Nothing else matters (if you can't breathe).

Long day at the hospital today because we took Lochlan in around three this morning after discovering he might have aspirated kerosene from his show earlier in the evening. He was coughing constantly and couldn't seem to take a deep breath. He kept saying he was fine but he's proud like that. He said if he sat quietly he would be able to recover but then he didn't and I started panicking.

No one wants to see that ramp up so Loch agreed to be seen.

(And then all hell broke loose as we ran into unexpected legal issues and next of kin issues and we had to call in his parents. This went over well.)

He was released a couple of hours ago. Apparently the fact that he has thirty years of experience in fire breathing/eating/throwing might have saved his life, but he's being treated anyway and will have half a dozen x-rays between now and Christmas. He's taking antibiotics to help heal his lungs and he's unwilling to say he won't do it again, he'll just make sure not to do it when he is tired/distracted/pissed-off.

Scottish people can be so ornery and wonderful.

I'm glad this one is okay.

Now I need to go fall apart. I always think I'm through the hard parts of life and life keeps telling me different.

Strike one.

This trip was tough. I didn't write or say much about it. I didn't want to. He propositioned me almost hourly. I turned him down each and every time. At night I locked my door. I would not eat with him, sleep with him or spend any leisure time with him. I hardly spoke to him.

As a result, we argued near constantly when we were together because he couldn't get it through his thick evil skull that just because he snaps his fingers doesn't mean I'm going to give in.

So he said maybe he should snap my neck instead and hopefully that would get my attention.

DIDN'T WORK.

I'm still here. Well, for the moment. Reading the paper and seeing the eleventh hour teachers talks failing and it looks like no one's going back to school in three days and I'm thinking I'll be homeschooling for a bit until they do. I did it twice before, it's not that hard. But kids need their friends too and freedom from home and it's always far easier to learn from someone who isn't Mom. We'll review the curriculum and go from there. It better not take long though. Caleb is still threatening to pull them and put them in private school. The one he likes is in London.

I don't think so and so far the judges have been on my side.

Lochlan just needs one more reason to throw that ax, too. Let's not forget he is armed. Also probably more dangerous than he looks.

But since tonight is the final Saturday night of summer, we're going to cast our worries aside and have a light show with some fire throwing and some bubble-blowing (solution mixed with glow stick innards) and turn on all the tiny fairy lights and make some magic. It's not so cold and it could be the last night without rain that we're still officially on summer break to do it in.

(Well, probably not at the rate the teachers' union and the government is going but just in case, let's call it as we see it.)

I'll be in bed early though. I'm tired.

Seasonal humans.

While I was gone Summer packed her things and went away and in her place Fall stands in boots and plaid, patiently waiting while I pack away my swelterweight belongings and haul out jeans, Docs and a cozy long sweater.

I've missed you, Bridget, he says and I smile because I technically hate hot weather. It makes me sick to my stomach. He's so handsome. If only he would stick around longer, keeping me in brightly colored leaves and hot chocolate and the soft pre-Christmas, post-Halloween glow, I might never wish for anything else.

I wish I had known you were coming, I lecture him as I rush around bringing in candles off the porch and putting away water toys and swim towels. Flipflops and summer rain jackets go up to their owner's respective closets and midweight coats and corduroy comes back. Plaid flannel is suddenly not a torture device but a damn fine fashion choice.

Beards are formally invited to grow back and grow long.

Fingers are always kissed and freezing.

Coffee is welcome around the clock, preferably with something else mixed in.

Not like we have to winterize like at the castle with the closing of doors, cordoning off of entire areas and putting up storm windows. Worrying about the ancient furnace and the remaining unprotected windows, tucking just another layer of quilts onto the beds. Finding cats in the closets, burrowed into things that fall off hangers.

No, here, Henry probably will stick to shorts until it snows, the furnace stays off until mid-October and Halloween is coats-optional.

I really love it. I love it when school goes back into session too but they're still working on that.

And I love a guy who decided the wood he cut in April wasn't actually enough after all and he's back out there at it again. But mostly not because we need wood any time soon but because it's best to face one's adversaries when one has a very sharp ax in one's hand, ready to grind.

When my feet hit the ground, Lochlan pointed at them and said, They stay there. On the ground. No more, Peanut. None of this. He doesn't need you. 

I showed him my prizes and still he was not swayed.

You belong with me, he said, and that's all he would say before he resumed making the woodpile taller than the garage. And that has a second floor. And Joel still lives there, sadly enough. I was hoping when I came back he'd be gone.

Ben said to let it all be, that Fall seems to be smoothing things out, that he is such a peacemaker where Summer makes people somewhat crazy and prone to being short-tempered and hasty. Fall, by comparison is chill.

He made me laugh, personifying it the same way I do.

Missed you, Little Bee, he said, delighted that he made me laugh right off the bat. Let's go pry the weapons out of Loch's hands and have a reunion dinner. It's going to be a busy week with birthdays, tonight is probably our only chance.

What's amazing about Vegas is that if a girl walks down the street in tears, everyone assumes that she lost a bundle gambling. Everyone offers her a few more chips, maybe dinner, a drink, a place to stay, a platitude about how it's just money, tomorrow is another day, everything is going to be okay, etc. until they realize they aren't helping and they fade out of the picture, their face blurring as the next face comes into focus but she just keeps walking and walking and thanks her Gods for kitten heels and empty credit cards and wonders if she should have a weapon so far from the busier areas because the US is different and riskier somehow and then finally he takes his sweet time showing up, telling her he didn't think she'd get that far. She reminds him that she's good at running and he accepts that because it's true.

Then he tells her to get in the car and they'll go home but when she looks inside the car she sees the devil and she doesn't want to go with him anywhere. He never shows himself to anyone else, just her and it isn't fair.

Hard to believe at one time he was one of the youngest CFOs on Bay Street.

Bridget.

He is sitting across the table tracing a steady groove into his coffee cup with his thumb. He's not looking at me. It's a dry cool morning and he is in a long sleeved white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Black pants. Hair perfectly combed but still wet. Close shave. Top two buttons undone so I can just barely see the first letter of the tattoo over his heart.

Yes? 

I sit back in my chair, cup clutched against my breastbone with both hands, one thumb looped through the handle, pretty grey dress into service again because I'm still losing weight and it's a perfect fit when I do with the matching jacket (to cover my own tattoos). No shoes. I wait for the lecture. I didn't do my chignon. I didn't bring the stupid shoes (I walk too much here so kitten heels only) and my hair is still wet because breakfast arrived and I was starving.

He takes a sip and still doesn't look at me.

Why do you come here?

I believe the term is 'at gunpoint'. 

I didn't hold a gun to your head. 

The day is young. 

This makes it harder. 

And if I don't come with you my life is so much easier. 

Are you afraid of me? 

Yes.

If you were not, would things be different? 

No. 

Tell me why. 

I don't want to do this today. 

You're so hot and cold with me. 

I'm like this with everyone. Don't think you're special. 

Not what I mean. 

What do you mean? 

You're...incredibly loving and obedient and then you just shut down. 

I scowl and look out over the strip. It's tacky and filthy. Nothing ever changes here except the names on the buildings, the names on the billboards. The tourists, the prostitutes, the dealers, the mob. It's all the same. The servers all look like they sold their souls so long ago their earthly forms have all but expired, the neon glitz burning a hole right through their flesh, the promises of the next hand crippling everyone into servitude. And bachelorette parties everywhere as if Vegas is the bottom and the only way now is up.

I never had a bachelorette party. I wouldn't know.

What should I do differently then? 

Keep to the rules. 

Who are the rules for again?

He has almost rubbed the coating off his cup and he grimaces like he's in pain and then checks his expression. Come. We have a busy day. We'll get coffee again en route. 

En route to where? 

Funding meeting at ten.

I don't need to be there. 

Yes, you do. You're my right hand man. You call the shots. You tell me if we're up or down. You read them better than even I can.

That's bullshit and you know it. 

Go finish getting ready. We can fight in the car.

Judge, jury, executioner (on my way to Vegas but not for fun).

They've even got a special name for us when we work on the show. Maybe you can guess it, Bridgie. Part of the word 'carnival' is in the name. 

Lowlives. Caleb snorts to himself and opens another beer.

I frown at Caleb. I think I know what that means and it isn't nice. Lochlan touches my elbow. Think hard, Bridgie.

I am. So hard my eleven-year-old mind is ready to burst. Ummmm...carnivores? 

No less than three of them spit mouthfuls of beer into the bonfire. Christian rolls onto his side. That's the best answer I've ever heard, Bridget. He says.

I'm not sure if he's making fun of me or not. I look at Lochlan, waiting for the correct answer.

Carnies, Bridgie. Want to come be a carny with me? 

Yes, I do. 

Too bad you're too young, Caleb kills the conversation completely. I frown because he's right.

***

He had the plane stocked with Pellegrino, blueberries and lime (for him) and coconut water (for me). A glass was poured for me and I took a huge gulp and thought he had finally succeeded in poisoning me without bothering to make it taste good.

My face said it all.

What's the matter? I thought you loved the stuff. 

I don't even know what this is! Oh, it's plain. 

What do you mean?

I only like the Del Monte pineapple kind. 

I wasn't aware there were differences. 

Try it.

He takes a sip and makes a face.  I'll make a note of it.

I bet you will. 

Pardon?

Nothing.

***

What is that? 

My lucky bracelet. 

And where did you get it?

Loch made it for me. I beam with twenty-one-year-old pride.

Caleb frowns. Where did he make it? 

In the last campfire on the last show. (with a hammer and a piece of old copper wire, he engaged in a little portable blacksmithing, is what he did.)

I see. It's not something that you wear to a place like this, Bridget. 

My personal jewelry isn't up for debate, Cale.

Your attitude is. I can take you to Cartier after lunch. We'll get you a proper one. 

So I'm not good enough for Vegas suddenly? I thought it was the other way around.

He grabs my elbow and squeezes it so hard my knees go to liquid. No, I simply don't need any visual reminders that I brought a lowlife to such a high end spot. 

I yank my arm out of his hand. Should have brought someone else then.

I don't want anyone else. 

Then look at it because I'm not taking it off. 

(In the end he took it off me, pinning me down and making sure I couldn't breathe until I stopped fighting. Business as usual. I never got it back. Maybe I'll ask about it today. Maybe when he's pinning me down. Full circle and all that.)

Softly, now.

Ben's not having a good morning. I left him in bed with the tangled sheets and the curtains drawn tight, kissing his cheek firmly, whispering that I would be home right after church and we would go for a walk on the beach and make really fancy coffee in the good cups.

He squeezed my head very hard and nodded and drifted off again. A lot of things have forced him out of his comfort zone lately. Workwise and here at home as personalities clash and he forces back out in front. He would rather disappear most of the time and let his work speak. I think he learned that from Cole.

But people go through stages and God doesn't make anyone bland. Emotions are the roller coasters of the mind, the heart beats and waves and pumps are the life force and everything runs along barely regulated or patterned, instead forging ahead in a haphazd lope across one's life, intersecting with others, adopting their rhythms and fears. Absorbing their feelings whether they want to or not.

Life is not easy.

And so when I came home I pulled my church dress over my head, trading it for a soft vintage Annihilator t-shirt and pink underwear and I crawled back into bed beside him and when my stomach growled he opened his eyes and said,

My little noise monster came back.

I came back. For you. 

He burst out laughing. My lines were from House of Flying Daggers. I answered him in Mandarin, just like in the film. Impulsive to a fault.

I love you, Bridget. You make me laugh. 

Good, then please take me to breakfast?

I have to get up?

I want one of your fancy breakfasts. 

This is my day off to be home all day and not have to go out. 

Well....tough. Hash browns! Sourdough toast! Baaaaaaaaacon.

He rolls up on one elbow and dials a number.  After a minute he gives his name and asks for someone. Then he asks if he can have two meals delivered and he repeats our address and gives the guest code for the gate.

Twenty minutes later he goes downstairs in his pajama pants and comes back up with two waxed boxes and two coffees. Breakfast picnics in bed are better than pizza in bed. I have a plastic fork in my hand, egg yolk in my belly button and bacon in my hair.

He dials once again and tells Loch to come up for leftovers. I hit him with my pillow and he pins me there until Loch walks in, already laughing.

Oh, Jesus. What a mess. 

Mm-hmm. She's delicious. 

Anything wrapped in bacon is delicious. 

And she speaks Chinese! 

That a feature or a bug?

Oh, I don't know, Brother. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

On catching the Zs and then releasing them.

One of the downsides of being a tiny narcoleptic who loves to hide away from the world is that sometimes the world panics when they can't find her after hours of texting and searching and calling.

My phone was in the pocket of Ben's shirt from yesterday. My hearing aids still in my handbag and my eyes closed tight. I missed lunch. I missed Lochlan's complete meltdown and Ben's weird self-reassurance that I probably went for a walk. I was told they searched all six buildings, all vehicles, the beach and the boat and were on the verge of calling the police when I staggered back into the kitchen half-awake. I sometimes lie down for a minute wherever I can. I fall asleep in seconds during life but never when I'm supposed to. There is no privacy sometimes and I just want to withdraw a little. Plus I get so tired during the day but at night the worries take turns shaking me awake. I will curl up here or there for what seems to be five minutes to my sleeping mind but to them is an entire day.

A stressful one.

The threat is that I am to be microchipped, like the dog. Good. Does that mean no one will wake me up with the yelling and slamming doors?

Might sell my soul for that car.

(If it were still mine to sell, I suppose.)

I rendered the Devil speechless with my gesture. He took one step into the salon, saw all of the blue and sat down on one of the chairs.

My brother's eyes. You honored him with this. 

No, I honored you with this. I stand on deck, just outside, hands clasped in front of me, shoulders rolled in. I can be kind. I can try to make things easier.

He went down to the lower deck and found more of the blue in the cabins and the stateroom and came bounding back up the steps, the biggest, sweetest smile on his face. He looks so happy. He looks so young when he smiles. He stood right in front of me. Still smiling.

I can't believe this. Why did you do this?

You asked me to have the upholstery changed because it was boring. 

You took quite a chance. 

What do I have to lose? 

If you had made everything red I would have drowned you on the spot. He talks first and thinks second and I turn to go because fuck this.

I'm sorry, Bridget. But knowing you it could have gone that way. 

You wouldn't touch me. 

I would have made you change it back at your own expense. 

Speaking of which, you haven't paid me yet. 

Right. Come with me, we'll head out now and I can stop at the bank. He holds out his hand.

I hesitate.

Just come. Maybe there will be a surprise bonus involved.

There was. A drive all the way to Whistler in the R8 for a waffle cone full of Fluff N' Udder from Cows. Because I'm even easier to please than he is lately.

Your revelation. 

Yes. The one I should have kept to myself?

The very same, yes. I was wondering if you ever thought about it from my perspective. 

Explain. 

Maybe Cole was using you to fund our life together. Taking advantage of your grand scheme to keep us afloat so he could paint instead of waste time working. Maybe you were the one who was fooled. 

So you think he loved you?

Yes. I do. Who doesn't? Why would he remain immune even as everyone else falls? I don't buy your explanations because I lived with him. I spent my life in his arms. I looked into that blue. I knew him better than you did. 

Then I was taken advantage of. 

I bet that happens a lot. 

I bet it happens less than you might think, Neamhchiontach. How is your ice cream? 

Delicious. Do you want a taste?

The look he shot me gave me an ice-cream headache. He didn't waste any effort trying to obscure the meaning or appear proper.  I knew the answer without his needing to say a word.

Busy being productive, busy running away within myself.

The downside of living with an introverted, solitary, melancholy-millionaire is that he has a boat he doesn't board unless I go with him. A boat he never takes out, maintained with the detachment of someone who doesn't know how to relax and therefore gets little value from.

On the upside I have discovered the engine room on the boat is the perfect place to hide. No wonder they freak out and consider me drowned in the sea every time they can't find me. I leave messages for the kids. I don't for the adults. Ruth sometimes brings her sketchbooks down and spreads out on deck with her charcoal and headphones. Henry plays video games in the salon.

Not sure what the fuss is. If we still had a treehouse I'd be in that instead. The boat is as close to a treehouse as we will get here.

Because bears.

I had all of the upholstery and linens changed from their bland gold and tan to a lovely stormy dark blue. It's an indescribable North Atlantic blue, grey-navy, smoky rich. Cool dark tealish color. Cole's eyes.

It looks so much better. Sometimes I think this is my toy instead of his.

And that's fine.

Maybe one of these days I'll take her out but our cove is tiny and this would be the equivalent of parking Ben's F350 on a postage stamp for me.

(I can't park his truck, when I go somewhere I use a space at the end of a parking lot and walk for miles and when I get home I leave it idling in the center of the driveway and someone comes out and deals with it.

But I can deal with leading the custom upholstery people down to the boat and then collect them again to inspect the job and furnish their departure. I'm good with details and terrible with big pictures. I paid a fortune in extra fees because instead of bringing the boat to them, I had them brought to me. This boat is a waste of money.

As is his costly personal assistant who barely speaks to him.

On the upside I have a beautiful hiding place. Her name? Neamhchiontach. Just like me.