Blake was talkative. He almost seemed unrecognizable from the gruff man I first encountered.
“It’s funny,” he said, trying to balance the latest stick amid the mass of others in his arms. “As a kid, this was my dream—getting away from it all, just me and nature and whatever I felt like for the day. Growing up, seeing the way my parents lived, the way the world was, it seemed less and less likely. My leaving for my grandad’s was a last-ditch effort, an abrupt move, because I didn’t see any other way to stop myself from becoming like them. Then, after he died, coming here to stay was a long shot too. I never thought it would actually work.”
“That’s awesome” was all I could think to respond with.
Blake didn’t notice. He was in his own little world now. “Kids get it,” he said, half to himself. “They really get it.”
I didn’t say anything.
Then, turning to me, he asked, “What about you?”
I shrugged, and before I could think better of it, the words flowed out. “The only thing I wanted when I was a kid was to be less afraid.” I bent to pick up a particularly dry-looking stick. “I was afraid of rain, dogs, strangers, even tall people. I was afraid of skating, the outdoors, and just about everything except for the one thing I really should have been afraid of: being trapped in a life that wasn’t mine.”
Now it was Blake’s turn to be silent.
“Well,” he said finally, “at least you’ve escaped now. Some people take a lifetime to figure out that what they’re doing isn’t working.”
“Yeah, I escaped, but at what a cost?” I murmured, half to myself.
“Hey, Claire,” Blake said, putting his hand on my arm, “an authentic life is worth it, worth any cost.”
I felt like responding, but something in his eyes told me there would be no arguing with Blake about this. After a minute, he continued on.
“Well,” I said, “I certainly am going to make some changes when I get back, move somewhere close to nature, really savor cookies.”
Blake said nothing, didn’t even laugh.
I glanced over. There were three creases of vague irritation on his forehead. I stared at them, trying to figure them out. Surely Blake didn’t expect me to stay indefinitely.
“What about you?” I asked. “Any plans after this?”
He shrugged. “I’ll stay here until it no longer feels right to do so.”
I glanced over at him. Now his profile was one of assuredness: the definite set of his mouth, the purposeful narrowing of his eyes. God, he made it look so easy.
“But how do you know?” I asked.
“How do I know what?”
“How do you know what feels right and what feels wrong? How do you know which feeling is right, which voice to listen to?”
Pausing, Blake sat down on the grass. His face was thoughtful.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Practice, I guess. For me, I find there’s usually two voices: one of love and one of fear, one that wants to help me and one that wants to protect me. I try to listen to the helping one, but it’s not always easy.”
I sat down beside him and glanced over. Blake’s gaze was on a pile of leaves on the ground in front of us. Could I tell him?
No, I couldn’t tell him, couldn’t explain it to this upright, perfect man. I’d been listening to the wrong voice, the fearful one, for so long that I hardly knew what the right one sounded like.
Sometime later, Blake rose and we headed back to the fire in silence. I didn’t say anything; I was all talked out. I had enough to think about already. Maybe Blake did too. Or maybe he just didn’t feel like talking to a clueless city girl anymore.
Once we got back to the fire, Blake went inside the house and returned with his guitar.
“Break time,” he said, sitting down on the log.
I sat down gratefully beside him; I didn’t want to admit it, but I was getting tired.
Blake started strumming away, and just when I recognized the chords, he started to sing.As the final chord echoed into the night, Blake put the guitar down and smiled at me.
“You’re a Stones fan?”
I nodded. “Did you know that they were named after a Bob Dylan song?” I said.
He shook his head, paused, and then, after a minute, said, “No. They were named after a Muddy Waters one.”
I laughed, wanting to throw my arms around him right here and now.
“What?” he asked.
“That was a test,” I said, “and you just passed.”
He grinned, and we went on to rhyme off our favorite bands. Suddenly, mid-conversation, Blake paused and cocked his head at me, his blue eyes scanning my face.