Absent Jesus, present Devil.

Coffee, cats and rain alone this morning. It's dark. No one got up early. I might not have slept more than a minute, as I tried tucking in against Ben and couldn't get warm or comfortable enough and so I got up at six. Jesus isn't getting a visit today, it's cold, rainy and miserable and the only thing I'm leaving the house for is a quick visit to Ruth before lunch. The boys staggered in one at a time and the coffee flowed, seemingly from one cup into the next and so on until a river of sweet caffeine opened everyone's eyes wide enough to greet the day. 

Hard to believe this is the downslide into a dozen years here. So much longer than I thought we'd stay. Lunar New Year, Groundhog Day, my booster shot and The Olympics are all up next. I can't breathe, and everything that goes wrong feels like the last straw. The days are growing longer minute by agonizing minute and I know damn well things will be better soon. It just doesn't feel like it today. 

Caleb rubs his thumb across the space between my eyes and smiles gently, as if to reassure. He fails but I let him have it anyway.

Ticket to ride.

Snowblind Friend is playing through the speakers. Lochlan taps one foot against the hard-packed ground while we wait in the blazing sun. He lifts one skinny arm up to shield his face as he squints at me. The hem of his green and white striped t-shirt rises up above his jeans when he does it and I see freckled skin along his hip. If he tucked his t-shirt in like I do it probably wouldn't do that, I think and sweat rolls down my forehead, pressing my bangs to my own freckled skin.

He said he wanted heaven but praying was too slow, so he bought a ticket to an airline made of snowwwwwwww-

What does that even mean? Like he wants to go somewhere to cold, to church?

No, Bridget. I'll tell you when you're older.

Why can't I know today? 

Remember that guy sitting in the doorway a month ago? The one that didn't know where he was? And you said he had flour all over his nose holes? It means that. Doing drugs that are bad. 

Not like from the doctor? 

No, like from the shaman. 

Oh.

(The shaman was someone who lurked around the fringe and supplied people on the tour with their own brand of heaven for their day off. Or maybe for every day, I don't know.)

Stars on 45 comes on, the Beatles medley. My favourite. I shake my butt and Lochlan frowns and shakes his head once. It means stop.  

Why don't you go and get some lemonade and wait for me over by Melody? Melody was the lady on this tour who oversees the food trucks. She's very nice. She told me she killed her husband and hit the road. I asked her how she did it and she told me I was too young to hear those kinds of horror stories but that I would grown up in a world with one less monster. I told Lochlan this and he laughed and said he wouldn't be surprised. 

I want to wait with you though. 

You'll burn. Go. 

I don't argue with him. I take the five dollar bill and go get two lemonades. Melody won't take my money so I stuff it in the tip jar and she winks at me. She'll give it back to Lochlan tonight I bet. Everyone spoils us as we are the youngest people on the tour and what they know is that Lochlan is old enough to be emancipated and he has guardianship of me, that I am his little sister and we're escaping bad, drunk parents. For some reason everyone here is also escaping something so they accept it as gospel and give us free food and easier jobs. They look out for us.

And some of them prey on us, and so Lochlan waits patiently outside the office for the rest of his paycheck, as only half of it was in the envelope when he was handed it earlier at circle meeting. 

He says he always keeps track of his hours and this isn't the kind of advantage he worries about people trying to take. That money problems will always be fixed if you ask people to be straight up with you. 

I shake my butt a little under the awning while I sip my lemonade and hold Lochlan's in my left hand. His ice is melting and I finally see him disappearing into the office. He comes out three minutes later with another envelope and holds it up. Victory. Maybe the boss thought he wouldn't count every last dollar but he always taught me to do that and said it's up to me to see that it's right, no one else and to never assume. 

I hold up his lemonade in return and some of it sloshes down my arm, dripping off my elbow onto my Nikes. He smiles really big and heads over, just as the Beatles medley ends. I don't hear what's next. I get a kiss on the cheek and a showman's flourish in his Thank you, Miss as he takes the cup and drinks it in one go, shaking his hair off his face, grimacing at the sour-sweetness of the drink.

The reluctant storyteller.

I threw a chair off the front porch this morning in a rage-panic. Went down and picked it up and wrestled it back up the steps while Lochlan watched but did not help, even as I scratched the dark green paint on the floor of the porch because the chair is wooden, large and heavy. I scream again as I finally shove it back into place and wonder how I managed to get it over the rail in the first place. 

Feel better? He says, looking out across the drive toward the woods. 

Nope, I admit. 

Want to go for a walk?

Too cold. 

Everything's fine, Bridget. In a while this will be another tale, down the road.

I know he's right but I really hate this feeling. Panic is only marginally better than outright fear and I don't want to feel either one.

Bonus post: The way to a girl's cold, dead heart.

Lochlan just came home with a pick me up for me. McDonald's french fries and a big bag of colour-changing fire pinecones. He really knows the way to cheer me up. It's only marginally better than his usual drugstore bag of goodies with the lip balm, Archie comics and nail polish in a weird color, gummy bears, fruit-scented pen and notebook and a hair tie. I'm a simple girl. Seriously.

Sidewalk chalk but I do spells with mine.

Rickety little Jeep is all fixed now and happily back in the drive waiting for the next round of snow (or repairs, but hopefully the snow will come first.) Every time a boy looks at it they wistfully point out they could have done the work. PJ laughed in repairman when he found out how much I paid for my repairs and what they ended up doing but hey, at least there's a carfax record now, something we never got when we bought it. LOL. I was too busy fighting to get an inspection report, which took a week or near to and once I got that in my hands I forgot about damned near everything else. 

I may call and ask for it. Then I have the full record for the vehicle. 

In other news, it's fucking minus whatever and my fingers are split wide open and I was racking my brains to remember what I used to use on them in the prairies to soothe and heal them. 

Lanolin. Pure lanolin. 

Found my tube and now I'm good to go. 

Also Duncan is being cute today and I'm so dead.

Last of my kind, for sure.

Burns night was a mad success. I enjoyed a single glass of mead but did not have anything after that. Cleanup was quick and the Scottish folk music channel was playing softly in the background. 

In my bid to live completely off-grid with nothing more complicated than an oil lamp wick to deal with or maybe the wheel on my buggy might fall off and I'll have to make a new axle out of a tree branch or something, the boys decided to go full Smart Home (before it was only a few rooms, none of which I ever go into) much to my dismay, and now every time I want to turn on music, a light switch or (probably) a man, I have to announce it, prefacing it with Hey, Google! Or Okay, Google! 

It's somewhat magical and somewhat infuriating, which is how I describe Lochlan most times so no surprise there. It's really neat. It solves a weird, longterm problem of having too many lights on solitary switches on some of the different floors and it also solves the problem of me trying to connect my phone to bluetooth, an Olympic feat best left to the professional tech athletes in the house. I am full on amateur. It never works. If it does I am surprised and then can't replicate it again for weeks. 

Very frustrating. 

So this solves half a problem and creates a half-dozen more in the process. 

But the boys think it's cool. 

They spend all day sneakily changing the colours of the lights of rooms I am in.

Nursing my wrath to keep it warm.

The neighbourhood looks terrible right now. The post-winter, pre-spring death of last summer is still in the air. The fog and dim heavy cloud cover keeps it dark, and everything is wet leaves, mud or damp brick. The trees are bare and wind-ravaged, the birds have left, and even the water is roiling, black. 

The only shining light is Jacob, standing by the new, far edge of the circle driveway.

The gang is coming back on the weekend or early next week to add an outdoor lockable cover for my kiln and to fix up a couple of tiny leftover issues, like mainly how I found a very large pile of broken bricks in the woods just past where the lawn ended before. I texted a picture to Ransom and told him he forgot something and he has five days to collect it. He said Saturday. And then he texted sorry, but he didn't know. 

And here I was so thrilled about everything else. I don't like it when someone hides or leaves waste materials after a job. It's as close to a dealbreaker as I can get save for jobs that run way over. I told Caleb next work project that arrives on the point may see me leave it forever. I just want some peace and quiet. 

Does it scare your ghosts away? He says, his voice in a serious tone. 

I look up at him and he looks sad and resigned. Maybe he sees them too. 

Sometimes. 

I think that's it for a while. They did a good job though. 

I nod. PJ now leaves his Jeep all the way around past the house almost to the point where the circle rejoins the long driveway. He goes out often and likes to make things easy. I get pride of place right in front of the porch steps but like I said or maybe I didn't. My vintage Jeep has sprung a tantrum and needs to go in the shop tomorrow morning because no one has the time or energy to fix it anymore. Least of all, me. 

The job is well-done. I like driving on the brick. Jacob clasps his hands behind his back and glowers at Caleb, watching us but unable to do anything about our proximity. I am leaning back against Caleb who leans against the rail. I told him we needed to rake the leaves and he had them do it and now it looks better and I think I'll stick to walking the dog down to the cliff and back or maybe to Batman's french doors and back so I don't have to see the sorry post-Christmas state of life on the Outside. 

We may be out of time for that. The Devil shoots his cuff and checks his beautiful watch. It's after four. Time to start supper. He drew the short card and has to help me make a Burns Night Supper. Whiskey, candles lit with no electricity otherwise, and sausage instead of haggis, mashed potatoes and a veggie, since the haggis is hard to find and only truly liked by half the point, or maybe a third, and Lochlan didn't want me travelling anywhere other than our regular grocery store anyway due to health order constraints on the population so it's a bit of a relief and I'll be drunk by dinner time anyway, if I'm lucky. 

Even thou who mournst the daisies fate, that fate is thine. Jacob's voice in my head like a sudden spike of pain.

You okay, Neamhchiontach? 

Fine.

Dark; crowned with blackberry thorns.

It's official. Sam's breakfasts might be even better than the ones at Troll's, though with Troll's there are no dishes, no cleanup, no pans to wash. And you usually get a bill that makes it cost more than buying separate ingredients at the grocery store and making it yourself. I'm not sure if the lack of cleanup makes the difference worth it or not. 

I could do that math, but between you and me I am exceedingly nervous about being in public these days and to be certain there is no price on peace of mind, at least to me, and so I think Sam would be a good short-order cook as long as Matt is away but it won't be long and I will be back to fending for breakfast for myself while everyone else does the same. 

Jacob waved from the edge of the woods to me when I went to take some things out to the stables. 

I waved back, reflexively and then caught myself. There you are, I think. Hiding in the fucking woods. That would be Cole's doing, sure as I live and breathe. Cole loves the woods. Jacob loves the beach. They were complete and total opposites and my brain has awkwardly put them together as companions, almost and so they are always together and must compromise. I find they take long periods in turn, like a season almost and then-

Where are you, Peanut? 

In a fog maybe. Camping my projects and my pet projects too, I think. Sorry.

It's fine. Ready? 

I nod and follow him back toward the garage. We are warm and fed and ready to go and do the repairs that Sam and I dutifully logged on the weekend. It won't take long. Lochlan loves this chore. Sam doesn't have to go because he made breakfast for everyone. Win-win.

Foggy Jesus/Withdrawals.

I can't see anything this morning. Our whole world is encased in a thick fog. The ocean is gone, hell, the gazebo is gone. Matt is gone on a quick trip home to see family and Sam didn't really want to travel right now so they amicably agreed to miss each other and then everyone else got pissed off when I said we would keep Sam company until Matt comes back on Wednesday. He was sent in the jet which, I KNOW I KNOW carbon footprint but also CORONAVIRUS so there.

(Also I have zero input on that. Caleb offered. Matt accepted. I don't think he even wanted to go before that. It's a duty visit and those suck balls.)

I am playing a quiet/sappy playlist through my air pods and enjoying this very much Maritimer-specific weather for once. It's freaking cold out but doable in a hoodie, and we are walking the property as we try to do at least once a week to check for problems, changes, updating our list on what's been done and what hasn't, checking to see if anything big and weird washed up on the beach (I wait for the ubiquitous west coast shoe with a foot inside but it hasn't happened. I'm telling the truth. Yes, I love bones but never from people. Unless they're teeth. I love teeth.), if any parts of the fence have been broken, if any trees have fallen or if any outbuildings are insecure (like yours truly). 

Sam isn't saying much of anything. I think he's tired. I know I wore him to smithereens and he swore in the dark and fell asleep next to Lochlan, forehead pressed against Lochlan's shoulder and I laughed so quietly and Lochlan smiled and said it was probably for the best. We're a huge comfort mechanism for Sam and he for us. No explanations no apologies and no boundaries whatsoever, there. 

I am singing along with The Weeknd and abruptly Sam turns back and laughs silently at me, or so I think. I pull out an air pod and he suggests I turn it down slightly so I can hear myself. If I can hear I can sing in key. If I can't hear myself I will...not. And it is funny but it's also mildly stinging and so I fall back further, letting my notebook swing in my hand as I follow him. No more singing then, he can have silence. Besides, Ben and Lochlan are still asleep and since Sam is off for his sabbatical I don't understand why we're the ones up working early on a Sunday but we are also the ones who are the early birds, chirping at the clouds, marvelling at the rain, watching for the sun. Sam says a quick prayer before we walk out the door and now here we are, sniping at each other lovingly as we go. 

He's promised to make me coffee and eggs Benedict with crab cakes AND English muffins when we go in and he even said a double-order of hash browns is possible if I want. 

That's why I didn't throw the notebook at him back and stomp off into the fog already. 

I'm not dumb.

Nameless, graceless, oh and untouchable too.

Ben was on a facetime call on his laptop and I thought he was on speakerphone so I came right up beside him only to be caught onscreen. He's on with someone he sometimes writes with/for and is giving advice or maybe they're just shooting the shit and I try to sneak away before I can be acknowledged, stepping back around so the laptop faces away.

Hey...is that...she looks so familiar. Hey did that girl used to be on your Canadian tours sometimes? She wasn't with you though. A friend, I think you said. 

We're together now. 

Funny, Since you said friend before, I went for that sweet little piece of ass so hard. She looked like a deer in the headlights when I tried to talk to her. I was right beside her during your set. Looked right at me, almost through me and then just turned and left. She said nothing. She was cold-

She's deaf. 

What's that? She was playing at it to avoid me? 

No, she's actually deaf. But since my speakers are up loud she can hear you now so keep it respectful as I'd hate to have to end the call. 

No harm, no foul, man. 

Maybe apologize to my lady, who is still in the room. 

I am sorry, Miss...? I didn't catch your name. I didn't mean to be crass. I am appreciative of your beauty to the point where I forgot to be polite. Please accept my apologies. 

Ben is smiling at me. He's amused. Tour times are far in the past now. This right here is one of the reasons I rarely visited him backstage. I would go and give my regards to people I knew and on my way back I would be ambushed by people I didn't. Tours were a little hedonistic and weird, to say the least. 

I stick my middle finger up at Ben and he cackles in his drawl behind the screen. This guy can't see me and Ben moves along. All good, man. No worries. Thanks for that. Now did you need my manager to send you details-

With that I leave the room. I have actual cold icky chills from that feeling and I want to be up by the fire where it's warm. Maybe Caleb can pour me a brandy. Maybe I could pretend I was someone else but for some reason they always remember me so easily.