Worst/best conversation ever.

Duncan is trying skip rocks on a roiling sea this morning in the rain. I'm balancing on a rock nearby with my teacup and we're somehow not mortal enemies.

Because hope still exists, Duncan says.

For what? I ask innocently, but I know better as he winks at me.

I'm teasing you, Bridget. And frankly, I don't know what I would have done had you invited me into that room. Part of me would have grabbed you on the spot, the other would have sent you upstairs with a lecture and a smack on the arse to make you cry for being tough on Loch again. I'm here but for the grace of his generosity and nothing more-

No, you're here but for the grace of MINE. 

Damn. Wish I'd known that yesterday. And he smiles a rueful smile and I smile back really big and we're okay, we're just plain awful.

It's raining, Duncan. We should go back and make coffee. 

Yeah, we should. Think they hate us?

The plebes always hate the beautiful people, I tell him and he laughs harder.

For the little fragile miss, you've got a 'narse streak a mile wide. 

It's an act. 

That's the sad part, but you're a great actress. 

I know. Suddenly the levity is gone.

I wouldn't of turned you down, Bridge. 

I would have offered, Dunk, but I couldn't. Are we good?

We're always good, Babe. I think somehow keeping ourselves on our toes works. 

You do realize they had a pool going. 

Bridge, there's one for every guy you haven't slept with yet, my brother included. 

Wow. Nice to be known as the point whore. 

Well, you are the only woman here. Slim pickings. Not like there's much of you to be had even if you did go around. 
 

They had a pool going. PJ said he's out hundreds. He was sure. SO SURE that I would cave in and sleep with Duncan. But that he's so glad I didn't that it was worth the money he lost. That I can pay him back in sexual favors. And they wonder why I'm so fucked up as an adult. Seriously.

Rails.

Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

I'm fucking up my entire life.

Miss? Pardon me? Do you have an emergency?

You know what? I think I may have this, sorry to bother you. 

That's how it plays out in my head. In real life I sent two words to the message group on all our phones we labelled 911 that is reserved for the all-time worst moments of our life. The words?

Dalton's room

I heard a chair knock over one floor above me. I heard a door fly open and hit a wall and I heard feet on stairs as they came running and I lay there and cried because I'm awful but I did the right thing.

Or rather, I didn't do anything.

If you could only let your guard down
If you could learn to trust me somehow
I swear, that I won't let you go
If you could only let go your doubts
If you could just believe in me now
I swear, that I won't let you go

Duncan took my refusal of breakfast (or company) as a sign that I wanted to be left alone and made himself scarce, heading back to his room, closing the door probably long enough to dress and then the door opened again and I heard the front door open and close. I heard an engine start and he was gone.

I sent my text. He would have received it just like everyone else. I'm not sure who is more relieved or more crushed. It's a road you can't turn back from. You can pretend you didn't see what was down that way. You can try but it's never quite the same. Ask PJ. Ask August. Duncan's always going be a weapons-grade threat to me but he's never going to be enemy number one and I'd really prefer to have more friends than enemies at this point, on this point. He would laugh and tell me he'll take that chance and that's exactly what I'm afraid of.

Lochlan's angry regardless. No one's going to blame him.

Stay upstairs. Stay out of people's beds. Jesus, Bridget! Boundaries. This isn't hard. Right and Wrong. It's black and white. It's easy, Peanut. For Christ sake, you've been through so much and you just keep finding more trouble. Just stop. Stop it, Bridgie. Please. You don't have to do this anymore!

I'm staring at him while he shakes me and it's like he's grown taller and blonder. Possessed by the soul of a preacher or maybe it's the other way around and Jake wore Lochlan's soul and maybe they're so much more alike than I ever realized before. Life is so simple to them. Cut and dried. Part and parcel. Black and white and it wasn't until Lochlan said it that I realized he's operating from the same place. Blind and deaf to everything I feel. Unwilling to understand why it's so hard. Why I can't do it. Why I can't just cooperate. Why I can't just stop. Why I can't get over it/knock it off/fall in line/smarten up/straighten out.

It's definitely not the first time I've ever been let down by someone but it's probably the first time I've ever been disappointed by someone and allowed myself to actually feel it. Now I know how he feels every damn day of his life.

I keep feeling like we fall apart
Better than we fall in love
I can’t seem to shake this feeling

Really I would have been content to spend all morning lying in Dalton's warm (empty) bed playing Owl Simulator and watching the rain pour down the glass. I hijacked a second phone too, just like the bed so I can listen to Shake This Feeling in one ear and The Grace in the second because I'm insane like that but it works.

Alone
Where I'm not alone

Duncan comes the doorway with a towel around his waist, freshly showered. Did you eat already or would you like something?

Kill me, please. Make it quick and painful, make it exquisite and whatever you do, donate my brain to science and tell the world I'm sorry.

Sam said it means Christ. "Oh boy, Bridget. What have you done?"

They didn't actually put me down in the grass. Jesus, people. Can you use your imaginations? I'm pretty sure they just drug my food as needed. It's far more fun to be facedown in my dinner plate anyway, isn't it? Especially if it's tacos. Ouch. That would hurt. I imagine taco cuts are like paper cuts, you get all sliced up with stingy corn cuts in your cheeks, unless they're soft tortillas in which you wind up with a big squishy cheese mess all over EVERYTHING and that would be just-

What did I come here to talk about? I forgot.

Lochlan runs his warm hand across my stomach early this morning. He hates this tattoo. (You look like the end of a pirate treasure map, for Pete's sake.) Hates it but he understands why I have it. Honestly he's glad I have it as much as he hates it. As he said on his way out the door while Mark was finishing cleaning it up, One down, one to go. 

The open vitriol surprised me so much I gasped. Mark's face came up over mine. Okay, there, sunshine?

I nodded.

Give him credit. I would have blown Caleb to kingdom come years ago.

Jesus, guys. My eyes water and Mark passes me a piece of paper towel. I ball it up and hold my fists against my forehead. Count to fifty, Bridget. Let it pass. Explore a city you don't know inside your mind. What's around the next corner? What would you put there to find?

Sam was teaching me self-control, emotional control before they took him away from me too. Not literally but figuratively. A 'break', they called it. Because I'm so intense I can break people from twenty yards away. He was breaking. I was breaking too.

Lochlan got a tattoo while Mark was here as well. Dóiteáin (pronounced doe-chane.). It means fire. (Surprise.) Across his back.

[Oh, you want a Gaelic lesson?

 Neamhchiontach is pronounced nav-shun-toch. Diabhal is said as doe-vol.]

But yeah, a week from now is the date that ten years ago I watched as the light went out of Cole's eyes and let me tell you it's the most frightening thing I think I've ever seen. Certainly the most profound in that you have no control. You can't stop it, you can't change it and I had to mark it. I had to do something about it. I had to find some way to have some power over that moment or it would continue to eat me alive. Maybe it's never going to stop. Maybe I am doomed by my ghosts and by my living alike.

Maybe the X is perfect. It does mark the spot. But I'm not going to write much about Cole today, I'll save that for next week but I'm deliriously happy with the tattoo, in spite of Sam's teasing. It's just a big fucking X. It can mean anything. It can mean everything. It can mean nothing. It's just perfect.

Something I'm not.

Chemical capture.

Today is less insane. I think they had a meeting after shooting me with a tranquilizer dart in the yard on my way back into the house and August warned them all that I need consistency, support and patience, not endless arbitrary rules, jealousy and infighting.

Actually what I need is sleep, food and booze, I told them with a laugh as I hit the grass face-first. Fuckers didn't even catch me. In my dreams it felt terrific and when I woke up I felt like me again.

I'm actually not a pot-stirrer. Habitually I don't throw dishes. I don't yell. I don't even talk back. If anything I stop talking. I stop reacting, I just plain stop. I turn into a shadow, a statue. I don't do anything. Lochlan says it's possibly more frightening, more maddening, more difficult than plate-throwing, yelling Bridget. At least then she's saying how she feels, what she needs, what she wants.

I realize that but it's too out there, too bratty, too out of control for me and I feel ashamed and immature and awful. But they're all cheering me on, for fucks sakes. Until they want to turn it off, I mean.

So I didn't get any of the beans I grew for dinner, I got medicine and a hot shower and a clean warm bed and it was lights the fuck out and I was gone and I didn't dream until early this morning and then I was up early and I was starving. Still am but coffee seems like the only thing my stomach can handle. My brain loves pills. My body? Not so much.

Onward and upward now, Princess. A voice cuts into my head in the dawning light as I sip the bitter gold. Too much sugar, not enough caffeine, as usual.

I nod. Working on it, Preacher.

Good girl. 

Oh, don't you say it too.

Ten degrees isn't t-shirt weather and I need some sleep, I think.

Cold and rainy today and I've had my lecture for heading out with Sam without technical permission. John had his lecture and kindly told Lochlan to go fuck himself, though he means it as a friend, because in order for this to work Lochlan needs to let go a little bit, especially and most importantly when it comes to people who know Bridget's head and how to keep it on straight better than the magic man himself. Besides, John was there. Problem solved. Bodyguard in place.

I'm not going to let anything happen to her, Brother. Never have, never will. 

Lochlan thought long and hard about continuing to push against this logic but ultimately decided John was right and he shook his hand and apologized. He came to apologize to me and I stared at him with my best steely-eyed child's disappointment, picked up my colander and went out to the garden to get beans for dinner.

He didn't come after me. Ben came out eventually because I was taking too long and said supposedly now we're surround by not only men and bears but also those coyotes now too. Many of them. And it's getting late so maybe I should come in.

They're like dogs. They sing because they're afraid of the dark. 

They sing because they're hungry, Bridget. 

The fence is live, I'm not worried. 

Loch is worried. You daydream. I've heard the stories. 

I don't do that anymore. Yeesh. Next he'll be wiping my ass for me. 

That's what I said. 

But you don't say anything to him. 

How do you know I haven't? It's taken you close to two and a half hours to pick a pound of beans. 

I'm thinking! 

About what? 

Why you only come when there's trouble.

Danger, he corrects me.

Whatever. I'm tired and soaked to the skin. I'm cold. I don't even fucking care anymore. This isn't Utopia today. Today it's prison and I got yard duty.

Let's go inside and get a fire going. You're shivering. Give me the bowl.

He reaches for it and I take whatever strength I still have and fling it about ten feet away. All of the beans spray out in an arc across rows of tomato cages and the colander comes to rest against a pumpkin plant beside the fence.

I don't want to! I tell him. Maybe it's not even his fault, maybe a lot of it is but I stand there staring at him and he stares back and finally he turns and goes to the fence, picks up the bowl and heads back toward the house without another word. I would feel bad about seeing him go alone but he's left me on my own for months now.

I pick up a bean and eat it. 

When I turn to see if he's gone he is standing at the gate waiting. He looks at his watch.

I've got all day, Brat. he calls. He's smiling.

Asshole. I call back.

A real hungry one too. Better pick up those beans. Dinner's in an hour. 

You took my bowl. 

Fill your pockets. 

I don't have any pockets. 

Fill that gaping hole in your face that all those stupid lies come out of. Like me only being here when there's trouble. Is there trouble right now? Nope. Only rain. Only beans. Seems pretty low key for a Monday actually. Could you hurry up, Bee? I'm fucking freezing. 

No! Fucking do it yourself. 

I'll pay someone to do it. 

No one TOUCHES my garden except me. 

Then get to work. He frisbees the bowl at my head and I scream and duck down into a ball, losing my balance. I sit down in the mud hard.  

ASSHOLE! 

WHAT? 

I fell! 

Then pick faster so you can go in and change. 

Help me. 

What's that?

Can you help me? Please?

Are you asking for me to help you? 

Are you fucking deaf too? 

No, I've just been waiting for this for EIGHT FUCKING YEARS, BRIDGET but you're too goddamned stubborn. Just wait right here. He takes off his hoodie and slides it around me and heads into the garden, scooping beans into the colander as he goes. He goes up three different rows and somehow comes back in seconds with the full bowl that I threw and kisses me hard, almost knocking me off my feet, shoving the bowl into my arms, smiling at me gently, waiting until I hesitantly smile back.

There's dinner. All's well that end's well. I feel like I have to get you to some sort of incredible level of rage to reset you, almost and then you're you again. Except your lips are grey and the rest of you is...very dirty. Let's get inside.  

Three steps forward, Five steps back.

Sunrise service by the sea this morning as Sam baptized a small group of new members who alternately shook with nervousness, wept with joy and smiled with an adoration only reserved for these sorts of events. I had the lucky position of playing helper in that I was right at the edge of the action taking photo and video, and holding bibles, phones, handbags, wallets, glasses, anything they didn't want to see ruined by seawater. Most wore swim trunks and dress shirts (men) or swimsuits with an old dress over top for women, and sandals so it wasn't a huge deal.

John played towel boy.

Remind me to have some small totes printed up so we can put their things into totes they can keep as a memento. Way more fun than a new bible. No one needs those.

Bridget-

It's true, they really don't, Sam. 

I'm driving his (Kia) Soul home because he hates driving in his wetsuit. Too restrictive, he says.

So change, I always tell him.

Takes too long.

For a minister you're very stubborn. 

I think it's a job requirement, he winks at me.

You know? You're right! 

Thanks for all of the help today. Only the morning people can hack this lifestyle. 

I don't mind. I love watching people's faces. 

You want to do it? 

Do what?

Be baptized? 

I was when I was eight in the United Church. 

But Jake didn't do it? 

No. 

That really surprises me, Bridge. 

He probably would have eventually. 

Hey, we're home. Let's make some breakfast, I'm starved. 

His glaring subject change does nothing to wash away my sudden debilitating doubt. Why wouldn't you want to save your own wife? Why didn't he do that first? He baptized both children before they were a year old, by my request.

He knew it was already too late, that's why.

(Here comes my memory thief.) Bridget, don't think like that-

But it's true, isn't it, Sam?

I can't speak for Jacob. He isn't here. 

And that's the problem, isn't it?

Ow.

Oh my God. I would post but I just finished this...gigantic club sandwich with double bacon and an entire plate of french fries and I can't even breathe.

It was the best.

I think I love food more than boys. Loch said he's sure of it. He says the look on my face every night on the Midway at supper in the diner when the waitress put my plate down made him so jealous he didn't know what to do with himself.

I said if he was a real magician he would have turned himself into a freaking sandwich and solved all our problems, obviously. We tried to have a giggle but it hurt too much. Still does. I need to go lie down. He said he'll remain standing, thanks until he burns enough calories to bend again. I think we found a winner of a greasy spoon with portions so big they're clearly enough for maybe three or four people instead of one so now we know for next time and can protect ourselves, at least.

So good.

The red and the white.

Happy Canada Day! This year marks our 149th birthday. Holy!

An amazing day today. A huge nonstop all-day all-night pool party (still going, guitars are coming out now) here and it's just warm enough in the sun without being too blisteringly hot to enjoy it and still wear earrings and a sarong with my pink bikini.

Caleb, Christian and Schuyler are manning the barbecue pit, Batman, Lochlan and PJ are the bartenders (Lemonade, pop or slushies) and Henry and all of his friends are taking care of the dessert station AKA lingering close and eating all of it. I'm keeping salads, fruit and veggies refreshed as required. Christian, Duncan and August are lifeguards. Sam is keeping mixed groups of teenagers out of the sauna and in plain sight, and Ruth and her friends are lounging on the big double chairs or in the hot tub, snapchatting just about every second of the day to each other, which is weird because they're all here. Together.

John is throwing people off the cliff as requested (only if you are twenty or older, much to the kids' dismay).

Daniel is sleeping up at his house. He'll do teardown by himself tonight.

Dalton and Andrew, Gage and New Jake are playing water polo on each other's shoulders. They invited me to play but it's far too rough so Ben said no. He is standing with a can of pop watching the kids enjoy themselves and he just looks so happy with everything. He looks like a vampire too, in that he is so pale it's striking.

We have a sunscreen station where you get sprayed to bits before you can go poolside. That is immediately at dropoff in the driveway much to the delight of 90% of the parents who forgot to equip their kids before bringing them over. I have waterproof sport 110 SPF spray sunscreen by the case and zinc for noses and lips and extra sunglasses and hats too.

The kids call it running the momlet (as in gauntlet) and roll their eyes. I tell them they'll be so freaking happy not to be snapchatting each other their lobster selfies tomorrow it will be worth it.

Now when is it cool to send seventeen-year-olds home so I can go to bed?