The Solemn Vow

by Bree Dahlia

  “Maddie?”

  He turns and looks at me. I meet his eyes briefly, then stare at his bicep. To the bottom of the tattoo peeking out from his sleeve.

  Without me asking, he raises the black covering and tugs it over his shoulder, exposing it all. My jaw drops.

  My fingers move of their own accord, tracing over the design. My design. I’m so blown away, I can’t believe I’m still in the building, not scattered all over the street.

  “When… but… why…?”

  He gets his bottle of water and brings me back to the chairs. For all I know, he carried me. We’ve switched sides, and that puts me smack-dab in front of the arm inked with a dragon wrapped around a heart.

  I can’t help but touch it again. This art is mine. On someone’s skin. It’s fucking permanent.

  “Jake,” I whisper.

  He groans softly, then removes my hand. Oh shit. I didn’t realize what I was doing. Was I feeling him up?

  I blink at him. This is unreal. I don’t even know what to do, so I look down and start paging through the book. He looks with me, commenting along the way. He knows how much I love this childhood adventure. I used to show him the illustrations, sharing my dream of doing the same. I wanted to be an illuminator, shining light on all those pretty words.

  We laugh as we read sentences together. I’m lost in the world until he asks about my dream. I stare into the binding of the book until both sides of the pages swirl together and dance. I tell him a little of my fears, but I also tell him I’m close. That soon I’ll be ready to put myself out there, switch my website out of maintenance mode and increase the audience to more than just one.

  “You don’t believe you’re ready now?” I shake my head and stare back at my nine-year-old drawing. I actually did that? It’s so much better than I remember. The tattoo artist must’ve taken a great deal of liberty with it. “You were ready then. What makes you think you’re not ready now?”

  “Jake”—I refrain from touching him this time—“why did you do this? It’s… forever.”

  “Why? Because it’s incredible. I felt that way then, and I feel the same now. Do you think I would have it etched onto my body if I didn’t?”

  Unreal. “How much did they change?” I lift my hand and drop it back to my lap.

  “Don’t you recognize your own work? They didn’t change anything. I kept the original sketch if you’d like me to prove it.”

  I gawk at him. “They didn’t change anything?”

  He smiles, his amber eyes crinkling. “Do you remember what I told you the day you gave me the drawing, the day you became my girlfriend?”

  “I didn’t become your girlfriend that day.”

  “You did, Maddie. You were mine and I was yours from that day forward.”

  I physically react to his words. Yes, he’s right. That was the very beginning to our end.

  He grasps my chin, and I’m transported back to a canvas of pinks and purples and yellows.

  “You’re gifted with both talent and passion. It’s inevitable. You will succeed.”

  I come home not much later than I’d intended when I left this morning. I already planned to spend a fair amount of time at the store, browsing around, sipping coffee, drawing. I just didn’t plan to do it all with Jake.

  Cain is also home, hours early from work. I wonder if he came home for lunch and decided to stay and finish the day in his office. The sight of his car in the garage at an unexpected time would normally be a pleasant surprise, but now I don’t know how to feel because I don’t know which man to expect.

  I’m not even to the door before I can hear him bitching. That’s the sound of him attempting to repair something that’s not going well. I step inside, determining the noise is likely coming from the outer parlor. He’s back in there again.

  There’s no inner turmoil this time. No question whether or not I’ll tell him about seeing Jake. I turn for the stairs and pad quietly up to my room.

  Ten

  I have a fire inside me, a renewed vigor that’s kept me pumped for days. I’ve barely slept, poring over books, compiling lists of publishers whose illustrations have a similar style to mine. I’ve turned on my site for the world to see, picked out my very best samples and posted them online, sent out cover letters. I accomplished more this week than I thought I was capable of.

  And it all paid off.

  “Oh my God!” I shriek when Rowan answers.

  “Holy shit, girl. Was that necessary?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  I’m driving home after spending the morning at the zoo. The message came in early this morning right after Cain left for work. The art director at Fantastical Learning contacted me, asking to see more, and oh, do I happen to have a sketch of an elephant with a zookeeper?

  I do now.

  “Seriously, Mads? You’re gonna go all banshee on me and then just drop it?”

  I wanted Cain to be the first one I tell, but I can’t wait that long without bursting apart my seams. I tried.

  “Sorry. I got a job! Well, maybe. It all depends on if they like my work or not for this project, but she already loves what she’s seen so far on my site. She says my whimsical style is what they’re looking for.”

  “Oh my God!” she shrieks right back. “You’re as good as in. Who’s the publisher?”

  “Just a small educational company. You probably never heard of them. They’re starting a series of fun career books for kids. I’d like to do fiction, but hey, at this stage, a job is a job is a job, right?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s frickin’ amazing!”

  I smile wide. “Yeah, I’m pretty excited.”

  It all happened faster than I could’ve dreamed. Maybe their illustrator backed out at the last second, and I wasn’t their first choice. Though I could be tenth down on the totem pole and I wouldn’t care. I have to start somewhere.

  “You damn well should be.” God, I missed talking to her the week she was gone at the conference. “I bet Cain’s stoked as well.”

  “I’m telling him tonight over a celebratory dinner. I can’t wait.”

  “By the way, how’s his PMS been?”

  For better or for worse. “There’ve been more lows than highs, but lately he’s been letting me be while he messes around with the house. And nothing has crawled out of his stomach either, before you ask.” My phone beeps. “Hey, that’s him on the other line. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “Still on for next weekend?”

  “Is that a joke?” I’m almost more psyched for her visit than this new project. Almost.

  She blows me a kiss through the phone, and I click over. “Hi, Cain.”

  “Hey. I saw you called earlier. Sorry, it’s been a nonstop day.”

  “I hope you’ll be home for dinner because I’m cooking.” He laughs. “I’m serious.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  I pull into the market. “It’s a surprise.”

  “All right, baby. Looking forward to it.”

  So far so good. His mood is encouraging. He’s usually fine when I talk to him at work, but I’m counting on it carrying over tonight.

  I go inside and pick out a couple steaks, not quite sure what I’m going to do with them yet. Pasta is always safe, but I go for risotto instead, figuring it can’t be much different. Fortunately, I can follow simple box directions. Hmm… asparagus. I can handle that. I grab a bottle of cab and a six-pack of Spotted Cow, and I’m on my way.

  When I get home, there’s still plenty of time, so I touch up my drawing and send it off. I’m soaring so high I even return my father’s call.

  “Madison,” he answers, sounding relieved to finally hear from me. I should feel bad about that, but I don’t. “All settled in now?”

  “Yes, everything’s good.”

  “That’s great, honey. I’d love to see you soon. Can you meet me for dinner one of these days? Just pick the when and where and I’ll be there.”

  I wonder if she’
ll be joining us. “I’ll have to get back to you on that, okay? I have lots going on right now.”

  “Oh okay. Sure. That’s fine. Just let me know. Remember, anytime.”

  I end the call and place the phone on the table, then pull out a few cookbooks. We have a grill, but I don’t know how to use it.

  What’s the best way to cook slabs of meat?

  “Sear, then bake,” the instructions read. I start the water for the risotto, then pull the asparagus from the bag. My cell begins to dance on the table. I glance over to see it’s Mom.

  “Hi, Mom. Hold on. I’m going to put you on speaker.” I click over and set it beside me, feeling very sociable today. “Okay, what’s up?”

  I begin chopping off green tails as I wait for her voice. “Do I ever need a reason to call my beautiful daughter?”

  “Nope. But I thought you might be telling me you’re tired of all that dry heat and ready to move back.” I don’t know how she stays there through the summer. I’ve been in this climate all my life and would probably shrivel like a shrunken head.

  “No, but an invitation to see your new home would be lovely.”

  “You don’t need an invitation, Mom. You know that. Come whenever you want.” I rinse the stalks, then drop them in a pan to toss with olive oil later.

  “Have you talked to your father yet?” Her tone went from cheerful to disgruntled in seconds flat. While she was happy we bought a house, she wasn’t too pleased to hear that I’d be closer to the sperm dispenser.

  “Just did before you called.”

  “Hmph. And I suppose he’s trying to worm his way back into the family?”

  “He wants to take me to dinner.”

  “So, he wants to be a father now that you’re all grown up with your own life? How convenient.” She knows he’s been in contact with me before this, but I don’t remind her of that. She’s been through enough. “Nothing can make up for lost years. Don’t forget how he left you, dear.”

  “I won’t, Mom.” I check the time; I need to get a move on. “Can I call you tomorrow? I’m in the middle of making a special dinner. I was contacted about a job.” No need to go into details. She never could fully grasp how drawing pictures could amount to anything more than a hobby.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. Have fun, and say hello to Cain.”

  “Will do.”

  After our goodbyes, I prepare the entire meal, impressing myself. Cain texted to let me know he’s on his way, and I cannot wait to hear the creak of the front door.

  This is the fresh start we need to put our marriage back on track. If I can start getting some paying work, we can put that toward getting the house in shape. Maybe even hire someone to do it so Cain can stop putting in so much extra time and energy.

  This is finally the bright spot to clear away the gloom surrounding us. Even the squirrels are cooperating, the house blessingly silent the last few days.

  I let out a little yelp when the door opens, and I run over. “Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes. Just waiting on the risotto. It took longer than the box said and—what’s wrong?”

  The shade under his eyes is indicative of a nap, not a celebration. I’m used to seeing him drained, but I had high expectations from the alertness in his voice earlier.

  He kisses me on the cheek. I also had dreams of a wild night to make up for all our sexless ones lately, but it’s looking like that chaste peck might be it for the action.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Just tired and hungry.”

  “Then you’re in luck. For the hungry part, at least.” I have enough energy for both of us and tons of determination to make this perfect. Besides, once he hears my news, he should perk right up.

  He gives me a weak smile. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.”

  His few minutes turn into thirty. Our dinner is well on its way to cold. I go to look for him, wondering if I’ll find him crashed out over the banister.

  “Cain?” I call out, checking a few rooms before seeing him exit the basement. “What were you doing down there?”

  “Thought I heard a noise.”

  “What kind of noise?” He shrugs, walking past me to the kitchen.

  Okay then.

  I join him at the table where I have everything spread out and ready. “This may be the only time I can’t be blamed for how the food tastes,” I say with a laugh.

  He doesn’t reciprocate. “It’s fine.” He plops a scoop of cold risotto onto his plate. It looks like a ball of school paste. I pick up a piece of asparagus and bite off the rubbery head. Well, at least the steak should still be appetizing.

  I watch him for a while, head down as he shovels it in. “Want some wine?” I get up and grab the corkscrew from the drawer.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Beer?”

  “I’ll just take water.”

  I get him a glass, then open my wine. This is not how I envisioned the night so far. I thought we’d at least have some conversation, not to mention a hot meal.

  “Hey, how many gallons do you think an elephant drinks a day?”

  With my glass in hand, I come back to the table to see him peering up at me without raising his head. Is it that much effort to look me straight on?

  “What?”

  I sit down and give him a huge smile. “Come on, fun fact. Take a guess. Do you know?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, I do.”

  I’m going to break through his sullen mood even if it takes every last ounce of my elated one to do it.

  “I’m not following the purpose of this, Maddie.”

  I hop off my chair and into his lap. “It’s fifty gallons. Fifty gallons. An entire bathtub’s worth. Isn’t that insane?” I drag over my wine and take a mouthful. “Don’t you want to know how I know that?”

  He sighs. “I’m not up for games tonight.”

  “You sure?”

  I bring my mouth to his. It feels like it’s been ages since we kissed like lovers and not first cousins. He returns it halfheartedly, but I’m not giving up.

  I move down, brushing my lips across his jaw and to his neck, preferring to taste him rather than my mostly untouched food. I’m not getting the reaction I’m used to, but I don’t let it deter me as I increase my efforts.

  “I was contacted by a publisher today,” I whisper in his ear. “They’re interested in my work, possibly for a series.”

  His head lifts. “You got a contract?”

  “Not yet, but it’s very promising. That’s why I was talking about elephants. I was at the zoo all day drawing. They’re doing a book on becoming a zookeeper, and they wanted to see if I could put together what they’re looking for.”

  He snorts at that.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “All they did was get you to work for free. That’s nothing to get excited about. You’ve already been doing that for weeks.”

  “I did not work for free. They needed to see more before making a decision. There’s a difference.”

  “Did they pay you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you worked for free.”

  I slide off his lap and return to my chair. I will hold it together. He took a sharp pin to me, but I’m not deflated yet.

  I sip from my glass, pushing unappealing blobs around my plate.

  “What, you’re all mad at me now?” I shake my head. I’m something, but not mad. “I’m only being straight with you. It’s not my problem you can’t take it. They probably asked a dozen people to do the same thing.”

  He’s finally opening his mouth, but nothing good is coming out. The husband I know is uplifting and supportive. He would assume the opposite, that it’s everything to get excited about. He would pick me up and spin me around and tell me he’s so proud of me.

  I don’t know who this man is, but he’s not my husband.

  “Don’t you even care that I finally took that step and put myself out there?”

  He sighs. “Of course I do, but w
hat, I’m not allowed to have an opinion?”

  “You know you are. It just hurts when that opinion is stating this is no big deal. Especially when I think it’s a very big deal.”

  He gets up, mumbling something indistinct and scrapes off his plate into the trash.

  “What did you say?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I throw my head back and count to ten, not sure if I should scream or cry. My exciting announcement didn’t make an ounce of difference. Nothing is better.

  He sets his plate in the sink, then stares out the back window. He’s always staring out that damn window, and he never tells me what he’s thinking about when he does it. I pour another glass of wine and tuck my legs underneath me, looking around the table.

  What a waste of a good meal. What a waste of good news.

  As I watch him zone out, crazy notions fly into my head. Could Rowan be onto something? I’m to the point where I’m not discounting anything anymore. Hell, Stockburg’s a big Norwegian community—we could’ve angered the trolls, disturbed their rock home or something.

  “Where did your uncle die in the house?” He turns his head and gives me a strange look. “I’m assuming in his bed, right? Since it was a heart attack during the night.”

  “Why in the hell are you asking me that now?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “That’s a fucked-up thing to just be wondering about.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a curious thing, so humor me, okay?”

  “I have no idea. I was six years old, Maddie. My aunt woke me in the morning and told me what happened. Do you really think it matters where?” He turns back to the window.

  “Do you ever resent your mother for leaving you with them?”

  The frustration shows in his hands as he white-knuckles the counter. “I didn’t get the memo this was amateur psychology hour.”

  “We’re only talking. We used to do that a lot, you know. You never had a problem answering my questions before.”