The Devil's cover letter.

There's such a tiny little part of me that is a shallow, materialistic nightmare most of the time I can forget about her, but the Devil knows how to coax her out of hiding in spite of my best efforts to kill her off, quash her forever and be the free spirited light traveler I was groomed to be before the Devil took over. Now I run a fine balance between being a capable earth mother and a helpless walking nightmare. I'd like to say it's all his fault but I'm loathe to give him anything, including credit at this point.

I was out watering the herbs on the patio this morning when he wanders over oh-so-casually and without preamble drops his latest thought on my head. It was heavy. I'm shorter now and have a headache. Talk about left field.

If this property isn't satisfactory, Neamhchiontach, we can find one that is.

I'm sorry. What?

He takes a deep breath. Everyone has dealbreakers. You have to decide if this is one of yours. 

Frankly I don't care if we live in a cave. The discussion was private, the thought was fleeting. 

I can have the camper moved, if he won't do it. I can look after virtually anything he won't do, Bridget, and you know this. It worked for Cole and for Ben and it can work for Lochlan too if you stop writing down every single thought that crosses your mind. 

Maybe you should stop saying every thought that crosses your mind out loud. 

Consider it. Seriously. No man can be everything. Especially to someone like you. 

Someone like me. I wondered for hours afterward what he meant by 'someone like you'. And the little tiny part of me that goes for broke (or maybe goes for rich) started jumping up and down yelling Oh boy! We get our house on the beach! SCORE!, even though it will probably never happen.

Because I can't be discreet, and because he'll never settle for second place.

Serenity Princess (accepting those I can't change).

The further you go
I should have known
No use in holding
When it's already gone

It's Monday and I'm still here on the surface of the fucking sun, so let's do a barometer (a core dump as Loch calls it) and then I'm going to go outside by the pool and wait for my brain to melt and start pouring out my ears where it can mix in a puddle in my lap with my heart and I'll let the whole mess slide into the water. Pink and blue. So if you fly over the area I'll be the one with the now-purple pool, just outside Horseshoe Bay.

There is endless loud derision for the fact that I regularly sleep with counselor number one (August) and seem to always be just about to with number two (Sam). I don't know if it's any of anyone's business. I'm doing okay right now (Look, Ma, no meds!) and I haven't been caught anywhere (in the past eight hours at least) talking fervently to ghosts or demons alike.

I'm in love with everyone though. Still. Always.

That has to count for something.

In other news if I have to pick between DC and Marvel, I'm going with DC. Sorry but it seem obvious that I'll pick the dark brooding emotional superheroes over the shallow slapstick ones, though Iron Man teeters in between. I'm a Batman girl all the way, he's my favorite.

The actual Batman in my life I'm trying to avoid. Long story. He's presently Lochlan's boss and mine as well, though I am contracted a whopping six hours a week with work I can do in two. It's sweet of him to attempt to take over Sugar Daddy duties but well, long story, he isn't. I've had several vague yet sweet invites for breakfast in bed or whatever. I haven't refused them, I choose not to acknowledge them at all. Maybe he appreciates the sparing of his dignity in a way I don't appreciate the kindly sexual harrassment. We're so civilized in our strange relationship.

Since we're talking about sugar, I am not allowed to move the camper down to the beach. I had even found a company who could do it at great expense but Loch said no. Then he said I was immature. Oh my fuck. I just want to live on the beach. Didn't think that was too much to ask. If I ever move, he's not invited.

Speaking of invites, I received a beautiful one on pewter stationery to spend Christmas in Tahoe this year. Which would be...well, amazing. Obviously I'll have to refuse. In lieu of being able to do that (bait, switch), I was also invited for a horror movie night this weekend. I might be able to swing that. He is still my (boy)friend, after all (shhh just shut up just shut up) and I somewhat betrayed him and would like to make peace with that, as long as it doesn't involve being held up against a door by my throat, that is. Or at gunpoint. You know. That all kind of kills the mood.

Yes, I have the new Switchfoot album (well, there's a shift in subject matter). No, I haven't had time to give it my requisite five consecutive-listens through but it's audibly stunning. I love I Won't Let You Go and Shake This Feeling and Holy Water and Where The Light Shines Through (also the name of the album, don't you know) and If The House Burns Down Tonight. It's amazing. The boys all love Float because they're huge Jamiroquai fans and it seems to be in a similar vein to that genre but really Switchfoot could put out an album of all white noise and I would love it. Some songwriters seem to have the keys to unlock my mind, I think.

It's a nice change from PJ's recent steady musical diet of The White Buffalo. PJ doesn't have headphones, he plays all his music from the stereo that's wired into the house whole. The whole point, rather so if he is listening to something, we're all listening to it.

In other album news, it's the summer of genre mixing, apparently. I caught Royal Tusk live this summer and fell in freaking brutal, thorough love with a song they have called Above Ground. The chorus. Jesus, the chorus. It's like someone flipped open the top of my skull and started stroking my brain. It's the most glorious thing to hear live that you will ever hear in your life. Well done. All their other songs are good too but that one blows my little mind.

New Jake is doing really great, thanks  to those who have asked after him. He has a new (read: WORKING) insulin pump and is stable. I'm so happy people ask about his health. He's in a better headspace these days so he's managing very well. Sometimes my readers rock. Batman does too. He keeps Jake too busy to fall into holes, something Batman tried to do with me and failed because I'm "not motivated". I'm busy, uninterested in being his girlfriend because he is difficult.

Ben is also doing really well. Maybe it's a relief and I should be insulted? I'm not. I'm glad. All of this rearranging was tough and somehow easy at the same time. He's making an effort to be present but feels free to not be, too, if that makes sense. He's got a lot of work coming up that he can do from home and he's suddenly thriving. He also has the beginnings of a tan from all the gardening I make him do.

Yes, that's right. You didn't misread. Vampire Benjamin has a tan. A farmer's tan so just his neck and arms but IT'S A START.

In our garden just four out of the some eight hundred tomatoes in the garden are ripe. The pumpkins are ripening for fucks sakes and the hundreds of green tomatoes just hang there, mocking me because the nights are cold. I have heirloom seeds from everyone I know for next year already and things will be better. I'll be kicking the garden up a notch. Not as many tomatoes. Broccoli and garlic and rosemary in spades. I'm campaigning for some goats and chickens too but I have to check the bylaws to see if we're rural enough. I mean, we must be. There are no pokestops, gyms or nests for fifty miles. I have a page of pidgies and a Pikachu I hatched myself from an egg and otherwise I'm not playing Pokemon unless we drive downtown where the park is freaking full of Tentacools. Score. LOL

Jake would have hated Pokemon. We had very rudimentary Blackberry phones and woefully underpowered flip phones then. When I'm reminded of Jacob and his dumb little cellphone that barely worked I get a weird warm feeling now that seems to take a few more minutes to morph into a painful ache in my head and my stomach. Maybe I can credit the boys with being here, spending time, making things fun and keeping me distracted. Maybe time does change the way we react to constantly being aware that someone you love isn't coming back. Maybe I'm learning to live with the things I can't change. Maybe it's just a temporary great spot, treading hearts right here and I'm about to be sucked into a black hole in spite of my efforts not to. I don't know exactly. Cross your fingers.

I still have the phone. It's in pieces but I have it.

That's really all for today. See you tomorrow.

Sunday weirdos.

Heat makes things strange. Makes them ripply and mirage-like. Makes them smoke and waver. Makes them melt. It makes me lethargic and yielding. Makes me cranky and weak.

Beach Jesus/Sermon at the Sea was warm and overly sunny for me and I grew so tired of squinting I turned and walked back to Sam's car two-thirds of the way through the service. He parked in the shade. I sat with the door open fanning myself and feeling sweat pool in the center of my back and underneath each ear, somehow. I took off my hearing aids and put them away.

Thirty minutes and he was back. You alright? 

Good work, Sam, I tell him again in my deepest voice.

If it was good, why'd you leave? 

Too hot. Now I miss the Prairie winters suddenly. Ten months of the year without sweating, as long as you can make it through eight weeks of forty degrees.

It's only warm like this for three or four weeks out of the year here.

Yes and I hate it. 

And you miss driving on ice?

Fine, you win. Can we go home now? I'm going to need help moving my bed into the pool. 

Let's go out for lunch first. There's a little place I found downtown that's really good. 

Downtown? We won't get home until one. 

Oh well. 

Lochlan's home today. 

Ah. I've been replaced. And so soon. He looks down with a huge comical frown.

Never. But if he doesn't have to work I want to be with him. 

You really like the guy, don't you? 

Naw, I'm just bored and I want to play connect the dots. He has the most freckles. 

Actually I think you do. 

Shhh. We don't speak of those. 

But my face is covered. I've been marked by Jesus as one of the unbearable ones, a hot mess when everyone else is positively worshipping this weather instead of the things they're supposed to devote their faith to.

The Lord makes beautiful things. He smiles at me, turning on the car, turning up the air conditioning, motioning for me to close the door.

Like your Poland belt buckle? 

Ha! No, I think that was made in Taiwan. 

Oh. Really? Not Poland? How curious. 

I know! That's part of it's charm!

Shrinkage (take it any way you like).

Sam finishes another lesson by handing me a gold star from a roll he keeps in his office for Sunday school attendance.

Good work, Bridget.

You're biased because I'm in a swimsuit.

Actually I was going to talk to you about that.

You'd rather I didn't wear it?

Yes. Wait, no. I was going to tell you to wear your wetsuit for the lessons so that you don't burn.

I don't think the lesson is long enough for that to happen.

The sun is reflected in the water. You burn faster.

Oh. If you want, I can. But just say it, because me sunburning isn't the reason.

It's distracting to the point where I forget what I'm supposed to say.

You say "Good work, Bridget." I do it in a deep voice and he laughs.

Well, as long as you can prompt me, then, I guess it's fine.

It's way too hot for any more clothes. I was actually going to campaign for naked lessons.

Clear it with your husband and it's a go.

God, I can't wait to see you in your birthday suit yelling at me to breathe.

Wait, I thought you meant the student would be naked. I can't be naked.

Why not? Is it a sin against the Lord, Reverend?

What if I get excited?

Then you EMBRACE it! Jesus. It's forty zillion degrees and we have a pool! Boners for everyone!

Bridget, I swear to God. You're a man, aren't you?

I wish. Then I could write my name in the pool with my pee.

Okay, now that's just wrong.

I mean the snow!

Marginally better. You're obsessed with having a penis though.

Now you know how I got to this strange and wonderful place.

Collectors and defectors.

I haven't slept yet. Our hours of languishing flat out on the sand last night on the big round beach blankets watching shooting stars was followed with a night of being passed back and forth, being held up, being held down and being turned over so many times gravity ceased to be a factor because I couldn't tell which end was up. I became a falling star overnight only when I came back through the atmosphere I was supercharged instead of destroyed.

Ben could tell which end was up, thankfully, and he was anxious to reconnect in a new way. He likes it dirty and rough and difficult and by the time they stopped fighting over me I had flutters and shakes and was bathed in sweat. True to form they both fell asleep while I was in the (autoclave) shower and when I came out, Lochlan was flat on his back, snoozing deeply and Ben was almost spooning with him, one hand holding the top of Lochlan's head, the other holding my pillow against his chest firmly.

I wish I could post photos of that. I take them, I just can't share them.

Ben looks good though. The dark circles are gone and so is the beard. I thought I was throwing him under the wagon, marrying Lochlan but it seemed to calm him down, as if all the vigilance and strategizing of the past eight years can be relaxed at last.

I left them sleeping and went to find a bottomless mug of coffee.

Eventually they surfaced and right away, Loch asked me to come back upstairs.

Jesus, you're a machine. 

I wish. I have something for you, he said.

Upstairs we went where he went and pulled a largeish flat box out from underneath the bed and set it on the bed.

Open it. He smiles at me almost shyly.

I open it. Oh my holy water. Inside? At least a dozen pastel sets of the most beautifully soft vintage lingerie I've ever seen, far over the cashmere and velvet outfits he burned yesterday. It's all in perfect new condition and all in my size. I try on everything. Not a stitch is amiss, not a seam puckers or lifts. Uncanny. The slips fit like gloves. The garters are the perfect length. The bras contain everything yet still manage to be completely scandalous. I look almost..I mean...kinda sexy almost. He sits quietly, watching my fashion show, admiring my skin in between trips to the mirror. Hell, I'm admiring myself right now. Geez.

How did you-wait, when did you do this?

I've been adding to this collection for years. I've found pieces in Europe and the US but it was hard to find such small sizes so it's taken a long time but I knew I wanted to make the most beautiful collection for you.

And Caleb found out and beat you to it. 

He heard me telling PJ a while back that I wanted to go one better than Jacob and all that lingerie he bought for you that you liked. But Cale cheated. Everything was new again. That's not the same. Money can buy whatever. This is history. None of this is younger than 1960. I remember you looking at those retro Vaudeville girls on the sideshow. I remember you saying everything you wore would be velvet and satin and beautiful. I don't forget anything you say.

I can't believe he did that. 

Bridget, our entire history is steeped in his concentrated efforts to ruin everything for me but it didn't work. I have everything now and I want you to have everything. I want to spoil you for anyone else so that you will only be mine. I want to give you everything I couldn't give you before. 

Can we still have cheeseburgers though? I like eating those with you.

As many as you can eat. 

We both say half a one at the same time and he smiles so wide, eyes glistening that I loose my composure in the neatly stitched ribbons and ruffles.

I kiss him hard, wavering slightly. I still can't feel my legs but at least I look good.

Lochlan. 

Yes. 

Thank you. I don't even know which set to wear first. 

We'll pick, each day. How does that sound?

Perfect. 

Love you, Peanut. Glad you're finally old enough to wear some of this. 

Wait, how many years were you collecting it for? 

The first two sets I found in 1982. 

But-

Yeah, before Jake. Before everything. I mean, it looks now like I'm just copying everybody but I was-

You were here first. 

Yeah. I was. And I'm back. And I still love you as much as ever. 

How much is that?

More than anyone would even comprehend if ever they stopped to consider.

It's Perseid time!! Get your asses outside!

The velvet bonfire.

True to his word, he set it all ablaze. True to his word he left his fists at his side and instead asked me again to be different. To be that little girl he used to know before time and experience turned me into a stranger to him. True to his word he asked but did no push. True to his word he gave my name as his though it hasn't changed yet.

Yet.

I'm thinking about it.

What do I wear? I asked this morning in between the flames of sunrise.

Nothing, he said. And he laughed without letting his eyes in on the joke and we stood and watched the light change into something new and I was completely comfortable in my own skin while he roiled and tossed in his.

We were soon joined by the Devil, who came out to watch the fire, hands in his pockets, unreadable expression masked by forced joviality.

I see the renovations have begun. You going to light her counselors on fire too? Gosh, maybe we should take before and after pictures. The new and improved Bridget, version 4.0. Find the difference. Oh, right. There isn't one.

Lochlan didn't say anything, having escaped into the roar of the flames, blocking out the cold.

I turn to Caleb. He does what he needs to do.

As do you, clearly. Logic and Impulse. You two won't make it a month.

We've only been inseparable for three decades.

She puts no weight in your presence, Doiteain. The word is drawn out to make a point.

Things take time.

THREE DECADES, Pyro.

Diabhal, go inside. Please.

I'm fine, thanks, Neamhchiontach. If he's going to try to destroy what I've built then I'll undermine what he builds. She won't change for you, Brother. She's still going to go to them and then eventually she's going to come back to me. I wired her this way for a reason. That reason wasn't you.

I can get her back.

You already HAVE me back!

You can't keep her. That's the problem. But good effort. Impressive show, as usual. For that, I'll give you full credit. He throws a twenty into Lochlan's top hat, which rests upside down on the ground near his feet, and turns and walks away.

Late than never.

I couldn't think of a better Wednesday.

I spent an exorbitant amount of time today in an artist's loft in the middle of nowhere on the sunshine coast. I found a kindred spirit and a great place to explore. I ate crab cakes and drank cheap coffee and crawled over logs in the woods and strolled along new beaches and nodded carefully as people pointed out that life is short. I nodded like I understood their lesson without educating them on how I already know these things. I listened well.

It was a most perfect day but we were home on the after-supper ferry and I turned back into a small pale pumpkin as the sun set somewhere over my right shoulder, far behind me. Lochlan kissed the top of my head and asked if I had fun and I did. Unequivocally.

Horizon lines.

You're okay with this? 

They had a thing long before we did. We were familiar faces far from home. That was it. There was no expectation that it would continue once we left. That's why they're getting together. She's not the one that got away or anything like that. August is easy, casual when he speaks about Erin and Christian. I wonder briefly if he's ever been in love. Tell me about Loch. How is he faring now that you're home? Right back to work I see.

A week is all we could have right now. He's...He wants me and the kids to change our name to his.

You can't blame him, Bridge. Any label he can put on you to tell the world you're his is a given at this stage. 

It never crossed my mind. Not since I was twelve and used to practice my signature with his last name. I didn't think it mattered anymore.

He runs his hand up my thigh. So warm. The bed shifts, swaying against his weight. I put my hand up and run it over his hair. The waves stick up after I smooth them. Just like Jake's.

He wants me to get rid of all the velvet things Caleb had made for me too. 

That I can see. Not sure how that ever got past him in the first place. He slides his arms around me. He's not gentle. He doesn't notice the brief alarm in my eyes. I shift my weight to bear him and he lands the most preoccupied, absent kiss against my shoulder. Christian's revelation bothers him. Lochlan's sudden rules bother him. I think everything bothers him but he keeps it in a locked room in his head and instead takes on my problems and bears the brunt of my issues like a trooper. Like a champ. My new best friend. My reluctant living ghost.

Maybe Caleb is right and I'm creating a monster. 

Lochlan's not a monster, Bridge. He's just a man, like the rest of us. Only I'm pretty sure you're the hardest thing he's ever had to juggle, seeing how hard it is just to hold you. 

I didn't mean Lochlan. I meant me. 

Just be quiet now. He covers my mouth with his and the conversation is over. His long strokes against me make the bed begin to rock ever so slightly. A cool breeze reaches my skin from the windows facing the water. I arch my back, pressing myself into him, calling him by the wrong name, forcing him to conform to a memory when he just wants to be a man like the rest of them.

But I won't let him be less than what I've made him into. Not yet. Maybe soon though. And I don't play by the rules. I did that once before and I'll never do it again.

Future Navy seal.

Christian's teaching me to swim. Or I should say, Sam did, in the end.

It's true. Christian had said he was tired of seeing me dogpaddling around the point to get back to the beach after being thrown off the cliff. He said I look like a terrified four-year-old the minute someone lets go of me. He said that should change and since we have a pool with a shallow and a deep end, it's time. Before Halloween, he says.

I have my red cross badges up to green. I'm not afraid of water, per se. Just the dark murky water that I can't see the bottom of. So he promptly threw me off the scary side of the cliff into the dark murky water that I can't see the bottom of and I screamed so loud something snapped in my head and then he proceeded to yell instructions I couldn't hear because I was fighting not being dragged to my death by the invisible monsters just below me. I frantically dogpaddled the whole way around back to the beach and then I asked him to fuck off and die.

(Rock climbing went much the same way, if you remember. He dropped my lines so I went plunging down the face of the cliff (a different cliff) and told me to recover. And Jacob punched him in the face afterward.

Christian is the only adrenaline junkie we have left who is as extreme as one can get.)

You'll be single forever. I tell him after the second throw. And PJ came out and told him the pool is where he can teach me and God help him if he scares me like that again.

I have a girlfriend, he tells me with a smile in the shallow end. My safe space, they call it with a laugh. The water's up to my neck. We don't do shallow, Caleb told me when the pool was being built. Besides, the children are taller than you.

Goddamn it.

He didn't turn out to be much of a teacher. Oh, and he's dating Erin (Jacob's sister) again long distance. They're talking, he says. That means dating, I tell him. They've done this dance before. I'm so happy I forget he's an asshole, especially when Sam offers to take over. We're both somewhat relieved. I love Christian to death but he's very heavy handed when it comes to me. It doesn't work.

No, I never dated or slept with him. That's probably part of the problem.

I would guess. I've known you since you were eight. At some point you're going to have to be brave, Bridget. 

I am brave! I cry.

Then swim in your precious sea, he says as he turns to go back to the house.

Sam is the complete opposite. I get lessons beginning with simple strokes, including him physically holding me up in the water, turning my head to breathe and my arms to do mock-crawls so I get the motion and the timing down. Then backstroke. Floating properly. Treading water properly. Proper dog paddle (fingers together, Bridget, or you're wasting energy!)

Oh.

Whoops.

Butterfly. Which is terrifying. But I can almost do it now. Kind of.

It'll be years before you're ready for the Olympics, Bridge. 

That's okay. I just don't want it to take half an hour to get back to the beach when Duncan can do it in three minutes. 

He's six three! And he'll take you with him anyway. 

No one likes that, Sam. 

Then do your front crawl and you'll be fine. We'll keep practicing but you did great. By Halloween you'll be a pro. Are you tired?

No, I'm good. Thank you for the lesson. But I wrapped myself in one of the giant pendleton towels we keep in the poolshed and curled up exhausted in one of the chaises and slept until lunchtime in the shade.