To see her was to love her. Or something.

We had a full house last night for Burns Night. Didn't have haggis but we did have bagpipes (I love Ben. Have I mentioned this?) and a few of us (not naming any names *cough* BRIDGET *cough*) had far too much Scotch whisky and should have gone to bed long before it was unreasonable.

Batman told me in confidence that he doesn't know me. All he knows is that he made a grab for a brass ring in the shape of a girl and what he wound up with exceeded his wildest dreams and also disappointed him beyond belief.

I don't know about you but yes, after hearing that I started drinking from two glasses at once. It's always lovely to here that you've disappointed someone. You know, beyond their wildest dreams. What do you even say to that? Thank you? 

You drink.

He clarified that he thought we would have a relationship past what we have now. Instead he is shelter in a storm. By choice. He keeps close in case I need him. Maybe he's hoping he'll be the rebound guy someday but outward he admits only to feeling gratified that I trust him and welcomes my attention when he gets it.

It was formal and I shut him up by pouring him another.

Eventually he left and Caleb said Godspeed as he went out the door.

Well, there's a word. 

What do you mean, Neamhchiontach?

Sam is smiling. Oh noes, he says. Here she goes.

What? My brain is tilting. I wonder what speed God travels at. Fast-forward? Supersonic? Or maybe it's slow-motion. God-speed. More righteous than regular speed! Oh! I want to learn this! Then I can whip around at Godspeed and make everyone happy faster. Except Batman. I think he resents the hell out of me. 

Bridget, you're losing it. 

Never found it, actually. Is there an opposite to Godspeed? Like Devilslow? Well, that makes perfect sense come to think of it-

You're cut off and you're going to bed. Lochlan's almost as drunk as I am. Think I'm bad? Wait until HE starts talking. Say goodnight, Bridget. 

Goodnight, Bridget. And Godspeed! 

Shouting into the void.

I spent all morning signing things. Listening to things. Watching things transpire. My baby lawyerlings were well-organized and knew to bring me coffee with a quarter teaspoon of plain white sugar and a drop of cream every couple of hours. They knew to take all my weird-coloured pens away from me before we started and they physically winced when they heard of the interest lost should we cash out early*.

*(Three times I opted not to cash out early because honestly it isn't worth the loss and I can wait. The paperwork is drawn and dated, and it'll be ready to invoke the day certain things come due.)

(I can overrule Batman.)

They brought me a sandwich for an early lunch break. It was not a Monte Cristo but it was good anyway. There was a pickle with it. More coffee and as I watch Caleb sign things and talk to his brokerage and banking advisors it occurs to me that he's aged more in the past five months (since the wedding) then the past thirty years and I make a mental note to ask him to come to dinner.

After lunch I sign some more things. Then finally we're finished. They have a list for me. Today's transfers and the list of those to come, plus several ventures that haven't come to fruition yet but will soon and those are mine too. Caleb also got a raft of statements after the fact and in the car, I asked if I could see them.

Why, Bridget? He hands it all over, somewhat wearily. It isn't defeat, maybe it's just resignation in his manner that's making him seem far older than his years today.

I want to make sure you kept your full share so I don't wind up having to be your sugar momma. 

He's amused. Speaking of which, there are precious few ways in which I'll be able to fulfill that role after today. 

You'll have to pay me in affection, then. 

Something tells me that's worth more to you than everything we put down on paper today.

It is. You should know this by now, Diabhal.

The smile did not leave his face the whole way home. Maybe he (after all this) puts his values on the same way I do each morning, one leg at a time.

Crimson thieves, wasted knights.

When I went to bed last night in tears the kingdom was in flames, angry words preceding fists, endless wrong swallowing brief happiness whole.

When I woke up, my tears had dried on my cheeks and the world was new. Lochlan slept with his hands around my head. Ben had one hand on Lochlan's head and his other arm under and around me, holding my back tight against his chest. There was one extra arm was flung over Lochlan from his other side, Sam's caramel curls mixed with Loch's red, barely visible above the quilts.

My tiny kingdom, surrounded by water on three sides, with the most beautiful army you ever saw was still standing. They put out the fires, smoothed over the harsh words and made good on the promises they levied as proof of their worthiness, words that hold more value than strength, here. I capture it all with my hands and place it into my heart, warming it.

The army rests today.

The war is over.

For now. 

Ben lifts his head and asks if I'm awake. I nod and he squeezes me into his heart. Hearts within hearts. This is perfect.

Hungry? 

I don't want to leave this. 

Me neither. Go back to sleep then.

When I wake up next they're gone and it's only my blonde head that remains. The kingdom is cold and barren like a bad dream and I get up and cross to the window to count trucks.

They're all still here.

The sea still surround us.

We are still hearts within hearts.

I wasn't dreaming.

CFO vs. CEO.

(Nice to know he has my back. I suppose he's already had my front. Except this time he wants to make sure nobody gets fucked over. Where's the fun in that?)

There's something inside you that isn't right
There's something that haunts your dreams at night
There's something that you have lost
And you're bringing it down
You're bringing it down
On top of us

Batman was in the kitchen when I came back from seeing the kids off to school. I could feel something just emanating from him but I didn't know what it was.

Why did Caleb ask about payment for university, Bridge? Where's the money he gave you?

(It's tension.) Offshore, I guess? Maybe overseas? 

He reached out and grabbed me by the arm and said we needed to pay a little visit. I cried out and PJ got up and Batman whirled around and told him to sit the fuck down and out I was marched, across the slippery driveway half off my feet, up the steps and into Caleb's kitchen.

Where's her money, and why doesn't she have control of it?

Caleb looks at me and Batman shouts at him not to look at me. And to answer him. Now, please.

Caleb says it's invested. That since I don't need it for day to day expenses he may as well make it work for me. That after already transferring several accounts the paperwork was monumental so as investments come due Caleb is changing them over.

You need to let her choose a proxy.

She knows I'll look after it better than anyone. I worked for this. She's comfortable with me. You should all take your cues-

She has GODDAMN STOCKHOLM SYNDROME. She only thinks she loves you because you fucked with her until you broke something. I want everything signed over to her by the end of the week. You're retired now, right? Something to keep you busy. 

I think I'll leave it up to Bridget to deci-

She can't make these decisions. I just told you. I will take control of it alongside Lochlan and PJ until she needs or wants it. Does Lochlan have his funds?

He does. She's going to lose a lot of interest if I pull it now-

Then make up the difference. This isn't her fault, it's yours. 

Busy/Not busy.

Distracting. Sam paired his new ray of colors belt buckle with a grass green knit tie, which made him look like an adorable cartoon character, the businessman in a Scooby Doo show or something like that.

I went to church this morning (inside because rain again but at least it's almost warm) with Caleb and Christian and didn't need a hymnal (sometimes the hymns are really old and I know all the words), accompanied by my raucous headache and jittery hands from mainlining three more cups of coffee before we left to try and shake it, giving up and downing a handful of Tylenols instead.

Caleb drove, Christian followed in his own car because we had plans to go out for lunch after. At the last minute I invited Chris to join us but he was headed home to sleep off the God, as he put it and had some work to do that didn't want to see him out half the afternoon. He rarely leaves the house and works all the time it seems. I'm not sure if that's good or bad but outwardly he seems content and well-adjusted. He's never asked for much and he's very set in his way so I leave it at that. After Jacob flew Christian turned very slightly inward, noticeable enough but he never wants to talk about it. He and Jake were the Adrenaline twins with their rock climbing adventures and he no longer does that, doesn't snowboard, doesn't run unless I invite him along and maybe I just worry too much but I worry about the stark introversion of the entire Collective without end, most times.

I would say it isn't normal but then again nothing about any of us is, and that's why we're all together.

Our favorite lunch place was packed and so we found a different place but it wasn't private enough to talk much past pleasantries. Caleb asked about Ruth's university submissions and our plans to pay for it (Ben has asked to do that and has been squirrelling away money for years for the children, even long before we were a thing, which God bless him for that because Cole didn't have a dime) and how she's dealing with the pressure so we talked about that, mostly. He knows of Henry's plans, they talk constantly but Ruth is incredibly loyal to her father and so busy with her friends she doesn't make the rounds to talk to all the boys (save for PJ and Dalton -her favorites) and is a flash in the pan most days. I was too at that age (almost eighteen). Sometimes the boys would grab me out of thin air as I rushed past and asked me who I was again. It would make me laugh but it also made me sad, and I remind them often that once she gets settled in her future she'll be back with more time to spend. I think most of the time every last one of them is a proud father in some capacity and I love them for it.

Caleb kept his boundaries and his promises too and we were full and home by the appointed hour, and now I need a nap because this headache persists. I have a volunteer cuddler for it too, since Lochlan is still in bed sleeping. Perfect.

Dandy-free.

Sam walked into my bedroom this morning (I got to sleep in), put his Poland belt buckle on my night table and kissed my forehead.

Keep it safe, he laughed.

What is that? I stare at his new buckle. It's shiny and colourful. Almost a rainbow.

The flag for the Seychelles. 

Of course it is.

Hustler for life.

I'm been up since four-thirty this morning. I've had three giant mugs of coffee and five chocolate-chip cookies. The rest of the day should go well because I'm on a jittery roll.

I opened all the shutters on the windows, let the fire go out in the woodstove and the sun is pouring into the great room presently. It is part of the kitchen but is separated by a huge island and a table too so it was totally meant to be a sunroom. Only it's hardly ever sunny here so mostly it's a cozy area where it's perpetually warm and safe.

Sam is stretched out on the couch like a cat. The sun has turned his hair to gold and he's soaking up the warmth as I type. He was the first to come to me to negotiate a price and a timeline for me to do his taxes. Getting the jump on the rest, I hope, he said and I was so dismayed at the thought of having to do everyone's taxes again this year (they don't trust outsiders) that I doubled the price on a whim to try and dissuade him.

Ouch. Inflation?

Yes. Of course. I wink at him. Do you want that time slot or not? Hurry up, I have a waiting list.

Sure. Just tell me that you'll charge everyone even more and that I get a discount because I'm your favorite. 

I'll charge everyone even more and you get a discount because you're my favorite. I wink at him and he laughs.

Right. I get it. 

I hate taxes, Sam! 

But you're really good at it and I don't understand it at all. 

The fee is negotiable by the way. 

Wait. What? How? Umm....

Not like that, though, that thought is useful. I mean I'll cut your bill in half if you want to pay in goods. 

Goods?

The belt buckle, Sam. It needs to go. Let me have it and I'll put it away for posterity in a safe place and you can stop being an eighties cowboy.

This...this is part of me, Bridget. How dare you? I'll pay your whole fee. In fact, I'll pay fifty dollars more! But I'm keeping the buckle. Have you always felt this way?

I could care less. I just wanted to see if I could shake you down for a bigger fee. It worked. Imagine by the time I get through everyone in the house, I'll have enough to buy myself a new car this year after taxes are finished. 

Or you could just ask Caleb for one. 

Where's the fun in that?

This is not my post, it's an early-morning squeal.

There's something inside you that isn't right

Dear Lord. Starset has unclean vocals in their new album, Vessels. Lots of them.

*Dies happy*

Told you it wouldn't take much.

('Unclean' means death metal screaming, not dirty words if you have no idea what I'm talking about. We call it Cookie Monstering. The fact that I need to explain this MAKES BRIDGET SAD.)

Talking to a different ghost.

(Known her forever but it's like we just met.)

Back to the sea early today. Well, late enough that the children were up for school already (in a blur of honour roll certificates found crumpled among science papers and the excitement of graduation photos/shoes/dresses/tickets/fundraisers and college applications, mind you) and the men (it's time to stop calling them boys) had scattered to the four corners of the house and beyond.

I avoided the rocks as promised, hugging the cliff as I make my way left to the beach, slowly. When I get past the boulders and down to fine peagravel and sand I march right up to the tide and crouch down, sticking my hands in the water, flat, palms down. Up to the bracelets is as far as I can go else I'm facefirst in the seaweed.

Hello again. I'm here.

The cold saltwater (my blood, I swear) stings a cut on my hand and whitens my skin as my bluer, undiluted blood beats a hasty retreat back to my heart. The draw threatens to pull me in but it's only teasing.

I did it, I tell her. I made it back to him. She pulls back in blind surprise, before rushing at me for a brief frigid embrace. I stand up and take two big steps backward so the water doesn't flood into my rainboots. Eventually I learn the lessons I am meant to. It just takes a long time.

I go into the driftwood house. I sit on the little shelf-bench and look out the doorless doorway. The Pacific ocean is framed perfectly here. I watch the tide become higher. It won't be all the way in until dinner time but it was lowest while I slept in Lochlan and Ben's arms through the darkest hours. She's already busy covering the treasures she dropped on her hasty middle of the night retreat, knowing I'm awake and searching. I don't mind. She'll do it again tomorrow and every day after. And I'll be here to see it. I'll be here to collect them.

I'll be here.

Garage fire.

Twelve hours of talking, sleeping, sorting, and listening later and we've come back to where we're supposed to be. Loch is the love of my life. I know it. He knows it. Hell, everyone knows this. It's always been this way, since I was ten and my heart started doing that weird lurching thing every time I saw him. I've strayed along the way but I always come back.

I'm assured that my misguided loyalties as well as my attempts to leave the collective by marrying Jacob (AKA running away from the cult just as I've run from everything else all life long) are long forgiven and not taken personally. Loch promises me I didn't break his heart when I said that so quickly yesterday, so assuredly. His heart was already previously broken by everything else I'd done since we're bent on making sure life is an eye for an eye. He broke my heart at fourteen for the first time and just about every minute since yet here we are with two partially-fused, tangled-together, strangely-timed beating hunks of bloody romance and we're fucking thrilled. We kept score but we're happy to be here.

Fucking thrilled.

At least I am. He probably shouldn't be. I told him he got a raw deal with me and he corrected me and said he got everything he ever wanted in me.

I tried to listen more than I talked. I tried to hear him, really hear what's in his heart, interpret his words, listen to what his soul wants, what it feels. This sounds so cheesy, I know, but I tried to be better and it feels good to know we didn't have a catastrophe over a fleeting thought, that we can allow for space to make mistakes. God knows, we're so good at it.

I don't want him to end up like the others. I don't want to be a burden on him. I don't want drama and confusion and 'arrangements'. I like our big bed and our routines and our time together, just us and with Ben too. It just feels like I'm where I'm supposed to be. With Lochlan. Always his shadow. Always his view. His sounding board and his comfort. His muse. His prized possession. As he is with me.

I wouldn't trade Lochlan if Jacob came back to life tomorrow. I would tell Jake that he missed out. That he fucked up. That he bailed when I needed him. He bailed when LIFE needed him and that means he no longer has a place. It would hurt but that's what I would say. I can miss him until I'm blue in the face from holding my breath crying but at the end of the day I'm where I belong. Always with Loch.

(And sometimes with others but that's totally casual and completely sanctioned so whatever. Shut up.)