Hold the door.

We're talking, the Devil and I.

Because for years, he cared for my son, out of a sense of duty. Out of a need to watch over us. Because for years he's furnished a means for me to have this collective, to keep the circus going, keep it close. Because for years he's provided me the good parts of Cole. Because for years he made the world smaller that anyone else. Because for years he taught me to be brave. To face my monsters. And that the scariest monsters sometimes wear Tiffany cuff links and Valentino suits, and call you Sweetheart, and offer you the moon.

And because even if I continued to cut him off cold it won't bring Jacob back. Jacob isn't coming back. Jacob made the choice that he did and I don't agree with it. How could a technicality overshadow what is right in front of you? And then I remember how easy it is to become overwhelmed by what we feel and I don't blame him at all.

But you're supposed to find a coping mechanism. He had so many. God. Friends. Getting drunk and quoting Winnie The Pooh. His band. Singing all the time besides. Sex. Good. hard. sex. Running, even though he HATED running. Take out food. Long drives. Camping. Horses. Motorcycles. Helping others. Hospice. Chaplain duties. Teaching. Jesus. He had so much to take his mind off his own troubles, it's hard to believe he had time to be troubled.

In contrast to cope Caleb sits in a chair and looks at his brother's artwork.

Which is all of me, I might add.

Healthy.

But he's still here. And he needs more than a chair. More than some photographs and paintings and a dead brother and a surrogate not-your-family-after-all but we used to be related by marriage and a bunch of sometimes/former friends (they're trying, bless their hearts) and I am generous as always because to be anything else at this point just breaks more hearts and we've had enough of that. I have to set an example. I'm the toughest, so it makes sense.

“And I know it seems easy," said Piglet to himself, "but it isn't every one who could do it.” ~A.A. Milne

The man with a song for everything who sings for no one but me.

Don't think sorry's easily said
Don't try turning tables instead
You've taken lots of chances before
But I ain't gonna give any more
Don't ask me
That's how it goes
'Cause part of me knows what you're thinking

Especially if it's progressive rock, and distantly related to Pink Floyd, or so I was educated after his acoustic arrangement of the song, sung as I washed my hands at the sink in the half bath just off the side door where you enter from the driveway. I was marched there in tears after being caught in the garage lying on the floor trying to sort out guilt, obligation, and rage.

Sort it out with me, Lochlan tells me.

You won't let me. I tell him.

Right. Don't sort it out. Leave it be.

I can't leave this be!

Do it anyway! He yells in my face and we burst into fresh sets of tears for each other to admire and regret.

Try not to worry you.

I will try not to breathe
I can hold my head still with my hands at my knees
These eyes are the eyes of the old, shiver and fold

I love the internet when it serves as a dysfunctional respite, a mirror to my crazy, as since it's spring again the requests for a rundown of my beauty/makeup/fashion routine outweigh any concerns that a mafia henchpin-lynchman-kingturn-head of some syndicate something or other that Caleb is used to be messed up with found me alone and offered me their services after once trying to take me as a payment on a loan Caleb was paying back (on time, I might add. They now say it was all in good fun. What the fuck.), somehow deciding they can protect me better, obviously because, heh, where is everyone?

Newsflash. I don't require bodyguards. 

Maybe you do, they suggest.

Maybe you do, I counter, trying to tilt my head in a slight display of danger that might give them a little doubt but instead they see it as endearing and I can't win so I stamp my feet and that brings laughter. Laughter all around.

My comic instances, always so charming.

Ben, who finds gravity in nothing and nihilism in everything, thought it was sweet that they want to protect me. Like the rest of us, he said in stark contrast to the way he usually talks. Lochlan wants to know why they're back now, what they want, what angle they're working, if they're watching us/me/Caleb. Caleb no longer cares about them and tells me not to worry, that I haven't done anything wrong and he stopped all dealings with them anyway the moment I became a target the very first time and that if I would sleep easier we could go together and explain our history and explain our present and they would know that we've sorted it out.

Batman tells everyone he has it covered.

Does it involve even scarier people?

Oh, probably, he laughs, but they won't come visit you at church. You'll never see them, he promises and I believe that too.

Victoria Day plans.

Brrrrr. It's a jeans and flannel shirt and boots kind of day. Too wet to mow. Too wet to garden. Too wet to hike. Too cold to ride. Too miserable to play with the bears.

A perfect day to spend in bed with Netflix and pizza and just t-shirts, Ben says and he lifts his eyebrows waiting for my response while I sip my tea.

Danny and Sky made me the same offer an hour ago, I tease him and laugh and he reacts with mock horror and then waggles his tongue and tells me to message them and find out the times.

I push him off and tell him I don't think he was invited, just me and he pouts, saying I'm not going anywhere, lifting me up into him arms, pinning me against the counter, placing a tiny kiss underneath my ear with a smile. We had a rough week. Hit and run. Touch and go. Torch and flee. Flay and pray.

He sets me back to the floor and waits for confirmation that I'll stay with him.

I nod.

I'll go order the pizza then, he says. You get the redhead.

Went for God, found the Iron Curtain.

I went to church early with Sam this morning. He likes company, I get free coffee.

Once there, he turns up the heat and leaves me to pass out bulletins and set up while he runs for the coffee. We're a good team. I'm still a preacher's wife and a damn good one. The door opens far too soon, no way he could have made it all the way to Starbucks and back so I head down the sanctuary to help him with his purchases and just as I make it through the door I'm greeted by two Russian bodyguards and the kingpin himself, or whatever they call him. Papa is actually what they call him but I don't think any of them are related.

I take a step backwards but then one is taking my arm, walking me back toward him.

Don't be afraid, Papa orders as we reach him.

I'm not. 

Such a firefly, he says softly.

Caleb is on his way. 

No he isn't. 

Are you here for the service? 

No, this is personal, actually. I need to know if you need help with him. 

Caleb? No. 

He hurt you as a child. Does he continue to hurt you? Think carefully before you answer me. 

No. And I have no reason to protect him. 

Bridget, I'm going to give you a card. 

I have one already. 

This one is different. It reaches me directly. 

Who does the other one reach? 

My people. 

Oh. 

If you need anything you call the number on it. Anything. Twenty four hours a day. You call me. I will send someone or I will come myself. Twelve people have this privilege in the world but I like you. You ask for nothing. 

I nod.

Don't let him hurt you. You're worth more than that. 

I nod again.

How much are you worth?

More than that. 

Good girl. Have a nice day, okay? Don't show that card to them. I don't care if you tell them you saw me but the card stays with you at all times okay? It's not for them, it's for you.

Okay. I whisper. He bends down and kisses both my cheeks, the left one twice and then they're gone.

I'm still standing in the hall shaking like a leaf when Sam comes in with coffee and croissants ten minutes later.

Bridget, you're as white as a sheet! What's wrong?

Nothing. I just had a visitor. 

Who? 

Papa. 

The Russians?

The Russians. 

What did they want?

They apparently have my back.

What?

'Save the Bridget, save the world', I guess. 

Man, you charm everyone. 

But I DON'T. That's the thing!

Vicarious Dalecarlian.

By eleven thirty the party has wound down and everyone has wandered off into small groups. Dalton has stuck close by me and I him. Good. Three months without this one was rough, though I'm not sure who had it worse, me or him, or possibly Duncan, who shed every ounce of cool and had tears in his eyes for most of the evening as he hung on his little brother's every word. We abandoned the cold table in favor of the warm and cozy fire pit early on in the evening while Dalton regaled us with stories of..kale salads and bed every night by eleven alone. No women. No Netflix and no merch. Free days were spent in art museums and cathedrals. Free nights he had his Kale early and got extra sleep.

Wait. What? Where are the girls? Where are the broken hearts scattered all over Europe? Where is the love? 

Here with my family, he smiles. I'm so happy to be home.

He already got an offer to go back in the fall. He's not sure. 

He brought us all Dala horses from Sweden, in colors and sizes that correspond to our sizes and favorite colors. Ben's is the size of a cat and dark. Mine is palm-sized and teal blue. Loch's is red and covered with the most ornate filigree and about ten inches around. The rest of the boys got horses in their favorite colors somewhere from the same size as Ben's down to Lochlan's. The children's horses have inlays of enamel in them with their initials. He did amazingly well. They're just beautiful.

***

One forty-five and I have been summoned by the Devil, briefly for a check-in. Loch waits in the driveway, not because of the bears but for the demons. Caleb sits in his candlelit kitchen, all windows open to hear the roar of the surf washing over the rocks, and feel the cool night air washing over our skin. He's got three fingers of bourbon warming at his hand, the bottle close by. It doesn't look like it will be a pretty night (for him anyway). My night is almost over. I'm hardly awake still and Ben waits for me upstairs. A nice surprise after a week of veritable strangeness.

Neamhchiontach. 

I'm expecting a verbal flaying. Maybe some legal threats. I went where I haven't gone before.

Yes?

Are you...okay?

Pardon?

I mean...do you need anything?

I'm..okay. Are you...okay? Is there something I can do for you?

I'm...are you going to list my mistakes now for all to see?

Absolutely not. It serves no purpose. But it also serves no purpose to sugarcoat our relationship. 

Like we do now. 

Exactly, like we do now. 

We do, don't we, Bridget?

It works best, I think. I need to go. Loch is waiting-

How is he with this-

He didn't do anything-

He was there too-

He wasn't an adult-

Oh. I forget sometimes how much younger he is. 

He was seventeen. You were twenty, Diabhal. 

I'm so sorry, Bridget. 

Goodnight, Caleb. 

When I get back outside Loch is right there with his head pressed against the cedar shakes waiting for me, out-loud counting seconds into minutes, eyes closed.

Locket. Let's go.  

What did he want?

He asked if I was okay. 

Really?

And he wanted to know how much I was going to write about. 

There's the lawyer. Gearing up, I suppose. 

Of course. He tried to implicate you as well. 

Me?

Until I reminded him of how old you were. 

Lochlan thinks for a moment. And then what did he do?

He apologized. 

And?

I left.

Loch puts his arm around me and pulls me in close. He's going to try all sorts of approaches now to keep in your good graces. Run your own show, Peanut. 

I nod. I don't know if that means actually run my own show or let Loch run my show but it's late and I'm done thinking about anything save for colorful horses and the fact that tonight, we're all home and the gate is closed and it's my favorite moment of all when that happens.

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.