Take Me With You(71)

But he has been ever the doting father and lover. Preparing my meals, spending evenings with me listening to records. He brings books which I read out loud to us and the baby. They say kids don't fix what's broken, but me carrying his child has triggered a seismic shift in the way things are here. Maybe conventional wisdom doesn't apply to unconventional arrangements.

Today is another morning, just like the others in the routine that started fourteen weeks ago.

Sam rises out of bed, his back facing me. I don't make a peep, but I watch him, and just past him, against the wall, the crib he presented me with the night before. It’s exquisite. I could tell he wanted to downplay his pride in making it, but he wasn’t very good at it.

Actually, it was kind of cute, the way he brought it in, matter-of-factly, looking down before casually passing me the note. It’s not finished yet. I’m going to paint it whatever color you want. Just let me know.

“Did you make this?” I asked.

He nodded.

“It’s incredible,” I muttered, as I ran my fingers along the freshly sanded, blonde wood.

He shrugged modestly.

“Actually, can we keep it like this? The room is so white, I like the wood against it.”

He gave me a half smile and nodded.

The sun beams in from the skylight on his naked taut frame. His skin, so smooth and tan from his days out in the sun, abruptly grows violent and marred on his left side. He is a puzzle made of pieces that don't fit. Handsome yet scarred. Intelligent yet animalistic. Full of stories, yet taciturn.

The breadcrumbs. He's been scarce with them since he gave me his name. Though a few days ago, while walking a new, longer path to the lake, we came upon old wooden structures. They were overgrown and neglected, but I could still make out their shapes. A wall, pillars, horizontal beams. If I wasn't mistaken, it looked like an obstacle course of sorts.

“What's all that?” I asked, pointing to the ruins.

He was quiet for a moment. I could see the internal debate about what he could share. Finally he stopped and pulled out a notepad.

It's a playground. Old one.

“A playground?” I asked skeptically. His answer felt like it was hiding something, but he didn't acknowledge my skepticism, so I added it to the list of crumbs. I also decided it was a better use of my efforts to stay concentrated on its relation to the lake in the event I found myself out here.

Sam turns sharply as if he knew all along I was watching.

He scribbles on his pad. Work today. Want to show you something first. Do you need to puke first?

I chuckle at his lack of tact. But no, this morning, I'm feeling surprisingly stable and curious.

I get up, rinse myself off, and put on one of my dresses.

“Ready!” I declare.

He lifts up a bandana, folded into a narrow strip, gesturing to his eyes. I'm going to blindfold you.

“Why?” I protest, my gut sinking for new reasons.

The look in his eyes tells me this is not up for discussion. He's been too good to me lately to suddenly want to hurt me. It must mean he's taking me somewhere new. So I throw my hands up in the air and relent. This could be another breadcrumb. A potentially huge one.

“Fine, but this is stupid.”

I climb on his back as he instructs me to. The first thing I notice is we make a left instead of a right outside of the cabin. But being blindfolded, it isn't long before I lose track of distance and space. Suddenly, a smell hits my nose as a door creaks open, the sound of a goat bleating and huffing comes from beyond the threshold.

He sets me on my feet. The door creaks again as he closes it behind me. Then he pulls off the blindfold. I look around the small barn. A horse is tied up on one end, in a stall. Two small goats trot over to us.

“Oh my god!” I howl as one tries to gnaw at the hem of my dress.

He swats it and makes a hissing sound.

“We—you—have animals?”

He generously gives me a grin and nods.

“Do they have names?”

He nods, pulling out his pad. Small goat, Trixie. Other, Hilda. Horse, Beverly.

“Wooooow,” I gasp, petting the goats who have since stopped trying to feed on my clothes. He gestures towards the horse, who he pats gently before letting her out of her stall. She huffs a bit, letting out some energy. He saddles her up and motions for me to mount her.

“Really?” I ask.

He gestures more forcefully. Yeah, hurry up.

I go towards the horse and try to hoist myself up. My belly isn't too big, but it's surprising how hard it is to keep my balance and work around it. He catches me as I fall back. The second time he gives me a hardy boost and I manage to awkwardly slide my body onto Beverly's back. He mounts her in one swift motion behind me, and reaches over me to show me the blindfold. It has to go on again. Once he's done that, I feel him give her a gentle kick to the hip and lead us out of the barn. We trot gently for a while, in this odd limbo where he extends another part of himself to me, while still keeping me shielded from any true knowledge of my circumstances.

But it does feel nice, the gentle rocking of the horse, the wind in my hair. How is it in this moment, I feel more at ease than I did in my previous, safe life?

After a couple of minutes, he pulls off the blindfold. We are on a trail in the forest. It emerges to open field. I can see roving fields for miles. Then hills with trees. No roads, no houses. Is this what is beyond the lake? Is my escape plan a hopeless endeavor?