It's Remembrance Day weekend and I'm going to see the Trews but otherwise I'm going to sit on the front porch in the rain, drinking hot chocolate and eating lentil sprouts and garlic-stuffed olives.

The fun part about the sprouts are that I can stuff my face with a whole package without blinking. August was like 'spread a thin layer on your sandwich like this' and I grabbed a volleyball-sized chunk instead and it was so delicious I closed my eyes as I ate my sandwich. Usually my eyes are wide open so I can appreciate my sandwich. I love sandwiches. You don't know how much I love sandwiches. They're like cake but so much more complex, and also salty and really filling so who has room left for cake anyway?

So if the sprouts are bad for me please do not tell me today. You can tell me tomorrow but not today.

Tangible reality.

You seem more concerned with tattoos than current events, Neamhchiontach. 

He isn't happy at all. Firstly for the surprisingly stark and visible tattoo on my hand, and secondly because he's right. I am more concerned with tattoos than with the state of the world because the world is a terrible place full of bullshit and assholes and I've made my Utopia in spite of it. My American boys gave up their birthrights years ago and became Canadian because of me and we're safe and happy and completely fucking ignorant and I'm pretty sure the Devil is the only one who would have that any other way.

(I don't plan to talk about Outside-World News. I'm busy living Lord of the Flies right here, thanks. We have our own pecking order, our own politics and that's enough to handle on a daily basis. I'm happier without newspapers ninety-nine percent of the time and the one percent I stray from that I always end up regretting sooner rather than later.)

They're my souvenirs, I remind him. I'm not sentimental, truth be told. I don't keep things, per se. Just people. Just thoughts. Just memories all locked up in the zoo inside my head. Sometimes they break loose and go on a rampage. Otherwise I feed and water them, give them toys and let people see them, for a price. Sometimes they eat me alive.

Let me see. He wandered in briefly at the beginning, while Mark drew outlines the other day and got caught up on news but didn't come back after that. He hasn't seen me.

I'm not dressed for-

Let me see, Neamhchiontach. 

I regard him for several minutes without breaking his gaze. I'm in a dress and tights. Combat boots. Sweater. I struggle out of the sweater, letting it drop to the floor and then unbutton the dress, finally letting it fall to the ground too. Tights and underwear remain on. I turn around and wait.

Oh my God. This is beautiful. 

I look at the floor and then lift my arms so he can see what happens when I do a Jesus Christ pose.

I don't believe it. He sees it. Everyone's name has a place. Every last one, scripted into the feathers. Invisible until I raise my arms and then they're horizontal and clearly readable.

My name..

Right there with the rest. 

Bridget-

I drop my arms, turn back around and shrug back into my dress, buttoning it haphazardly, balling up my sweater in my arms, tears of..I don't even know what stinging my eyes. Happy now? I snap at him.

Hey Bridge, I-  Ben walks into the kitchen and stops halfway through his question. Everything okay? 

He wanted to see it. 

And?

He's seen it.

Ben watches us both and kisses the top of my head, telling me he'll be in the driveway if I need him. Caleb nods to him as he passes and then resumes his stare.

I didn't know. 

Right, well, you would have seen it eventually anyway. 

I'm sorry for my tone. I'm a bit on edge since Lochlan has decided to make me wait indefinitely for his decision. 

I think you should probably stop waiting. 

Have you talked to him? 

Many times. 

And? 

I think he should bleed you dry, personally but he wants to take the high road. 

Lochlan and his ridiculous integrity. 

Integrity is never ridiculous unless you don't have any, Diabhal. I say it quietly, cringing slightly. He doesn't like being reminded.

Tell him to come see me when he gets home, then. If he thinks I'm going to languish while he ignores the offer he's mistaken. 

He won't come to you. 

Then I will come to him.

Of course the Roman Numeral for one hundred is C but I have no room left. (Literally or figuratively.)

Mark was back over the weekend. We treat him to comfortable space while he guests around town but mostly he comes to work on me. Last July I got him to tattoo a huge filigree X on my stomach and this week I spent most of my time lying on that tattoo while he worked on my wings. Long overdue wings. He did a beautiful job. They cap my shoulders and extend down my arms around and under other tattoos right to my elbows and make their place behind the cameo on my back and all the lyrics.

I feel complete now. Never thought I would but I also never thought I would be finished.

For funsies he also tattooed LOCH across the knuckles of my left hand. I wanted to forever but I wasn't sure I wanted to be that out-there, since I can hide this entire suit under the right clothing and have a long history of covering everything with makeup for special occasions because I get tired of the stares.

This is out there. It's on my hand. Mark did a beautiful set of very feminine lettering and I love it. I love the wings too. I sat for nine hours total, bringing me to a total of one hundred hours even. So I'm done and I'm beautiful. Finally.

Happy Birthday, Preacher.

My day.

Deep breath. Open eyes. Nine years and I'm still doing it. I'm still going, Jake.

Deep breath. Try and keep some coffee down.

Deep breath. Church. Every time Sam looked at me I could feel the lump in my throat growing.

Deep breath. Lunch out at the greasy diner. We sat in random booths and filled the whole place. Batman paid for everything. Yes, I ate.

Deep breath. The drive home. Lochlan holds my hand.

Deep breath. Look at garage the whole time he's parking the truck. Don't go inside.

Deep breath. Take PJ's pity-hugs without absorbing them, for self-preservation.

Deep breath. Plan the afternoon. A movie. Maybe a walk in the rain. Maybe a run to see if I can leave the screams inside my brain far behind me. Maybe just a cuddle by the fire.

Deep breath. Didn't do anything. It's raining and dark. So dark. I set all the clocks back last night, and as many watches as I saw. And the house alarm and the trucks.

Deep breath. Day's almost over and then I have tomorrow and then I'm in the clear. Birthday tomorrow. He would have been forty-six. Somehow the after is more easy to navigate than the during. I'll get through it. I'm tough. Tough and raw. Tough and pillowy-weak. A mess.

Deep breath. Every time I take one I bump into someone. I have no personal space. I wouldn't want it but I also need to take that breath soon.

Deep breath. Thank you for shifting an inch to the left, Ben.

Deep breath. I can sleep now.

Deep breath. It's not so bad. It's been so long. It's going to get better. This is fate. This is history. This is the future in which things that happen shape who you become and maybe I'm better than I was. Maybe I'm worse. But at least I'm taking my knocks and trying my hardest. At least I stayed for the character. At least I remained a freak. At least I have the other freaks now, and they keep a circle around me. Not to keep out evil, but to keep in everything else.

At least I can take a deep breath.

Slow (Only took nine years for me to figure this part out.)

Today is just the day before, that's all. It should be a harmless day but instead it's loaded with hollow points and it will bring nothing but death. Death and pain that always seems sharper and more final right now, each year and time keeps passing but it still feels the exact same. Sam can't explain it, Lochlan can't help it, Ben can't fix and Caleb can't have it. It isn't their place. This time is for me and Jacob and it feels like it did right at the beginning.

I took the children out for lunch and shopping and we laughed and I could feel myself starting to slide toward the end of our time out together. I brought them home and then it just rushed away like an avalanche and I can't keep it up anymore, and so PJ made me a drink so stiff it mightn't have needed the glass and August came over to 'hang out' and so did Joel, so I put on the hockey game and retreated to the library to look out the window and have my drink. Lochlan and Ben have taken up positions on either side of the library door, out in the foyer.

Sam is sleeping. When August heads home across the driveway, Sam will take night duty. They're trading twelve hour shifts, which is unnecessary but it's what they have worked out.

Caleb paces at the boathouse and calls Ben or PJ every half hour to see how tonight is going.

How is the night going?

Okay, actually. I'm feeling sad. Defeated, actually. As if I couldn't do enough and then I was forced to stop, because there wasn't anymore I could do, not then. I would have done anything he asked but he never asked. He just left and then he was gone and I didn't get a chance to fix the holes.

OH.

This is how they feel.

Holy smokes.

(Sometimes what you need is what you fight.)

My heartbeat, my oxygen
My banner, my home
My future, my song

He lay there in near-dark, tucking my hair behind my ear, his face just inches away in the tiny bed in the camper.

Why is it still so hard, Peanut? You're perpetually in shock and the rest of the time you'll give your heart in exchange to whoever gives you the time of day. I want it all back. How do we get it back? We are whispering. His eyes fill up and spill over into mine.

We've burned all our promise tickets and are back to square one. We've used up all our good fortunes, bought for a big tip and a promise not to call the cops about the still out behind the fortune teller's trailer. We've come to our year of reckoning and it isn't going our way. So we'll have to use this new map and figure out how to go in a completely different direction. We'll reinvent ourselves again. Not freaks but adventurers. Not children but adults. Not done yet but working on making sure it all turns out okay.

I don't know what he did. I don't know why it still hurts like this. If I did I would stop it. I don't want to feel like this. I want to love you and love Ben and live in the Collective and just be happy but I can't and nothing works.

(The closest we've ever had to normal was that little kitchenette room in Atlantic City. He lost his mind there and I hated it. I hated everything about it. That wasn't living. It was waiting to die.

What if we tried harder?

I feel like I haven't tried at all since our honeymoon. I'm sorry.

Don't be, peanut. You're doing so good.

Doesn't feel like it or I wouldn't make my husband cry almost as much as I do.

He pulls my hands up between us, kissing my knuckles. I hurt for you, bridge. If I could take this pain from you I would. Just tell me what to do.

Take the deal. Take the money. Pit them all against each other if you have to but don't waste an opportunity that's only going to come around once.

What if you-

I'm not leaving you.

We are nose to nose now, eyes wide. I can feel him shaking. I don't know if its fear or the chill in the camper since the heater isn't hooked up and I'm not much enough to keep a whole man warm.

He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. Sleep, peanut.

I nod and my eyes close too, against my wishes to continue to study his face.

I love you, Bridget.

Operation Make Bridget Happy seems well underway.

Dalton didn't even pretend he wasn't put up to it. He just dove right in. Not even a Good Morning to be had first. 

If you could watch any movie today, which movie would it be? 

Practical Magic. 

But Samhain is over. 

That's fine. I watch it whenever, it's not a holiday movie but more of a lifestyle choice. 

He nods. He's making notes. If you could eat anything what would it be?

Vietnamese food. Fried noodles and stuff. Or Thai. Chinese. Anything that comes with chopsticks. 

If you could have one question answered what would it be? 

Can we use Mystical Fire in the gas fireplaces too? 

That isn't the question I thought you'd ask. 

Ah. You thought I was going to ask if we could put up the Christmas trees now, right?

Is that a thing? 

Yes, and I am always told to wait one more month. It's a long wait, you know. 

Sweet little minutes.

His knees, elbows and the top of his head were black with mud. My entire back from my hair down to my boots matched. It was so obvious when we came back inside from cutting back the grapevines and stripping bark that Dalton asked if we had 'fun'.

Ben smiled a very big smile and said Well, duh.

We called for a clear path, which means everyone has to leave the kitchen/great room and back hallway in order for us to strip outside on the patio and then make our way upstairs to fetch warm, dry clothes.

Except that mud was everywhere so Ben started a hot shower and pulled me in in through the doors with him under the spray, holding the back of my head, mud streaked all over our faces, dirt grinding into my skin as he kissed me. I would have felt my knees go out except that he was holding me up.

Cue round two because he is as beautiful as he is insatiable.

He gave a final kiss to the top of my head as he dried my hair and then when I put on clean pajamas he said we need to head back out and do the leaf-raking maybe this weekend, and we can bring Lochlan. He didn't mention Caleb or anything else. He focused on the moment, which helped me do the same. Once he had a clean t-shirt and his own pajama pants on I threw myself into his arms and asked if I could just stay right here forever.

Naw, Bee. You get so restless. If I said yes, you'd think it was a trap.  You're a funny girl like that. A homebody with a constant case of cabin fever.  Let's go make some soup and then soon Lochlan will be home and we can show him how much work we put in. Maybe we'll get out of dinner duty.

And always, always with that rueful smile.

What do you mean? 

I mean what I said. I'm not going to do...anything, Bridge. I'm not going to acknowledge or further entertain these ridiculous stunts by the Devil to get to me and to you. I didn't hear it. I'm not accepting it. I'm just going to keep going forward. 

What if he gives you a time limit?

A what? A limit? I'll feign ignorance and ask him what he means. Or are you being ironic and playing dumb now? I can play dumb too, Peanut. 

What if-

What if WHAT? 

What if...I go to him anyway? Then you don't get your due. It's all for nothing. 

Well then I guess the only way to prevent that is to not go to him. Then we're square. Right? 

I nod. He's always been smarter than the rest. Not by choice or by design but purely out of necessity.

Caleb is going to come looking for you.

Let him come. I'm ready for anything. You forget I have the upper hand here. 

He says that and I take it all back. It's naive and pie in the sky and exactly like Loch. A walking contradiction. All logic one minute, all magic and foolishness the next. Right from wrong depends on the day. God help you if you get the days mixed up.