Too hot.

Thirty degrees in the shade this afternoon and Caleb is standing in my parking spot in a suit, minus the jacket but with the vest and a white shirt with french cuffs he keeps shooting which makes my knees buckle just a little still, checking his watch as if I am late or something. I leave the car in the middle of the driveway. Fuck it.

Am I? Did we have plans? 

Neamhchiontach. 

Did I forget something?

Your future plans, your manners, our agreement, I can go on but suffice it to say, yes, you forgot something. 

Can we do this tomorrow maybe? 

What's the matter?

I'm hot. 

Oh, please do another naked stroll past all three houses. Those stunts are mighty impressive. 

I was covered. 

Only by your tattoos. 

Counts. 

Doesn't. 

Does. 

Bridget. 

WHAT!?

Rock and Roll Jeopardy remains the greatest quiz show of all time to me.

Got into it with August this afternoon while floating on glitter floaties, slathered in contraband sunblock and blasting acoustic gems from the playlist I made just for him.

Operator came on and he swore up and down that it was Elton John. Swore. Tried to bet me money but I wouldn't take it. Told me I was fucking with him. Listened intently and said I was totally messing with him and finally he sat back, content in my deception even as I floated and insisted that it was Jim Croce, and he needed to do his research.

Lochlan came out and August hailed him. Who's the singer?

Lochlan stopped in his tracks and listened. Jim Croce. 

For fucks sakes. 

See? I crowed from my air mattress. I don't mess around-

With Jim?

No, with music. Ever. 

How did you get such a vast knowledge of it?

Only stuff from the seventies and eighties-

Yeah, but how?

Lochlan grins. Easy. We had some really long drives from one site to the next and the radio was always on. I quizzed her constantly. Eventually she outlearned me and now I work to keep up. 

Serious?

Very. 

It's the only thing I'm good at, I venture from the middle of the pool.

Lochlan shakes his head. I beg to differ, Bridge.

Eyes wide.

I sent out a big group message shortly before one today, warning everyone to vacate the driveway/backyard/patio and pool area at three-thirty, that I was coming home and planned to head for a swim to cool off before doing anything else, that I didn't bring my suit and wasn't planning to go all the way upstairs to change first, that they could do me this favour, since Ruth was at work and Henry stays late at school on Mondays for math help since exams are coming, and coming fast.

I got back the right number of affirmatives. They're cool with it. It's only fifteen minutes, right? (That's how long it takes me to get bored in the pool alone anyway, and Lochlan said he would bring out a book so I had actual supervision.

When I got home I parked the car and took off my shoes, kicking them toward the side door. Tights were next. Jesus Christ, who invented these things? I stepped through the gate and untied my apron that I forgot to take off before I left work, and flung it on the steps going up to the patio doors. Then I put my bag down on the chair closest to me and my name tag I unpinned and put beside it. Then I headed across to the pool, unzipping my dress, pulling it off as I went. I let it fall to the grass and by the time I reached the pool deck my camisole and underwear were fifty yards behind me. I sank into the shallow end and walked until only my nose and eyes were above the surface. Then I closed my eyes and exhaled.

So much cooler in here. They turned the heater off. I may not come out for dinner.

Also, fuckers told me they'd all be gone but I encountered every last one of them on my walk of fame. Every. last. one.

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.