Jesus hostage.

Lochlan and I are lying in bed this morning, sun beaming in, windows wide, the sounds of distant lawn mowers and closer birds filling our ears. Lochlan stretches laugidly, like a cat.

What if we skipped church?

Then Sam would be lonely. 

What if we kidnapped him and kept him here too?

Then who would do the service? 

His co-rev. 

On short notice?

He suddenly got very sick.

Hmm. Better check with him. 

Go find him. Lochlan smiles a wicked, wicked smile.

You'd do anything to get out of church. (I said the same thing on the midway when Sunday prayers came around under the mess tent and it was mandatory if you wanted your paycheque that week and still he bristled.)

Go on. 

I head down the hall, down the steps and to the right into Sam's part of the house, knocking softly.

Come in. I step inside and Sam is in his den tying his tie. Help? He lifts his chin and puts his hands down.

I take the tie and slide it off him from around his neck. Then I tie it around his hands, making him my captive.

What are you doing? 

Making you our prisoner. You'll have to call your office. 

He grins. Grab my phone, Bridge.

Amends.

One of the hammocks is now officially a double-wide, and I went out this morning with my blanket, coffee in a travel mug and a book hoping to snooze in the shade for an hour or so, before the world gets noisy, busy and fast.

Sam was already there, a slim stainless mug of tea with a lid in one hand, Jacob's bible and a notebook in his lap.

Oh, sorry. I see I have to take a number?

It's a double, Bridge. I'll move over.

No, it's fine.

How long do you plan on avoiding me for? We've talked about this but you're still giving me the cold shoulder.

Sorry. I'm just trying to figure things out.

Let me help you.

Oh, that was a Jake remark. My heart caves in and I step closer to the hammock. His face lights up and he moves to make room. I climb on and he drops the bible and notebook and mug to the grass and puts his arm around my shoulder. I use his chest as a pillow, listening for the mild heartbeat, the open spirituality coursing through his thin frame and I remember that he isn't the enemy, he's the protege, and Jake wanted us to support each other.

We're walking conflicts of interest, objects of desire and forbidden fruit to each other, though. I don't think Jacob meant for that to happen, surely but I enjoy the thumps of Sam's heart and the righteousness of his soul nonetheless. As much as he has kept me in a certain place emotionally, he's also...well, kept me in a certain place emotionally so instead of being stunted by grief I can live almost around it. Even as I keep sliding backwards and he throws himself into the hole to catch me. If I'm not going to get very far with it he'll keep me company there.

I close my eyes and forget my coffee, my book, my Jake. I take a deep breath and I'm asleep. I guess that's the opposite of a cold shoulder, a warm heart. I know I have one, things just get hard sometimes.

White is lime, believe it or not.

The difference between me and everyone else? They'll offer you their forgiveness and I'll give you my grace.

That difference is bigger than just you or me. It's how things are.

PJ put on the new Orange Goblin album and came over to where I stood at the sink, daydreaming, looking out over the ocean while I mindlessly scrubbed water bottles. He put his chin down on my shoulder and asked if he could take over.

It's fine. I'm almost finished. 

What can I do to make this week up to you? 

He already failed to notice he doesn't even need forgiveness. It's already done, we've all moved on.

Have some ice cream with me, with a catch. 

I have to be naked?

You wish. No, the catch is that we don't actually have any ice cream so you'll need to go buy some.

I can fix that. Ever the hero, he grabs his keys and wallet from his room and heads out. I hear his jeep disappear and he is replaced with Duncan, who also wants to help with the dishes and feels awful that their laugh was at my expense.

He, too, chooses to hope for grace but doesn't expect it.

It must be earned, then. Or maybe bought. Coerced?

I'm finished here in a moment and PJ is off buying ice cream. Maybe you can scrub the bathrooms on this floor for me so we can get outside faster? 

Done. He disappears.

I take my time on the last few bits of dishes and one by one they come to lie prone at my feet to repent for their sins. I assign each one a chore that I had on my list and they're off and running.

All of them. By the end of the list I was inventing chores I had no intention of doing this year.

Dust the fishing rods for me?

Can you reorganize the books by color in the library? I just want to see what it looks like.

I don't want the red tictacs mixed with the white and blue ones. Can you make them into layers in the container?

Seriously, Bridge? Gage has his suspicions on the final, most ridiculous request and I'm almost made.

It's on the list. I implore with wide eyes.

And off he goes. To rearrange my fucking ice pop tictacs. I swear to God they would do anything for me. And they obviously do. That's why this grace is easy.

That's why grace is dangerous.

Eventually, with everything done for the day I take my grace and drown it in a fresh cup of coffee that I take outside to enjoy the sun. It's been a while since I've seen her and I needed a day off anyway.

Perfect.

That isn't grace, Bridget. Sam has me. The jig is up.

Yes, I know it isn't. Just let me have this payback. It's fun.
 

Not as I do.

Well, you know, you're never gonna change my mind
Doesn't it seem like a waste of time?
You know I'm always gonna cross that line
And I'll keep telling you, it takes all kinds

One more ripple in a big flat world
Find a little shelter, baby girl
One more ditty from the lost and found
One more step and we all fall down

In light of our discussions (which involved a lot of yelling, some tears and some glorious child-Bridget foot stomping, let me tell you), I have made an agreement with the devil and I have since struck out the offending parts of the previous post.

He pointed out I never listen.

He might be right.

I'll tell you the rest tomorrow. He is still sort of yelling. I'm still not listening.

‽ (Creating monsters).

Well, if they're going to read it, they deserve this.

Last night it started with PJ. A simple message to my phone, one character.

‽

It was supposed to be a joke, this interrobang. But as word spread of how clever it was, and how maybe the Devil has shorthand messages for booty calls or whatever they're naming it today (interrobang? SERIOUSLY. My God.) and they should make light of it by spamming my phone with that symbol.

All. fucking. day.

By the time I finished my shift my phone's battery was at 34% thanks to all of these messages, all containing the same symbol. A surprise/questioning symbol to replace the simple question Caleb had posed in our shorthard text language that is succinct, discreet. Subtle. Easy after all these years. Heck, I've had a smart phone for almost a decade. We're evolving.

What they don't realize is what they're making fun of is relentless pressure from my monster, a man who first touched me when he was already a man and I was still a child and it involved threats, a locked door, a scared little girl and a weapon and I don't know how many people are playing along but we are evolving, just into what I don't have the answer for. He's making amends, we're trying to figure out our relationship. I do all that out loud. He wants it to be more than it is, I struggle very much with my feelings for him. I could shut him down but I don't, I know. I know it's Stockholm syndrome. I know something isn't right with my relationships, particularly boundaries. I am addicted to things and people I shouldn't be. I fear things I shouldn't fear and am brave in the face of things I should run screaming from. I'm..all fucked up. I know this.

And so them making light of this relentless pressure, even as it seems like a simple text message (trust me, from Caleb nothing is ever simple) is actually a huge pile-on, a lack of support, a feeling that makes me want to cry since it's so heartless but I know they don't mean it like that. Sometimes the jokes cut in a little and make me bleed. Sometimes the testosterone-culture and camaraderie of the Collective and the fact that they're all on the same page leaves me out in the cold a little. Separated. Removed.

They aren't trying to be mean, it just comes out that way.

I'm sure of it.

"Love is the most selfish of all the passions." -Alexandre Dumas.

(He also said "Never fear quarrels but seek hazardous adventures instead" and I love that one too.)
 
Caleb was gracious about the whole thing, sending me a single character text shortly after I got home last night, my legs aching, my heart somewhat heavy at the thought of a night torn between the Devil and and the brown eyes of my dreams.

?

I didn't respond, an action that told Caleb everything he needed to know.

Ben was unrepentant, with a hungry eye towards gifting me a crazy night, though I was maybe too tired to reciprocate in the way I would have liked. I just know at some point, when I was sitting in his lap, my arms tight around his neck, either holding on for dear life or just climbing back down from the moon, I rested my head against his shoulder and he stopped short in the dark, pulling me in close and just holding me.

That was what I needed. That, and the orange juice he brought upstairs beforehand because it's the little things.

Actually, it's the big things too.

(Snort.)

At some point Lochlan slid his arms around me from beside us and we made a Bridget-sandwich and I closed my eyes and reached up to stop some invisible hand of time.

Just for a moment.

Just for this moment.

Lochlan's head comes to rest against mine and he whispers that he loves me. I think he's weirdly grateful to be in the space he's supposed to be in, maybe weirdly grateful I didn't take Ben's plans and run with them.

I mean, sometimes I do. Last night honestly I just wanted Ben and Lochlan to be in the same place at the same time. I never see Ben and he's supposed to be our third wheel, so without him around much we drag on one rim and it takes forever to get anywhere.

He promises to fix that. I don't know if he says that to be kind or he just forgets he has a family but I have his promises filed away just in case I need to pull them out and remind him.

Today I spent a hell of a lot of time leaning against the counter. Trying to batch my trips around the diner. Trying to not hurt so fucking much. I think I failed but it was more than worth it.

Not on your life. Or mine. Or even his, for that matter.

Today's visitor at the diner was Benjamin, a big surprise since he's not all that fond of going out in public, but he is a fan of having coffee with me and so he arrived just in time for my break, baseball cap making him look like he did when I met him, when we were in our twenties and full of shit and didn't have a fucking care in the world. Now here we are having our coffee with the weight of the world forcing our heads under the surface of the liquid gold in order to see us drown for it. This is the price for these minor crimes. Life continuing on.

The miles since those days leave a wake in the surface of the cups. I notice. I don't know if he does. Maybe he's already drowning. I would save him but he never lets me.

He likes to leave me in the dark.

I watch him. Watch his hands as they cover mine, watch him drink his coffee, brown eyes peering at me over the rim of his cup.

I think I hate coffee, now, Benjamin.

You don't. And I have a plan for tonight if you're up for it. 

Oh, really?

Sure. Caleb asked if we wanted to join him.

I don't-

Sure, you do. (Oh. He isn't listening.)

I gotta go back to work. See you at home. 

I'll be waiting for you, Bee.

Our house, completed.

I was stuck for time yesterday and didn't get to finish. The reason I was telling you about the house and all the changes was because we hosted a (very) large dinner last evening to thank the architects and contractors and crew for their work, their discretion (haven't found any social media yet from the inside of my house or pictures of Ben at home online yet and somehow I don't think I will) and their patience with what was a multimonth project with a couple of starts and stops and a few tiny turf wars and a lot of hard feelings, soothed over with cooler heads and lots of money, as these things are.

We did a barbecue with salads to make it easy, though I'm sure all of the people who arrived were surprised at the lack of alcohol. Instead we had large pitchers of lemonade and iced tea. There was a giant chocolate cake that had THANK YOU written in white icing and all the chicken wings and ribs they could eat.

And they did and everyone was gone by nine. That's the best part. And we had everything cleaned up by eleven, mostly because both Ransom and Emmett stayed to clean, so I had time to make some tea and thank them both for the little touches. Like putting up yards and yards of pastel rainbow bunting, and multicolored fairy lights. For the tiny dumbwaiter system on the steps down to the beach so I don't have to try and navigate the steps with my hands full of seaglass treasures. For the nonslip treads on those stairs and the reinforced railings and pilings.

 For furnishing our balcony as a place we can actually use, with a large umbrella and comfortable chaises and a rug. And plants. And more lights.

There are never enough lights. 

For fixing all of the shelves in the library that were straining under the weight of all of our books and albums.

For fixing all of the broken, previously slammed doors.

For better locks. For biometric security, which is new but fun and is easier than changing locks constantly as people lose keys (later found in out of season jacket pockets or under beds). I like thumbprint scanning. It's a riot. Especially since mine hardly works since my fingers are always so dry, cracked and split.

For the smart home control that means when I walk into a room or closet or open a cupboard lights come on! But better yet, MUSIC PLAYS.

For the suggestion of Roombas. Which are hilarious but great. I spend half my  life vacuuming white carpets in the softer areas of the house. I won't be anymore. This little round thing will fire itself up at preconfigured times and do it for me.

For the larger laundry room, now with a second washer and dryer set.

For the beautiful bookcase built-ins and hand-built bible stand in Sam's room.

For the bars in the bathroom tubs and showers. Because safety first (and sex, second, though you know me, I'm not going to say safety first if sex is on the list, right?)

For everything.

Mostly for their patience with me as I refused to engage while also trying to run everything. Changing paint colors after the paint had been purchased (it's okay, I ate the cost and donated the paint). Refusing their attempts to be kind as I thought they were trying to be forward.

I can't imagine these kinds of jobs are easy ones, as you invade someone's home with the intent on improvement and you're battling safety in familiarity. You're battling comfort. You're fighting for change.

But as I said and continue to say, they were very well compensated for their efforts and we will have them back again as required for further updates or to fix more broken, previously slammed doors.

(They also quite discreetly reinforced the walls that seem to get the most abuse, aka boys thrown into which include the one at the top of the kitchen stairs and the front hall to the left of the door.)

They thanked us for the project. I'm pretty sure they can both retire now. Everything is finally signed off on. Everything is done. Caleb wrote the last cheque. The lawyers have read it all over and the value of the updates have put the house into a assessement bracket I never thought I would see in my lifetime. Pretty sure Lochlan was rendered speechless at the value talks and still I don't take a single nail, board or bunting string for granted, the same way I don't take any of my boys for granted.

I'm so glad it's finished.

It looks beautiful. Maybe I'll post some photos. Maybe not.

Our house.

Staring at the fire
For hours and hours while I listen to you
Play your love songs all night long
For me, only for me

Come to me now
And rest your head for just five minutes
Everything is done

Jake would have loved this place. So many nooks and beautiful spaces, both inside and out in which to reflect, spend time, write, paint, think or just listen to music, like I am today, tucked into the new great room, which thankfully is in the same place as the old one, just framed in better with built-in seating around three walls, the fireplace built up with bookshelves (and now two-sided so you can see right through!) and window frames so wide you can lie on them easily. They put in stone archways and better hardwood flooring. Better lighting. More drawers. More storage. More definition to the rooms. Everything is painted white (again) or soft grey-blue. The kitchen is more usable now, with a bigger booth in the breakfast nook, a larger stone island I keep whacking my knees on with room for eight stools instead of the four we usually had before and we now have a huge eight burner stove with three ovens and a fridge that has two side-by-side doors and holds half the local grocery store. A vertical freezer stands beside it and now we have ice cream for months. The kitchen flows much better overall. It's really nice.

The steps for the entry from the driveway were opened up and I have a pantry now that is a true butler's pantry with appliance garages and cold storage too. Because of that the formal dining room is now opened up and a full wall of windows put in. We have a new table that seats sixteen and it's not bolted to the floor anymore. Between that and the glass wall I'm a little nervous.

The changes make things a little more functional for the size of the family living here. They also extended the porch so it wraps right around to the backyard on the right side of the house and has room for a full complement of seating instead of three chairs only. They made a proper front walk with landscaping and there's a gazebo now in the former wasteland between our side yard and Daniel and Schuyler's, with a path leading from our front steps to it and then from it to Daniel's. A fairytale gazebo, Victorian iron and glass with a dome roof. It reminds me of my old glass writing room at the top of the castle.

On purpose, Lochlan says softly.

The backyard patio is now covered with a fully-retractable electric roof and new seating. Gone are the big hard wooden Adirondack and mismatched zero-gravity chairs, instead cushioned chairs and couches and a rug and all of it is rainproof. The heaters are no longer the portable kind, instead there is full outdoor climate control at different points. The telescope platform and the pool area are both finished, the latter where the big round clamshell loungers are straight across to the outdoor kitchen is cohesive and gorgeously finished with stone archways that continue the design from our kitchen. The sauna looks like it belongs, finally. As well they put skylights in the stables and in our library, which now also features triple glass doors that open away to have garden access to the tiny grotto from inside.

 August has a large deck now with patio doors from his back hallway and better stairs to the loft with landings and landscaping. As well Duncan and Dalton have new glass slide-away patio doors to open up their suite into the backyard and a covered patio now thanks to the new extended porch above their ground-level walk-out.

(I did not get my spiral staircase. Everyone still asks where I would have put it and I don't have an answer but I still want one. Don't ask questions.)

I think I like the kitchen best now with it's new blend of soft pastels and stone. It's cozy. It's homey and it looks more like a warm family place to spend time rather than a cold modern west-coast McMansion.

Emmett and Ransom and their teams did a great job considering the scale of this project. I can admit that. It's more likely now that I find the bulk of the house's occupants in the common areas instead of tucked away in their personal spaces. That's the part I like best. I don't have to go digging for friends. They're all over the place. It's less of a house now and more of a home.

Everyone has demons. I'm in love with mine.

(Edit: I did indeed mention the night with Dalton SIX fucking months ago. There hasn't been another one since. Leave me alone.)

Today I can't breathe for the petrichor, the oppressive humidity, the mood of his house. Caleb sleeps uneasily, restlessly around me while I listen to music on my headphones and study his face.

It's the face I see in nightmares. Eighty percent Cole and the other twenty something else. Kindness tinged with sadism. Vulnerability tainted with absolute power. Age blended with an unwelcome, new immortality. I would have been fine had he been the one to go, oddly but of course he didn't.

(I would have been fine had he left that night at the camper when I was ten years old instead of coming inside behind me and locking the door.)

(I would have been fine.)

The music is old Switchfoot in my ears. Beautiful heartfelt Jesus-rock, soft and honest, open and worn inside out. The way Jacob preached. The way I like it. It's just there. It (and I) don't try to convince people. I don't attempt to sway them. I just do my own thing and I don't fear or fret their judgement. God's the only judge anyway, by my reckoning.

The music is too loud and I don't hear him, zoning out briefly on a staggering bridge and snapping back when he squeezes that same elbow his brother bent the wrong way when he realized Jacob took his family. I don't think I did much right in my life but I'll never ever regret leaving Cole for Jake. Even though it resulted in not one but two bottomless absences. I wouldn't do it differently. Today, anyway.

Neamhchiontach. Cole's eyes but not the same blue and my heart thumps. Flight. I choose flight. Wait. No, I can't do that. Jacob did that and he never came back.
What are you listening to?

Learning to breathe. 

Is it working? Is that a self-help podcast?

No. I refuse to engage past what I need.

Bridget, talk to me. 

I turn away without throwing him the bone of a word he so desperately wants.

Please, Neamhchiontach. 

You can't control everything all the time. Not even me anymore. 

While you're learning to breathe, I'm learning that lesson about control every moment. 

You're not learning it fast enough. Some days I still hate you.