Presented as a idea we can change at any time but when I look back it's being carved in stone, sure hands wrapped around hammer and chisel, marking it down for all eternity, one more chapter written and finished in Bridget's own messy handwriting, there on the shelf for all to see.

Today I went back to the doctor for another round of demoralizing experimental migraine prevention-management with a side of sexual harassment. Young Russian MD didn't disappoint with any of the above and I ducked a few more offers of underground plastic surgery in favor of some new pills that might work better but sadly the big side effect is weight loss, which he doesn't like but if I am closely monitored we'll give it a try. Also I can triple my pain meds if I need them. I only allow myself one per twenty-four hour period, for a maximum of three times a week.

Well, that's probably not going to help, he pointed out.

Oh, I said.

Caleb just shook his head. He's the reason I won't take medicines very easily but boy is he happy to be here today and he was pretty great at deflecting the sexual harassment on my behalf. I'm pretty sure he would have taken a bullet (or an aircraft carrier) for me but I'm not going to ask. I just would like for things to eventually settle and we can figure out where we stand but for now being in the same room without throwing sharp things at him is an incredible milestone for me and I'll take it. I'm afraid the early part of this week wasn't nearly so pleasant.

Quiet the foundling/Feed the beast.

I gave them my body
Now my memory won't let me sleep
Now I lay beside you
And when you touch me
I feel I don't deserve you
That's when you remind me

I say how could you love me
When you know where I've been

Time caught up with me yesterday and I never made it to the pool. I spent a quick six minutes with Caleb, who is fine, just a little tired and zoned out from the new meds he's trying out. He doesn't like side effects any better than I do and so the search continues for something mild but effective to help kill the burgeoning anxiety he feels now that his life has shifted gears once again. He doesn't have work to throw himself into anymore to ride it out. Now he gets to feel every jarring bump.

Good.

I asked him to call if he needed anything at all, repeatedly refused his requests to stay with him or come back or make plans and then as I was leaving I was thoroughly and magnificently ambushed by August, who wanted to show me some photos. We went back over to the gatehouse and up the back steps. He keeps his home neat as a pin. He's happy Joel is gone, as he likes his solitary time, unlike the Devil. He's hung some beautiful tapestries over the skylights so the light is diffused and the tiny fairy lights are on all the time. He's a walking oasis in a lifetime of desert.

While he's showing me things on his laptop that is haphazardly set up on the island countertop, he hooks his thumb through the string of my bikini. It's such a habitual move to keep my attention until he's ready to release me. Finally he runs out of show and tell and walks me to the door. I ask him if he wants to come swimming in the clouds since the sun isn't coming and we have extra space as a a result and he grins and says it's too cold.

You're not cold. I look up at him just inside the door.

He swears and lifts me up against the door, hands wrapped around my hips, lips against my ear. Strings are pulled, wishes granted and he isn't gentle at all. I shift instantly into someone I'm not sure I even am anymore, gearing right down to pull myself out of the hole I just fell into.

Jake-

Shut up, Bridge. He wraps both arms around me and carries me back across the room to his bed. The beautiful bed suspended from the ceiling. More fairy lights. More tapestries. More Jake-time, I don't care if he lets me say his name any more or not. They do things the exact same way. Touch me like I'm a mirror. Kiss me like it's yesterday and nothing ever went wrong. Claw my brain back to the start and I'll never finish the race if I can't get anywhere. Best damn thing.

He pulls me up to meet him, sitting in the middle of that big hanging bed, arms strong, eyes open, beard growing in full now, wavy hair too long and wild, hands warm, lifting me up against him. Then he holds me out so I fly, touching nothing, leaning back against his hands as he bends his head down, kissing a line up my throat to my mouth. Brushing away the tears, giving me nothing to have, hold or keep. Bringing a memory within reach only to move it higher up again at the last second.

More, Jake.

No more, Princess. This ghost is getting too old to keep up with you. He whispers it as he kisses my ear. Now go. I think you're out of time.

I frown and get up, finding pieces of my outfit everywhere, bikini top hanging on the corner of his laptop screen. I tie it hastily in the easy bows Lochlan taught me when I was nine. He's going to be so angry. I can't seem to fix this.

Will you come for dinner later?

August nods but doesn't look in my direction. The bed sways gently against its ropes and as I watch he closes his eyes.

Slipping into pools of medium blue.

(I sound so devious, but I'm not.)

I was up in time to have breakfast with Sam, who got up when PJ did to see Bailey off to the airport. PJ planned to drive her but she ordered a taxi late last night to arrive this morning instead.

Lochlan is still sleeping. Ben is downstairs probably facedown on the mixing board. He didn't even come to bed.

Sam was off in short order to go to church, offering me a ride. Naw, I need to spend the morning in hell instead and find out how the devil is doing. I indicate the boathouse and Sam frowns and asks PJ to make sure he watches my time. I have a momentary tantrum, stamping my feet and pointing out I won't conduct personal business with an hourglass and PJ tucks me under his arm, squeezes my neck really gently and points out that I will do whatever he tells me to do.

I wonder how many days it will take for Bailey's influence to wear off this time? It's usually a couple of days max and then they collapse in the face of my helpless charms and the need to be rocks instead of soldiers.

Works for me.

Sam texts me once he gets to church.

I hope you know how much I love you and that I would never ever hurt you. 

It makes me smile. He's letting God speak through him so I don't believe him for a minute.

PJ calls out to Duncan as he heads out to his truck. He is going golfing with August (who surfaced shortly after Bailey was gone) and Corey, who hates me ninety-nine percent of the time and loves me so hard the other one percent that it's twisted as fuck. He tells Duncan not to let me out of his sight. The slyest smile washes over Duncan's face that had I not been expecting it I would have missed it completely.

Crank up the heater and go for a swim, Babe? 

If I can defer you for half an hour so I can check on Cale, I promise, no longer than that?

Sure. Okay. See you in a bit. 

I almost roll my eyes in delight at how easy that was but instead I bite my tongue until it hurts and smile as he kisses my forehead and heads back down the hall to brush his teeth and find his swimsuit. Duncan isn't good with keeping track of time. He's the most laid-back spirit that ever lived. I promise myself not take advantage of him or get him in trouble and give myself twenty minutes to make sure the Devil is intact and then I'll head back to change. Twenty minutes is not enough time to get in trouble anyways. I'll be fine.

History-lite.

Bailey is here. She's stripping off our skin, leaving us all naked and raw, or so it seems. She's come to get her pound of flesh as an Aunt from Caleb for hurting her nephew (Henry isn't hurting, really. The only thing that he's concerned about was Caleb's interaction with me that he interrupted. It was the first and only time that's ever happened and since then they've been as thick as thieves once more. Kids are resilient. I tell you time and again, brain, but you don't listen.) and beg me and Loch to be normal for once.

Ha. 

I don't think that's a distant possibility even.

Her concerns are interesting to say the least and though she was the same age as Cole, being in all of Cole's and Lochlan's high school classes while I foundered in elementary school, she doesn't know them past when they were teenagers. She disappeared into a world of tupperware parties and interior designing and we packed up and hit the road to sing for our supper.

No two sisters could have been more different and yet when she showed up on the doorstep to kick ass and take names I felt a relief like I don't think I've felt before, even knowing nothing will change when she leaves, which is tomorrow morning, because she has her own life which constitutes changing flower arrangements according to season and booking trips and being busy.

Caleb however, looks thinner and more haunted as the days go on. He got the absolute worst of her ire. Good.

Sam and Duncan were told privately to each back off. She worries about them. Sam the surprise outlier. He's your confidante, Bridget. He's a given eventuality. 

Well, I know that and everyone else knows that but I didn't think she knew that. And he isn't because I love him too much to wreck him. He isn't shallow. It wouldn't end well. It's not like any other relationship I have with anyone.

Exactly, she points out.

Duncan tells her point-blank over breakfast that he isn't into relationshits anyway. She laughs. He can charm her so he does and I think she's ever so slightly unnerved by that. It's understandable. I mean, look at him.

August understandably just...left for the day. Ha. He doesn't want to be under a microscope. It's a long story.

She and Lochlan fight like sister and brother. That never changed. They bicker and square off and then make lunch together.

Bailey and the others are highly civilized and get along well. She treasures PJ for his role here, and John. She and Gage and Keith got along very well. Andrew and Christian gave her a warm reception that she echoed and I think Batman might be in love. Should I tell him her custom draperies will be more important than his feelings?

She can be cold and distant. Not like me.

She's not a sex addict like me. I remind them all. She won't hook up with anyone. It's not contagious or genetic.

It could be contagious. Ben wags his eyebrows. He's actually been on his best behavior. She can't understand where I get my insistence that he's wild and undomesticated. I feel uptight and like I'm on review. She tells me repeatedly that since I won't invoke the powers that be then they (the boys) need to know that others are watching and they won't get away with things they think they can get away with.

I think it's too late for that, Bay. 

It's never too late, Bridge. No one here has any control over you. Nothing is keeping you here. You can leave any time you want but you seem to like playing commune. 

That's when things shift back and I know she doesn't think too deeply or care too much but it looks good. A feather in her cap if you will and maybe some decorating inspiration, as well as her big-sister-duties completed for another year.

I love you, I tell her in a rush of regret because had I gone to her in the beginning things might have turned out so different. I would have a tupperware collection to rival the housewives of Edward Scissorhands instead of a collection of fucked-up men caring for a fucked-up girl.

But she doesn't hear me. She's watching Duncan wash the trucks. She's in her own world and that world isn't here.

Whoever is making these, I seriously love them.

Dangerously close.

I hoard some weird shit. Ben asked for a bandage this morning after biting a hangnail while we sat in stupid traffic on the bridge and I pawed through my bag, eventually dumping it out in my lap because I couldn't find one. Amongst the usual suspects we counted fourteen lip products, nine guitar picks and a whole stack of unused giftcards.

DAMN. Sephora, I'm coming for you.

Also the Keg. Maybe this weekend?

I finished up my call with Caleb quickly. He called to tell me that the results of his heart monitoring show that he's only healthy when I'm with him. Flattering and frightening. My favorite.

Eventually I found the band-aids in the tin with the Cambia packets and several dozen bobby pins. I'm prepared. He won't bleed out on my watch.

He picked up a lipstick and applied it expertly. So not your color, Benny. 

Not yours either. Why did you buy this one? 

It was in the Give Me Some More Lip set from Sephora. You can't choose the shades. 

You should give me some lip, Bridge. 

Right now? 

Sure. I think we'll be stuck in traffic a little longer. 

Gimme a second to put all this stuff back. 

Leave it all out and we'll play hot mess. 

That's gross. Such an apt description though. 

It is. He laughed. So is that a yes or....?

I loaded the bag back up and whacked him with it but he just smiled and kissed the back of my hand, holding it up against his lips. Then he licked it for good measure and said maybe we should go be a hot mess at home with Loch.

Agreed. 

At least now I know where all my guitar picks wind up. You're like my little magpie. 

I smile at him but I don't say anything.

You know they're going to say it hasn't hit you yet. 

I know. I look at the floor.

Loch is really worried, Bee. 

When is he not?

True. But it's only because he loves you the likes of which I have never seen before. 

You seem so sure about that.

Why do you bust his balls so hard all the time, Bridge?

Eyes back to the floor. I don't like getting called out any more than anyone else.

We've got a lot of history, Benny. 

It isn't his fault. 

I know. 

So why do you shove him away so hard?

To make room for you. 

Instead of a rabbit, he pulled out a girl. Comte would be proud.

My lion uses his top hat for courage.

He puts it on and he's bulletproof, ten feet tall. Dark as night. Loud as thunder. Strong as steel. He holds my soul aloft in the morning sun. He stole it while the Devil was sleeping. Sometimes we borrow it. Sometimes he paints it gold and sells it for cash and then steals it back again. Sometimes it's counterfeit, a substitute soul left out by mistake but on purpose to keep the original safe.

It's a fake, he proclaims, turning it over. A tiny Made in China sticker on the bottom gives it away. He holds it up over his head and smashes it on the tiled floor. When it shatters a tiny barn swallow flies out, finding safety in the rafters. She begins to sing and is soon joined by others. I go to clean up the mess and Loch tells me to leave it. That we need to find the original and soon, because maybe this is the small window in which I may be able to get my own soul back for good.

But what if he wakes up and finds it gone? 

It doesn't belong to him, what's he going to do? Courage makes Lochlan cocky, bold. I reach up and take the hat and put it on my own head. I get it. It's striking. It's his armor. On me it falls down to my nose, covering my eyes and he takes it back with a laugh.

You can't even see with it on. 

I don't need to.

We do. We need to keep our eyes open, Bridget. 

For what?

The bad guys.

What do they look like? 

They look like him, he motions ahead of us. Caleb is standing on the steps of the boathouse. He nods in return as Loch nods to him.

Definitely a bad guy. But you're safe because you're with me. 

The hat is a weapon. It's a shield. It's a wall that neither the Devil nor the Memory thief can knock down and that's okay with me.

Princess Outlaw (something about grown men and Patsy Cline).

I think it brings out their inner outlaw, or something close to that, anyway. In the exact same way that Def Leppard brings out my inner stripper.

Yes, just like that.

Only to be an outlaw you just sit back and wish you were in your rode-off cowboy boots, threadbare jeans and a leather jacket, unshaven for four or five years and able to kill a man with ease. To be a stripper you've gotta move, though leather and cowboy boots are fine. You can be unshaven for an hour tops, though waxing is better, and you can kill a man with your gaze but then he'll toss a five dollar bill in your direction, wink, and walk the fuck out to his truck and leave. Because that's what outlaws do.

So we split everything down the middle around here. They can be outlaws but no strippers and no draws. I can be a stripper, but only after midnight, as Patsy instructs.

What was I here to write about again? Because I can't remember.

Oh, yes. That. The lawyer meeting yesterday that almost saw an Avengers-caliber level of destruction before my baby lawyerling managed to get the floor long enough to put everyone in their place. I call him a lawyerling because he must be eleven, tops. But he has expensive taste and encyclopedic knowledge and he's too naive to actually be afraid of Caleb. He has no idea who Caleb is (was?) which works well in my favor but he also has no idea who Patsy Cline is either so sadly, while this kid will always be the law, he'll never be an outlaw, that's for certain.

He advised me to sue.

I already did that, I reminded him. Look where it got me. 

He throws a net worth statement at me with his eyebrows raised.

There's more to life than money. 

The eyebrows turn to question marks. Sigh. I need a lawyer who at least was alive when the Challenger blew up. Or at least saw the inaugural broadcast of Muchmusic. Something.

He suggested a bond of limitations, similar to a peace bond except that I can contact Caleb at will. Or I could block him completely. The settlement would continue but with much harsher restrictions. Or better yet, follow the advice of every lawyer, psychoanalyst and professional mental rearranger I've ever met who all say the same thing: Bridget, you won't get better until you get him out of your life. Cut off all contact. Excommunicate him forever.

I can't do that.

Or rather, I won't. 

So the meeting as mostly to finish up extracting him from the remainder of Henry's official paperwork and mine and to reassure him that I'm not cutting off his access to anything. This is where Lochlan lost his mind. Lochlan wants this to be done. He wants Caleb finished. He wants me to save myself.

And I can't. 

There won't be any punitive damages this time around, except to me once again and like Patsy my heartbreak will swell up around us like a song. If I explained it any further you'd hate every last one of us and I have enough enemies these days. Most of them claim to be in love with me. I never know for sure. I guess that makes me the outlaw. I have the cowboy boots but they're pink and I have the killing part down cold.