The Solitude of Passion

by Addison Moore

  We sit nestled in Janice’s kitchen, a room I haven’t been in since I was seventeen. I forget how many meals I had eaten here up until then—how many days I spent in this house. I miss those carefree days when Mitch and I used to shoot BB guns all night, knocking out foxes and chickens that had a habit of straying from the ranch next door.

  “God, these are gorgeous.” Lee’s eyes widen. Her lips press together, and I watch as they turn white then pink from the effort. “Mom, what do you think?”

  “I like it.” Janice is slower to praise my work. Her dark hair is tinted with a magenta patina, greying at the roots like it’s time for a touchup. I remember when she had it long. She wore sundresses and never left the kitchen, always baking something for her boys to eat. She included me in that number once, and it felt good. “It’s change, though, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.” She plucks off her glasses and rubs her tired eyes.

  The old Townsend label is archaic and not in any good, nostalgic way. It looks dated like someone printed up the labels using ancient software. A seventh grader with a basic home printer could do a better job.

  “I checked the books.” I try to sound as benign as possible. The last thing I want is to come across like some arrogant asshole who wants to destroy everything her son built, or—more to the point—demolished. “You’re already paying for a premium label. For the price you’re getting, I can have a gold-embossed vineyard on the front and the company name in a nice script font. I can get three colors—two of them in foil.”

  Lee glances over at Janice. “I really want Townsend to crawl out of this den of mediocrity. I think we need change.”

  Footsteps migrate over from the entrance. Colton barrels in and almost passes the three of us up before stopping in his tracks—glowering at us like we were busy drowning kittens.

  “What the hell’s going on?” He huffs, just this side of a rage.

  It’s clear my presence offends him, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. He’s honest. I’ll give him that.

  “Nothing.” Lee sounds almost defensive.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.” You can practically see his brain spasm, he’s that pissed.

  God, he’s wearing Mitch’s face like a Halloween mask. I don’t know how Lee and Janice can stand to look at him without weeping.

  “Colt.” Janice beckons him over to see the labels, but he resists the offer. “Oh come on, it’s not like we’re having some secret family meeting without you. Max is showing us some new stuff.” She says it curt, spitting the words out like rancid fat.

  Colt huffs a laugh. “I know you’re not having a family meeting because he’s not family.” His voice raises an octave. “Lee, can I see you a minute?”

  Lee pushes her seat back, struggles to get up before following him into the dining room.

  “He’s not my biggest fan,” I lament while pulling out a different set of samples and laying them over the table. Truthfully, I don’t give a flying fuck that Colt can’t stand the sight of me. The feeling is mutual these days.

  “He wouldn’t be in this predicament if he showed the slightest interest in the working end of the business.” Janice forces herself to pick up the labels and inspect them. “If it wasn’t for Lee and the baby, I’d get rid of the company.” Her chest expands as she forces out a breath. “Lee wants this”—Janice looks up at me from over her glasses, her expression as serious as death—“and I want to see Lee happy.” Her eyes linger a moment like she’s speaking in code—saying all of the things she could never bring herself to verbalize.

  “I want to see Lee happy, too.” I fix my gaze on hers. It feels awkward. Maybe I’m reading too much into this. As much as I’d like to think Janice were handing me Lee on a silver platter, the truth is, she just wants the damn vineyard to drive a straight line without the wheels falling off for once.

  Janice mulls over the samples. It’s hard to believe she buried a son just months ago. Her expression, her clothes, the house, everything looks so ordinary as if Mitch might be the next one to walk through the door pissed at what he’s seeing. But he’s not. He’s dead, and the world scoots by like it doesn’t even matter.

  Lee reappears, agitated from whatever garbage Colton spewed at her. She caresses her oversized belly with a motherly affection before taking a seat.

  “Okay.” Janice slaps her hands on the table and nods over at Colt lurking in the doorway. “Have you eaten yet?” Her tone softens as she inspects her son. He’s disheveled from a wild night’s romp, in sweats and barefoot.

  He shakes his head, too filled with rage to speak. I hope he gags on all that anger and ruins his digestive system for being such an idiot.

  “Good, you can be my lunch date,” Janice offers, rising from the table. “Max, Lee, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave the designs entirely up to you. Just show me what you decide before it goes to print.”

  Janice and Colton make their way out of the kitchen, erupting in murmurs once they hit the hall. You can practically hear the crackle of hatred electrifying the air. But there’s a definite atmospheric cleanse once Colton is out of sight. He perverts the area just being here with all that hostility.

  “You could bottle all that tension,” I say. “If he could rein in his anger and use it as fuel to get his brother’s company out of the gutter, he might actually get someplace in life.”

  “You mean his father’s company.” Lee pulls her cheek up as though I gifted Mitch with the honor.

  “I mean his brother’s. I think Mitch took it farther than his dad ever did.” The potential, anyway. “What’s got Colt so uptight?” Not that I need an explanation. Don’t even know why I went there.

  “You.” She flashes a smile—first honest one I’ve seen since the funeral.

  “Thought so.” I can imagine the bullshit he’s filled her head with. “Don’t believe a thing he tells you.” I don’t really need the specifics.

  I mop the debris off the table, leaving the labels in a neat stack for them to riffle through later.

  “He said you want to get in my pants.” There’s a dare in her voice, but her eyes are wide at the concept. “And I laughed because someone’s already in them.” She strums over her belly.

  “Very funny.” I blink into the empty doorway. Of course he’s right, just not now. “Lee?”

  “Yes?” She leans in with a warm smile on her lips, and it’s all for me.

  “You want to go for a ride?”

  I promise to take her to lunch after one quick detour. We pull into a flooring warehouse downtown and walk through the side entrance into acres of hardwood samples. The air is thick with the scent of lacquer, and an inch of sawdust decorates the floor. A man with a clipboard asks if he can help us, but I let him know we’re just looking.

  “Wood is great for a young family,” he insists. “If you need me, here’s my card.” He stuffs a small stack in my hand before disappearing.

  I glance over at Lee with apprehension.

  He thought we were a family—Lee and me. Her discomfort spreads a mile wide as she raises her shoulders and holds them by her neck. I take a step back trying to increase the proximity between us—send the signal I’m simply a contractor showing a client the options out there.

  “What kind of wood were you thinking?” I say it low and steady, trying to get her to focus on the sound of my voice rather than drifting back to China where I’m sure she strangles Mitch nightly. “Do you want a dark stain or something natural?” I’d die to have a family with Lee—for that baby tucked in her belly to have been derived from me.

  “Dark.” She gravitates toward a black high polished sample, and I hold it up for her.

  “You’ll see footprints on this one.” Dust too, but I don’t want to imply she’s not capable of maintaining it.

  “Something dull, then.” She runs the pad of her hand over it before studying her reflection in the veneer. “Less of a shine.”

  “There’s some nice stuff toward the back.” I replace the s
ample and start leading her over. Her fingers feather over my hand, and she clasps on for the ride.

  “I can’t keep up with you,” she says it out of breath as she waddles by my side, but right now I’m just fixated on the fact she took up my hand and interlaced her fingers with mine. “I’m sorry.” She slips out of my grasp as though it were an oversight. “I guess I need to be pulled.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I retrieve her hand and press gently into the small of her back with the other. “I keep thinking you’re the same Lee who beat me swimming when we were kids.”

  “That’s right, and don’t forget it.” She pinches a smile. “I could hold my breath longer than you, too.”

  Miss those days, back when nobody dated anybody, and the Mono kids all hung out on the beach together. There’s a fierce ache in my gut for that magic to return to our lives, to rewind the past and rewrite it. I wanted Lee—fell in love with her as soon as my hormones kicked into gear. I fantasized about being with her so damn much until one amazing night it actually happened. I still remember the way she felt against me, soft and smooth, the sweet groans she pushed in my ear—her legs wrapped around my back like a dream.

  “Brazilian walnut.” I take a breath and pull out a sample. “It’s naturally dark, so you could sand it if you had to without having it refinished. There’s no stain on this wood at all, just its God-given glory. Hardest wood on the planet.” I give a strong knock as if that proves anything.

  Lee goes away a moment—emotionally withdraws from her account—leaving a big empty space where her heart was a moment ago.

  “Max?” It comes out a broken whisper—her eyes fixed on some invisible horizon.

  “I’m right here.” I place the sample back, readying myself for the hurricane of grief that’s trying to escape her heart.

  “Do you think Mitch is still alive?” She blinks into me with those ashen eyes. Her face bleaches out all color. “Please tell me—because whatever you say I’m going to believe.” A lone tear rides down her cheek, catches the light, and falls like a star.

  Whatever I say she’s going to believe. What the hell am I going to say? There wasn’t a stitch of DNA.

  “Everyone was accounted for in the car.” I let out a breath. “Three outreach workers, the owner of the orphanage, and Mitch—five people,” I whisper as I step in close. “Backpacks belonging to each of them were in the trunk.” Just the facts. I don’t have anything else to give her.

  “So he’s gone.” She looks past me, lost in a vegetative state.

  “He’s gone, Lee,” I whisper, pulling her in. “Mitch is gone.”

  Lee folds into me and pushes her face into my shirt. I can feel her hot breath as her tears bleed through to my skin. Mitch and all of his good intentions. Wish it didn’t go down like this. Wish I could go back and figure out why the hell he blamed me for something my mother did.

  Truth is, I miss Mitch. I hate that he died. If I could, I would have boarded that plane for him just to give him back to Lee—so her heart wouldn’t hurt like hell right now.

  Tears spring to the surface. I fight to hold them back, then one by one they trickle down, and I rain all of my sorrow into Lee’s beautiful hair.

  We hold each other, right here in the warehouse, pouring out all our grief over the person I once loved like a brother.

  4

  The Kiss

  Three months later

  Lee

  I drive out to Townsend field early on a crisp morning once the sky is washed crystalline from an unseasonable shower. Under the masterful guise of Max’s supervision, Townsend is blooming like a cherry blossom in springtime. Deep inside I always knew it was capable, then Max came and worked his magic, simply lifted his fingers, and the surprise of color enlivened our world.

  First, he made sure the vineyard received a much-needed fertilization. He had the fields aerated and pruned last week until the vines, the branches, all breathed a sigh of relief. Max, in all his wisdom is meticulous to detail, and Townsend is reaping the benefits.

  The noxious fumes from the compost penetrate my nostrils. It burns my lungs as I stare out over the speckled green and brown rows of Mitch’s blood, sweat, and tears. The dark, rusted soil has always captivated me. I’ve never thought of it as dirt, or like the soot you find in the yard. This was nourishing, life-giving soil, raw earth at its finest—warm and moist, every bit the clay that God formed man from. Now, Mitch himself has become a part of the earth, and all I want to do is bury myself in its moist clay and join him on the other side.

  The baby gives a viral kick, and I snap out of my Mitch-inspired stupor. I’d better get home before I hurt his only living heir with the viral scent of manure that Max laid out.

  I take the long way back to the house, watching the acacia’s sway in the breeze. The marigolds light up the border gardens with their manes turned toward heaven as if they too were waiting for Mitch to come home. I hope Mitch has a flower garden wherever he is. I hope when he sees a tree sway in the wind it makes him smile as he thinks of me. Mitch always pointed out the beauty that existed outside the windshield when he drove. He couldn’t get past the glory life had to offer, and all I could ever see were the potential hazards—the potholes, the wreckage on the side of the road.

  I get home and sigh into the silent doorway, tossing my purse down as I head over to the couch. I’ve had mild cramps all morning, just below my pelvic bone, hard, long lasting episodes, one of which evoked a spontaneous groan. It sounded sexual, and it made me miss everything about a man.

  It’s not until I hit the sofa that a wild squeeze grips my abdomen like a punishment.

  “Shit.” I drop to my knees and fumble for my purse. I’m going to kill Mitch for doing this to me.

  A tiny laugh rumbles through my chest as I victoriously snatch my phone and call Kat.

  “What?” She doesn’t bother with the niceties.

  “I just threatened to kill Mitch,” I pant. Of course it was all in my head, but the thought amuses me on some level.

  “Well if you see him, tell him I’m in the mood to commit a few felonies myself.” She breathes into the receiver. “What’d he do now?”

  “He impregnated me and left the country. Now I’m dying in pain.”

  “I’m there.”

  It takes less than five minutes for Kat to burst through the door. I’ve yet to regret my decision to gift her with a key, and today for sure I’m glad because I’m too busy writhing in pain to crawl to the door.

  “What the hell’s wrong?” Her face is rife with worry. And I can’t help notice her lips are rioting for attention, stained a bright fuchsia pink. It distracts me just enough to ebb the pain, and I’m grateful for her cosmetics-based misstep. “You just sitting here by yourself?”

  “You’re observant.” I’d readjust myself, but I’m too afraid my belly will go off like a grenade. “What did your lips ever do to you?”

  She makes a face. “I was playing.”

  “Don’t play. It’s not Halloween. It’s scary. And, yes, I’m sitting here by myself. Who’d you think was going to be here? Mitch?”

  “Lee, this is serious.” She wipes her mouth over her jacket and leaves an indelible smudge over the denim.

  “It’s nice to see you’ve evolved past the seventh grade.” Wish it was the seventh grade—any grade when I wasn’t knocked up for that matter.

  “We need to call Colt and Janice.” She fumbles for her phone and spastically jabs at the screen.

  “No thanks.” I snatch the phone from her and hang up on Colt. “I’m not calling them until I get to the hospital. This is probably just a false alarm. I don’t want to worry anybody.”

  She eyes the swollen peak of my belly with a look of longing. Kat is dying for a swollen peak of her own. She and Steve have been trying to conceive since before he proposed.

  “How about Max?” Her forehead wrinkles with concern. “Should we call him?” She’s so frightened for me like I might be dying.

  “M
ax?” I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought of calling him. In fact, it takes everything in me not to call Max. We’ve logged so many hours together getting Townsend up and running again, it feels unnatural not to have him here. And he cares. He would want to know—hell, I want him to know. “I’m okay. I have you. You’re all I need.” I bite down on the lie. I desperately need Max. I don’t know why, I just do.

  I look out the window at the plain butter sky stretched like a crisp sheet. A car drives up the street, unassuming and banal. Dew beads over the calla lilies sitting beneath the window as their phallic protrusions nestle proud in their white cocoons—the bleeding hearts with their curled pink tails dangle in rows. I want to galvanize this moment into my memory—the last of our world that Mitch knew—the one without the baby. I seize the scene, logging random events into an imaginary file that falls in the timeline after Mitch’s death. My whole world is rearranging without my husband by my side. Not even the house will look the same once the baby is born. It never looked the same without Mitch, and now he’s coming back to me in the form of a child—a phantom with his face. I don’t know if I can bear it. How can I have Mitch’s beautiful eyes, his perfect structure, staring at me day after day? It’s nothing short of genetic cruelty. At least with Colt, his personality offsets the startling resemblance. He’s always been Colton, the wild donkey of a brother, but the baby might be Mitch through and through, and it scares me.

  Another hard pull of pressure erupts at my waist.

  Maybe I should pretend it’s Colton’s baby. That would make it easier for sure. I could harness all of my pain into anger at Colt for impregnating me. God knows I have enough rage stored in me to deliver ten babies at least.

  A gush of liquid warms my thighs and floats up around my bottom.

  I look up at Kat and blink into a smile. “I think we’d better get to the hospital.”