by Alexa Ross
Blindfolds. Our server was holding red satin blindfolds.
“Told you it was cool,” Blake said, nudging me.
I tried to smile back at him. Now was probably not the time to mention that I was afraid of the dark. Even now, sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night, having dreamed that Angelo was under the bed or in the closet, coming for me. Even though he was still locked up, I couldn’t quite believe I was safe.
“You trust me, don’t you?” Blake asked, taking my hand.
I kept my gaze on his hand and nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Really, it was a neat idea after all. It was not long after being seated that neat became thrilling.
The waitress, a female voice named “Ellie,” rhymed off a whole list of meals. We decide on rabbit—“For old times’ sake,” Blake joked.
I squeezed his hand. “Though they probably won’t make it as good as you did.”
He squeezed my fingers and then ran his hand up my arm until it reached my head and stroked my hair.
“Blake,” I said, giggling, “The servers can still see.”
He leaned over, kissed me on the lips, and murmured in my ear, “Let them see.”
The rest of the meal was enjoyable. With no sight, the feel and smell and taste of the food and drink was intense. I savored each mouthful, and I would have bet that for once Blake and I were eating at the same slow pace.
Throughout the meal, Blake was doting and attentive, but he was also hiding something. I didn’t know how I sensed it, especially since I couldn’t even see him, but I did. There was something he was not saying. Something that was worrying him.
By the time we were out of there, we were well-fed and happy—relatively. During the drive back, there was still an undercurrent of tension in the car with us.
Finally, once we’d walked through the front door of our new house, I asked Blake outright: “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he said, patting my head. “Just work stuff.”
I could tell by his face that was not it, but I didn’t say anything. Sometimes you had to give people space to figure out things before they wanted to talk about it.
“By the way,” he said, “I booked breakfast for us tomorrow at Aspen Hickory House.”
“Really?” I asked, glancing at his face.
We hadn’t been there since our unfortunate blowup with Lila, whom I also hadn’t heard from since.
“Yeah. I’ve been craving some ribs,” Blake said casually, and I shrugged.
For breakfast seemed weird, but maybe then he would finally explain what had been going on.
“Okay.”
That night, Blake still wouldn’t admit it, but the nameless something was there with us. It was in our cuddling on the couch, in Blake’s long stares into nothingness. It fell asleep with us.
When I woke up, I was alone.
Beside me, the satin sheets had an indentation where Blake had been. I stared at the blue series of ripples with a coil of apprehension forming in my throat. Blake never left in the morning without getting in what he called his “morning Claire cuddle.” I got up, checked the bathroom, walked over to the hallway, and called his name.
The foyer echoed my voice back to me uselessly. I went back to our bedroom and peered out the window. The truck was gone. Blake was gone. He had left, without any mention of where he was going and why. What could have been going on? Weren’t we supposed to be having breakfast together?
The next hour was one long, apprehensive wait. I ate three bowls of Cheerios instead of my normal two, and then I gave up on reading Anna Karenina to sit in front of The Little Mermaid. I couldn’t concentrate on anything right now, and Disney movies always made me feel better. It seemed silly to worry like this, and yet if there was one thing Blake was, one thing he had always been, it was reliable. This wasn’t like him. Something was up.
By the time the front door slammed with his arrival, I’d worked myself up into a frenzy. I hurried out.
“Hey. What’s up?” I asked.
Blake was wearing a suit and a pleased yet still tense expression.
“You’re still wearing your pajamas,” he said, his glance sliding to my penguin-printed fuzzy pants.
“Blake,” I said.
“Okay, just hear me out. You know this breakfast we’re going to, in…”—he checked his watch—“an hour? It’s with Lila.”
“What?” I asked.
“I called her,” he said. “She wants to talk to you. The rib house was her idea.”
I stared at him. Lila was fiery, stubborn. One thing she was not was forgiving.
“Really?” I asked.
Blake nodded and glanced at his watch again. “You better start getting ready if we’re going to make on time.”
Then, with a wry half smile, he added, “Something tells me Lila is not someone who takes lateness lightly.”
I gaped at him, still surprised, and then raced up the steps, my mind already flitting through my wardrobe for what to wear. It was only once I was standing in the walk-in mausoleum of clothes that it hit me: Blake had never answered my question.
After 15 minutes of agonizing, I decided on a white T-shirt with a white skirt. I would meet Lila as a literal walking white flag.
We got there five minutes early, which was not really early since Lila was there too. She was wearing a subdued maroon and a penitent pout.
When we got to the table, she rose and addressed my feet. “I’m really sorry, Claire. For last time, for everything. I was so sure I knew better. I was wrong.”
“It’s okay, Lila,” I said, sitting down. “I know you were just looking out for me.”
Lila and Blake sat down, and I asked her, “What made you change your mind?”
Lila shot a conspiratorial look at Blake, and then her gaze settled on me. “You did. I’ve been in touch with your mother. Every week I expected her to tell me: They ended it, she’s broken, she’s coming back. Yet all I heard about was a woman who was becoming more herself, happier, freer. You and Blake have done incredible things these past few months. You’ve gone sailing, caving—I mean, Claire, you’ve gone rock climbing and you’re afraid of heights. It’s incredible.”
I nodded, keeping my gaze lowered, though I couldn’t hold back the pleased smile on my face. I clasped Blake’s hand. “Yes. I’ve been really lucky.”
Lila turned to Blake, who was smiling too.
“And you, Blake, you’ve gotten a job, you guys have bought a house and a car. I mean, the two of you have done in six months what it takes most people six years to do. I would ask what your secret is, but I can see it right here for myself: You guys work together.”
I threw myself around Lila in a hug.
“Lila, I’m so glad. I’m so glad we can be friends again.”
She held me tight.
“I am too. And I’m really happy your life has taken off this way, that you listened to your gut instead of your self-righteous, stuck-up, paranoid friend.”
Breaking away, I smiled. “You mean my self-righteous, stuck-up, paranoid best friend.”
We laughed.
This time we shared our ribs and beef basket in peace, making pleasant conversation all the while. But still, amid this happy chatting and eating, something wasn’t right.
Blake and Lila were watching me when they thought I wasn’t looking, exchanging glances behind my back. I pretended I didn’t notice. And when I said good-bye to Lila, I felt a warm joy that was not quite ruined by the sick twist of foreboding in my chest.
As Blake drove us home, making periodic glances at me, the tension still in his eyes, I made a promise to myself. I was not going to let this go. I was going to find out what was going on, and I was going to do it soon.
When we got home I got a text from Mother: “Leaving Aspen tomorrow, have lunch with us today at Cache Cache.”
I showed the text to Blake, who gave a rueful smile, saying, “Second time’s the charm?”
“Yeah, mayb
e,” I said, studying his face.
I thought it was weird, Mother and Father coming here a few days for seemingly no reason, but it had been nice seeing them.
Blake just gave an awkward smile and hurried into the office, muttering something about “work stuff.”
I had a bad feeling about this.
It was funny: The exact same mousy waitress sat us at the exact same table by the window as last time. While my parents and Blake chatted, I gazed out Cache Cache’s window, at the same view of Aspen’s bustling city streets, and marveled at the last six months.
Six months. Who would’ve thought so many things could have changed in just six months? My divorce had gone through, Blake had a job as a mountain guide, and we had a nice big house down the road from downtown Aspen. We were ridiculously happy. God, I was so lucky.
“We were just telling Blake how happy we are for you with how things have gone,” Mom was telling me.
“And how wrong we were,” my father said with a chuckle. “Six months ago, when you two waltzed in here and told us what you meant to do, that you meant to be together come hell or high water, well, we thought you were crazy. Now, however”—he spread his arms—“I haven’t seen you smiling so big since you were five years old. The simple life is doing you good, and I think it’ll continue to do you good.”
He patted Blake on the shoulder. “This guy ain’t bad either.”
My mother nodded, taking my hand in her soft, thin fingers and squeezing it. “You picked a keeper this time, Claire. There’s no doubt about it.”
Blake was beaming at me, and he took my other hand and squeezed it. “I was telling them how we still check out my old cabin from time to time, how the view there is phenomenal. But I left the camera in the truck. Would you mind getting it?”
I nodded and scanned his face. There was still that line of tension on his forehead.
I paused. Would now be a bad time to ask to talk to him, to figure this all out once and for all? I glanced at my expectant parents and realized there was nothing I could say, not now. I hurried outside, and paused in front of our pickup truck. I fetched the camera fast enough, lifting the little black thing out of the backseat and carrying it inside, back to our table.
Mom and Dad wanted to see every picture twice and our filet mignon was excellent, but Blake was strangely impatient to leave. He seemed less tense, but still not back to normal.
Once we finally got out to our pickup truck, he said, “What do you think about spending the night in the cabin for a change?”
I gave him an excited kiss on the check. “That’s a great idea! It’s been weeks.”
We left the car back at our house, deciding to walk there, like we had so many times before. I loved the long trek up the mountain with Blake. It was like experiencing our love story all over again: the beautiful scenery, the fearful, harried swirl of emotions.
I felt a mixture of love and fear when I looked at the handsome man walking beside me. After all, I still hadn’t figure out what was going on with him.
After a time, Blake gave me a piggyback ride the rest of the way. It was faster, after all. As the wooden cabin came into sight, I smiled to myself, thinking of all the changes Blake had made there too. He had outfitted it with a nice queen-size bed and put a lush shag carpet on the floor, turning his solitary crash pad into a romantic getaway spot.
Blake put me down a few feet away from the door and admonished me to wait there. I watched him disappear into the house with curiosity. What could have been going on?
I didn’t have to wait long for the answer. A minute later, Blake was coming out the door.
He sat beside me said, “It’s going to be an hour or so. Is that okay? Do you mind going for a walk?”
When I didn’t respond, he explained. “It’s a surprise, but also dinner.”
“Fine,” I said with a sigh.
My walk was really a killing of time, a checking of my phone every five minutes, until, finally, exactly an hour had passed.
When I got back, Blake was opening the door, smiling at the sight of me.
“Damn, you’re timely. Come on in.”
I stepped in and gasped. There was a path of rose petals leading to the table, where there was a whole setup laid out: candles, wine glasses, two plates piled high with glistening meat and potatoes.
I turned to him, hardly able to voice all the happy sensations flying through me at once.
“Blake…what?”
“I love you, Claire Bell,” he said simply in response.
That was reason enough for me. Grinning stupidly, I let him lead me to the table. He sat down across from me. Just as I picked up my fork, he lifted his glass in a toast.
“To the most beautiful, fun, and extraordinary woman I know. To the woman who utterly transformed my life.”
“Blake,” I said with a nervous giggle, lifting my glass too, “what’s gotten into you?”
“I love you,” he said.
We clinked glasses and drank deeply, and then we dug in. The braised rabbit was just as good as it looked, while the rich, buttery potatoes tasted even better.
The whole time I ate, Blake regarded me with a content smile. He barely seemed to notice the food he was shoveling into his mouth; all his attention was fixed on me. Under his intent gaze, I was flustered. I could hardly swallow properly. Finally, I thought of something to say.
“One of these days we’ve got to check out that old ranger’s station, see how our home improvements are holding up.”
“Guess we’d need some kind of special occasion,” Blake said evasively, nodding.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said.
“I may know of one,” he said, smiling to himself.
“Oh really?” I said, scanning his face with interest.
Blake shrugged and said, “Maybe.”
I stared at him, but his face betrayed nothing. Something was definitely going on.
After I’d eaten all I could of the dinner, it was time for dessert. Blake brought out a heaping bowl of hot blueberries that had been cooked in the oven, topped with cream.
“This was Grandad’s favorite,” he said.
Swallowing a big delicious spoonful, I grinned. “I can see why. This is my new favorite dessert.”
By the end of the bowl, we were both grinning silly, blueberry-lipped grins at each other.
Abruptly, Blake left the table and returned with his guitar in his hands, gesturing to the door.
“What do you say to a few songs by the fire?”
I bounded up. “I’d say hell yes! I’ve been bugging you to sing to me for months now.”
Holding back a smile, Blake linked his arm in mine.
“And I told you, I don’t have much of a voice.”
As we headed outside, I scoffed. “You have a great voice, and I’m not just saying that because I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
Coming up to the fire pit, Blake nudged me with his elbow. “You sure about that?”
Now it was my turn to hold back a smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Standing in front of the pile of timber, Blake released my arm.
“Okay, so you still remember how to start a fire, right?”
I elbowed him back and he laughed, taking out a lighter that he flicked on.
“Just kidding,” he said, and he lit the timber.
It caught easily, and before long we had a full fire raging before us. There were no logs here, so Blake sat down cross-legged on the grass, and I sat beside him.
First it was “The General,” and this time I knew why the song was familiar. It was familiar because it was the song that he’d been playing when I’d fallen in love with Blake. This time I could sing along a bit, and I did.
At the end, the fire flickered gladly, and soon it was time for the next song, which we howled out wildly, the quiet night air throwing our yells back at us long after the song was finished.
I flopped onto him, and he wrapped his arms around me, running his hands
through my hair the way I loved.
At some point, he stopped, extricated himself, and said, “Claire?”
I opened my eyes, and he was crouched in front of me on one knee.
Time froze. The owls hooted in anticipation; the wind ruffled Blake’s hair merrily. He was looking at me liked he’d never looked at me before, out of adoring eyes through a sheen of tears.
