Chapter 7 #2
“You are a grown woman, yes? Not a child any longer. If you want some pie, you simply take some pie.”
“I was taught never to take something without asking, and this isn’t my house. I’m a . . .” I want to say prisoner, but instead
choose my word more carefully “ . . . guest.”
“Then you ask for some pie.” He throws his hands into the air and then mumbles something in French again.
“I understand this is an adjustment for you, mademoiselle. And Mr. Knight has left last night without per’aps explaining how this all works.
” His tone is softer now. He takes a deep breath.
“Yes, you are a guest here but for now, this is your home. So, if there is food in the kitchen, then it is for you to eat. If I spend hours making a delicious pie, even if it is Mr. Knight’s favorite apple pie with extra cinnamon, you are free to take a slice, or four. ”
“It’s Mr. Knight’s favorite?” I suppress a snicker at the thought of the huge brute in the black camo gear, with the hunting
knife strapped to his thigh, and the scary-looking mask loving apple pie.
Pierre nods. “Oui.”
So his trip must have been unexpected, then. Or at least, Pierre must not have known about it in advance. Why else would he
have spent time baking not one, but two of his favorite pies? That begs the question as to where the elusive Mr. Knight has
gone and what he’s about to do. He definitely didn’t look like a billionaire recluse when he left. I expect Pierre wouldn’t
like me asking any of those questions though. “Do you enjoy cooking, Pierre?”
“Oui, mademoiselle. And tell me, what do you enjoy doing?”
I stare at him blankly. I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that question before, and I’m honestly unsure. I’ve really enjoyed
watching some TV these past two nights, but I’m not sure that’s just because it’s so new and exciting to have such unrestricted
access to a television. “I like reading, and I like being outside.”
He hums softly, like he’s turning that information over in his mind. “That is all?”
“Yes. Although I did like the song you were listening to when I first came in.”
“Ah, oui.” He smacks his lips together. “The Boss.”
I blink in confusion. “Your boss was on the radio.”
His lips quirk in a smile. “No, mademoiselle. Not my boss. The Boss. Bruce Springsteen.”
I’m still confused.
Pierre waggles his fingers in the air. “It is his name, non? His pet name. You have not heard of him?”
“No. I never really listened to a lot of radio.”
“Ah, we have no radio here, but I have added you to our plan if you wish to listen to music. It is the Guest account. That way you will not be forced to listen to Mr. Knight’s drivel.” His nose wrinkles in disgust.
And now I’m even more confused. “You have no radio? How do you listen to music? And what is our plan?”
Pierre whistles softly. “Merde! You really have led a sheltered life, mademoiselle.” Color heats my cheeks and I’m grateful he cannot witness my overt show
of embarrassment. But then Pierre goes on to explain something called Bluetooth and how it connects to various speakers throughout
the house, some of which are portable so I can take one into the garden. And he explains how I have my own guest account on
their music subscription service, which I understand to be like Netflix, but for songs, and I will be able to choose all of
my own songs from one any of the TV screens throughout the house. Then I simply link the speaker I want to use to the chosen
TV, and I can listen as easily as I watch Netflix.
“That all sounds so . . .” I search for the correct word “ . . . wonderful. You can really choose any song in the world just
with the touch of a button?”
He nods. “Oui. It is that simple.”
I’m awestruck. Such a world of words and feelings and connection being opened up to me—just like that. For no reason at all
other than I said I’d like to listen to music. This is a strange and unfamiliar feeling, yet one that makes me feel giddy
and also a little delirious with power. I try to focus on the practicality of what he just told me. “What music should I choose,
Pierre?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Whichever you wish, mademoiselle.”
“But I don’t know what I wish. It’s like being asked to search for a book in a vast library but you don’t know the name of
the book,” I say, not sure I’m explaining myself properly.
But he nods his understanding. “I see, mademoiselle. There will be suggestions made for you based on the information I entered—your age for instance. And then there are trends and charts too, like what you see on Netflix.”
So he knew my age before I got here? I’m not sure if that creeps me out, even if Pierre is decidedly un-creepy. “Oh, I see.”
“But, mademoiselle . . .” he pauses dramatically “ . . . you cannot go wrong with some classic eighties rock.”
“Classic eighties rock?”
“Oui. It is by far the most superior decade of music in the history of music,” he says, full of passion and conviction.
“Then I will be sure to give it a try.”
He nods. “So being outside, reading, TV and a little music? Is there anything else that you enjoy, mademoiselle?”
Does he have any idea that he just described my fantasy life? “No, I think that’s it.”
“Then you should be very happy here with the garden and the library, non?”
I take another sip of the coffee, already enjoying the warmth it leaves behind in my mouth. “Yes,” I reply. It would be impolite
to say no, but also, it feels like it could be the truth.
So far, this house is a much happier place to be than the place I grew up in. I’ve only been here for two days and yet I experience
more freedom as a prisoner here than I ever did in the house I called home. And something about that doesn’t sit comfortably
with me, but I’m too afraid to pick at those threads right now. There’s already too much I don’t know, and if I start to question
everything I was taught to believe, well I might just lose my mind. Because what if everything I thought I knew was wrong?
As I’ve been doing far too much of these past two days, I push those unwelcome thoughts away. I know this sense of peace and
contentment can’t last, and whatever Lincoln Knight has in mind for me will bring me back down to earth with a crash soon
enough, but for right now, sitting in this kitchen with Pierre, I am as happy as I’ve ever been.