29

I went upstairs and knocked on Sara’s door. She was still in her dress and was texting.

“Who are you talking to?” I said.

“I’m texting Zeke,” she said. “He’s so sad about the restaurant.”

“I know you’ll find a way to cheer him up. Listen, I have to get out of here. The police say that I’m in danger.”

“In danger? Linda, what have you done, baby?”

“Nothing. I guess I got mixed up with the wrong man.”

“I’ll take care of Macy,” said Sara. “You go.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “You can call me if you need anything.”

“You tell that new husband of yours that if anyone touches a hair on your head, I’ll cut his you-know-what off.”

***

I told that to Axel as we drove off into the night.

“I believe her,” he said grimly, as we drove out of the city and began to go north. I’d hardly been out here at all. I’d never seen the thick, dark pines that covered the land, the rolling hills. But my eyes glazed over the scenery with an exhaustion as physical as it was emotional. I checked the clock. It was almost 10 pm.

I’d placed a kiss on Macy’s forehead while she slept before we’d left. I’d picked her up and driven her home promising that we’d play together tomorrow, now that mommy wasn’t busy organizing her party. What would my little girl say when she woke up the next morning and discovered her mommy wasn’t there?

I fell asleep for a while, letting the tiredness overtake me. But I kept waking up with the bumping of the car, and after a while, I resigned myself to sleeplessness.

“Where is this place?” I said.

“About an hour from Syracuse. It’s isolated. I got it a few years ago, but I don’t really come up here all that much.”

“You don’t ever take a vacation, do you?” I said.

“I think the last vacation I took was to Bali,” said Axel.

But I didn’t want to think about the past. It was easier than thinking about the future than thinking about what we were going to do when all this was over. How I’d untangle myself from the messy, murky world that Axel Linden had brought me into.

I felt certain of one thing: I despised him. I couldn’t forgive him for getting me pregnant and ignoring me, all those years ago. And now I had more things I couldn’t forgive him for. For dragging me into a fake wedding. For getting me into danger. I’d always felt like I was in control of my destiny before I met Axel. And I couldn’t control myself around him. Couldn’t control my feelings, didn’t feel strong. I felt something with him—call it vulnerability if you like. But right there in the car, I felt like it was a weakness.

The roads were getting rockier and bumpier. We were passing through thick forest.

“You like it up here?” said Axel.

I pursed my lips. “I’ve never been,” I said.

“I go running up here in the mornings sometimes,” he said.

“In the mornings? We’re two hours’ drive from New York.”

“I get a helicopter.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Why does that make you so mad? You loved flying in the helicopter.”

“As a special treat. But it isn’t special to you, is it? I wonder if anything is?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

But I hated him so much right now, I couldn’t bear to respond. I didn’t want to get drawn into an argument. Because I knew that if I lifted the lid on my emotions, I’d find a lot more than hate there. And I didn’t want to know how far down it went, the pit of fear, desire, and want that was making me feel empty inside.

After a while, we turned off onto a dusty road. It curved up a hill through the trees, past a small lake whose surface was rippling in the moonlight. I couldn’t see a light for miles around us. The world would have been pitch black if it weren’t for the car’s headlights. But eventually, we pulled into a wide driveway under a dark gabled roof.

“This is it,” said Axel.

I got out sulkily, and folLindend Axel to the front door with my bag. He opened the door.

I was looking into a wide, spacious living room through the corridor at the front. I could see a stone fireplace in the gloom, with long sofas and chairs scattered around. There were lampshades. On the walls, I could see huge picture frames. And on the floor, a bearskin rug. In the dark, the deadeyes of the animal looked at me.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” I said. “Where’s my room?”

“Well, hang on a minute,” said Axel. “First we need to get this place up and running.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

He flicked a switch, and the lights didn’t come on. “See?” he said.

Axel produced a torch from the chest of drawers which stood by the front door. I folLindend him through the sleek, modern stainless steel kitchen, down the stairs at the back of the house to a shed.

“What’s that?” I said.

“The outhouse,” he replied.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

“Of course, I’m kidding,” said Axel, and chuckled. “There’s underfloor heating, solar energy. I redid all the plumbing.” But I was unmoved by his rare attempt at humor.

Inside the place was a generator. I watched Axel pull the cord, but nothing happened.

He looked at it for a minute.

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“You need to use the pump first,” I said.

“The what?”

“The pump. It’s there.” I pointed towards the handle.

“Oh, I got you,” said Axel, and pumped the handle four or five times to prime the generator. He pulled the cord, and it whirred to life, chugging gently. He shut the door and we went back inside. When we got to the living room, Axel flicked the light on. I could now see the homely, old-time room now. The brass fixtures of the lamps gleamed.

“Are you cold?” said Axel.

“A little. It’s fine,” I said.

“I’ll light the fire,” he said and bent down. From the cage next to the fireplace, he took out a couple of logs with some kindling and newspaper. With a firelighter on the mantelpiece, he lit a fire.

“Can I go to bed now?” I said.

Axel turned and looked at me.

“You’re angry with me,” he said.

Genius, aren’t you? I looked away and said nothing.

He stood up.

“You are,” he said. “Look at you. You’re practically shaking. You’re furious with me.”

I tried to hold it back, but I couldn’t any longer.

“You’re damn right I am!” I yelled. The force of my voice shocked me, and Axel took a step back.

“You’ve taken me from my home, from my daughter. And you’ve brought me out here to the middle of nowhere, to some mansion. And I’m tired, and I’m afraid. Not just for me, but for Macy. I told her I’d be there tomorrow. She’s going to wake up—” I was beginning to cry now, “—and I won’t be there, again, and isn’t it enough? I mean, how much worse of a mother could I be? To have signed up to this, to have done all this, for you?”