Lucy

This is so different than the dreams I’ve had for the past two months. Instead of that steel door slamming, I am surrounded by love, enthralled by desire, filled by Roan, and infused with joy.

His fingers have a bruising grip on my hips as we rock together in an eternal rhythm.

What started out as a slow seduction has become a wild taking, and Roan is giving himself to me and finally claiming what I’ve offered, holding nothing back.

The cabin glows gold, and the fire in the stove is a warm caress. The rabbit fur blanket sliding up and down my back is softer than the finest silk. Even though this is just a dream, it is so glorious, so good, so nourishing.

My heart—my Roan—is back in my arms.

I grip his waist and bite down on his shoulder so that he growls as pleasure spirals through me, not a lightning strike but a thickening mist. Slowly, the fog coalesces, forming into a cyclone, wind whipping through me, taking me higher and higher.

“Lucy, I love you.” The dream is silent, but Roan’s voice echoes in my mind. Love radiates off his body lending power to the storm inside me. Love, unity, and gratitude surround us.

The cloud twists tightly into a tornado, the source of my pleasure unstoppable, capable of great destruction but also life-giving: rain to a parched landscape, lightning to an overgrown forest, Roan and me.

I scream his name, not with my voice but with my very soul, and Roan vibrates through the room, out into the forest, spreading across this Scorched earth.

He holds my cheeks, our gazes meeting as he continues to move inside of me. Our eyes connect us, and that blue-black glint is gone, replaced with the openness of space.

The cloak of despair, the weight of history has lifted.

Roan is free because of love.

His gaze holds mine, and I see pleasure overtake him; his eyes flutter closed, his mouth covers mine as he fuses with me…and I wake.

I wake in the basement of the Haven, in my empty room. The gray walls are stark, the bedding twisted, and a pulse of nausea moves through me.

I roll out of bed, caught up in the sheets, but make it to the toilet.

Every morning I throw up.

I don’t mind. The love I have for the life growing inside of me is so intense—like the love I have for Roan, but more elemental.

I love Roan for the man he is, for his past and his future. I love the baby because it’s a part of me, a part of Roan, and all possibility. I’ll do whatever it takes to shepherd my child safely into this world.

I sit back, resting against the wall for a moment just breathing, remembering Roan’s voice in my head, and immersing myself in that pure love we shared.

My knowing whispers to me that it is real…but my sore heart is afraid to believe.

* * *

Mama is in the kitchen, scrubbing a pan. The scent of bacon still lingering in the air brings on another wave of illness, but I push through it.

She looks over her shoulder as I cross to the cabinet and doesn’t smile. “You slept in.” It’s like an accusation. What she’s trying to say is you’re an unwed single mother and a sinner. But she can’t, because I’d freak out on her, as would any one of my brothers…even Luca, the biggest Catholic of us all, knows I don’t need judgment.

It’s the apocalypse, and the fact that I’m not married is the least of my problems.

“Good morning to you, too.” I get out a box of saltines and nibble on the edge of one.

“You’ll need to eat more than that if you want your baby to come out strong.”

Anger rocks through me. “You know what Ma? I don’t need to hear that from you. I’m sick, and doing the best I can. What are you trying to do, make me feel crappier?”

Mama drops the pan and turns around wiping her hands on her apron, and then placing them sternly on her hips glaring over at me. “I guess you should have thought of that before you…” She nods up and down gesturing to my body. “Did whatever you did.”

I put down the saltine. “You need to change your attitude about this. I know you think I’m some kind of slut.” She doesn’t answer but her eyebrows raise, her mouth tightening. “This baby was created in love. I love Roan and he loves me. And I love my child.” I place my hand protectively over my stomach.

“Where is Roan then? If he loves you so much, where is he?” Her voice is bitter acid.

“I don’t know, Ma. Thanks for pointing it out though.” My throat tightens. I’m on the verge of tears, again. I’m always on the verge of crying these days. But I’m also just done with the guilt that she’s been throwing my way. “I’m going out today.”

My mom cocks her head at the change in subject. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going outside the boundary walls. I’m going for a walk.”

“That’s not safe,” she sputters. This will be the first time I’ve left since being taken by Kane and his men.

But I need to get out of this place.

My dream left me nourished, but my mom is dragging me down. Guilt. Sin. Mistakes.

There is none of that between Roan and I—there’s just pure love. And if I go to his cabin, I can pretend we’re together, just like the dream. “All the skinheads around here are dead, you heard the Sheriff tell us that yourself last night.”

Mama’s cheeks pinken at the mere mention of the man. She turns back to the sink, picking up the pan again. “Talk to your brothers. I don’t think it’s safe.”

“They said they got them all, the mine area is emptied out, and we are perfectly safe. For now.”

She keeps her back turned to me and just shakes her head. Deep sadness brews inside her, heavy despair an almost crushing weight. My heart pumps harder as the knowing tells me she’s afraid for me to have to face all the burdens and challenges she did, raising a child alone.

I cross the room and put a hand on her shoulder. She bursts into tears. My strong, capable mother is crying because of me.

“Mama, you really should be proud.” She puts the pan down and wipes her hands on her apron, bringing it up to her face and swiping at the tears. “You raised seven kids, and they all turned out great. We’re all independent and functional.”

Mama laughs on a sob. I open my arms and she turns, leaning into me. I rub circles on her back as she trembles. “You did an amazing job, but we’re all grown up now. I’m an adult woman, a mother. I know what’s best for me. What’s best for my baby. You can trust me.” She nods against my shoulder still crying even as the weight on her eases. “Your job is done.”

She steps back enough that she can look me in the eye and gives me a teary smile. “One thing you’ll learn, Lucille, is that a mother’s job is never done.”

* * *

I pack a small bag and leave through the back hatch. My feet carry me through the woods, onto the path that leads to Roan’s cabin.

That’s where we were in the dream; I know it even though I’ve never seen the interior.

Will our child have this strange knowing?

The cabin’s grass is long, the water pump at the center almost hidden by it. I wade through the weeds up onto the porch. There’s a padlock on the front door. I close my eyes and think of Roan, what he would do. The knowing pulls me over to an empty clay pot beside the porch. I lift it to discover a rusted key. The padlock opens for me and the door creaks on its hinges as it swings wide.

The interior is dim and dusty, but cozy.

I put down my bag and open the shutters, then pull up the front windows. It’s warm enough that I don’t need a fire, but I take some of the wood off the porch, placed there by my love’s hands, and get a blaze going in the potbellied stove because I want it to be as close to the dream as possible.

The fire crackling, I finally look over at the bed in the back corner, shrouded in shadows. I take a deep breath and walk over to it.

Relief surges when I see the almost complete rabbit fur blanket. Now that I see it I know that dream was real.

Roan came to me in my dream. And he will come back to me here, in this place, I just know it.

I pick up the blanket, unable to resist rubbing the silky fur against my cheek, remembering how it felt to roll around on it naked—way too good!

Two skins are missing from one corner. They must be the furs that we tanned together in the meadow out front, on a spring day that feels like a year ago.

There’s a box on the back porch, latched to keep animals out. I open it up and find the furs: dried, soft and ready to go. Inside a trunk at the foot of the bed I discover thread and a needle.

Sitting on a rag rug in front of the potbellied stove I start to work, pushing the needle through the rabbit skins, finishing the blanket.

I’ve never sewn anything in my life, and for a first timer I think I’m doing a pretty good job—but the stitches are not nearly as even or precise as the ones Roan made.

“That’s the kind of thing your dad can do,” I say aloud to our baby. “He’s strong, and brave, and so good at everything! He loves you even though he doesn’t know you exist yet. That’s the kind of man he is, capable of great feeling, able to do anything he sets his mind to.”

When I finish the blanket, I spread it out over the bare mattress. It’s beautiful and inviting, but we’ll need sheets…

As I step back a wave of exhaustion hits me, the way it does these days.

The fire crackles peaceably, a warm breeze floats through the open windows, carrying the scent of early summer tinged with the earthy smoke of burning wood. I can go back to the Haven later for the sheets.

I lie down on the bed, nuzzling the soft fur blanket, and quickly drift off to sleep, willing myself to dream of Roan again. Come home to me, Roan. We’re here, waiting for you.