Happy Easter.

What a beautiful day. The last load of laundry is finally in the dryer, REO Speedwagon is in my headphones, and the coffee flows like a hot river of blood straight into my soul, melting anyone it comes across with an unforgiving roast that is so good. 

I've been told my version of a 'lazy Sunday' isn't like everyone else's. I get up exceedingly late (seven or eight to be exact), do a bunch of chores (all of them) and then sit with my coffee and PJ's knucklebone fidget thing.

(I AM LEARNING IT, LEAVE ME ALONE. One of my dreams is to pay enough attention to flip a coin across my knuckles and back. Both hands. PJ can do a coin now but he said it's easier to start with the bone. 

I did not snort laugh to myself when he said this but I did look him dead in the eye and told him that it's a good thing I can handle a bone already. 

He did not laugh. He may have whimpered slightly but we both ignored it. 

Then he said if I wake him up to listen to Sam tell his goofy bunny stories he would also commit murder this Easter and there would be no resurrections. 

Wow. Crabby boy. But now I have this torch-fired blue-coppery steel knobby thing that looks more like a sex toy than a fidget spinner and I've dropped it on the hardwood floor so many times Lochlan sent me a text and asked why I was FUCKING BOWLING AT 8 IN THE MORNING JEEEEEEEEEEEEESUSS.

So I put it in my pocket, which means tomorrow it will probably go through the wash.)

We're having hot turkey sandwiches tonight, at Henry's request, with gravy and stuffing. He hates plain turkey sliced breast and adores gravy-soaked bread and that's honestly somehow easier and then we get right to the good part of rare leftovers without having to wait a day. The boys are going to set up the long table in the orchard later this morning and we'll have dinner and watch the sunset as a family.

Otherwise I think I will listen to Sam's goofy bunny stories once he puts up his Easter podcast.

(You want to see someone go from thirty to zero in one blink you should have seen Sam's face when the government slammed the door closed on everything last week after just letting him fire up again. It was a Looney-Tunes comical shift but it broke all of our hearts because Sam loves to preach and he loves to touch people and hug people and look them in the eyes as he listens so well it's just beyond and we assured him we all needed him so much he do concentrated reverending and we would soak him up gratefully and he has not disappointed. At all.)

But I've already had my sermon for the day. Got it at four this morning. I didn't realize how much I missed Sam in our dark little universe upstairs until he brought the light into it and blew up my crushed spirit again like a mylar balloon.

And if I see a sign in the sky tonight (See it coming)
No one's gonna tell me it's a trick of the light (Feel it coming)
May never come but I'm willing to wait
What can I say? I'm a man of the faith
And there's an ocean in my body
And there's a river in my soul
And I'm crying

 

Early coffee alone in the kitchen today. Airpods are cemented directly to my skull now. My homemade playlist (I don't use Sp*tify) flows from The Villagers Trick of the Light right into Veruca Salt's Loneliness is Worse and it's the absolute best combination because today iTunes has chosen alphabetical order for my songs. Sometimes it goes by most played or least played, sometimes by length or year. I never know but I love it. 

 

I already took lilac and rosemary cuttings. The laundry is almost done. I fixed the toilet and I put the dog out. I woke up Ruth for work and Lochlan for errands, shortly here, and Ben snoozes on and on. We measured a whole big part of the yard last night and replanted a host of perennials for a potential new fence and then I decided I would just do a raised bed and plant a bunch of forgiving things in it and that would be nicer than anything else and since my tiny rosemary sprig that I bought for ninety-nine cents on a whim six years ago is now a huge shrub the size of me and I cut and harvest and dry and give away huge bunches and one year I made WREATHS from it and it just keeps coming, well, it smells so good I may as well just plant it everywhere.

That one trick.

He's standing over me while I load in another sheet of thick, fibrous paper. The ribbon is cued up perfectly. Red on the bottom, black on top. The carrier tension feeds the ribbon across the centre and the letter keys strike the paper causing meaning, getting it out. One after another. Staccato literary gunshots and I am dead, my red blood colouring the ink for the next story, if not the next life. 

I begin to make a list. If I ignore him and begin to count he fades, dissolving in the crush of the things my brain chooses to surround him with, burying him alive. Drowning him out. 

I can't hit the keys with my left index finger though. I've bled through all the bandages. I need a stitch or two, maybe a break. Maybe a transcriptionist, like Violet Evergarden, someone to wish for the ghosts of the past instead of the breathing, living men of the present. An auto memory doll able to craft a better letter than I could if only for the right training. Since that won't happen I will persevere, forgetting about my injury and letting my finger push and bloom against the keys until the entire ribbon is blood red instead of just the lower edge and as I pick up speed the paper begins to spread scarlet from white. Day to night. A pool, no, a lake of me.

Princess-

Be quiet and let me think, I order him.

You know damn well every second day I'll look up and be like OMG GUYS LOOK AN OWL!

Ransom is finally good for something besides managing projects. 

This morning I made him a coffee and then heard the familiar noise. The water heater, no matter what I do, and the fact that it's newish makes noises randomly and you can hear it all over the house. It's a perfect storm of someone showering while someone else is flushing or something but it will start up and sporadically go for a few minutes and running the hot tap in the master bathtub seems to clear it. 

I made a comment that I needed to go fix that and he offered to put a decoy owl up on the roof for me. 

It is April Fools Day after all. I'm sorry? What will an owl do? 

It will make the Flicker think this territory is already occupied so he'll find somewhere else to drum. 

And then it dawned on me. The Northern Flicker birds I feed, and watch drum on other people's vent stacks every time we go for a walk or run are doing the same things here and my mysterious water heater issues that ONLY happen in spring and only for a few minutes and half a dozen plumbers have checked the heater and can't find any problems with it are just birds looking for mates. 

(And when I filmed the noise aiming the camera directly at the water tank, of course it was loud. That's where the vent stack terminates. Oh my God.)

Huh. 

Decade-old mystery solved right there.

Rare form.

Neamchiontach-

DON'T.

I am drunk* because I tried some of the new mead and I already took a Benadryl because everything is spring-blooming and my allergies are so awful. My eyes are itchy, throat dry and my nose so blocked it's like the Suez Canal was earlier this week. I am half-expecting him to threaten me for spending time with TJ (Dalt) but Caleb is weary still from his whirlwind trip (and boy am I glad he got back before this new lockdown) and weary from life and from me and just finds it almost comical today.

Lochlan must have a hell of a time keeping you organized. 

He does. 

I almost feel sorry for him. 

You don't have to. He gets all the love.

Not Monday he didn't. 

Says who now? 

Bridget. 

You're mad now aren't you. 

I mean, I was here. 

You're tired. You're really old, after all. 

Wow. Thank you?

Don't mention it. 

*(Drunk because I got to day-drink after mopping the entire house and the porches too and then I cut my finger really badly and now I'm off the hook for most of the remainder of the week but also it is very hard to type with only nine fingers wtf.)

Revolving shore.

He was here for over a month, feeling his way through the fog and rain, tripping over my moods, veering around the boys with their lack of privacy but keen spatial awareness, who come in right close when you need them and hover on the edges when you don't. Here for a month trying different things and having good talks and feeling productive only to be faced with my uncontrollable, reluctant stonewalling in the next blink of his brown eyes. But now with renewed lockdowns here and a fresh wave of the pandemic, he is headed home.

Bye, Everett. 

In any case, we had a good time, he gave me a fair amount of new perspective and he also made me somehow more keenly aware of things I had refused to acknowledge before. He and Ben had a good reunion, and Duncan too, who probably needed some time with him more than anyone, as our poet goes so easily off the rails and needs to be talked his way back. He went to the same place Ben went and loves Everett to pieces too. 

Ben has once again needlessly yet profusely apologized for throwing Everett into the Collective. He said he had a sudden inspiration and wanted to do something. 

Especially when there are ghosts in the water, ghosts on the beach, ghosts in the orchard and ghosts in the dark, Bee. His face belies his jovial tone. Hahahah it's so funny but I'm scared, is what that says. 

He is grateful his problems are black and white. He said as much, more than once. He understands so much about me but at the same time the part he doesn't truly understand frightens him. It frightens all of them, save for Caleb and Lochlan, for the most part, even though that's a lie and it frightens them too.

But they simply switch gears and operate as if I am a child and it works great, an endeavour that most of the others refuse to engage in and that's when they retreat to the sidelines. It's practiced motion to them, and it works and that's all that matters.

I told Everett not to feel sorry for me. 

Look around. What is there to feel sorry about? 

That you don't feel comfortable in your own skin. 

I never have, so it's not like I know what I'm missing. 

He grinned, tightly enough that I caught it but not enough that the expression didn't reach his eyes. I got a big long hug, then Ben got one too. Then Duncan for good measure. 

***

Ten minutes later the doorbell rings and I thought maybe Everett forgot something. I haven't had time to check his rooms yet to make sure because when I am free I will strip the bed and the bathroom of their linens and make the room up for the next guest, whenever that may be.

But I open the doors and it's Ransom. 

They're going to finally finish the pool. He has everything, sorry for the delays. It's a new architect, same company and once we sign the papers they can start/resume/DO SOMETHING. 

Where is Emmett? I consider telling him we just had an Everett leave and what is with the old fashioned names? I love it. 

He has covid. 

Really? 

He's fine. Asymptomatic but he'll be off until at least the twelfth or maybe it was the twentieth. I can't recall.

Anything we can do for him?

You can message him and ask. 

I'll do that. 

Are you doing this build now or is Caleb? 

I can. 

Alright. May I unpack this here or in the kitchen? 

Here is fine. I pull my mask out of my pocket so he can show me what he needs to. He puts his own on and comes into the foyer.

He gets out all of the plans and paperwork and his iPad that will have a finished render of what this all will look like. I sign everything and he says abruptly that he doesn't need a deposit. I confirm, as I already paid it to the company when they made the previous ugly pool enclosure. I told them to keep it as part of the new one. 

Ransom looks surprised that I know what I'm doing. He gives me credit for nothing. Yes, alright then. We'll resume this weekend since the pouring has had ample time to set.

It's Easter. Seriously? 

That way it will be finished by the ninth. I have a big project beginning after that. 

This isn't big? 

This is ridiculously huge. That's why I need it done before the next big one. 

Well, don't rush. 

The schedule is fine. It's not a rush job, Bridget. 

I'll get Caleb to weigh in for you. I may not be able to give it all of the attention it deserves this week.

Got him. He visibly relaxes. Appreciate it. We'll be here Thursday to start. I''ll let Caleb know the time. 

(Jesus fucking Christ, Ransom.) Sounds good. 

Take care, Bridget.

Bye, Ransom.

***

Duncan is incorrigible and lights up a blunt the moment the sun goes down. We are watching a movie together. Don't worry, he did great in rehab and is down to one or two smokes a week. He's never going to give them up completely but he polices himself a lot better than he used to and he is too cute to fight with about it, though Ben doesn't find that and fights with Duncan every time it comes up. 

Bye, Dunk.

He is asleep twenty-five minutes into the movie so I turn it off and go to see what Dalton is doing. Dalton is the night owl. He is reading and makes space for me to come into his bed and cuddle with him, which I do gratefully. It's cold downstairs and I'm still in my warm-day clothes. 

Or I was, anyway up until that moment. Dalton has other ideas.

Driven by love.

Nolan called me yesterday morning to check in. He had garnered some influence and found me the private plane I needed on short notice when money didn't cut it but friendship did. I could have waited six or eight hours and had one. I did not want to wait. Ten days was enough. 

Ten days is nothing, Nolan barks. That guy should have stayed away forever. 

Then why did you help me? 

Because, Bridget, I would do anything for you. This was for you. He can go fry in hell. 

It stings, though. Just enough that I pull up some armour and say my goodbyes from behind it, slightly muffled but all attempts to be polite just the same. Nolan doesn't let me off the hook but at the same time he's exceedingly gently. 

Bridget, just because you want something doesn't mean it's good for you. Don't forget that. If I didn't have faith in the boys to keep you safe I wouldn't have helped you out at all. 

Yes, you would have. 

No I wouldn't. Look what he did to Ben. What if next time it's you? You're a third of Ben's size. You wouldn't survive it. 

He would never hurt me.

He already did. That's the problem and Bridget, they're just trying to help you any way they can but you've put up a defence of a monster and that's a mental illn-

I have to go. I stare at Caleb while I talk. I love you. Thank you. I choke out the words and hang up.

 I don't know why I'm awake. I was up until four this morning breathing into a paper bag, or so it seemed perhaps I should have been at many points, not the least of which the one where Schuyler helpfully pointed out on the way to the tiny airport where Caleb's plane would be landing that didn't he have to quarantine if entering the province from another? 

A few tears and a mad scramble on our phones and finally confirmation by the airport that as long as he's entering from another province and hasn't left the country, no, he does not. 

We got out of the truck and waited by it, seeing the plan taxiing around already and then it finally stopped and it took forever before they lowered the staircase and he was walking across the tarmac, head down. Not looking at any of us. Looking fierce. Looking exhausted. He stole a glance at Lochlan and went straight to him, embracing him full on. Lochlan is rocked back two steps, bringing Caleb with him. I can't hear what they say to each other but it's a close hug. A positive one. Caleb puts his bags down and finally looks at me. I fly into his arms, off the ground, strangling him with my arms tight around his neck. He squeezes me so hard I squeak and then he puts me down but doesn't let go. 

I was willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel safe, Neamhchiontach. 

Then stay here with us. Where you belong.

It took me the better part of two hours to work through the numbers I have and the resources those numbers provide but I managed to snag a plane in order to surprise my Diabhal.

It's me.

Is everything okay, Bridget? 

Look, I know you just got there but gather your things. Your flight leaves at three.

Who did you speak with?

Nolan, of all people. He still doesn't like you, but he loves me and that's all that matters.

Bridget, we agreed on a few months to see if things got better.

I didn't agree on anything.

The chorus of madness.

I found what I was looking for. One tattered caveat that states that if I see the landslide coming from far off I can overrule everything. 

And it's here. 

When I think about changes I want in my life this is not one of them and I am not a willing participant to this extreme method of dealing with my special brand of trauma. At this point things are too far gone. It's not as simple as Everett thinks it should be (or Lochlan wants it to be). It isn't something I'm willing to entertain anymore. It's just not. 

And it's fine if it's a further symptom of all of this. It's fine if it isn't okay and I've made my peace with it and mostly they have too now. And somehow every time things try and get fixed that is the elephant in the room that everyone goes after, instead of the ghost. 

I won't let go of him either, truth be told. Not anymore, though I would like to figure out a way to keep him from just magically appearing. The worse things get in my head the more he does it and that is how I know things are bad. And I do know why they are so bad but I also think this is a special case and turning trauma into tragedy doesn't work for me.

They'll agree, for a time. I am really high-functioning, after all. Maybe a little too high and so it's alarming when it slides sideways, out of the blue. I am the impending natural disaster all the time. You think you're prepared until it happens and then you panic. 

Bless all of them. I love them so much. And I think in my case, in particular, the ways I have learned to cope with things I can't control is through love and that's the best possible outcome right now. 

We had a meeting last night. I laid all of this out to be inspected and considered. I pointed out the obvious pitfalls, traps and the fallacy of safety. I pointed out roles, rules and regrets and reminded them all of time being the one thing here that we can't control and also the only thing that proves my point. 

It's been so long. So, so long now. 

And so I am there last evening subjugating the entire army and no one could argue with me anymore. They're not going to push so hard after this week. Their attempts to find me some peace and Ben's attempts to kindheartedly repay me for something he doesn't need to backfired gently enough that we missed the sound. I have no blame for anyone. Lochlan has been trying since I was eleven to fix this and he's tried just about everything and then some more but this is a grievous, colossal, complicated part of me now that is too protracted to fix and the deal was comfort at all costs while I live out the rest of my miserable but beautiful existence at his (the Devil's) expense. It can't be fixed. It can't be helped, cured or driven out. I'm not possessed in that way, just in every other way. 

I'm not flexible on this, the way I am on virtually everything else. 

I will not negotiate the terms of my very existence and I won't suffer any further heartbreak under rules that I made, and I now remind them that if anyone doesn't agree based on what I've laid out that they are free to go, but oh I will miss them. 

But if they can't live peacefully with these decisions then the door is there. 

I would miss them so terribly, though, and it wouldn't be fair at all and to that end they also can remain here and live in this odd comfort, this brotherhood. My army. 

And no one moved. Not a soul. I stood back and watched as the wall fell on them, blocking any escape, covering us all in the weight of the past and we grabbed for each other's hands and just held on.