Prescribed burn.

He watches the flames.

Don't bring fire into this. It sanctifies you.

I know. He baptized me in it last night, a graceful trip around my being with a tiny singular flame. A humble consecration, a reminder of how we use that fire to connect, to identify. To breathe.

He is using the fire today not to teach but to warm himself. His favorite sweater is no match for the heavy rain and so flannel shirts with waffleknit layers take over and a heavy element jacket on top were grudgingly applied, slowly and with disdain.

He and some of the others were out late last night bringing the camper back to the house, away from the edge of the cliff. They moved all my flowerpots up under the overhang by the patio doors and brought the telescope in. All of the pool chairs have been stored in the garage and PJ is already fretting because his precious jeep had to be put outside in this weather. His jeep weighs far more than the big chaises, which weighed a fair bit themselves, towed two at a time on a trailer pulled behind Ben's truck.

We're like some sort of incredible, dysfunctional resort.

The storms are here. All of them. Psychic and environment-based. Emotional and physical too. I was told if I wanted to do anything online to hurry up. So here I am.

Caleb missed all the fun. He's gone to the East Coast again for a bit to get away from me Lochlan the violence things. I'd be jealous but I always miss him.

Loch touches my face. I wonder if I could burn your brain down to nothing like the farmers do to their fields, so you could grow back new and unscathed. 

Let's try it and see. 

But he just stared at me for a moment in surprise at calling his bluff. Then he put his jacket back on and went outside to finish up.

Listening hard.

My ring slips off too easily. It's cold out now, my fingers are shrunken, my skin is tighter still, stretched across my bones in a tension he can tune with a fork and a very good ear.

He frowns, picking it up from the bottom of the tub. We'll get it re-sized for you, he said, sticking it down over my middle finger instead. It's fine there for now, a subtle fuck you to the universe, an easy dismissal of the rest of the world outside of his extended reach.

He lets the frown slide away and puts his hand on my forehead as I lean back against him in the warm water. I put a bath bomb in with us. We smell like jasmine. We're covered with purple glitter. It's a far better moment than some of the previous week and I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He leans around from my left to see my face.

Okay?

I nod but I don't say anything. A kiss lands on the top of my head. Then he is gone. Cold rushes in to coat my skin and I shiver violently.

Let's go. 

I nod again but I don't move and he reaches down, pulling the plug out of the bottom of the tub. I sink down until my head goes under, making no move to resurface. He reaches down once more to pull me up gently. I emerge covered head to toe with glitter and he laughs.

Rinse off in the shower. We've got twenty minutes to be downstairs. 

I dutifully duck under the hot spray and when I emerge, still mostly covered with shiny tinies he is there with a warm towel, wrapping me in it, glancing another kiss off my forehead, arms tight around me. I shiver again but it's not from the cold, more like from survival and surprise that I'm here.

***

I watch him stir his coffee. He'll lay the spoon upside down against the edge of the plate and let his eyes travel the whole way around the restaurant before he speaks. I'm not wrong. I've studied Lochlan's movements since I was eight and he was thirteen, since before coffee, and violence and baggage. I've watched him change and yet he remains the same as always. He doesn't actually change. He forces the entire world to adapt to him. He refuses to compromise or bend. His will is iron, his code of right and wrong carved in the rusted metal of a platform for a thrill ride, or in the words of a verbal contract with a handshake to seal the deal. There's no reason to question him, for he's never had even a moment of grey area. No ethical pause, no consideration of less than what is good and what isn't.

I didn't listen. I ran ahead or fell behind. I had my head in the clouds, pretending all the time. He indulged me because one thing that was right to him was the desire to make me happy. He went along with it. He humored me when I couldn't remember the rules or didn't hear the orders. He was lenient, full of grace when he should have lifted me off the ground by the collar of my dress long enough to make sure I was paying attention.

I got burned and by default he did too.

Some days we're unscathed. Lucky. Beautiful and new.

Other days we are burned beyond recognition. Disfigured and ruined.

This is an in-between day, in which the scars are visible to the naked eye but they're a little numb, that's all. A little closed-feeling, a little bit forgotten, if you're not paying attention. A little bit better.

I think we should go. I think we should go now. And if you won't then he has to. 

I can't banish him. 

At this point you don't have any veto powers here. Not anymore.

I stop running down the path in the waning light and turn and look back at him. I drop the trilliums I have picked on the carpet of pine needles coating the forest floor. Something in his voice is different this time and it scares me.

Too small to do any damage.

(Ironically I drew the Hierophant card today:A card symbolizing rules, laws and doctrine. Your freedoms may be limited today.)

It's National Take your Teddy Bear to Work/School Day and I just...don't even get me started. I brought my teddy bear with me to my laptop. His name is Ben and if he sits up straight in my computer chair his knees hit the underside of my desk, lifting the whole thing off the floor.

I swing my legs because my feet don't touch the floor if I'm sitting in the same chair.

He's been keeping close, which is nice because the minute he turned his back the Devil whispered in my ear last week and I'm still mostly reeling from that. I don't want to talk about it though. Not today. Today is for bears and big guys and for getting on with things and not for stunts or drama or fear.

We went out for breakfast, which was nice. I'm still mostly asleep on my feet in the meantime. Joel heralded a group decision which is to keep the princess under chemical control until she can prove she can do it herself. I tried to point out the futility of their argument but every once in a while it's nice not to feel anything. Just so I can catch my breath. Then I'll dive back in because I have to feel something or I'm not worthy of remaining alive.

That's how the Devil put it, anyhow.

But I'm a-okay, well-fed and cuddled today and we've battened down the hatches for the coming October storms. We've got groceries and I scrubbed the bathrooms and the house is clean and the trucks have gas and the generators too and the trees were all trimmed so bring it. Bring whatever you got. I'll stand behind Big Ben and fight you from here.

An actual conversation.

Since it's National Coming Out Day (where the fuck are they getting these 'holidays' again? Someone please tell me), Sam decided to...er...go back in. Since Matt didn't work out and he has a few other craven issues here, he's hopped the fence. 

Again.

He set up a Tinder profile and unhesitatingly selected female responses only. Then he sat down to wait, as if the Internet fairies would send him the perfect woman within seconds.

Sam, I think that's a hook-up app. 

What? No it isn't. You're thinking of Grindr. 

No, that's definitely for sex only but it's for gay people. Tinder is the version for straight people. I think.

Oh, well, shit. What's the app for actual dating? 

Tinder. 

I don't understand.

You don't meet someone online for any more than a casual thing. 

Oh. 

Well, did you meet Matt online? 

I refuse to answer that on the grounds that someone here will judge me. We all can't be raised by our future spouses. He stares pointedly at me. 

Right because we all see how well THAT'S going. 

So what do I do?

You need a Polish matchmaker.

I'm halfway there! I have the buckle! 

Right. Don't meet someone online. You need an uncurated soul. 

I need a Bridget, is what I need. 

Jesus, what? No you don't! Too much trouble. Also be quiet before someone hears you. 

Why? 

They'll take it wrong.

There isn't a way to take that wrong, actually. It's just...nevermind.

Oh. Then here, let me help you choose a photo. 

Checking in because once again the internet thinks I'm either dead or being held against my will, as usual.

I'm here.

I had a quiet weekend. Friday went to shit and ended very very badly and then I slept half of Saturday away and was brought back to life eventually, as Joel let the medicine wind down on its own. By early yesterday I had a handle on things and anything I still couldn't hold onto Joel picked up and handed to me.

He did a good job. It was reminiscent of the old Joel and for that I thank him. I had a huge stretch of uninterrupted, chemical sleep and for that I thank everyone.

I thanked them with a huge Thanksgiving dinner last night (everyone pitched in to help) and I am grateful to every single one of them because when I go down I go down hard. It's difficult and upsetting and horrible but they dealt with it and instead of giving up on me they're investing in me. Instead of turning their backs they offered their arms. I don't know if I deserve that but I'm grateful for it and Joel assures me that I'll get through it like I have every time before this.

I don't want to keep doing this, I told him late the other night when he checked in on me.

I know, Bridget. I know. 

Late last night.

When I woke up, I was pinned. I thrashed once and Lochlan's face swam into view.

Hold still, Peanut. Peace is coming. He's got my wrists held against the quilt. A sharp pain comes suddenly in my elbow and then chemical euphoria floods in.

I lick my lips. You're sending me to visit them, I tell Lochlan but he lets go and then Joel bends down over me. I smile at him in slow motion. Hi, Stranger.

Hi, Beautiful. Lights out, he instructs, and I'm gone again.

I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone

Read between the lines
Of what's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

He sat in front of me on an old wooden stool while I sat on the top step of the camper, on the kitchen floor proper, holding my arm out straight in front of me, using my other hand to prop it up because this was taking a long time.

Hold still, Lochlan barks at me with pins between his teeth. He really did a number on this. 

He is unpinning my heart. Said brusquely that it can't stay there, that it needs to be protected, and if it doesn't fit then he will keep it.

You already do, I remind him as he ignores me, loud and clear. You've had it forever. 

Right. It's mine but you keep throwing it out there like a boomerang, and there are people in the way so it gets stuck in them and then you have to go dig it out and that seems stressful and unnecessary. Stop throwing it. 

I'm trying but they seem to need it. 

They will live without it. 

In my world that's not an offhand remark, it's a dangerous gamble. 

Well, what do you want me to do, then? 

Help me keep it locked up so it won't get out. 

Lock you down? Jake tried that and it made things worse. Ben didn't and you hardly left his side. Trying to sign up for the end already are you? 

Never. This is it. Alpha-Omega, baby. That's who you are. The beginning and the end.

He finally gets my heart unattached without further damage. I retract my arm and rub the sore spot where the pins went through my skin and he holds up my heart for inspection. I lean forward to facilitate him putting it back and he hesitates, cupping it in both hands like it's a bird about to fly away. I think I'm going to hang on to this for a bit, if it's all the same to you. 

Then stop giving me mixed messages. 

I already told you I fucked up. I was trying to hurt him and I hurt you instead. I just..I want things to be different, Bridge. I want to run the show again. I want it to be you and me against the world. He absently tucks my heart into his shirt pocket as he speaks, a bloom in red growing almost instantly on the front of his shirt. Just trust me and I'll make sure things are better. 

I nod.

Do you believe in me, Bridget? 

He asked me the same question on our wedding day and it rocked me then as much as it does now. As if I don't trust him to have changed when he said he would, as if I don't put any weight on his regret. As if I can't count on him to do what he says he's going to do, after decades of fighting it out.

I do. 

Why I didn't want to be the poster child for dealing with grief, because clearly I can't and if I let anyone, everyone, all of you down I'm sorry.

(From The Book of Bridgeticus chapter eleventy billion, verse four hundred thousand and five: And on the ninth day, when he saw Bridget, God created Ativan. And he saw her on it and said that it was good. Or at least, better than the alternative.)

(With apologies to Sam for liberties taken with the Bible verses, but honey, I'm so high right now.)

In the warm dark early this morning he turned me toward him and ripped out my heart, pinning it to my sleeve, nodding as he worked.

I love you, Bridget. And I hate every second that I have to be away from you.

He looked at me fiercely as he checked his work and then he was gone before the sun could wake up and see him off even.

And then I woke up and Lochlan was there. I looked down expecting to see the gaping hole in me where my heart had been wedged tightly in place for so long and found it dripping all over the sheets, making a mess. Making my arm ache, for it's heavy. Dense with feeling, rich with blood, laced through with repairs done over the years.

He doesn't see it. Fuck. I am crazy.

What is it, Peanut?

I had a dream about Cole.

But he doesn't want to know what it was about (because duh, Cole) and gets up to get ready for work, asking Ben if he can keep care today when Ben probably (always) has other plans. Whenever my brain starts opening doors that are better off locked, imagining violence or finding trouble to make for itself he worries even more than usual, if that were even possible.

Yeah, Ben confirms to Loch as I stand there holding my elbow up in front of my nose to watch the blood drip off the end, watching as the puddle grows around my feet. Soon I will be Alice in the drowning pool and Loch will wished he stayed home and saved me instead of leaving me with someone equally distractible. Someone with their own ghosts can't fight yours off too. No one's strong enough for that. Not even the guy who eats amplifiers for breakfast and then says he's hungry.

Or the one who eats souls.

(Or anyone, for that matter.)

I stare at him as my feet leave the ground, treading water easily as I was taught in the other pool, back in sunnier times. He's looking at his phone. I call out to him as my head goes under but he's not listening. I open my mouth and blood rushes in, filling my lungs. When they find me they'll say somberly,

It appears she murdered herself. Case closed.

And then I'll be a ghost for someone else to fight off.

(That isn't fair, now, is it?)

I start to try and dig my way out but it's thick like quicksand now and I really fucked up. Shit. I thrash and fight and get nowhere and then the surface breaks. Two hands thrust down into the heavy liquid, pulling me up by the hands roughly. I surface in slow motion. I cough and cough, leaving a spray of red across the front of his formerly white shirt. Lochlan pounds me on the back, pushing my head against his chest.

Couldn't you SEE this? He yells at Ben, who has faded into the background. I can hardly see him between deep heaving breaths.

She was fine a second ago. I'm right here! For fucks sakes.

Why didn't you see it, Ben?

I won't let him, I say thickly. I feel drunk. I told you. I need to save him too.

Even if it kills you?

Jake won't let that happen.

I saved you, Bridget. ME! Stop giving him all the credit. He's the one who finished you off!

I just look at him until his words sink down into my flesh and then they begin to sting and it makes me cry. Good. I can join the rest of them and no one has to be alone in their misery.

Bees.

Sorry, not much time today. Since today is supposed to be the last warm sunny day of the year, I chose to spend it outdoors. I hung all the sheets on the clothesline. Duncan brought the laundry outside for me and helped. I worked in the garden, pulling up roots, cutting down stalks and pruning roses to within an inch of their lives. I scattered the rest of the sunflower seeds for the birds and attempted to break up the giant root plates that held the sunflowers fast through September and mostly failed. They can rot and compost into the ground over the winter and then in spring Ben can break them up. I leave all the leaves and plants laying in the garden and let them break down on their own. Over the winter they will compost and then in the spring we'll load up on sheep manure and till everything together. It makes the best growing soil.

I'm good at this.

The yard is open and barren now, especially without the roses. The tea rose bushes I cut down from ten feet to two. The ornamental shrubs get a little more tender loving care and they are a foot tall now with chosen hardy stalks to grow from next year. The carnations will bloom right through the snow and I ate all the remaining strawberries while I pulled all of those up too. The raspberries are coming along. I don't have to touch those. And all the plants out front are hardy perennials that require little care, if any.

It's done for 2016.

The boys made up the beds fresh with flannel and electric blankets for those who love to be cozy and with cool cotton and light duvets for those who don't. We had the fireplaces cleaned and checked. We cut a few big limbs off a tree that has overgrown it's welcome and was touching windows on the house and on the garage and we had the landscapers come back and extend the corner of the brick driveway that heads around the barn so that Sam and Caleb both will stop clipping it with their cars, as they park on the high side, up on the left of the garage while the rest of us drive down around in front of it (the garage is across the driveway from the side of the house, above the boathouse) and park facing the side of the house.

So yeah. We got a lot accomplished today and as such, I will now attempt to not fall asleep face-first in my dinner plate.

The piece-makers.

The whole household dropped everything last night and joined us watching movies. We made a Sam-wich, plonking him right in the center of the huge sectional and piling all around and on him and making sure he had extreme extended cuddles for the entire evening. He sat grinning, one arm looped around Dalton and one around Loch.

Sam is so much like me. Sometimes he just needs to be touched. You'll never hear anyone who lives here speak as openly as I do about the amount of affection required before I even feel as if I can get out of bed in the morning, or how awful if feels if I don't get that amount and then some. But men are raised to be tough and to be quiet so he didn't say anything and then we played charades to figure it out and I didn't have to ask anyone twice to join us.

If you've ever had someone emergency-message you (and twelve other people) to come and watch a movie in our house you just show up ready for anything. Or we do, anyway and everyone showed up ready to fix him or at least cuddle trying.

And he loved it. Sam said he wanted a weekly movie pile up.

Where have you been? I tease him. We do this all the time! 

He shrugs. He was trying to work himself to death so he wouldn't feel the hard parts but they were always jabbing him anyway, sticking into him painfully, leaving bruises, leaving marks that don't fade, let alone heal.

Today again when he came downstairs for breakfast instead of nods or bits of greetings everyone got up and fought to hug him first. It was hilarious.

He was still smiling when he invited me to church to finish the work he bailed on yesterday. Grinning from ear to ear.

I hugged him last. See? I can fix things too. I mean, it's a patch job but as long as we keep on top of it, it should hold nicely. 

What were you going to talk about with Lochlan yesterday, Bridge? You offered to talk to him. Is that what you meant? To talk to him about a play-hookie cuddle pile? 

Yes, I lie. Of course. What else did you think I meant?