The water was six degrees, the mood an icy minus two.

I went for a swim this morning. Lochlan was going to say no and then at the last moment he didn't put up a fight at all. I wouldn't have listened anyway. Saltwater fixes everything, goes the saying, and they're not wrong, though once I stopped shivering I realized everything was still broken but now I am also struggling to stay warm.

I tried to put claustrophobic restrictions on Everett's access to me and got shot down at every turn. They want him to have a chance to see how I roll. Wow. That's a lot to ask. I don't think this is fair. I'm not a bug under a microscope. I'm not someone's science project. I am not a mannequin in a store window and I am NOT open to anyone's interpretation if you're in my home. There's no room here for error or misguided attempts to solve a problem that's hardly a problem, if you ask me. I know what's fucking wrong with me. I have a whole LIST here somewhere. Actually two. The fun part was comparing Jacob's list with Claus' and then with Joel's. Three, then.

I don't need a fourth list. I said this to Ben as he got dressed for the day and he laughed. He finally sat down and said he wanted to do for me what I just did for him, which was sit in a hospital room for so many days I forgot where I lived, and then I came home and worked my ass off helping him do anything he needed to do to get back to us. I would do it again too. I would do anything for Ben.

Then do this.

Since when do you owe me anything? You were the one who was here after Jake. You bought me a car. You walked the kids to school. You made sure I wasn't alone. You kept me away from Caleb-

And I would do that again too. 

God we're like two knights fighting over who is the noblest. 

Isn't it 'most noble'? 

Does it matter?

I guess it doesn't, Bee. 

I don't want him here. 

Give him two weeks. Remember, we don't have Joel anymore and August isn't nearly as objective as he used to be and Sam is in a weird place and needs a little room to breathe and-

Two weeks? Aughhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Two weeks. Give Everett until the Ides of March and if it's still a problem he will go. But also give him a shot. He's really good to talk to and is unconventional. You feel like you're talking to a friend. He became a good friend. That's why he's here. Few people get an opportunity like this. You don't have to go anywhere. You don't have to be away. 

But...but...four course meals and campfire projects! 

Ben laughs. I've never stopped (warmly) teasing him about the luxury-retreat aspect of his rehab. We literally paid thirty thousand dollars a month and he came home with wooden carved bookmarks for everyone and a sober outlook. He gained weight. He looked happy for the first time ever. It was profoundly terrifying. We can have those if you want! Any time, Bee.. 

I hold up my pinkie without a word. I want a promise. I want to be allowed to hold a knife capable of carving wood instead of only softened butter. I want to be left alone in my misery but more importantly I want them to be proud of me. Actually I don't. I'd be happy if Ben and Lochlan were proud of me. The rest of them can kiss my ass. But I also have my doubts here. I don't think I have Ben-type problems. Mine are different and obscure and well-hidden and I'm a super-overachiever high-functioning adult-child here and I don't know if Everett is ready for these sorts of horrors. 

He is, Ben assures me, wrapping his little finger around mine and then pulling my hand up to his lips to kiss it.

Then let's invite him to dinner. I am resigned. Fuck it. I want that pat on the head more than anything right now. 

He's making dinner for us, tonight. He's already downstairs looking at supplies and pots and pans in case we need to head out and pick anything up. 

Oh really? Wait, who is we? 

Everett, Lochlan and myself. 

Three musketeers, then. 

He's going to be your new best friend. Bridget, you'll see. 

I already have a best friend. 

Who's that? 

You.

I'm an ocean.

Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa
I said no, I said no
Listen close, it's a no
The wind is pounding on my back
And I found hope in a heart attack
Oh at last, it is past
Now I've got it, and you can't have it

Saturday morning sunshine and frost and there's a stranger in my kitchen when I finally deign to crawl out of the Devil's darkness which isn't so bad save for the fact that he's on his best, hoping for exactly this, only he's wrong and the hopes I've already smashed against the ice, shards on brick so you can break your neck when the sun blinds you and you fail to watch where the hell you're going.

There's no warning here, no advance notice, no guarded introductions. The stranger gets up and is in front of me before I can run, hand outstretched like we are normal people and I already feel that we are nothing of the kind.

I quarantined and have also tested negative before coming here, he assures me,

(Did I tell you about the time I was belting out REO Speedwagon's Can't Fight this Feeling and I sang On a corn-dog winter's night instead of a cold dark winter's night and I guess I was hungry and thinking about the corn dogs from the booth closest to our camper and Lochlan laughed all damn night and I had this feeling that I was young and dumb and would never be anything BUT young and dumb and damned if I don't feel like that now. Still. Except Line Without a Hook came out and I'm obsessed with that now instead.)

You must be Bridget. 

The one and only, Lochlan says quietly in his showman-voice from the table nearby and I automatically stick my hand out. 

Who are you?

Forgive me. The anticipation of this moment left me without my manners. My name is Everett. 

Dr. Everett what? Forgive my own manners. I'm guessing you're not actually here on an informal, first-name basis.

He is sizing me the fuck up. Surprised at my unabashed forthrightness. I'm not a shy person. I can be quiet and I hate interactions I don't expect but the very last thing I am is shy. I was the first person to volunteer to do my projects at the front of the room and the first to run out and take a bow for the audience at the end of the night. I don't care for fear of crowds or being in the spotlight. It will happen and there's no point getting worked up over it. I save my fears for the very stupidest things instead. Like flowering teas, peat fires and death. 

(Because you have to, at the very least, be reasonable about these things.)

I see in your difficulties you've definitely met your share of professionals. 

Yes but usually my husband doesn't install one in my kitchen without preamble. 

Lochlan finally talks to me. This one is on your boyfriend, Sweetheart.

Caleb didn't-

It was Ben. 

Everett's eyes get a little wider but then he checks himself. The stories are true but no one ever believes it until they meet me. 

I turn and stare at Lochlan with my own eyes wide. Where is Ben?

Out. Lochlan chuckles, in on the joke. Kind of cruel, if you ask me. 

Out? Where?

Breakfast with Dunk and a meeting, I believe. 

Oh. Nice. 

He doesn't need to be here. He wanted Everett to just show up and work. 

What, like Saturday morning mobile counselling service?

Lochlan laughs incredulously again and I realize I got it all wrong. Everett continues to watch me and it's bothering me but I can't deal with him right now. He clears his throat but I still watch Lochlan instead.

Bridget-

One second. Please. I tell him and turn back. Locket. Come on. Tell me what's going on. Wait. Am I going away? My voice disappears before I can finish the sentence.

Lochlan kicks his chair over getting up. He's in my face in seconds. No. You're not going anywhere. I told Ben this wasn't a fair way to do this but Everett's going to stay here for a bit and see if we can set you on the right road again. 

Again? Ever, you mean. 

Eh, some years are better than others. Everett's from Ben's last stay. He was really incredible with some of the grief work and Ben came back to us so much better. Do you remember? 

I nod but the tears are coming because I feel defeated and afraid and I really don't want to do this in front of someone. I remember the name now with the context. Ben actually talked about him a few times. But to invite here to the point to live without even giving me fair warning is still awful and I hate it and now I'm going in with a huge chip on my shoulder. Lochlan holds his lips against my forehead, squeezing me tight in his arms for so long I almost forget Everett is there until he speaks again.

Come and sit down so I can introduce myself properly, please, Bridget. 

Lochlan squeezes once and I nod against his chest. He lets go so slowly, so gently and I pat his chest. Don't go anywhere, please. 

Wouldn't dream of it. Another kiss on the forehead and he heads to the counter to make coffee.

Everett pulls a chair out for each of us. Almost facing each other but not quite. I sit in one and pull my knees up under my chin, resting my head on them, looking away. Good start. I'm twelve. I'm still deciding whether or not I want to do this or punish Ben for doing it to me. Whatever it is that he's done.

Antlers.

Two in the morning is the danger hour. Two in the morning is when he is vulnerable and kind.  Two in the morning is when his lifelong remorse hits him like a freight train, flinging him off into a dark even he can't climb out of and I must bring him back with me. Pulling his arm along in both my hands, wiping the sweat from my eyes as I try and find the strength to drag myself and the extra two hundred pounds of a devilman with me. 

He is eternally grateful and humble and raw. 

I love you, he says, his eyes bright in the now near dark of closer to home. 

When he says it like that I never answer, lest I fall right off the edge, back into the endless black.

***

In the morning Caleb is surprised to find me still there. He's surprised I'm not crowing for the success of my magnificent efforts to pull us back into the land of appearances, my strength all but eclipsing his own. And yet it is a gift from him, like this small box he presents me with as I sit up in his bed, looking out the window, sheets wrapped around me for warmth. 

I'm supposed to give you birthday presents. 

It's a very late Christmas gift. My apologies. It arrived at the beginning of the month. Open it, please, Neamhchiontach. 

I tear off the paper and wiggle the lid off the box. Oh. It's a pen. It's a beautiful handmade fountain pen from antler with copper bits and bobs and it's likely the prettiest pen I've ever seen and I have all of the Benu glow-in-the-dark ones. 

Oh my God, it's beautiful. 

I knew you would like it. But since you need something as beautiful to write in, this is also for you. He hands me a small packet now and I open that too and inside is a whole selection of notebooks. You already have a cover you love so this is just some papers to try. 

Wow, someone's paying attention. I have a journal. It's a diary, art journal and smashbook all in one. It's four inches thick and I drag it everywhere with me. It has three different notebooks in it now but the size I use makes it hard to find notebooks and I could order online but I prefer to feel the papers and the covers and make sure it's going to work. These will work. I don't have to buy anything for the rest of the year. 

Sure you will, he laughs. 

No. I'm good, for sure. 

You are far too easy to please, Bridget. But he is happy because I am happy. And all the things I want for can't be bought.

Run, Rabbit (but you don't listen when you should).

Oh my God. Late last night Caleb decided he wanted a birthday week instead of a weekend or even just a day and so since his birthday is absolutely non-negotiable, iron-clad and much anticipated, I let him pull me in by my elbows until he could bend his head down, nose to nose with me and ask me formally to spend his special week with him. He's simply gauging my response and I give it to him warmly, a kiss. Soft at first, sucking on his lower lip before his kisses get harder and he begins his lifelong attempt to eat me whole, the hungriest, fiercest wolf in the wood. It's always dark in this wood and you shouldn't be there, ever.

I finally break away for a breath but he still has his fingers locked around my elbows. Keeping me close.

Rules?

We don't need rules, for fucks sakes-

Rules, Diabhal. 

He presses his forehead against mine, squeezing my elbows briefly before remembering and loosening up a lot. I have slid all the way down his legs and am straddling his hips. Funny how we never change. Funny how we can't.  

No biting. No locking the door if or when you want to leave. Word is...Wenceslas. Mine?

No sleeping on the job. No industrial sabotage. No cutting it short if things are going well. We repeat each others' hards and fasts and then he resumes kisses all over my face and hair. By industrial sabotage he means specific things he does not like me to do or calling him by the wrong name, etc. Anything that purposefully fucks up our intensity together either by necessity or design. Sometimes it's too much and I look for an easy out because he won't listen. Sometimes I need an easy out because he does, he listens too well. 

Happy birthday, Diabhal. 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. This is the greatest gift you could ever give me, Doll. 

What's that?

Your time. 

Watching JT LeRoy and eating green apple fruit rollups with Lochlan and PJ. Come back tomorrow.

Edit: Wow! That was amazing! Infuriating and fascinating! So many adjectives. I'm a huge fan of Kristen Stewart and she hasn't disappointed me yet. Also Laura Dern who did a turn akin to her role in A Marriage Story and usually I can't stand her but she needs a meaty role to really shine. This was it. Damn. So good. My only complaint was that there wasn't nearly enough of Jim Sturgess. I love Jim Sturgess.

It wasn't until much later that I thought about his words and realized that we may not have the right, but we do it anyway.

I have returned from thy kingdom come and all beyond that burned
I've come from an age immersed in a mighty force of mortal rage

I cannot run
I hear your call
We're only chasing shadows now that castles cannot fall

 

I saw Matt last evening. He asked if we could talk on the porch and so I asked him to make some tea for us while I finished putting away the dishes. He did that and arranged a saucer of cookies too, balancing the plate on his cup, holding doors for me as we made our way out front. The rain was just beginning but at least it's still warm. I curl into the big bench, tucking my bare feet under a blanket, resting my head on his shoulder as he joins me.

We sip our teas and watch the rain for a long time. I'm almost asleep and I start to get annoyed. I have things to do and I can't have a rational conversation when I get very tired. I finish my tea and put my cup on the table. Not gently. Matt chuckles softly. 

What is it? I'm trying to sound neutral. 

Why are YOU angry? 

Am I angry?

Yes. I can feel it. 

Huh. Interesting. 

I see you're not going to engage. 

No, Matt, I'm not. 

Bridget, I really appreciate the boundaries and the respect you show for my marriage. 

I laugh out loud. Haven't done anything of the sort. Actually that isn't true at all, unless you look at the very big wide-angle picture right in front of your face.

And I think you have your hands full, he continues. This is just an outside observation.

From an insider? 

I wouldn't call myself that. 

You've been a willing participant in this commune, Matthew, so I don't know what made you go and jump back on...I guess a high horse here. 

The fact that you called out something that excluded me that involves my husband and openly questioned his devotion.

I'm going to call out anyone who twists the truth to protect themselves and leaves me to the wolves in the process.

I'm not going to be a casualty of your storms, Bridget. I will always take Sam's side. 

So will I but if it comes down to who to save from a burning building maybe you should be very clear on what Sam would do. 

He would stay behind and call the flames to distract them from the rest of us.

Oh my God, you're right, I sit up and turn to look at him. What do you want from me? To ignore Sam's narrative if it strays from the truth?

If that's what makes him happy, then yes.

This is not how I expected this conversation to go, you know. 

We're all just looking for our own fairy tale here, aren't we? We don't have the right to actively take that away from someone else, do we?

You've learned that. Do you think the rest of us can?

I do.

Then I'm doomed. 

Maybe not. There's a reason Sam is here and I don't think it's the one you think. Matt kisses the top of my head, takes our dishes and goes inside.

More than a Feeling bleeds right into Peace of Mind and it's perfect.

(Here's a bunch of subtext bullshit, all in brackets and notes. David Foster Wallace would have loved me for this. I hated him for it. Just write, I yelled at his books.)

Just write.

 I lost my spot in Monday Morning Truck Breakfast this week (we're...not sitting in restaurants but love going out for breakfast, you see), thanks to the argument with Sam (and Matt who is going to be collateral damage and I always told him he would be but now I don't want him to be so cross your fingers) so Lochlan took Sam out instead to set him straight. 

So I miss out on egg and bacon breakfast sandwiches wrapped in thick paper, never enough napkins, really good coffee in awkward paper cups I never fully trust, and Boston's Greatest Hits (came out exactly one year before I met Ben and why I remember that fact when I can't remember anything else actually makes me laugh) on the stereo in Lochlan's truck. It holds one CD and that's the one so he probably broke the Eject button right off or at the very least super-glued it to the head unit. (He used to play More than a Feeling on repeat as he ran the Ferris wheel on the Midway when I was very young, eventually getting the line I begin dreaming from the song tattooed on the back of his hand. I still love it. Still love the man. Still love the wheel.)

Should *I* be jealous? 

Should I grab up my bag and my keys and leave forcefully, feelings hurt (When are they not? They've always been bruised, battered and bleeding profusely), hoping to make it obvious that whatever hurt them is inappropriate, destructive and ruinous? 

They know it is. WE know it is. 

Lochlan will fix it and Schuyler will put on the finishing touches. Whatever words work. We know. We've heard it all before. Whatever makes her happy. Whatever happens. Whatever gets you through the night. Whatever she needs, we're here for her. (All disguised as something for me or something I wanted and really when it comes to Schuyler and Daniel they make a plan and if it's me I roll with it, truth be told and then I turn it all around and I take it, just like the song says in Don't Look Back, which follows Peace of Mind and that's perfect too.)

I guess I can stay put then, the usual instructions anyway as Lochlan slid his wallet and phone into the pocket of his peacoat. Keys in hand, nod to Sam, who met him on the front walk. Sam will always come to you and accompany you from your starting point, rather than meeting you at the end. That will be his fatal flaw at some point here. It's such a preacher thing to do.

(I'm still listening to Boston while Loch is gone. Ah. Amanda. The song I wished to change my name into just so I had a song like that about me. Ha. I was fifteen and just given to Cole by the boys as his permanent ward, a position I held right up until he died. He never wrote a song about me either. Ben did but he used someone else's name for cover and it's definitely not a classic rock ballad. THANKS BUDDY.)

Sam's knuckle tattoos read KIND SOUL. He's too good for this earth so I'm never letting him leave.

I've found a way to kill the sound/I SAID NO

 I broke all my bones that day I found you
Crying at the lake
Was it something I said to make you feel like you're a burden, oh
And if I could take it all back
I swear that I would pull you from the tide

Sitting at Sam's for breakfast. The podcast is live from seven this morning for church but we're not listening. Instead he's attempting to low-key lecture me for going to Schuyler's after dinner and not coming back until seven-fifteen (also this morning). I'm staring off into space mostly. Slack-jawed, holding my coffee cup too long, letting my bacon grow cold, more than a little alarmed at this but mostly too tired to care. 

I pull my cup up to take a long sip to try and hide my face while I roll my eyes as Sam's naked jealousy swirls around us, sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. Matt is fucking annoyed by all of this. It's a little stupid and I think I'll go. I appreciate Sam's efforts to give me an early Sunday escape in case I need it (I usually do) but if it's going to accompanied by this kind of attitude, well, Jesus's representative here on earth should take a break as I'm a grown woman and damn if I'm going to apologize to Him at this point. 

Not like He has my back. 

The cup is placed gently on the table. I'm not much of a dish thrower but when it comes to Sam the urge to chuck hard things directly at him to get it through his stubborn mind is weirdly overwhelming. I love this cup. He always saves it for me when I am over. 

Thank you for breakfast. I clear my throat, blot my lips on the beautiful cloth napkin and stand up from the table. His chair is on its back as he leaps up and knocks it over in his rush to block me from leaving.

I don't even. I look at Matt quizzically and he says Sam's full name so quietly I only hear part of it. 

Sam doesn't acknowledge this. 

Bridget-

Yes, I know. It's a routine and I'll change it up-

Safer to go back to the devil at this point, Bri-

YES I'M AWARE.

He is surprised by my sudden volume but doesn't say anything. 

I know, Sam! You don't have to protect me from Schuyler! I promise. 

Then why are all of these instincts welling up? 

Overprotection, probably. 

And here we were, worried about Cale-

Just stop, okay? 

I already did! Deferring to Daniel probably wanting his Saturday nights back with Schuy and I broke the cycle of Caleb stealing those nights now so it's done. Besides, I didn't go by mys-

You were never alone with me, either! We're going there. God, I want to throw this pretty cup directly at his face so he stops talking.

Oh. You...liar. 

Matt gets up and grabs his keys and wallet, leaving, slamming the glass door a little too hard.

Is it worth it, Sam? Is your need to save my soul so great that you would sacrifice your own life for me? 

He doesn't say anything and we're having a staring contest and then he starts to nod so slowly I clue in even slower and my eyes tear up. I was hoping he would say Of course not with great disdain. I was hoping this would be an easy save, an easier escape. I was hoping beyond hope that he would fail to take the bait even though I laid this trap so carefully, the odds never in my favour but for once that wasn't important and my ego goes out for a victory lap, sailing out over the open Pacific, dipping into the waves, splashing with joy as it turns and comes back, swooping in silently to its place with a triumphant fist pump that I probably would have done for real if I didn't know the kind of damage I can wreak with my tears. 

But I do and I hate myself and I love Sam so much it hurts even as I know how much it hurts him to admit this out loud without saying a word. 

Go get your man, and I'll go get mine, I advise, tears dripping off my chin now, tears welling in his eyes and he nods. And figure out your shit, Sam, because you've gotta realize you can't save everybody. You couldn't save Jake so what makes you think you can save me?

(The upside of Ben moving with a little more practiced carefulness thanks to his TBI is completely unprintable, sorry.)

Last night Caleb asked me over to his wing for horror movies and Mexican food, a true challenge I rarely pass up as Mexican food is loaded with tomatoes and spiciness and I cannot even look at a tomato during a horror movie. Salsa becomes something akin to some sort of immersive 4D experience and I end up losing my appetite. The game is we pick the goriest movie we can find and try and finish dinner before we get too grossed or weirded out to finish. Caleb finds it fun, as he said once 'down to earth'. 

(I have no idea what he meant by that. He is thoroughly charmed by how bougie I am,  I guess?)

But Ben said no, tucking his arm around me, pulling me backwards ever so slowly as he talked to Caleb in the hallway until I was all but tucked in against his shirt, cheek rubbing painfully against the button on his flannel shirt's front pocket and he put his right hand against my ear and I couldn't see Caleb's expression any more, not that I cared, frankly. 

Ben's confidence has returned. His bravado came with it. His ego never came back after that really good stint in rehab, thankfully but he also stood up to Caleb with a fierceness that gave me goosebumps of yesteryear. 

Long story, maybe. It's here somewhere. 

In any case, we didn't come up for air until almost four this afternoon, thank you very much and in my rush past Caleb to the kitchen, as I hadn't eaten, expending way more energy than I had the stores for, I heard him swear under his breath. 

I turned around, forgetting my hunger. What did you say? 

He doesn't deserve you, Neamhchiontach. 

You say that about everyone. I hold his gaze until he looks away first and then I leave him there, in the hall. My point is made. No hill to die on here, he doesn't have an argument to return.

25 years have passed and I never expected to understand this song firsthand.

Until one day the rain fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew something was wrong
She went running through the orchard screaming
"No God, don't take him from me!"
But by the time she got there, she feared he already had gone

She got to where he lay, water-colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits to remind me!"

He said, "Love I only leave a little, try to understand
I put my soul in this life we created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little this world holds me still
My body may die now, but these paintings are real."