I wander through the house, first looking for something to wear other than the barn-scented t-shirt. His bedroom is right next to the bathroom, so the search is brief. The room is sparsely decorated and orderly. The twin sized bed and wooden desk in the corner hints that not much has changed here for a long time. Books line a shelf above the bed and bookcase on the adjacent wall. He is someone who escapes into fantasy. I pull open a small closet door, in it are many t-shirts and a few button downs. No surprise. But on the far end are a couple of suits. I touch them; the fabric isn't cheap. I know he has means, and that fact only adds to the mystery.
I glance over my shoulder and listen for sounds, just to make sure he isn't here before I tiptoe to a desk drawer. I slowly pull it open and there's nothing but a few pens and a notepad. It's clear this room is just for sleeping so I slip out and try the next room. The door is locked. I go from room to room, searching for clues on the upper level, but he seems to have hidden them in that locked room. This farmhouse looks like an innocent, sweet abode, with floral coverlets on beds, breezy white eyelet curtains, and old wood furniture. But every room lacks that worn-in look of a lived in house. The other bedrooms lack personal artifacts. Only Sam lives here, but it's like he's not really here.
I make my way downstairs to the first level. A cursory search tells me this will go nowhere, and he could turn up any minute. I look down at my shirt and realize the only things that likely survived Sam's tantrum are my dresses. Then sorrow pinches my heart. The baby. I couldn't bear to look at it. As far along as I was, I probably would have been able to tell the sex, but I have no idea. I've always been conflicted about the child growing inside of me. A symbol of my captivity. Of loss. But also a new life. A blessing. Hope. That baby changed things here dramatically. And maybe that was its purpose, to transform things here, not to live.
I've learned since being here to live in the pain, to go through it. Not hide from it or run around it. And going back there is just that. It's just another pain I have to live through.
I find a paper and pencil and leave him a note.
I don't want to wear t-shirts all day, so I've gone back to my cabin to get my dresses. I'll be back in a jiffy. I know your instinct is to chase me. And you can. But you'll just find me rummaging through a mess for my favorite things. Remember, TRUST.
I follow the path to the cabin confidently, reaching it in record time. I can tell an animal scavenged through some of my dry goods and the dish he dropped and I grow nauseous. Our baby. I run inside but it's gone. The blood spot is still there, but spread as if someone tried to clean it up. I tell myself Sam took care of it. I can't allow myself to think an animal came here and ate the tiny corpse. In another time, the mere thought of something like that would have turned me into a heaping mess of tears, but I am toughened now.
I solemnly pick through my things, hoping animals it didn't urinate on them. I rifle through the debris, mourning the record player and torn books. But I manage to pull out all of my dresses from the rubble. Some could use a cleaning, but they are in decent shape. I dust off some random crap from them, when the light glints on something. The Bee Gees record. The first thing he brought to me. It seems to have slid innocuously to the floor behind the table that was holding the record player, now on its side. I smile and grab it. A token of when things began to turn for the better. I think to myself that I will get him to learn the dance. And maybe one day we'll go to the movies together.
We can start over. We can leave here and then he won't have to hide me. We can't get to the place we both want to be until the shadow of our past isn't hovering over us.
I hold onto the record, thinking about my outlandish—or not so outlandish—proposal. Lost in thought, I hear Sam's familiar footsteps crunch against the scattered food on the steps outside my door.
I roll my eyes satisfied that Sam found me doing exactly what I said I would.
“What happened to trust?” I ask, as he enters, my back still facing away from the door.
The feet stop moving, and he's silent. But I am used to that. I have to look at him in order to communicate, either through gestures or notes, so I spin on my heels.
But the person in front of me isn't Sam.
We stare at each other for seconds that seem frozen. He seems just as shocked as me.
I still have that initial instinct to beg for help, but I think about Sam, and what will happen to him if I do. After all this, it feels like a betrayal.
As I stare the familiar face, searching my memory for who he could be. I haven't seen anyone other than Sam for so long, but this man's face feels relatively new. As if I hadn't first seen him that long ago.
He takes a big gulp; I can see from the way he struggles to speak that his mouth is dry.