Zero, one, two, three (four days without you).

Ben came in and woke me up the hard way, lifting me out of bed while I was still asleep, heading for the door of our room, loudly proclaiming that the pool is ready and he knows how much I like to swim early.

Ben! Christ! I start laughing but now he's heading out the door. I need my swimsuit! Don't you dare go downstairs! 

Come on. I'll swim naked if you will. 

Sure, but I'm not parading through the house that way. 

We've done it before, he winks.

Did you clear the floor? (Meaning everyone is asked to leave the area so we can sneak through indisposed if necessary. It happens once or twice a year only, I swear.)

No, but I'm sure some of them have already seen what little you have to offer. 

WOW. 

I meant you're so little, they'll probably miss any really good parts. 

That isn't what you meant! Put me down! I need to go get my swimsuit and a hair tie.

SO MUCH TROUBLE. All this for a swim. He pretends to talk to his wrist. Plan Bee is a go. I repeat, plan Bee is a go.

Is there even water in the pool? 

Yes. The guys were here last night servicing the heater and getting it all ready. It should be full and warm already. 

Oh, I'm so down for this. 

Well, I thought you would be but we're still here talking about it.

Shut up and tie my bows, please? 

Thought you'd never ask. Let's get this show on the road. It's supposed to start raining at three.

I don't think we'll be outside until three. I haven't even had breakfast. 

I'll have PJ bring out something. 

Good luck pulling that off. 

For a shot at seeing you in your birthday suit? He'll do it. 

Conveniently, my birthday is tomorrow. 

NAKED ALL WEEKEND. 

YES-  WAIT, NO! 

TOO LATE, BUMBLEBEE! YOU AGREED!

Struck/stuck/FUCK.

Lying on the floor or in the grass looking up. That's where it's at. Inside, I can look at the tiny lights that crisscross plaster alabaster skies. Outside it's the real deal, stars millions of light years away, souls or planets or maybe both reminding me that I'm just one. Just small. Just quiet. Just here trying to find my way through when I can't navigate to save my soul. That's not a bad thing, as my soul is kept elsewhere anyway. I still have enough of it to be me but not enough of it to feel complete.

The dampness from the grass is seeping into my jeans and sweater. My toes are icy, my hair is in my eyes and yet I can't come in when they call me. I'm paralyzed by these stars, awed by my insignificance and loathe to turn off this song before it's finished, one earbud stuck firm into my skull, the notes stroking my brain, calming it from it's frenzied, endless screaming into a faint whimper no one can hear any more, least of all me. That's the important part. That's the part that methodically puts the pity in their eyes ahead of blatant want. That's the part that gives everyone pause enough to give me leeway far beyond what is average and latitude beyond measure.

Leave him there. Shut the door and don't listen anymore. Lochlan's words into the other half of my skull remain piled up against a door that won't open so he can't even get through. I need to save them from me. I need to protect them against this monster who looks so sweet even as she's sending them to their deaths, making them think too hard, feel too much, and love hopelessly, their faith mislodged in the wrong spirit, their mistakes hardly a blip on a radar that seems to point directly to me.

Stargazing and navel-gazing go hand in hand. My back is soaked. My hands are wet, leaving a streak of green across my cheek as I pull the hair out of my mouth. It's windy and beautiful tonight. It's loud on the inside, dark on the outside and perfect for Bridget. Just perfect.

I can't help it, I tell him and the despair on his face hammers me into the ground. I've got a good grip on the edge of this hole. As long as I can still see out I'll be just fine. As long as I can still see stars.

If I could
Yes I would
If I could
I would
Let it go

Fight or...flight.

Hey. Jake is leaning against the jeep in the rays of light pouring in through the high windows in the garage doors. Legs crossed, all the time in the world. His white blonde beard and pale blue eyes make my whole body hurt for what I had once before it slipped right through my fingers and fell too many stories to survive.

(I wasn't there to save him but I would have saved him if he'd let me.)

I don't answer him. My throat is dry. I feign coolness and shrug with a little wave. My brain thinks WWDD? (What would Duncan do?) and I opt to fake it until I make it. It's a pointless funny little coping mechanism they suggested when I feel weird in any situation.

And it doesn't work.

Bridget...PJ? What's going on there?

I shrug again. This time it isn't fake because I have no idea either. He gets lonely too. And he's very very good to all of us but especially me so...I don't know. It's not hurting anyone. 

Lochlan? 

Since when have you ever cared how Lochlan felt about anything? 

I care about you and how he reacts to the things you do. 

My safety isn't in question.

He laughs harshly. It's hard to watch you someti-

Then look away. Like the rest do when they need to. 

Why haven't you read the letters?

Another shrug. I've been busy. (Busy trying to learn to live without you. Busy trying to juggle a houseful of men. Busy trying to forget they're waiting for me. Busy trying to stay out of the hole I keep falling into.)

Are you going to read them? 

You could just tell me what they say, if you're waiting for some moment of illumination here. 

I'd like you to take your time and read them at your own pace. 

Right so twelve years from now. I'm not so quick, Jakey. The tough-girl mask dissolves and behind it waits the twelve-year-old who didn't even know Jake and doesn't understand how they can hurt her and then stand there and feign innocence. It led to a huge label that she wears now as a grownup. Neamhchiontach. Innocent, in Gaelic, tattooed from shoulder to shoulder across her back, just so there's no mistake. But hurt is by degree, and that wasn't hurt. That was betrayal. This. This is hurt. This hurts so bad I can't even breathe anymore.

The tears drown me but at least I can swim now. Thanks, Sam.

I gotta go. 

Back to PJ? Or Caleb? Hell, pick someone. 

I DID BUT HE DIDN'T PICK ME. This is your fault. All of it. This is some sort of human safety net so I don't take the easy way out like you did. I ask for help and I get it. So don't you DARE stand there and pass judgment on me, you fucking selfish asshole! 

Moments like this are the ones that tell me you're really okay, Princess. 

Well you're wrong, because I'm not. 

Peanut? You okay? I could hear you yelling from the driveway. Lochlan's in the doorway. I turn back around but Jacob's gone.

Just blowing off steam. 

Come talk to me while I fix the fuel pump. I heard every word, Sweetheart. I don't think you're finished yet. 

Commodified (I must look dumb.)

August said Mercury's retrograde in Aries will be over in a couple of days and things will be back to normal. I haven't felt like myself in spite of all efforts to get rest and slow down and be healthy. Maybe I'm not trying hard enough or maybe I should listen to doctors instead of hippie social workers. He gave me my horoscope for the month while drinking Kombucha and listening to Dope Lemon.

(Dope Lemon is the shit. Seriously. I could listen to their albums all day. Wait, I am. Nevermind.)

But watch out for Pluto, he says and I remember I'm supposed to be taking notes. I haven't heard a thing in between Mercury and Pluto but if my diligent attention back in my earlier years when Lochlan taught me outer space onsite is of any use, the parts I missed are Mars, Venus, Earth, Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus and Neptune.

Hope I'm right.

I'll watch out for Pluto, I promise him instead and he smiles.

Good girl. 

***

The doctor came by anyway for the checkup he told me about two weeks ago that would happen this week but apparently I forgot. It's okay. We can look after it now, but here is also some correspondence from Mr. M_____. He hands me a smallish envelope. Bigger than a letter, smaller than a greeting card.

I get a good report. Blood tests because I look pale. More advice to take it easy, that I will indeed be very tired and low on energy and to eat well, drink lots and rest for a few more weeks. I nod soberly as if I'm totally doing all that. He says I'll be called with the results but to continue getting better. That pneumonia has a way of coming back around to wallop people. Though he didn't say wallop, I just envisioned this big black creature turning around, marching back and smacking me to the ground, where I'll writhe helplessly, trapped in a huge blob of translucent phlegm.

Yum.

When he goes to give Caleb all of the private details of my checkup I open the envelope. It is indeed from Mr. M himself. Not from his secretary or his assistant either. He wants to know how I am feeling, that he's sorry to hear I'm under the weather and that if he can do anything, he's enclosed his private number, once again, on the card with this letter, to call him if I need anything.

Right.

Yeah. No.

Close to normal, just for you.

I sat down in the hard cold pew this morning. My skin sizzled and popped but I bore it without expression. PJ smiles a sly smile and holds up a loaf of bread so I can see it. God, what a mess. We're going to put slices in the collection plates today. Sam will try and figure out how to sweep or mop afterwards and give up quickly, asking me to call whichever cleaning service I call, because he won't look in the very comprehensive contact list I keep on the church computer for him. He hardly knows how to turn it on, preferring to bring his own laptop with him every day. He doesn't even have a receptionist currently. Says the church is hardly big enough for the four full-time people it employs now. He does most of it himself. I help him a lot. We get it done.

But on a day like this I feel like an outsider, a heathen. An anomaly. Maybe I am every day. Lochlan slides in beside me, tsks at PJ and grabs my hand, squeezing it warmly. He leans in and whispers against my ear, asking me if I'm warm enough. I shake my head. Churches are like movie theatres. I'm always cold in them. He puts his arm around me and pulls me close to him. He is warm all over. He kisses the side of my mouth and sits back comfortably to listen. Ben is in a few minutes later and squeezes my whole head with his hand as he edges past Lochlan and sits on my other side. PJ and John move down a bit for him. Ben takes my other hand and kisses the back of it before smiling at me. He keeps my hand in his, his leg pressed against mine. Hip to hip, hand to hand we all sit and listen as Sam spins an old yarn into a comforting wrap. A story with subtle but glaring metaphors, reminders, tips for life and instructions on how to be redeemed. It's back to standard issue sermons and the church is noticeably less-full than it was in the days leading up to Easter.

After church we all pile into a diner, taking up three tables and two booths. We order fried food and milkshakes, coffee and juice and we eat and laugh and plan the week (which won't be as busy as the last few) and the day too (which won't be busy at all) and then we scatter back to the trucks and form a line up the highway to home. Everyone disappears and Lochlan looks at me.

Horror movie? 

With you?

Sure. 

Really? 

Say yes before I change my mind. (Lochlan hates horror movies. Hates 'em. I keep telling him watching the Canucks earn their draft picks every year is more horror than a silly movie and he laughs and tells me I'm probably right.)

I made a quick call to the cleaning company we use for the church sometimes to come and sweep up all the bread crumbs and mop the sanctuary proper and then I head downstairs to join him.

Resulting in eleven hours of sleep.

I was pulled into warm arms reluctantly, lifted down into his lap, kissed gently and then harshly too, and largely ignored for my exhaustion. My shaky limbs were directed, as I was hauled in tight, legs draped over hips, arms looped around necks, shoulders kissed in a flush of darkness, for it coated me like a shroud.

Too tired, PJ. 

Shhhh, Bridget. Enjoy it. I will. 

I push at him but he just pins my arms in between us, palms against his chest, beard tickling my ears, my cheek. He tries to hold back but he can't and by the time he gives me back I'm raw and ruined. I can't feel my fingers anymore, can't tell you what day it is, might be far too drunk for anything resembling agreement and about to black through into morning.

They don't care.

I rewound the day in my head before I fell through the night to figure out how I got here. Oh right. I smiled. I said Sure, just one more though. I thought I meant drinks. They meant friends. Or maybe I have that backwards. Like I said, I don't know. I slept well though. Worth it.

"The kites. The kites! Get 'em ready!"

Woo. Dance party in the kitchen as my phone came back to life like the Bride of Frankenstein after thirty hours under rice. I think the Apple battery case saved it's life and the only casualty seems to be a slightly blown speaker, but only slightly. Lochlan says it sounds like 'mild vinyl' (I love that he described the sound like that) and that I'll never notice it and if I do, it's akin to playing a record softly so I'm good to go.

The battery case will be vetted by him after another week under. He said it's lithium (HA) so he wants to be sure before he lets me put it back on the phone. Otherwise, he said, it could turn into an IED and we don't want that.

No. No, we don't want that. 

Welcome back old friend. I love my phone. I hate technology but I really love my phone.

Daniel and I had a fun dance party though. PJ watched and asked what kind of party it would have been if the phone hadn't powered up at all.

A sad sad Poor Bridget pity party. 

Bridge, if you need a phone, I'll buy you a phone. 

(At last count, I had nine offers similar to that in less than those thirty hours I waited out that phone).

I'm good. It's back. See? 

But the 7 is waterproof, PJ says with a wink.

I stop dancing. Seriously? 

Fuck things up.

This morning I was finishing up cleaning the bathrooms and I ran in to put a new box of tissues in the one just off the kitchen and I slipped on the freshly-mopped floor and my iPhone (my beautiful iPhone loaded with 128 GB of music, all music all the time) went sliding out of it's customary emergency position under my elbow (because I run out of hands) and straight into a toilet full of Pine Sol.

Lavender-scented fucking Pine Sol.

I screamed and plucked it out and now it's in Pine-Sol lavender-scented rice.

FUCKKKKK.

So now I'm using Henry's old 5C with a whopping 12 GB of space and ARGHHHHHHHHHH. I can't put my new obsession on it (Dope Lemon's Honey Bones album) and it's pissing me off.

"Creative minds are uneven, and the best of fabrics have their dull spots."

This is a battleground, I'm caught in the crossfire
My words are weaponry and I'm waiting patiently
You win the battle now but I will return the fire
'Cause I'd crawl on broken glass
To be the one who laughs last

Ben picked up the dark yesterday and ran with it. The weather cleared and he brought me down to the beach for a windswept, threatening picnic by the driftwood house. He stood on the rocks at the shore and read aloud from Lovecraft. He did his own annotations.

He read until the wind made it too hard for me to hear him and then we ate. Garlic salami, green olives stuffed with garlic, havarti, tiny rounds of thin toast. Grapes. Chocolate popsicles for dessert. Sparkling water. Then he asked what was for lunch and wrapped me in his hoodie.

Me.

He laughed and said Funny, that's what I'm craving. 

But we didn't leave.

We just sat there looking out at the gentle waves, watching the advance of the water until I started to feel sleepy and sunburned.

Better? He asked quietly.

So much better.

Good because you see that cloud? That's the rain coming back. I made a deal with it to hold off for a bit and it's waited as long as it can. 

Rain.

I hung on to today and am navigating it all fake-like and full of bullshit, easy shallow responses to keep from giving away how I really feel, saved only by the wrong people asking the right questions. Change that to the right people asking the wrong questions and I'll be had, found in the depths, a liar and a thief of positivity on a day when I can't see that the glass truly is half full. 

These white knuckles are sore. These black clouds are dark and I'm going to escape upstairs to myself as soon as dinner is done. Before it's too late.