You know when you wake up wondering WHAT WAS HE LISTENING TO WHAT WAS IT SOMEBODY TELL ME THIS IS IMPORTANT JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ITS NOT A HARD QUESTION

Don't do it, Peanut. 

I think I have to. I pushed him away and went down to the piano, where I punched out REO Speedwagon's Can't Fight This Feeling at top volume. Hit all the right notes too when I sang. Everyone was up and at 'em by the time I was finished and I feel a lot better for some reason. I need people to help pull me out when the crazy train starts circling the hole of Despair.

(Had a good laugh in Ozark with the REO Speedwagon stuff -no spoilers because I'm not even finished it yet) but damn. REO and Jason Bateman in the same moment and I'm twelve again, I swear. Two of my favorite things in life, no lie. The rest are ectoplasmic, and harder to explain, I'm sorry.)

Pedals and everything. You can play that piano so fucking loud it would wake the dead but they keep telling me that's a euphemism even though I keep trying.

Peanut-

He can read my mind today, that train stopped on the tracks for what seems like hours now. This isn't natural. It's loaded. It's full. So many cars. So flammable. Blocking everything. Maybe this is a terrorist event. Maybe we should all get out of here in case it blows up. He can't see the break in the tracks, he's too far behind me for that this morning.

(Up and at 'em, boys!)

Maybe it's loaded with benzos, Lochlan offers helpfully. Finally.

God, I hope so.

The metaphor is water and the meaning has drowned.

Breaks my heart to see you cry
In the wake of incomplete time

The clouds are weighted today, heavy, obscuring the sun as it tries to burn off the pain of the point. I think it's going to stick around a little longer and keep trying, and the pain will be here forever to fight back.

Caleb's bitterness is sleepy this morning, and I have a new habit for the past several weeks of getting up early and going to crawl in with him, like I did with Lochlan for years and years and then PJ after that.

Time doesn't want to let go, making me crawl over the same lines over and over again, waiting for the end, waiting for a hand up but instead I trigger the mines and they blow me to smithereens, history destroying me only to have the hope of a future build me up again.

I'm not one of your bad dreams, Neamhchiontach. A lazy tender kiss is pressed through the hardest part of my skull, making it's way inside my brain to tenderize it. I'm just a man who has made mistakes. You won't find one who hasn't. The difference is most of them run away and I come back to face the one I hurt, to make it up to her. I pledged my life to you to fix this and for him to dismiss what we have every chance he gets is hurtful.

You all take the moment you're in to build yourself back up. You're doing it now.

There's a perspective I didn't consider. Another kiss, hard against my temple and his arms are tight. He is awake now, savoring the dense light, smoothing his hand over the pain, washing out the ripples and tears just under the surface of the water before another wave undoes all of his hard work. I just don't want him to build himself at my expense.

Diabhal-

You're here, that's all that matters. What would you like to do today?

May we fill the pool?

That's...phrased as asking permission. 

It works better with you.

With...me?

Can we fill it?

Go back. What do you mean?

You don't like my impulsiveness-

I LOVE your impulsiveness, what are you-

Whenever I just blurt out a plan you push it down. 

I'm sorry, Neamhchiontach. The last thing I want is for you to feel you communicate best with me in a formal tone.

Like that?

I'm sorry?

Don't be. I ignore his request for clarification. Does he need it? I doubt it. I slide out of his arms and out of his bed and head back into the hall. He says my name once but doesn't push it. I don't feel settled, I feel like I'm picking a fight if I continue this trajectory. Better to just go back to Lochlan where I don't have to play head games or word games. Back to where the clouds can't push me down on a day when I need to be up.  

"We love the things we love for what they are." ~Robert Frost.

Ben did finally turn into a giant smoking pumpkin, leaving us sometime in the predawn hours when it was dark and quiet, handing me back off again to Lochlan, who pulled me into his arms, buried his face in the crook of my neck where it tickles and fell asleep. But before that he first reaffirmed everything he feels for me, talking the entire time he made love to me about how we're meant to be together for life and it doesn't matter who or what drifts in and out of our lives in the interim, that Jake is a memory and Ben a mirage. Caleb? Just a bad dream, Peanut. It's okay.

I fell asleep underneath him when we finally stopped moving and woke up much the same and he squeezed me tight against him, back in charge, back in possession.

At least four weeks in the studio now, give or take a meal.

Cause I
I cannot start to crumble
So come on and try
Try to shut me and cut me down

I won't be silenced
You can't keep me quiet
Won't tremble when you try it
All I know is I won't go speechless
Speechless

One of my more fun Bridget Can't Do Self-Care routines involves singing all the Disney songs at top volume around the house all day. I warm up with tunes from The Little Mermaid and Moana, then move on to Coco, then Beauty and the Beast, back around with with Aladdin and eventually I'll devolve into Frozen because why not?

I don't really like Disney movies per se but I've seen everything because kids. Kids make you watch it all.

I love musicals though. That much I don't have to say again.

I got a Ben-Day as a bonus today. Ben won't sing along with me and asks me to stop while laughing. Lochlan never asks me to stop, never ever but Ben has had enough half a song in.

Ben is here because he doesn't feel comfortable leaving me to the wolves if half of them are Russian and so he's handed Duncan off to August and Sam (or as I like to call them, The Holy Triad of Hotness) (Shhhhhhhhh) and he's presented himself to me, not needing a deadline to return to work for once.

He smiles at me as he tells me this and I am rapt, crushed by the weight of his easy charm, and how different he is from Lochlan. Ben is my giant frat-boy, my Everything-Will-Be-Okay, he's...

He's what Lochlan used to be before the weight of a different kind crushed everything. It wasn't charm, it was fear. It was regret and damage and defeat.

Ben brings back the weightlessness of Life Before. Lochlan has device-handoff in Ben, who brings us back around to being out from the weight. He's a beautiful departure from everything and God, I love him so, in a way I don't love anyone else.

What do you want for lunch?

That's a silly question.

Is it? He grins salaciously.

It totally is!

Huh. We should go find your husband and bring him with us.

Yes. Wait. Where? Where are we going?

Upstairs. For lunch. Go get him, Bee.

Okay. I run off across the lawn to find Lochlan who is wrenching through his quarantine and likes to do as much as he possibly can before asking for help but most of the time when I go looking for him he's juggling tools and singing. It's kind of ridiculous. We're meant for greater things than entertaining the boys of Point Perdition, I swear.

I run right into him and almost get stabbed by a Robertson. Or maybe it's a Phillips. Maybe it's a Hex, like me. 

Jesus, Peanut. Be careful.  Such a dad. Christ. This makes my brain hurt.

Got a second?

For you, always. Now he sounds like Ben.

Come inside?

Sure.

I have a surprise for you.

Is it a Ben?

Maybe!

Awesome. Oh, my heart. He missed him too.

What am I doing right now, Ben asks?

  

Nothing.

A lot of people are reaching out.

And I'm not a sociable person, truthfully.

I'm ridiculously awkward and have a tendency to throw on an act, be it weird or perfectly normal, I never know what's going to come out. I have eight hundred emails here and I'm trying to reply in order of how much I like you. Corey called me direct and I told him it was my number, and who did he want, I'd give him theirs, or I would let them know he was calling and they could call him back but he said he wanted to talk to me, and I asked why, almost rudely. The only time he wants to talk to me anymore is to talk me into something for his work and I don't make music videos or single covers anymore unless there's a lot of money involved or it's something insane like a pool full of bubbles and fire but no, he just wanted to catch up and see how I was.

Which was nice and he is good, though he hates where he is currently and already broke up with his girlfriend. So clearly he's bored and he called me. I get that. We had a nice chat and when this is over I invited him out for supper.

Then the Russians showed up which was really fun, as we scrambled to figure out how to tell them we aren't accepting visitors and finally Caleb went out to the porch and while misguided, they were concerned that I had been feeling poorly and wanted to see for themselves that I was better. I walked out on the porch and when I got to where Caleb was he stopped me so I could go no further. The driver walked to the bottom of the steps and laid down a huge bouquet of roses for me and Easter chocolate for the children. They reminded us to call if we needed anything and then the two black cars reversed down the driveway, one a Ghost, one a Mercedes.

Jesus Christ.

We came back in and made coffee and breakfast quite robotically after that. I can't believe they didn't trust their own doctors not to lie to them. What the fuck. Caleb is shellshocked. I'm just angry that the doctor is giving updates about my private health issues to a bunch of mob-

Bridget, you know that's how he gets paid. 

I thought you paid him to do house calls. 

I do, but he's on their payroll. They know everything. 

I thought this was finished. 

It is. 

Then why were they just in my driveway demanding proof that I'm fine from a simple ear infection?

I think the old guy is fond of you. 

Yeah, well, I'm scared of him. 

Then Robin called but I let it go to message because I didn't want to vent all over him and he finally called Dylan who relayed all of Robin's concerns by shouting them across the room until I made the throat-slitting motion and he stopped and I'm not supposed to mention Dylan anyway.

Lochlan squeezed my hand and says the only way I can spin it is to be glad there are a lot of people high up looking out for me.

I look at him and nod. What's your name again?

Bridget. There's no use being nervous. 

The mafia didn't just show up looking for proof you were alright. I need to get Caleb out from under them-

He made his bed-

With me in it!

It's fine. They're out for a drive. They want to help. Lochlan, who has spent his entire life around shady folk, folks on the run, folks up to no good and people looking to escape the wrong they've caused is completely at peace with all of it.

If they come back no one open the gates. I'll talk to them on coms. They don't get to be here at my house. 

He nods. I know he's putting on a brave show for me, just like he does every time the doctor shows up and he knows a report will be made.

The doctor is an easy perk. Use who you know. 

Is that riffing on 'Keep your enemies closer'?

Maybe. 

I vow to spend the rest of the day on the beach, my phone upstairs in a drawer. There are two different places I can hide down there and pretend the world isn't real, which was nice for a moment or two as an escape but now it seems like an absolute necessity.

Updates and introspection and denial, oh my.

Not even sure if I mentioned it since every day pretty much feels like a cross between a Sunday and a struggle, not going to lie, it's hard to keep momentum right now and I feel so behind, like all I do are chores and a huge amount of fretting, and I can't just relax at all. I drank three things of cognac last night and still nothing. I finished The Boy in The Striped Pajamas and wow, that ended far differently than I expected and Lochlan bought me a treasure-trove of brushes for Procreate and put them all of Google Drive and wouldn't you know..

File not supported.

And I don't know how to change that and I don't want to ask him to fix it. They're on the home server, I'll add it to the list of Things I Have To Do.

I need a vacation. From technology, maybe.

In other news, since I forgot what I was talking about and what I failed to mention, or may have, it's that we've lifted the in-house quarantine and every house is fair game now, as Schuyler is having a great vacation and even Batman stopped leaving. Henry is off until this coming weekend and so no need to isolate from each other. We've pooled the dwindling Twinkie Supply and movie nights are ridiculously well-attended, even though the last movie we watched was a real banger from 1999, The Ninth Gate.

Okay, fine, it was good. The theme was Thriller. I figured we'd end up watching Michael Jackson music videos on a loop but no such luck. I went for a long bike ride around the neighborhood, found every curb to be my friend where I could find one but otherwise it's frightening being out there with cars and stuff.

I hate it but I went because participation means you're happy, or something.

I went because I'm probably in shit anyway for heading straight to the loft and not coming back last night, prefering to waltz into the kitchen via the side door this morning causing at least eight heads to turn while I muttered WHAT? and walked right through, up the steps only to die a thousand deaths once I was out of sight because I forgot they're all home all the time now.

Lochlan came up and asked if I was alright.

It's August, not Caleb, I spat at him.

It's Jacob. Endless Jake. It's not August. 

I'm fine. 

You're so not fine it's a miracle you breathe most days, he says and turns on his heel, heading back to his coffee and his brothers because you can take a good thing and drive nails through it with a Saturday night hammer and who's going to stop you if that's how it works. We can make up later.

Because he's right.

August doesn't need to know this but sometimes it's Jake.

And I'm not sorry and no one gets an apology because it's Sunday and Jesus is coming back and-

It's Monday isn't it? Jesus is already here. He's standing right behind me, one hand covering his beautiful face, shaking his head at the things I do and why he wasted all this effort on me only to watch me chuck it into the sea.

I didn't chuck it yet but I might.

On the upside, August didn't tell me to leave. Probably because I never told him it was Jake. Having a great day here, how about you?

Naked faith (AKA Happy Easter).

(Hello Tornado.)

Sam's podcast was released live without a hitch this morning for Easter service, along with explicit and thorough instructions on the website and as well offers of a paper copy of the sermon to be emailed or even post-mailed if necessary to anyone who called or emailed and requested such. It's a weird and comforting thing to listen to him preach through my headphones. His voice is comforting and soft, authoritative and convicted. He talks about Jesus like he's a friend, a member of the Collective soon to return.

I suppose he is, though we are, as always, reluctant to welcome strangers.

He's been here before, Sam reminds me and I press resume, as I want to hear it again. I'm almost blissfully thankful that I have few recorded examples of Jacob's voice. If I listen to him it's a knife through the heart, making it hard to breathe.

Lochlan comes by, yanking out the knife, wiping it on his cargo pants, putting it in the sink to wash, staunching the flow of blood, mixed with misery to make it rainbow-glittery, bringing me back to life. He asks if I'm done with church yet, saying he would like a trip down to the water if I want a swim, still a little angry that I went for one yesterday with Duncan but without a swimsuit.

Duncan didn't swim though, I reminded Lochlan at the time.

I know, he scowls. And had I known I would have gone, he says, sending me up in flames.

When we get down to the beach I strip out of my clothes, still dressed in tattoos and grandeur.

Well? He says. Sink or swim. 

But I don't run into the water, away from his eyes like I did with Duncan. Instead I move in close so I am right in front of him, the wind whipping my hair into my eyes and mouth, looking like a tornado with nowhere to touch down.

Come in with me. 

He looks out at the water, then up at the steps and then back at me. Then he says Okay, and takes off his clothes. We run into the freezing cold water holding hands and then run back out before we get our hair wet.

Best Easter service ever. If Jesus comes back right this second, he's going to get an eyeful.

Early birthday suit.

We did not fill the pool but since I needed to swim and have zero ability to understand things like consequences, I made a brief plea to have a quick dip in the ocean, expecting everyone to shut me down. We already did all the yard work and cleanup from the winter this morning, finishing what I started a couple of weeks ago, mowed the grass, power-washed absolutely everything and omg I'm so hot and so tired, I just want a swim.

But Duncan offered to go down to the beach with me, while everyone else begged off and so off we went, mildly awkward at first and then comfortable as he said he's doing well he just had a moment and it's passed and next time it comes around he knows what to do.

At the bottom I realized it's twenty degrees and because I was working in the gardens I'm not dressed for swimming with my customary bikini under cut offs and a sweater. Fuck. I turn to go back up and he tells me it's fine. That if we're here I should swim anyway because he's not climbing up only to come back down. That what's the difference between undies and a swimsuit?

But like I said I have a tendency lately not to wear those either.

Oh. Well, I'll look away until you're in. 

Fine by me. 

So my first real swim of the year in two-degree water with a fine ice-surface or so it seemed was in my birthday suit and it felt GREAT.

And Duncan never looked the other way, not for even a second. I struggled to put on shorts and my sweater over wet skin and he watched and laughed and occasionally reached out to steady me. On the way back up he said he wish he knew who the bigger mess was, me or him, and I answered that it was me for sure, through chattering teeth.

He didn't argue with me though.

Under the rabbit sea.

We took breakfast down to the dock today. No frost on the steps, no bone-chilling morning air. Just sunlight, a brisk cool breeze and a lineup of boys with baskets and a girl with a bag over her shoulder because I need one hand for the rail and one for Lochlan's hand.

Ben even came with us.

And also Caleb, Sam, Matt, August, Dunk, Dalton, PJ and Gage because it was Good Friday service on the water. We set up my huge round tablecloth with the tiny pompoms all the way around and sat around the edge of it, laying out fruit, sticky buns and muffins, hard boiled eggs and a plate of bacon and ham. We had three thermoses of hot coffee and one of tea and we ate quietly and then lingered over saved coffee while Sam conducted a brief service, complete with a sermon and then Ben played a song on his guitar and sang along with it and Dalton joined in on harmony at the end and then we sat in relative silence, enjoying the sun and each other. No one had a phone or an ipad or a grudge. No one had somewhere better to be or was too busy at work. Everyone sat quietly enjoying their coffee, picking out the remaining fruit bites to nab and watching the waves lap quietly against the shore.

I watched the bunny head float by in the water, attached to no one and I began to laugh out loud. I'm thinking it's ruined now but it pretty much was before, and this seems like the perfect time to end that tradition and maybe start this new one.