I have plans.

It's a beautiful day today. My boys are still sleeping in the cool breeze, and the devil followed me as I took my coffee and my thick stack of tech outside to the patio to do a little early work before I get inundated with attention. I'm sure he's just here in case the bears show up, or that bunny, or the dragonflies that have made their appearance at last. We also have a roster of small birds and an OWL if you can believe it, though I have only heard him in the woods in front of the house and not gone looking for him yet.

Caleb sips his own coffee and pretends to read the paper on his ipad. He's watching me without looking and it's a comfortable feeling for me. Lochlan and I continued our talk last evening. It's not that Lochlan is trying to sabotage me, hell, he'd be thrilled if I gave up Caleb for good, but he's concerned that if I do anything as a moment-of-clarity action or a knee-jerk reaction it usually is short-lived because it's made via my rare and legendary temper. Once the temper subsides, so does the resolve and he would rather these decisions be made rationally and by the light of day. He's also weirdly concerned with Caleb's outlier status.

Which Caleb bestowed upon himself so I have no sympathy for that. But then again I don't have the perspective of the boys on this at all to understand how I've changed their behaviour (I haven't, that's on them) or clouded their judgment. Bridget the drug. Bridget the brass ring. Yeah yeah. I've heard it all before. Still doesn't mean he should ever be a monster to me. Not in MY house.

Gage has been completely absent. He, Duncan and Dalton are embarking on a short road trip and will be back probably at the end of the week since travel within the province is semi-feasible now. He gave me a perfunctory hug goodbye and said to take care and that he'd be back and that was that. It's weird, I know and honestly having three less giant men in the house means there's a little space here this week so it's a bonus. And Duncan continues to text me every eight seconds so not like I have time to miss them.

I move my legs out of the sun and Caleb's head snaps up. He fell asleep. Hahahaha. I bark at him to go back to bed and he said he's fine so I go back to ignoring him. I'm going to milk every moment of this summer, eating outside, hanging in the garden, painting pictures of my flowers, soaking up the peace and quiet. It's going to be so lovely. No one's going to fuck with it. I have no travel plans, no huge plans involving building anything or needing to celebrate anything enormous, so this will be a good summer because it has to be, and he's not allowed to ruin it.

I feel like a cat burglar every time I leave the house now AKA Bridget went to church.

We went to church this morning. Lochlan and I wore masks. We let the kids sleep in. Matt scooted way down on the bench and Lochlan took off his blazer and let me sit on it to make a buffer from the cold wood, not caring if I wrinkle it terribly, he just won't put it back on. He looks like a teenage boy forced to go to Sunday school (I guess that's true) in a white shirt, plain black tie, hair tied back in a simple low ponytail with one of my black elastics. Brown pants because he looks better in brown but grabbed a tie last minute that is actually Ben's and would be the only thing of Ben's that would fit Lochlan. We mistakenly dressed for summer in a fall weather pattern, as it's rainy and dark today but I wore a sundress with straps and big yellow sunflowers all over it. It's a long dress, a mid-calf if you're tall so it's down to my ankles and I have a dark blue cardigan too to cover my scandalous tattoos in church but not really since they go across my chest and down to my knuckles anyway. Once we are settled and have established that there are hymnbooks at our places (Sam usually forgets if I don't come early with him but I guess he has a routine down now as I haven't been here in months. I can tell I haven't because the sconces on the wall have long freeform cobwebs on them because no one ever cleans the sanctuary unless I remind them) I settle back against Lochlan's arm and make sure my phone is set on silent.

Lochlan never takes his off silent. He has pockets, always. I'm going to start dressing like a boy.

Caleb appears and sits down beside me on my left. He nods to Lochlan and then to Matt and finally to Sam and then he loosens his tie slightly while I stare at him, checks his watch and then settles back, taking my hand from my lap to hold in his. Lochlan turns his head ever so slightly to see this and then squeezes my shoulder. He's going to let me figure it out.

I snatch my hand back.

Caleb simply takes it again. I go to pull it away but he's holding it tightly now. I have two choices. Make a scene or put up with it until he lets go to pass something.

And since it's church I let it go and put up with him. He relaxes his hold after a minute. Is it a test? Do I have my chance? I don't know but I leave it. It's warm. I'll use him for that. Eventually when we stand to sing a hymn he lets go and it's as if nothing is wrong. Maybe he's going to ignore my attempt to break up with him. Maybe he's going to try to fight it somehow. I don't know. I don't care. I came here to support Sam and I'll deal with Caleb at home.

When church ends Caleb stands, lands a light kiss on my cheek, nods again at Lochlan and ducks out of church, not waiting in the endless line to greet Sam and shoot the shit as if we don't live on the same property. I tell him a dirty joke and he blushes and laughs, shooing me out, hoping none of the olds heard me, and Lochlan laughs gently as he shakes Sam's hand.

On the way home we play music and we don't really talk but when we pull in the driveway Lochlan turns off the truck but doesn't move.

What is it?

Don't fight with him. Just leave him be for a bit.

What do you mean?

You don't have to cut ties. Just force him to be civil.

It doesn't work-

It will if you hold this over his head.

Strange, coming from you.

Let's just see what happens. I have a feeling things will be better. He seems rocked.

He should be!

Then let's wait and see.

***

Y'all want to know the joke. Fine:

How is God just like a regular man?

If you're not on your knees,  he ain't interested.

I don't care if you're offended. My minister laughed so hard he snorted.

Lies painted in the fairydust with a fingertip.

Moments of clarity are big hunks of driftwood, floating in this ocean of tears and as I cling to one this morning I understand things I'd rather not confront when the fog rolls in, wood sinking back to the bottom of the sea.

I sip my coffee in the rain, under the glass, the cloying humidity keeping me weighed down and I wonder if the devil fears the wood the way I fear that fog. I think I know my answer. I think the devil foreshadowed this, again, many days ago when he just knew if I crashed out of my drugged stupor back through the light of day that I would see him for what he is and not what I need to make him in the dark to get through it.

What he is is a beautiful man who hides a monster on the inside but that's how I make him. He is himself with everyone else and a hungry animal with me. I don't know what I did to cause that to come out in him but it's there and once I saw it he couldn't put it back so I'm putting it back for him while I can.

So what happens now? My little-girl brain asks, anxious to get back before dark, back to Lochlan who keeps the monsters away even on this, the longest day of the year when there's very little dark to crowd in around her.

Be very brave, I tell her and she nods as if this is very serious, knowing full well in a moment she's going to turn and run back to the lights because nothing bad can happen in a place where people go to have fun.

Put her in a box (broke up with my boyfriend).

Choose your words
Choose them wise
For they will lead to your demise
Take my life
Take my faith
To stop the tears that run down your face

If there was any doubt about who runs the world here, I can put that to rest today, having campaigned for (and won) Gage's return.

Gage who has a very stable, quiet life here on Point Perdition and made a terrible mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. He was sober, he was vindicated by the security camera happily charging away on the kitchen counter (aimed squarely at the table where he clearly asks me several questions), he wasn't setting out to take anything, to exact payback or to quell some uncontrollable urge and he has no history of violence in his life. Even as kids when he and Schuyler fought, Schuyler would swing for the rafters and Gage would block but never return the favor. Ever. This much we knew before. This was one of the reasons he was an easy fit, always. He's passive.

(He's not fucking crazy like the rest of us.)

He gets no fault for being awkward either. His apology, made to the entire point two days ago sans children, and the fact that he is blood, coupled with his incredible and swift horror at what happened when I turned around all gave me enough data points to present a convincing argument to not banish him.

And it worked. We're going to stay together as a family because we are a family, and if there was any doubt that he is part of the Collective it's been answered now. Answered by the concerted pool of tears that began as a pond and grew to an ocean until we were all treading water, loathe to let each other go.

But of course I'll be avoiding him for the time being. I am angry and surprised, still. Shock takes a while to wear off. I am disappointed he didn't try to make it about us, leaving it about him, and I'm horribly stunned at the thought that I was fine with it, because I thought it was Caleb being angry and I know that's the worst part of all. Caleb's bottomless, misdirected and unpredictable rage, his treatment of me, both physically and emotionally becoming accepted practice in our relationship, in our lives, while Lochlan has fought it every step of the way, hating our relationship but leaving it in deference to my naive, selfish wishes and blinded wiles.

I should listen to him but as an adult I always feel like I should use my newfound power to defy him constantly, because I can.

Lochlan is crushed but he forgave Gage. He did not, however, forgive Caleb. I doubt he ever will.

Oh my GOD.

I'm FINE.

STOP IT

Pots, kettles.

You know Ben used to have this under control. I was always standing within reach of him and no one got near me without his approval or supervision. He had it nailed down and then he got busy and he got tired and Lochlan's always been protective but maybe not as concerned as long as we're both home or around or whatever and between Caleb giving me medicine to help me sleep and Gage's error I think if you need me I'll be behind Ben somewhere, hiding for the rest of my days.

I'm not entertaining any yelling or threats or attempts to educate me on what happened. I know what happened. I was there. So fuck off with your emails, thanks.

He tried calling me. Seventeen times or so in the past couple of days. He sent a very long apology over text and then a completely different one to my private email. He finally called Schuyler and asked if we could do a facetime, with Schuyler present and Schuy refused. Schuy is barely speaking to him. Caleb is threatening all sorts of things. He thinks Gage lied and never said a word, just snuck up on me but Gage wouldn't do that. I think Caleb is also super angry because I automatically thought it was him. The worst part for him is that he rarely turns me away for it any more. He wants to see my face.

I sat in the empty spare room this morning for a bit. Gage was quiet, under the radar. Respectful. Helpful. A night owl though, for certain. We rarely saw him before early afternoon and during the night things like dishes would spontaneously move from the sink or the counter into the dishwasher seemingly as if by magic and I think Schuyler loved having family here, as Ben certainly does. I'm worried that he'll disappear or worse. I would have given him anything he asked for in a heartbeat so I know in my heart he was flirting and took it way too far but I hope he knows I don't blame him.  For god's sake we discussed it once. This is the house of free-wheeling mixed signals and open bleeding hearts. It's easy to screw up here but it's also the most forgiving place you'll ever find.

You know, if they ever let him come back.

Nietzsche's true man.

I was so thirsty I couldn't stand it anymore. My throat is raw and aching. Advil didn't cut the pain, and water did nothing. By two in the morning I was frantic and resigned at the same time so I ducked out from underneath Lochlan's arm, pushed away the extra elbow and knee Ben had thrown towards us as he sleeps soundly on his back on my other side, pull on Ben's long t-shirt, discarded on the couch an hour previous (it's still warm) and head downstairs in search of my beloved witching-hour orange juice.

There isn't any left in the kitchen so I venture into the butler's pantry. It's down the hall just before you reach the bathroom and then head down the steps to the side door. The row of windows in the hall is uncovered. Rain drives in sheets down the glass. It's so loud.

I check the other fridge and am rewarded with a new jug. I pour myself a glass and put the jug back and then take a long drink in the dark. My throat instantly feels soothed and the sugar flooding into my blood feels right. I decide to take my glass upstairs with me and pick it up to turn when I am pressed into the counter, arms sliding around my shoulders, taking the glass, putting it down so I don't drop it.

A kiss lands against the back of my neck and I smell clean soap as his hand clamps over my mouth (and nose) resulting in a struggle that I lose, as I am lifted up and bent forward, facedown against the counter, my head on the cool granite. My t-shirt is lifted up and then he is inside me, piercing me and I can't breathe and I keep fighting until I am unable to move at all. Everything hurts.

His elbow hits the glass and it falls over, spilling the juice out in a wide circle as it rolls across the counter to the edge and smashes on the floor. No one's going to hear it. We're in a whole separate wing. He bears down harder still and I feel tears leaking from the corners of my eyes down over his hand. I am sad that he just takes what he needs. I would have gone to him had I known. I don't know why he has to follow me into the dark and then leave me behind in it all the time. I don't know why his default state is monster. I don't know why it works so much better between us when it hurts-

I don't know why he won't let me breathe. He hikes me up higher, harder against the counter and as he comes I whimper involuntarily and he slows, pulling away, sliding me back down painfully, turning me around. I fight him. I close my eyes. I don't want to look at him. Don't want to know this is what he still is. I'm so tired of his evil-

Bridget. Are you okay? I said if you walked into the pantry like that, just wearing a shirt that I would follow you. I just came down for a snack and then I saw you and started talking to you-I thought you were vexing me when you didn't resp...Oh my God. Oh my God.

I didn't hear a word. Didn't hear a thing. The rain was drowning out every warning sign and I didn't even know Gage was there.

***

Gage is gone already. He didn't say goodbye. As far as I can see he didn't take any of his things either, though for all I know most of this belongs to the others, like the acoustic guitar and at least two of these flannels folded neatly on the back of the chair. Schuyler tells me they'll get the rest of his things together and simply refuses to answer when I ask where Gage went, telling me only that he doesn't live here anymore. He rolls up his shirt-sleeves as he stands in the guest room, sets a grim expression and tries to be patient with me.

Right, he was only back in the main house due to the quarantine-

He doesn't live on the point, anymore, Bridget.

This isn't his fault-

Silence isn't consent. Jesus Christ, Bridget-

It wasn't malicious, Sky. Tell him I'm sorry-

That doesn't matter. My stupid half brother propositioned a deaf women in the dark when she was alone and didn't hear him and then took advantage. HE fucked up. Not you. He'd be lucky if he didn't get jail time but we'll see how generous the rest of them are about this.

They would go to jail first. I remind him. I was twelve years old. 

You were eleven, and that still doesn't mean he can stay here, does it?

The ninety-day Jesus diet.

That's what I called it as Sam met me at the door this morning, looking for some of that bad coffee I described so mouthwateringly yesterday and seeing if I wanted to tag along with him to church.

Me, wearing Lochlan's Journey t-shirt, one thigh-high sock with Chococat on it, no less, bedhead even Jesus might be ashamed of this morning and bite marks Sam simply can't see, mostly because they're on the insides of my legs but also because they are light.

Baby-heathen.

Baby-preacher. Don't want your Jesus-germs.

I can pray for your soul?

Double-down on that, would you? Where's Matt?

In the car.

Have fun.

Love you. He kisses my horrible morning-breath mouth. And for the record, Jesus is the perfect diet. He fills you up and keeps you content for a lifetime and then some.

Then I'm on the Lochlan diet. He does all that and more.

Idols, Bridget.

You know how I roll, Sam.

He smiles softly and the rain starts to drum on his head as I close the door in his face. Sorry, Jesus. I'm going back to bed.

In the palm of your hand.

Last night I took my crown, polished it all up nice so that it would sparkle in the firelight, put Wings on the stereo and did the mother of all stripteases for Lochlan, who hasn't seen those kinds of moves for twenty years and probably wouldn't appreciate it if you asked him straight up but what do you know? He joined me in the fun, bringing the bottle of wine with him.

Let Me Roll It, indeed. It was appreciated and I did that thing where I woke up sideways in bed, my hair so tangled in his fingers that I may still have to cut it. I bit into his chest in two separate places hard enough to leave little morning-teeth marks and he looks deliriously content on this rainy Saturday morning while he sips his coffee. We took Ruth to work early and got some coffee on the way home and I'm still practicing being good at this, this carrying around a  big paper cup with a plastic lid and I keep forgetting it's there.

This isn't a thing that I do, I complain when I wonder for the fifth time where I left the damn thing.

Me neither, he laughs. On the show we were used to tiny styrofoam cups full of watery coffee-type liquid and it made me have to pee all the time (still does) and it tasted so good I'll never be able to replicate it but I try, which involves not trying. Use shit ground fine coffee, not quite enough of it and a regular coffee maker and it comes pretty close and it's a big heaping serving of nostalgia in a cup is what it is. As was Let Me Roll It in the dark and we're at the point in the week where we can lean our heads together, clink those crowns lightly so that they sound like bells and smile at each other stupidly because sober is best or something like that.

Though we split the wine so not even that, honestly. 

He always likes the parts of life best that don't involve the devil. Who can blame him? I can't.

(Joel calls it 'avoidant-coping' and says it keeps me right here when I should be way up front by now.)

I'm not avoiding Caleb per se, I'm just putting in a little distance in order to foster a little understanding, as sometimes old history shades new lines and we need to not do that at every waking moment.

Bridget. My name as I come out the door and make a hard right to head downstairs. I turn and he's there, looking half like a hungry devil, one-quarter deer in the headlights and one-quarter the only teenage boy with a driver's license at the lake.

Are you feeling better? I want you to know I'm sorry for the mix-up. I had these left over from when I wasn't sleeping and when you said that you were tired I thought these would help-

I'm a little better. This fucking...trembling is taking a while.

I didn't mean to hurt you. He looks into my eyes, ducking his head sideways so that we are almost on common ground.

I know.

They don't.

They'll understand when the moment wears off. I reassure him.

I don't want you to leave me. It's so quiet I think I misheard.

What?

I know what the experts say. I know it's supposed to be damaging to be in a relationship with me but we've come so far and I feel like you've accepted me and that maybe I have helped you to overcome some of the fear.

(Some of the fear. Okay, true. Some.)

But I also know it's a big hill to climb and I'm going to be here helping. I'm not going to make things hard. I really thought I was helping you.

Okay. I'm tired. Tired of listening. Tired of standing here. Tired of fighting back. Tired of dealing with him and I want a break from his endless pressure, his neverending demands for confirmation of importance. He is me only I'm sweet about it but I need the reassurance just the same so again, he's completely off the hook and I continue to love my monster just Not Right Now and he's noticed this. He knows he's in the doghouse, he fucking KNOWS IT.)

Okay?

Yeah. I have to go pick up Henry.

I can do it.

It's fine. I don't want to be late though.

Hey.

Yes?

I love you, Bridget and you know I will do anything to make this up to you and we'll do it together.

Okay, I say it again like a robot. So pleased with himself he hardly notices the black tarnish he has levelled on my crown.