I'm telling you what you thought was a harmless catchy tune was someone pouring their damn heart out. Time and time again.

A little voice inside my head said
Don't look back, you can never look back
I thought I knew what love was
What did I know?
Those days are gone forever
I should just let 'em go

When I was young, Don Henley was one of the most sophisticated, perpetually-jilted men in existence. When I was thirteen Boys of Summer appeared on the radio. A nod to fairweather romances, seasonal change and growth, Don sang it like it was.

I loved that song. Still do. Even the covers of it. The Ataris did a great one sixteen years ago, when Henry was in diapers and maybe Ruth was barely out of them. It's a vibe, that song. It's a song that takes on a completely different meaning from a happy go lucky summer song when you're young to a lament for times gone by. For longing. For Don Henley's weathered broken heart and for mine too.

This morning the lines I've copied above serve as a warning to heed the past but focus on the future. Thank you, Don, you always have my back. I'd have yours but honestly I have enough problematic men in my life at present.

Take this one, for example. The one in the dark suit and shirt, with the flashing medium blues, handsomely devastated by my words yesterday (they read. Why do they read?) and suddenly keenly, painfully aware that Cole's anniversary has crept up on us, tapping us on the shoulder only to have us turn around to get punched right in the face by it. By time. By history. By Cole's massive legacy that leaves us all wondering how he went so off the rails.

I listen to them when they say that. I write it down. I absorb it and nod along, agreeing with it even as I knew Cole as something vastly different. He was always cruel and violent. Always difficult. Always setting me up and tearing me down. Always making me wonder which side of him I would see, and then surprising me by changing it up constantly. He was oddly easy to love. Easy-going. Easy on the eyes. And he made it easy to fall in love with anyone, everyone else right in front of him. Worst of all he made it easy to shove Lochlan to the side, as Lochlan has his back, brothers until death.

Then death happened, Lochlan found out that Cole was the same kind of brother Caleb had been to him and the world tilted on one axis, leaving us hanging in outer space. In the dark, cold, silent space. No radios here.

Cole's legacy isn't what he hoped.

It's okay. Is anyone's? I doubt it. The way you think you'll be remembered is never how it actually turns out. It's akin to taking a beautiful picture of the moon. You wind up with a fuzzy, unfocused recollection of such a beautiful sight. You wind up wondering if it was all that or maybe you were just bewitched. Charmed.

And Cole had exactly an eighth of the charm Caleb carries on any given day, doling it out like gifts from a benevolent God. Exactly what we want, perfect fit. Right color and everything. God help my soul, he sniffs around it like a rabid dog.

He did love you, Bridget. Don't let what happened at the end change that for you. 

I haven't. Oh, trust me. I haven't. I need that reminder like I need another hole in my head. Cole was the one who saved my life when Lochlan broke my little heart into tarnished and blackened teenage pieces. Cole painstakingly put it back together again and then broke it for kicks all over again, just to see what would happen, under his brother's guidance. He should have heeded their warnings. He should have seen it coming.

Thirteen years out from under his rule, his intense, private cruelty, his outward insanity and charisma and I am still learning not to let them hurt me so much. Don's helping, for every time I get sucked into Caleb's charm now the radio dial spins like it's possessed until it finds a station playing that song and I am reminded why I went running back to Lochlan for good, whether he wants me or not.

I love you I love you I love you.

Go for a run?

Uh. Wow. Okay. Let me go throw on my gear. 

Hurry, Ben.

It's eight kilometres of oppressive humidity, light rain and silence before I speak. Ben has no problem keeping the slow pace I run, even though I run flat out like my ass is on fire. Eleven days from now-

I know. 

He died THIRTEEN YEARS AGO, Benny. 

I remember the night well, Bridge. We were still reeling from his attack on you. And then he just checked out of life with no explanation as to what made him snap. Well, I mean Jake made him snap-

Cole and Jake were friends! 

DUDE. He spent close to a decade watching you two fall in love. It was Lochlan all over again but on crack. He went mental. I probably would have too, save for I'm super-generous and too busy for a full-time lover. 

Ben-

Only partially serious here. But Bridge, you had to know he was wrecked over you. He would rather kill you than live without you. What does that say about him?

If he hadn't tried that he would still be here. 

And you think having Caleb around is awkward.

THIRTEEN YEARS, Ben. 

I still miss my friend. Sorry. As fucked up as it all was he left a huge hole that doesn't get filled. Sam and August don't fill it. Nothing does.

I know they don't. 

So why are you marking it now?

This is the first year I can think about it objectively, without losing my shit. 

Eleven days is a long time, Bee. It could still happen. 

Oh, I have no doubts. 

Should we gather the troops? He cocks an eyebrow at me as I look up at him.

I didn't know they were scrambled this time of year. They probably shouldn't be. 

You're right. You're weirdly objective right now.

Just in case. Don't tell Lochlan I'm losing it.

 Lucky for you he's had me shadowing you since last week already. He's a boy scout when it comes to your grief. Always prepared. The troops aren't as scrambled as you think. Ever.

But he's avoiding me. 

He's giving you space to mourn. Whatever it takes. But he's there if you need him. Cole was his best friend, Bridget. This is hard for him.

Thirteen years, Ben. That's a lifetime. 

Not quite.

I stop, hands on my knees. Gasping for air. I don't think I can run back.

I know. Duncan's just up ahead there. See the truck? Lochlan sent him out shortly after we left. I can see the texts on my watch. 

From far and wide.

Best Canada Day ever. I slept in, the dog slept in, the devil slept in, the whole house slept in. We got up slowly. Caught up on laundry and chores. Made coffee and then went in town to for brunch and to walk around enjoying the festivities for the holiday. It's the first long weekend holiday I have had off in a year and a half so it was nice to watch people fly kites, have their faces painted and sing O Canada, followed by an actual bagpiper, something I didn't expect and right up until I saw him, I thought it was my phone. My ringtone is Scotland The Brave. Go figure. Bagpipes aren't as big in British Columbia as they are in Nova Scotia.

Mostly though I celebrated because I slept all night. I'm sick with a cold (yes, again) but I used some of Caleb's cold medicine. It was amazing to just drop out of consciousness for a little over ten hours without a single interruption. Good stuff. I won't spam it here because I don't do ads. I got to have eggs Benedict. I got a second cup of coffee. I enjoyed dumb things I like doing and no one complained. We came home after a while, walked the garden to see what's up now and I don't have to cook dinner because everyone overate at lunch and the rest are still out, I didn't have to drive, didn't have to be in charge, didn't have to make excuses, amends or reparations and I can just let out a long breath (while trying not to cough, good luck, Bridget) and call it a perfect day.

As soon as the temperature drops I'm going to run the dog around the block and then put on pajamas. Because I can.

I can help. PJ calls from around the corner. I'm detailing my list here and he can read things on a screen from forty yards away.

You'll walk the dog for me?

No, I'll help you put on your pajamas. He winks and heads out the door. Proper thing, leaving.

Room.

He puts his hands up. He's not carrying anything. He doesn't have any weapons. For the moment I am safe even though I know damn well his gun is his heart and it beats down a count heralding the remainder of my life. He's watched every breath I've made so far. Nothing's ever going to change here in this dappled-sunlight-covered plant-filled room. The dark greys are so restful, his mood is relaxed. So far so good.

Just a drink. 

Drinks always result in a whole night. 

So two drinks then? He laughs handsomely. Aw geez.

Two max, I promise. His eyebrows go up. He's thrilled. He thinks that means two whole nights.

Cale-

Let me hope, Neamhchiontach. 

Don't do that. Just enjoy the moment. 

Oh, I am. I want you to as well. 

I'm here because I want to be here. 

Is it my aftershave? He laughs.

Curiosity flows both ways. 

How so? He hands me my drink. My out.

Thank you. 

Tell me. 

Tell you what? 

What are you curious about? 

Life with you. 

Marry me and find out. 

Sorry. 

Are you?

Not really. I'm happy and you're always wanting to fuck with that.

Not in the least anymore. My only aim now is to augment that happiness. 

Is it now? Truth, Cale. 

God's honest truth, Bridget. No fights, no battles of will, no tugs of war. Just peacefulness. Just happiness. Just time together on the right side of history. It's time for you to trust me.

Okay. 

Okay? He's holding his breath

Okay. 

He downs his drink. Fuck whiskey, this calls for champagne.

The concept of infinity.

And I swam in the wakes of imposters
Just to feel what it's like to pretend
There's no dreams in the lakes only monsters
And the monsters are my only friends

This morning a thorough fucking followed by a hot shower that almost doubled down on need followed by chins held up, late coffee (yup, best thing ever) and avocado-slathered bagels on the patio, where it's colder than it should be, but nicer than it is.

The song is wrong but I wear the words anyway, shoved underneath my skin, visible only when you pull my bones out one by one, tangled and dented.

Ben has a satisfied smile, Lochlan a contented grin. My arms hurt as do my ears. Things grabbed in the throes. I pulled Lochlan's hair way too hard but all he did was laugh. He is bulletproof. And I couldn't hurt Ben if I tried, though I wouldn't try, and he is exceedingly careful with me, save for bumping my ear a little more brutally than usual, as I caught his elbow on the way up and it knocked into the newish conch ring in my ear (acquired in May, as I always wanted one). He whispered a sorry but my ear rang with pain into the early hours nonetheless. I didn't mind. I was busy trying to find creative ways to breathe, unique ways to hold on, and simple ways to keep my head and heart from exploding, as for all of Lochlan's silent attacks of jealousy, he gives Ben the most generous share and Ben returns the favor by caring for both of us in a way that brings me to my knees.

It's a love like no other and something I never expected in a million years or a thousand lifetimes even.

For all of our bickering I just want this to be it, Bridget. Lochlan says it, maybe hoping I didn't hear him, as I was looking the other way. I just want it to be this. To be last night. To be forever.

It is, I tell him and he is surprised. I look at Ben. So does Lochlan and Ben nods. The gazes form an infinity loop and I let out a long breath. You could hold a gun to my head right now and make me choose and it would be so fucking easy I'd be done before you could finish your threat.

Easy.

Caleb walks out onto the patio to greet the now-stale sunrise, stretching his shoulders, cracking his neck. Morning. He cocks the gun and waits for me to confirm my choice.

Morning. Did you sleep? I don't actually want to know. I'm going through the motions. I usually freeze when faced with a weapon but I'm unpacking niceties instead. I don't even care. Kill me right now, it's been great. Thank you.

He knows. God, how his hand shakes with the gun. One good squeeze and I'll be blown off the earth. One good thought weighted with anger and I'm gone. Vaporized in a spray of crimson on the wind. A memory. One that hurts as it approaches. One that will hit him like a fucking freight train, I hope. For that's how it works with him.

He puts the gun on the table. It vanishes before our eyes.

I did. You? 

Not really, it's okay though. I will tonight.

Return of the cookie monster.*

Sticking close to Benjamin today. The seas are still rough out this way and Ben is a lighthouse on the shore. Rigid, safe. Unyielding, welcome. He's learned unconscious affection thoroughly and I'm going to take full advantage while Lochlan rages on in between serendipitous moments of tenderness. We have our moments where we get along, where we hang on each others' words and we have our moments when we hate the very sight and sound of each other. This has never changed, we're not in any danger here, it's just the way it is. Little things are far too big and big things far too minor and we can't seem to switch it around so we continue on, down a very strange path indeed.

He's coming home in a few hours and is happy to farm out care to Ben in the meantime, who is recording some vocal tracks today for a project (*coming early October! Now leave me alone). He's getting a little older (shhhh) and still wants to be fierce (as if he's not?) and so has me come in and sit for his dirty vocals (that's when you growl-scream the lyrics instead of singing them nicely. It's called unclean or clean singing depending on whether he sounds like a demon or an angel). If I flinch or get uncomfortable, he knows he's doing it right. I never could fake a facial expression to save my life so he's used that to his full advantage and it works well.

Except for today. Today it didn't work at all. Today he got me all settled, hit the button, ran through the motions and finally let out this deep and unholy guttural roar, a growl that sent me ripping headphones off, shrieking right off the stool in front of him, out the door of the booth in tears. I don't know what happened. It was overwhelming.

He chased me right up the stairs, as it was easy to tell where I was by the screaming, grabbing me at the top, pulling me in with a gentle laugh.

You okay, Bee? Did I scare you? 

I don't know. Maybe. It was just...a lot. Sorry I wrecked the take. 

Actually, if it's okay with you, I'd like to leave your cries in. 

The birbs and the beans.

We are reading Money Diaries from the Refinery29 website out loud and snorking on them. I would say snarking but I have a cold.

Good, Lochlan says.

Arse. He's taking Ben and I out for Indian food for a late lunch but we are waiting because one of Caleb's lawyers is blocking the driveway. He won't be long though, just dropping off some papers (Sam is taking over ownership of the Boathouse in order to gain some equity from it. Caleb is going to be the bank. That way he can buy Sam out without fees when the time comes and we don't have to actually subdivide the property. Kind of a neat system if you ask me but then again, it was my idea.) and then we can leave.

Soon.

Ben is busy reminding me that chana does me no favours and I am not to eat chickpeas until I no longer fit in the truck. I am non-committal, which is sad because I famously eat my body weight in them and then suffer days-long severe stomach aches afterwards. Then I forget and do it again. God, I love Indian food but I finally promise him I will only order korma and keema naan and I will even tell the server not to bring any chickpeas to the table.

Lochlan bursts out laughing.

So Ben can treat you like a child and you find it endearing, comforting and funny yet when I do it I am controlling and stuck in the past and rigid. 

Right. 

Then he can take you out for lunch. 

Wow. One of you ladies is super hangry. Ben frowns at both of us and I point at Lochlan.

That would be the redhead. 

I see this. Let's get him going before he starts shrieking unintelligibly and flapping his arms like wings.

My turn to laugh at Ben's description of Lochlan's decided lack of patience brings a smile to Lochlan's face finally. He winks at me and flaps his arms gently once. Ka-kaw! he whispers. 

This perfect existence (Fuck it, you know it's not).

When you made me crazy
We were not afraid
Just star-crossed runaways
No looking back now

Yesterday's weather was a metaphor for our whole life together. It started off hazy and humid, then cleared to beautiful blue skies and breezy heat before the black clouds rolled in and all of the sudden our words were weighed down by rain, cleaved in half and singed by lightning, muted by the thunder that heaved across the landscape like an earthquake, forcing me in, forcing him out.

He wrung his hands, ate his fist. Started and stopped speaking more times than I could count. I looked out the window at the rain. I refused to look at him.

I'm running out of grand gestures, Peanut. 

So don't make any. 

Ah. I see you're speaking to me again. 

Not actually. 

That's actually no-

I know what it is, Locket! 

He's never going to see me as an adult, never going to see me as an equal. His faith is a show, like everything else, confidence painted on like a mask just as he walks onstage, bravery suit stepped into for a perfect fit that is ripped off and torn to pieces the moments the lights come up full.

At least he has a mask. Hell, at least he has a whole suit. Doesn't matter if it's real or not. If you don't have tools, you can't use them, and that's where he and I differ.

I walk out on stage flayed, without skin. Blood pooling around my feet, skull sawed open, brain prickly and visible for all. I can't gather myself in one body, can't stretch my tattooed skin over it sufficiently anymore. Ever. Looking back I don't think I ever could.

The only weapon I have is silence. Ironic, since it's the only thing I'm truly afraid of anymore.

That's actually a lie but whatever.

Prone to magnificent, profound gestures, and can juggle anything you hand him, including newborn babies and broken glass.

When I go for my morning walk today I get the biggest surprise. At the end of the dock, where the giant yacht used to be, where I never went and now that the space is empty and open I visit it every single day, there's a small, handpainted sign. Wait. There's another. And another. They are brightly colored, painted on small pieces of board and nailed sturdily to two by fours and then to the ends of the dock and all around the edges and then down the steps too.

They are encouragement signs.

One says THIS TOO SHALL PASS

One says JESUS SAVES but it has a winky face underneath it so it's mostly sarcastic.

One says WE DON'T SINK WE SWIM

COURAGE, DEAR HEART with a tiny hanging sign swinging below it that says BRAVE

And my favorite? DON'T LOOK BACK YOU'RE NOT GOING THAT WAY

And nailed all over the dock at random intervals are painted red hearts on small scraps of wood. Some are as big as my hand, others are the size of a thumbtack. It looks amazing. I wouldn't have seen them except that I tripped on one and almost fell off the edge, rescuing myself with a gasp and a newly cold sweat.

And every one of these signs is painted in an individual and unique style, one I know so well.

What do you think? Lochlan's waiting on the stairs, guilty as charged, with paint-stained hands and a bruised thumb from where he smashed it with the hammer. He's here every morning. Every time. He has far more faith than PJ in me, enough to let me go alone, but his eyes have bored holes in my back as I go. The wind whistles a tune straight through me now, and the faster I walk, the louder it plays.

The ties that bind.

I'm playing 9 Crimes on the panio this morning. Singing both parts. August comes in and sits with me on the piano bench. He doesn't know the song. How can you not know the song? But he knows the piano after watching me play the same part over and over again. He takes over on the keys and I wish for my violin but it's not on this floor. Maybe another time. The tag is sticking out on the neck at the back of his henley and I absently sabotage my perfect morning with the ridiculous point that Jacob had the same shirt. Dark grey. Five small buttons on the front. Long sleeves and a marled texture that made it appear cashmere from a distance, though it was brushed cotton.

Thanks, brain. Thanks for that. Truly.

August turns. I didn't realize I had stopped singing.

I don't ask for much, Bridget.

I shake my head in agreement. No, he certainly doesn't.

Please don't talk about what happens between us. Don't lump me in. Don't call me out. Don't put a target on head. It's between you and I. They know damn well I wouldn't hurt you so don't list my name when you speak of reasons to continue your war. I'll be in your army but I don't want to be singled out. I'm begging you.

Did someone come to you?

Of course. It was an avalanche and I had no idea what was going on.

I'm sorry.

I understand you were trying to prove a point. I get it. I just don't want the politics.

It's inevitable, August.

It's making me think twice, Bridget. Honestly, I'm well past twice and am reconsidering everything.

What's keeping you here then? I close the lid over the keys and get up to leave. He grabs my hand. I wrench it back. Go if you're unhappy. (I call his bluff. He's not leaving.) Sorry I used you as an example but in case you forget they know exactly what it's like with you because they've seen you in action.

May as well point out I'm not the one who brings others to my door. The politics is all this is at this point.

***

Henry's done and done. Marks are rolling in already, though he wrote exams this morning. We held the ceremonial burning of the schoolwork and tallied up the marks, as the children get a pre-determined amount of cold hard cash for every A, B and C they pull off, A is worth the most, naturally. His marks are great, far better than mine were, anyhow at the same age. Almost as good as Ruth's though Henry took all physics and engineering, drafting and computers and math classes. Ruth took art, english, french and student assistance, so they are as different as night and day.

I'm just stupidly proud. I never have to send him up the hill ever again. His college program is mostly going to be online, amazingly enough, and now he needs a job for the summer and beyond, until his program finishes. I had a little birdie tell me Schuyler has an offer for him from someone he knows. I'm hoping it works out and comes to fruition but if not there will be something else.

Sigh. While I cried all through this month at the thought of Henry being done now I just feel relief. It's over. It's finished! They're both done. They're good humans, wonderful fledgling adults and far far better than I, which is all I ever wanted and everything I probably didn't deserve.