She shakes off the busyness of the morning and approaches the barn. Owen and Thomas had left earlier that morning in the wagon, giving her an opening she’d realized on the walk over that she’d been craving since the previous night.

The door gives more easily than it had yesterday, the dried mud saving her the labor of the usual shove. Perhaps the increased use had done it some good?

That wasn’t good though. She hated that she made things dark when they didn’t need to be.

Daylight made the interior far easier to navigate. The whole place was maybe thirty or forty steps from entrance to back wall. The two livestock pens near the back made it appear smaller, even though from inside the pen you could see the outside. They broke up the space.

If she hadn’t already found him, you’d never know that Adrian was here, the pen’s wall hid him from view. She heard him stop moving when she’d entered.

“Morning,” she calls, “It’s me.”

His head pokes around the corner into the aisle, his hair nearly brushing the floor.

“You’re early!”

She speeds up and rounds the corner, gliding smoothly to land on the ground beside him. He shifts himself over to make space for her. He moves the length of the chain away from her to sit on his other side. They both sit with their backs against the wall, oriented toward each other.

Adrian leans in and kisses her. His hands takes her and hold them to his chest a moment. She rests hear head on his shoulder. Settled.

“Your dad and Tom left, I thought now was as good a time as any.”
She looks to him but his eyes are closed, feeling her fingernails under his thumbs.

“For what?”

The dirt on his fingers transfers to her hand. He spots this and reaches for the bottom under his shift hem and wipes it off her on a small remaining section that had not yet been dirtied. How was he like this even now.

She reaches for the basket. “I brought a bunch of stuff to try the lock again. I thought, with the daylight and all. It could be good.”

She trails off, gesturing around as though trying to convince him.

Why did she think he wouldn’t believe her?

He opens his eyes and perks up. “Is there something else?”

She looks around. His face is still relatively clean from the previous night. But without the lantern he looked exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes were nearly the dark shade of hair, which was itself something of a mess. Something had collected around his hairline. Dirt perhaps, or sweat mixed with it. It stuck to him. Extending from the top edge of his forehead a few centimeters. Thankfully he did not grow much in the way of facial hair, or the dirt might be more of a challenge to manage.

Then of course there was his neck.

Being here in the day felt different than at night. Like it was not only a secret anymore. He really was sitting here. All the time. It wasn’t mysterious or pretend.

“I guess I just. I don’t know. I had to see you. It feels wrong to want that with you being here I guess.”

Adrian lets out a small breath before coming closer and kissing her again. His warmth goes through her lips, down her throat and our between her legs. She had not realized how much she missed being this way together.

“You don’t have to feel bad. I wanted to see you too.”

She closes her eyes and leans into him. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She feels the corners of his mouth pull into a smile against her head. He rocks her from side to side.

“You don’t need to. We’re in lo-ove. That’s all it needs to be.”

Grace settles, letting him take the thought from her. She leans into him. His chest moves so much more as he breathes.

She reaches into her pockets and lays out a large handful of knives, pins, barettes, quill tips, anything she could find that might fit the lock. Adrian takes them eagerly, handling them each with deep intention. He selects a couple of the thinner blades from the set.

“These feel the closest to its shape.” He reaches around his head for the lock and pulls at it, grimacing as he sticks a finger on the keyhole.

“Adrian, let me-“ Grace grabs hold of his arm and lowers it. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“No, no. I want to help with it. See.”

He opens his palm to her and in his index finger is an imprint of the key hole.

“We can match them to this.” He pants, “then we know which ones to try.”

“Or.” Grace adjusts the lock to sit back behind him and presses his shoulders into the wall, “I could stand behind you and look with my eyes instead of you choking yourself.”

He looks down. “But I know what its like. It could be useful.”

She glances at his neck, then to the rest of the basket.

“Maybe go through the tools against that while I get the cloth ready.”

“We’re not trying right away?” Disappointment permeates his question.

She quiets. “What about your neck? Won’t trying all that be painful?”

“It can’t be worse than staying in this thing.”

That made sense. If they got the lock open then there would be no need for any of that.

“I brought things for you though,” she says, the edge of sadness leaking in. “I wanted to clean it and make you feel better before we start jostling it around.”

Adrian looks over everything, up to her for a moment, and then scoots forward off the wall.

“Okay.” He breathes, lesser than before. “Let’s do that instead. You’re right.”

She stops. Something in his tone is different. Careful. Distant.

“Are you mad at me?”

His eyes shoot up.

“Never.” He softens.

Her hand releases the deep grip she had on the cloth and returns to her task in silence. The system they had worked out two visits ago. She wipes globs of the pine and menthol scented ointment along the strips of cloth and spreads it with her finger to even it out. Lays them with the dry side down on the edges of her basket. She did this instead of having him hold the chain away from his skin while she did each one individually. He seemed more comfortable that way. The less the chain was messed with the easier things were for them to navigate.

Adrian assesses each of the tools against the imprint in his finger and sets them into a couple of piles. She thought this to be rather useless. It wasn’t as though they weren’t going to try them all.

“I want to help.” She almost bites. Too much. She clears her throat defensively. “I don’t want you to be in pain. We need to go slow.”

“I know. I’m sorry I jumped ahead. I’m eager to be out I guess. You are right though. The precaution is a good idea. And it gives me a buffer for a bit.”

She nods in acceptance. Adrian watches her another minute.

He takes the larger cloth and wipes his face off, wets half of it in his water bucket and goes into his face and shoulders. He re-dips it and goes into his armpits and down his pants.
She finishes the cloths and places the ointment back in her basket, then watches him finish.

Eventually he puts the cloth back down. Grace gets up on her knees.

“Are you ready now?” She’s tentative.

He nods, takes a breath, and lifts his chin to the ceiling, slides three fingers into the little loose space he has created and lifts the chain away. His other hand goes over his head and pulls slightly at the lifted side without going in.

The removal pulls the beginning of a scab off one of the sores. His entire face tightens. The ooze from the sore that the metal had compressed runs down the side of his neck, settling in the crevice above his collarbone.

He slowly tilts his head over to the right, wincing.

This was the bad side.

“Quick. Please.” He speaks through his teeth.

She slips the first cloth in as fast as she can and presses it gently so it would adhere to the skin and the sore, which sat adjacent to his Adam’s apple. He makes a noise.

Again. The next one goes over the front right side, below the ear to the shoulder.

Adrian moves his outer hand to the back and readjusts.

“Are you okay?”

He nods but his face tenses more.

Again. She slides the third on the right back side, where the chain twisted before meeting the lock.

Adrian’s finger slide around to the left, where he softens.

This was the good side.

Repeat. She places the three strips into their places – side, front, back, press, release – with slightly more ease than the right side. Once they are all in place she releases the a breath she’d been holding.

“Okay. Done.”

He pulls his fingers out and they guide the chain back into the least uncomfortable position with the cloths in. His shoulders sat much lower than they were. After less than a minute the tension leaves his face. Good. Even with the tightness from the cloths the ointment gave him some relief. Even if it was simply a break from all that friction.

She sits back on the ground and takes him in. This felt better. The helping, that she could.

He turns to her but hasn’t yet opened his eyes. He takes a visibly deeper breath.

“I’m never expecting how good it feels.”

His voice is filled out again. For a brief moment she sees him sitting against the fence post a while ago. One of the days they just listened for the birds. He was relaxed then. Happy.

Time to move on.

“Okay.” She looks over his piles the lock picks. “Let’s do this.”

Adrian scoots further forward and turns in to face the center aisle. Grace gets up and steps carefully behind him, careful not to touch the chain as she moved. She looks down at him. The hair on the back of his head was flattened, oily. The ends were tangled into the chain around where the lock sat. The area above the lock was slick. Whether that was the hair grease or the ointment or the sweat or some awful combination off all those she could not tell.

“Your hair is all wound up in this.” She tugs at it gently and frees some of it.

Adrian’s hands come upward, feeling for the lock.

“Is it in the way?”

“I don’t think so, it’s mostly in the area around it.”

He pats around a bit more and finds the spot. His fingers, dirt caked and reddened, reach through the metal and find the largest knot. The hair above the knot and those surrounding it twist around his finger and he pulls at it. His other hand grips the hair near his head. On the second try the knot separates from his head, ripped off and leaving the remaining hair free above the chain’s reach.

“Is that all of it?” he asks, inquisitive.

She scans him again, “Looks like it.”

He sighs and resettles himself.

“Must’ve gotten in while I was sleeping. Or when we slid it around.”

She tugs gently on several baby hairs that still sat around it and removes them. She brushes them from her hands and watches as they float to the ground.

Adrian leans forward into his two piles. He selects the nail file with the sharp point on it. His arm raises again and he motions her to take it.

She’d used this yesterday. Today it was heavier. She takes the lock in her hand. It fills most of her palm.

Here goes nothing.

The sharp edge of the file glides cleanly into the keyhole. She jostles it around some. Slows her movement. When there’s resistance she points the tip downward. Something inside releases.

“There’s pins in it.” His voice is encouraging. “Usually four or five. It’ll sound like a little tick – sort of like a clock. Or something. When one of them gives.”

“How do you know that?” She laughs quietly, feeling lighter.

“Don’t worry about it.” He lightens as well, a small laugh pokes through his faux mystique. “Keep trying.”

She re-positions and squats, holding the file still. She presses into the lock again. The file twists and slips from her hand. The chain jolts over. Adrian’s shoulders rise toward his ears and his head juts forward.

“Damn it.” She snips.

Adrian picks it up and wipes it on himself. He holds it out to her.

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay. Try again. You can do it.”

She stares at him a moment and takes it back.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice shakes, gaze locked into his neck. “I’m hurting you.”

“Don’t be. You had the right idea earlier. With the cloth there I hardly felt it.” She sees him searching her face. “You planned for it to move, and because of that its okay still.”

She rolls the file in her hand, the sweat gathering and making it slide.

Adrian adjusts his legs and his lower back settles against her shins.

“I’ll try again now.” She murmurs.

His hand reaches over his shoulder and lands on hers. “You’ve got this.”

The file slips in easily. Grace applies some gentle pressure and tilts the tip upwards.

It clicks. There’s one.

Down, then up again.

Two.

Up. Forward. Down. Forward. Up. Up. Forward.

Three.

Her hands get slippery. The position proves itself challenging to hold.

Stilling the trembling in her fingers is too. Adrian lifts his arms and move his hair, holding it firm against the crown of his head.

“Does that give you a better view?”

The top edges of the cloth strips had already soaked through. Whether that was sweat or ointment she wasn’t sure. Ointment. Hopefully.

She pauses. “Can you hold that for long?”

“Yes it’s okay. Keep going you had it.” He lowers his shoulders and lets out a long gentle exhale.

The file pushes harder in.

Four.

Adrian holds his breath. The muscles in his upper arms tense and release several times.

“I guess there’s five.” Grace says.

His breath quickens.

“Hold still.”

He holds his breath again. “Sorry.”

Forward. Down. Down. Harder. Down. Up.

Forward and up?

No.

Down and forward?

The handle twists in her palm, Adrian resists the pressure and leans toward her just slightly. Too much. It falls again.

Grace releases a breath she’d been holding. Swallows it. This was harder than she expected.

“Let’s try a different one.”

He reaches forward and drops his hair to rifle through the other objects. She backs away and sits on her hands against the pen well, tilting her own neck around. He wasn’t gettig out today was he.

Adrian hands her the broken piece from her stove’s poker. Salvaged from the bottom of the stove the previous morning. Emma had already replaced the poker. She wouldn’t notice it was gone. He presses his finger into the lock again and matches the tip before passing it to Grace.

“This one I think.”

She takes it.

Adrian turns to face her. “Are you alright?”

She forces calm. “Yes.”

He accepts this, turns back, and re-gathers his hair.

Here we go again.

Grace grips the lock in her left hand and presses the tip inside.

Circling it, a little hard. It was difficult to not jostle the chain as she tried. Where was the give?

Up. Forward.

One.

There it was.

“Sorry can you wait a minute.” Adrian speaks quickly, it pulls her focus. Damn it.

She forces a posed pause, all her attention dialed into holding steady.

“Do you want me to stop?” She says through her teeth, staring at the lock, not daring to let it slide.

“Are you hurt?” She presses, “Did I hurt you? I can stop.”

The trembling she’d so aggressively pushed down reclaiming its presence in her grip.

Adrian’s elbows shake. “No, no. I don’t want that. I want to keep going. It’s just. I need to reposition.”

He brings his knees up and rests his forehead against them, still holding the hair at the crown of his head but now allowing his inner arms to settle downward in a sort of upright brace position.

“This is a little easier to hold.” He’s muffled. “If I don’t have to hold my head up.”

She now stands directly over him. “This makes the light better.”

The slits in the wall above her shine streaks of afternoon sun across the floor.

“Can you move a little rightward?”

He complies. If she stands at his left side, the direct light lands directly on the lock.

“That’s easier to see.”

Adrian nods. “If you want me to move again just say so. I’ll sit whatever way. Don’t be worried. I promise I’ll be fine.”

She wipes the poker off on her skirt. God was it ever hot in here.

The lock warms in her hand. Adrian’s intentional breath causes the light to bounce off the chain. More of the cloth is soaked through underneath.

“You didn’t tell me if I hurt you before.” The words fall out gore sh can stop them.

God, she could be so pathetic.

He doesn’t move. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Her toes dig into the ground. One of the back cloths has slid over, revealing the wet underneath. She uses the body of the lock to straighten it without moving the position inside it.
Adrian is still.

“But you would have?”

“Yes.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“No.” He speaks so softly. “I promise you. I’m being honest.”

Her grip on the lock loosens. The most difficult part of this, the whole situation, was not being able to let go of her worry. He was probably being truthful. But still. Was he letting himself be hurt to get out sooner? She hated herself for not knowing. Adrian would know. Of the two of them, he’d always been the better decider. If she were in his position, what would she even do?

For starters she supposed she wouldn’t be.

If she were though.

Adrian would’ve freed her by now. He wouldn’t have stopped until he had. That was comforting, if a little morbid.

And here she was. Making him sit here like he was waiting to be struck over the head with something she couldn’t even find. Waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting. The flavor of bile rises in her throat. He must resent her.

“Can we keep going?” He interrupts. “Please? I promise I’ll tell you if it happens.”

She blinks a few times. “Right. Sorry. I don’t know where I went.”

He leans slightly to his side to lay his arm against her stomach.

“You’re okay. I’m glad that you’re concerned. I’m still okay too. We can keep trying.”

Grace steadies herself, “Ready?”

He nods. She presses her fingertips into the edges of the lock and resumes her motion.

Up. Up. Up.

Forward.

Two.

Up. Down and forward again.

Three.

This one moved easier than the file.

Forward again. Down. Up.

The end of the tip sits nearly at the entrance of the lock. No room.

“It fits but its too short.” She pulls it out and circles her wrists a few times, scanning the floor. “Pass me the longer skinny one next.”

Without complaint Adrian does so.

She attempts this for several minutes. Eventually it snaps in two.

Grace lets go completely, tossing the broken edge into the straw.

Adrian picks up the lock and shakes out the broken piece.

He takes back the end of the too-short poker and compares it against the others.

“If this isn’t long enough that means most of these won’t fit either.”

Slowly the pile gets resorted. Only three are long enough. So much for all her work finding those. For his sake she hides her discouragement. How could she have not noticed. She was the one staring at the thing. Of course they’d be too short.

Over the next while they attempt each of three. The last, a paring knife, goes into the lock as the afternoon light begins to fade.

“It’s close.” Grace leans away to see. “That was three.”

She looks down and takes in the cloths. Both the back ones are rolled up at the bottom as the ointment dried, sucking inward to the chain. Sweat or blister fluid or residual ointment or some combination of the three trickles down Adrian’s spine until it comes to rest somewhere in the weave of his shirt or against Grace’s leg. If he feels it he doesn’t comment.

She reorients her grip on the lock. In the preceding hours it grew slicker, her own perspiration along with his condensing on its body. Even though there were slits and the livestock gate nearby the barn with stiflingly hot. As it presses further into the body of the lock she lets her arm twist with her hand in an effort to keep the position.

Adrian sneezes and she drops it.

“Shit. Sorry,” his words come fast, apologetic and resentful at the same time. “I tried to hold it in.”

“S’okay.”

He looks over the reject pile and his face sinks. “That was the last one.”

Grace rests her hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll try again another time. We’re losing the light.”

Adrian rests his cheek on her hand. Using her thumb she brushes the wetness from his eye.

“You’re right.” He sniffs and then sighs, his audible pain pulling at her. “I really wanted one of those to work.”

Dejected, he gathers up the pile and places them in the basket with some force. Grace closes her eyes and fights against her chest tightening. What to do.

She kneels near him. He rests back against the wall and stares into his lap.

“Try not to be discouraged. We’ll find a way.”

He nods several times. She desperately wanted to reassure him. But how? The chain wasn’t coming off today. He’d be here tomorrow too.

“I’m going into town with Mara tomorrow. I’m going to go to the blacksmith and the tin shop, I’ll see what they have or maybe they know something. How to cut this or, I don’t know.”

“That could be good.” His face doesn’t move despite the brighter tone.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re being forgotten about.” She takes his hand, “I’m thinking on it all the time. Please don’t worry.”

He grips her hand, his eyes snap back and forth a few times.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you coming here,” his voice shakes.

“And I’ll keep coming,” she reassures, “as long as it takes.”

He deflates, open for what felt like the fiet time in a while.

“I’m so tired.”

“I know.” She buries her head on his shoulder and attempts to soothe him.

They stay that way for a while. Eventually Adrian lays down, his head resting on Grace’s lap. They both listen to the bird song above and outside.

She runs her fingers through his hair rhythmically, gently scratching and massaging the scalp. Seemingly out of nowhere Adrian’s hand reaches up to hers and she stops. He looks upward, his eyes suddenly intense.

“Stay still.” He looks backward toward the corner. Grace’s other hand clings to the front of Adrian’s shirt.

The door slides open, its groan louder from this side. The evening sun, no longer high enough to light their work brightens the space just beyond the pen’s entrance.

Footsteps.

Adrian freezes.

“Hello?” A quiet voice calls out, riddled with uncertainty. “Anyone in here?”

Thomas. When did they get back?

He comes deeper into the barn, walking slowly up the center aisle, probably looking around. Grace presses her back hard into the wall and stills the chain. She glances down at Adrian, his face bears a complex expression.

The steps get closer. Grace and Adrian lock eyes. She looks at the direction of the light, then back to Adrian. Again. He shakes his head and tightens his grip on her arm. She stays as she is. Adrian watches the light with wide eyes.

“Hello?” Thomas calls again. “There’s no trouble. Thought I heard something.”

Adrian’s lips tighten into a thin line. Maybe five more steps and they’d be discovered.

Thomas makes a pained sound. Adrian’s eyes close hard. Grace rubs little circles near Adrian’s collarbone.

The three of them sit there a long time.

Eventually, Thomas collects himself and walks back toward the door, its melancholic groan echoing against the walls inside as he walks away.

After several more minutes, Adrian’s eyes open and his grip loosens.

“Are you alright?” Grace whispers.

“Yeah.” Adrian keeps his voice equally low. “He’s been in here a couple times.”

“And you haven’t said anything?”

He shakes his head. “Dad said no. And Tom can’t keep a secret, so.”

They fall back into silence.

“You should probably get going,” he admits, “If Dad’s not back yet he will be soon. I don’t want you to be seen.”

Grace places a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? We’ll figure this out. I love you.”

“I love you.”

She gathers the basket and heads toward the door. Near it she spots a pile of old crates, the larger wooden plugs from the old barrels, apple sized. An idea forms and she turns back around.

Rounding the corner, she places the paring knife in his hands.

“Why don’t you keep this one with you. Try it some more if you can manage. If not I mean. I chose it because it kind of reminded me of your carve knife. Maybe that could take your mind off things? There’s some wood up there. Here.”

Grace places a couple of the pieces near him. His eyes brighten and he smiles up at her.

“This is.”He feels the options and looks over the blade again. “So nice. Thank you.”

The tightness from earlier dissipates. “I know there’s not much light, but regardless.”

“No. It’s okay though, I do it mostly by feel.”

He leans inward and kisses her one final time.

“Thank you. Again.”

“Try to sleep some. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night.”

She rises again and heads back toward the exit. She shoulders her way out of the door and walks out into the field. The evening is quiet, the birds settled and the days heat falling away. She gazes outward toward her house and sees the candles warming the kitchen window.