The Imperfections

Finally, he says, “All right,” and presses send. Still, once the message goes through, the paranoid man turns my phone back off.

I expect a certain measure of crazy from someone I met through a kidnapping, though, so I let it go and we get on with our day.

I’m excited to see what a day with Brant entails, now that things are more or less normal between us.

This is the first I’m really seeing Brant’s property. The night I arrived, it was dark outside, and yesterday I was here by myself but didn’t want to go snooping around. It’s not that I was worried I might stumble upon a stash of bodies in one of the outbuildings—though, upon reflection, maybe I should have been a little more worried about that—it’s just that I had a lot I wanted to get done around the house.

I love my family, but being at Brant’s house by myself was so peaceful. Peace and quiet isn’t something I’m used to having much of, and I have to say, I’m a fan.

Scout is excited to be outside and runs up ahead of us. Since we’re in no hurry today, Brant’s stride is more of a lazy saunter.

It’s a nice day, the sun peeking out between the passing clouds. It’s so quiet out here, too. You can hear the sounds of Scout’s paws traipsing across the lawn, smell the freshness in the air. Like the rest of Brant’s surroundings, it’s just so peaceful.

“Have you always lived out here?” I ask, looking over at him. “Is this family property or something?”

Shaking his head, he surveys his land. “Nah, I bought it myself once I saved up enough money for a down payment. We grew up in a little suburban ranch, all the houses pretty close together. Wasn’t what I wanted. I like a little more space to stretch out.”

A little. I smile wryly, looking around the massive property—and that’s just what isn’t covered by trees. Obviously, I don’t know how far his property runs, but just in the area I can see, there’s the main house, a three-bay garage across the dirt path, a nice-sized pond with a little pier, a second garage or barn or some kind of big red building a little farther away, something white and domed that might be a greenhouse, a small shed, and then off in the distance the way Scout ran, there’s a small cottage-like building.

“Seems like a lot of space just for you,” I remark.

“Scout lives here, too,” he reminds me.

I crack a little smile. “I know, I’m just saying. When you bought the place, was this what you imagined, or…?”

He looks over at me. “How do you mean?”

I don’t know exactly how to ask without making it sound like I think there’s something wrong with his life now. I don’t, but it does seem a little lonely, and it’s a shame for someone like Brant to live alone if he doesn’t want to.

Watching Scout play as we walk toward the garage, I try to wrangle my curiosity into words. “Like, when you bought the place, were you with anybody you saw a future with? Or did you think you would be?”

“No,” he says simply.

“You never saw yourself getting married? I thought you said kids sounded nice and you just never met the right person—you never came close or anything?”

His lips curve up faintly. “You sure are interested in my marital status.”

“I just don’t get it.” I shake my head. “You seem like a man who should be married, and you seem like the kind of man a lot of women would love to marry, so I don’t understand how you’ve made it to 35 without forging some kind of family for yourself. You seem like a family man.”

“I’d consider myself a family man,” he agrees. “And I have a family. You’ve met some of them. Not being married doesn’t mean I don’t have a family.”

He’s frustrating me with his unwillingness to answer the question he has to understand I’m asking, but I don’t know how to ask more plainly than I have already, so I let it go as we walk into the big building though a man door.

Since it’s a garage, I expect to see cars inside. There’s an SUV down in the last bay off by itself and I can see tools and typical garage things along the far wall, but my apprehension grows a little when I look at the workspace that takes up most of Brant’s garage.

There’s a huge wooden table in front of us with some kind of saw or cutter or…some kind of machine on a bench at the end of it. The whole perimeter of this work area is occupied by various cutting machines. On the floor in front of the massive table (definitely big enough to fit any body type on top of) is a green plastic drop cloth.