Somebody's Baby

Chapter 12: Fantasy Sequence

The storm had passed and left a mesmeric glow of sunlight in its wake. George caressed my cheek with his knuckle, a warm welcome to the new day. His touching, though featherlight and benign, felt medicinal to my tender skin.

"Eloise." George called to me softly, his tone gentle and melodic. "It's time to wake up."

"Why?" I groaned.

"We've got to meditate first thing in the morning."

"Before coffee?" I laughed.

"Coffee gives us synthetic energy. Meditation is much more vitalizing to the body and spirit."

"Whatever you say, Maharishi George."

He gave a half-hearted laugh, though I could tell he didn't appreciate being mocked.

"Come on, Eloise."

I marveled at how easy it was for him to jump out of bed and get going. Perhaps the benefits of meditation really were that motivating. I tried to mirror his enthusiasm, but I moved at a much slower pace. After a bit of stretching and complaining, I finally managed to get out of bed.

We meditated for about an hour in his colorful sitting room. Afterward, George moseyed into the kitchen. He went straight to the table, picked up his guitar, and began to play. It was clear from the furrowing of his brows and his dismissiveness toward me that he did not want to be bothered, so I went out into the yard for fresh air.

The meditation had been peaceful, though being outdoors felt more therapeutic to me. I laid down in one of his lounge chairs. The strong vegetal scent of the damp grass permeated my nostrils. I found it calming, and I fought to stay awake.

A few minutes passed, and I heard the door open. The squelching sound of footsteps approached my chair. "Eloise, I'm taking you away." George declared.

I scooted up and turned. "Away?" I asked.

"Yes, away. Away from George Martin, away from Apple. All of it. We're going to rent a canoe and take it out on Claremont Lake, then we're going to camp in the gardens. It's something I've always wanted to do, and you're going to do it with me."

"But—"

"You don't have a choice, so don't argue with me." He said with a playful and slightly arrogant smirk.

"Ok, then," I said, laughing. "When were you thinking of leaving?"

"As soon as we can. It's only about a four-minute drive, but we've got a bit to pack."

"What can I do to help?"

"Would you mind making something for us to eat? I've got a small cooler you can put everything in."

"Sure, I can do that."

I arose from the chair and went back into the house. I prepared some sandwiches and snacks, then I brewed some tea. Once everything was assembled, I packed it all into the cooler and took it to George. We finished loading the car and set off on our journey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light gusts of wind made gentle ripples on Claremont Lake. George and I paddled leisurely down the stream, staying close to the water's edge unless a cove or pile of rocks forced us to move.

The storm had cleansed the sky of all its imperfections, leaving it clear and cerulean blue. Although the lake was in a central location, we hadn't seen any boats besides our own. The only noises that could be heard were the chirping of birds and rustling of water. We seemed to have the entire place to ourselves, and it felt astonishingly peaceful.

After a long stretch of rowing, we decided to take a break and float idly in the center of the lake. As the boat drifted softly on the water, I began to unpack our cooler.

"Have you ever had deviled eggs?" I asked George as I handed him a plastic container.

"No, I haven't." He opened it and gave the eggs a skeptical sniff. "What are they like?"

"They taste sweet and a little vinegary. They're great; try them."

He plucked one from the container and popped the entire thing into his mouth. His eyes widened at the flavor, a smile forming on his lips.

"Good?" I asked.

He nodded and shoved another into his mouth. His cheeks were full, making him look like a happy chipmunk. "I didn't realize how hungry I was." His mouth was still full, so his words came out muffled. "What is your recipe?" He asked.

"Simple. Boil eggs and mash the yolks with some mayo and seasonings. The secret is sweet pickle relish, but I couldn't find any in your fridge, so I used something called Branston. Seemed close enough."

"You're very resourceful. I'm happy you've found a use for Branston pickle." He laughed and handed back the container. I reached for an egg and took a bite. "You know my grandma always said they should be called angel eggs instead of deviled eggs because the devil shouldn't get credit for something that good."

"Angelic eggs. I like it. You enjoy cooking, don't you?"

"Oh yeah, it's one of my favorite hobbies."

"Mine too. I wish I had more time to do it."

"Maybe we could cook together sometime."

"That would be fun."