The Solitude of Passion

by Addison Moore

  At least I hope it will.

  Colt and I don’t have any luck finding a taxi down to the harbor, so I pay a young boy on a rickshaw to peddle us out. He seems to struggle a bit—hell, he’s downright straining, but most of the way is downhill and makes for wild ride, so I tip him well at the drop off.

  “Reminds me of your driving.” I smile over at Colt. He’s out of his element until a group of beautiful women walk by, and he springs into action, following them. “Wrong way.” I spin him toward the water. Hundreds of tiny wooden vessels wobble on the tide, knocking into one another creating a symphony of clattering chimes. An oil slick congeals over the top of the water, creating a patina of lavender and blue.

  The boats clank together, bobbing in rhythm. Each one is occupied two to three times overcapacity. I start asking around if anyone knows Gao. The first three ignore me, but eventually someone motions to the other end.

  It’s getting hot, we’re thirsty, tired, and I’m trying not to remember that we’ll need to eat more than paper to survive for the next three days, not to mention find our way back to the airport. That alone might take a day.

  “Gao?” An old man turns around.

  He motions to himself, says a whole string of words I can’t understand.

  “I think I got the wrong guy.”

  “Mitch?” A familiar voice booms from behind. “Crazy Mitch!”

  “Good God, they all know you,” Colton marvels.

  We keep our passports and wallets with us but leave our bags on Gao’s boat. It’s surprisingly small with a miniature hole that sleeps one uncomfortably beneath. Looks like we’ll be camping up top, and we’ll barely fit at that.

  We head into town and hit a restaurant. Colton eats enough for the next week in the event this is his last meal.

  “I have new group.” Gao smiles as he says it. His dark hair is shorn close to his scalp, greying at the temples. Crow’s feet have taken over in the corner of his eyes. He looks as if he’s aged a good twenty years since I last saw him. “I take you tonight. Meet friends.” Gao can’t stop smiling—calls me Crazy Mitch every few seconds and shakes his head in disbelief.

  “I didn’t expect you to get out so soon.” I’m not sure I ever expected him to get out—me either for that matter.

  “Grandfather die. I finish.”

  “I’m sorry, man. They let you out for his funeral?”

  “No. He drowned. I come out.”

  It takes several seconds for me to absorb this. He took his own life to get Gao out. Damn. No easy exit out of that place ever, except maybe mine, and, of course, all hell broke loose in Mono once I arrived just like Kyle Wong predicted. I’ve no idea what really went down with Gao’s grandfather, but I’m not prying for details either.

  “Mei says you gave the book to the boys.”

  “They do good.”

  “Yes. They might have a high fiber diet, but they’re doing good.”

  Gao takes us on a hike into unrecognizable hillsides, dusty streets under a bleary-eyed moon—same one Lee sees. I look back at Colton who’s huffing to keep up.

  “He’s taking us to the woods to hack us to pieces,” Colt whispers.

  “Yeah, they call it nutritional tourism. What’d you think you were eating?” I blink a smile over at him.

  Twenty long minutes later, we arrive at a house up on joists, built into the hillside. People are sardined in the living room, about twenty or thirty at the least. No sitting room, so Colt and I stand near a wall to the back as Gao introduces us.

  Colt leans in. “Is this illegal?”

  “I’m pretty sure.” The gospel meet and greets usually are.

  It’s Gao they were waiting for. He speaks softly as they bow their heads in unison before sitting down and engaging with them for hours, passing out hand written papers with longitudinal characters like it was chocolate.

  Maybe this is why I was here in the first place, for Gao, for this, for these people—to share a little hope.

  Colt and I sit and listen. Even with the language barrier, you can feel the joy, the peace that flows through each living soul like a conduit straight from above.

  I lean into Colt. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling pretty damn lucky to be here.”

  A sharp knock erupts at the door. It explodes open, and bodies fly everywhere.

  And, in typical Townsend fashion, I think my luck just ran out.

  Max

  In the heat of the afternoon, while Lee is out picking up the kids, Hudson appears in the kitchen, about as wanted as a burglar. He twists the chair around and takes a seat as if he were an invited guest. If Lee catches him here, she might brand his ass by way of a frying pan.

  “Remind me to start locking doors,” I quip. “I hear there’s a murderer on the loose. You missed, by the way.” I save the document I was pecking at and close the laptop.

  “I got me some problems.” His lips pull into a line. His tries to run his fingers through his shaggy mane and they snag every few inches. Hudson looks like a wooly mammoth—hell, he’s an insult to wooly mammoths everywhere. He looks bedraggled, unkempt even by Hudson’s standards.

  “You got problems, huh? You think?” I clench my jaw at what a liability he’s become this past year alone.

  “I got three different guys after me, and they all want their dough. Plus, Candi’s missing.”

  “Missing? I suggest you check the mall.”

  “She’s been gone three fucken’ days bro.”

  “Sorry about that.” Not that I’m surprised. Hud’s got a history of women taking off on him. “Look, I don’t have anymore money to give you because you sucked it all out of my ass. Or have you conveniently forgotten that?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t suck money out of anything.”

  We sit and stare at one another a good long while. Hudson and his wide-eye appeal—honest to God, I think he might be telling the truth. But I’d be a fool to believe him.

  “How much did she take?” He looks genuinely disturbed by the idea.

  “Hundred grand.”

  He knocks the chair over as he bolts up. “She told me she was going to kill me—now I know how.”

  “Look, I don’t even want to know why she wants to kill you, but I can assure you, you’ll be plenty safe.”

  “Where?”

  “Behind bars. I’m turning you in for what you did to Mitch. That’s Stella’s father you almost offed. You’re damn lucky he’s up and running, and not a vegetable or, God forbid, a coffin dweller.”

  “I’m not going to prison.” His eyes glaze over. “It was your fucking idea.”

  “That was never my idea!” I let the words reverberate off the walls.

  He jabs his finger into my chest. “I offered to clean up the mess, and you never told me not to.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Holy shit. I thought it, may have implied it—strongly in fact, but never wanted it to actually happen. Did I? “What’s with Candi?” I change the subject. “She find someone else to leech off?”

  “She caught me with some chick. We were fucking, and she came home.”

  “In your house? You’re so damn stupid. You’ve got all the money in the world, and you couldn’t take her somewhere discrete? No wonder Candi took off. How’d she get access to the account?”

  “I put her on. Changed the title to the house.” He lets out hard exhale. “Put her on that, too. She said something about suing for the vineyard.”

  “Mark my words she’ll be back for that one, but not before we lose it. You know it’s not even considered theft what she did? She cleaned us out, front and center, and the law is on her side.”

  “So you can’t spot me anything?”

  “I could spot you a busted jaw.”

  He scratches at his chin before heading toward the door. “Got some tricks up my sleeve.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “When you calling the cops?” He calls from
the door.

  “Soon as you piss me off.”

  “Good to know.”

  Debt collectors are after him, his wife is leaving him, and he’s banking on party tricks to keep himself alive. What I want to know is how in the hell did my life become a mirror image of my brother’s?

  It’s hot as a skillet in a fire out in Townsend fields. Thermostat reads over a hundred in the shade, and it’s nearly three in the afternoon.

  “Hey!” Lee waves from the parking lot.

  I flash the shears in my hand at her and watch as she ambles down the walkway to the tool shed and emerges with a pair of gloves and a rusted pair of clippers.

  “You going to cut my hair with those?” Everything in me soars. I’m damn happy to see Lee. Her blonde hair glints like gold in the sun, and her soothing smile cools me.

  “Nothing like teamwork.” She lunges at me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

  “You’re so beautiful.” I press my lips over hers, and she doesn’t slap me silly so I take it as a good sign. “You here to help or cut my limbs off?”

  “Help. What are we doing?”

  “Pruning the branches. I called off the gardeners.” I pause to look past her shoulder as Townsend field commits suicide right before our eyes, much like Mitch. “I put everyone on temporary leave this morning.”

  “What a disaster.” She slips from my grasp, despondent. “I really hate this.”

  “Come on.” I point over to the vine with the least dehydrated leaves. “Let’s get her done.”

  It feels good working side by side with Lee. Watching her move, sneaking glances at me from the other side of the branches. I reach through and grab her wrist, listen as she squeals and breaks free.

  “We’ve got miles to go,” she says, getting back to the business of severing dehydrated twigs.

  “We’ll never get done.” It would take an army to cover these endless acres. We’re just trying to make ourselves feel better so that at the end of the day we can check off the box that reads we did everything we could. Which isn’t true. I wish I cut my brother out of my life ages ago, at least then I’d still have a nickel to call my own and Mitch wouldn’t have a bullet hole in his body.

  “The Max Shepherd I know isn’t a pessimist.”

  “You’re right. He’s a realist. I see things for what they are.” And right now, they’re not good.

  We continue our vain effort, cutting and snipping until we reach the end of the row. At this rate we’ll have Townsend pruned by next July.

  “Look.” Lee points at the strawberry sky. Sunset over Townsend never lets you down. It echoes off the leaves, turns the whole world into a reflection of burning fire. It dances off Lee’s hair, mixes pink with gold, and I want to remember her like this.

  “I love you.” I swipe a kiss off the side of her cheek as she presses into me.

  “I love you too, Max.” It comes out with a smile, but you could taste the grief.

  For a moment I envision a plane nose-diving into the Pacific, and it gives me a small ray of hope—not that I want that. I shake the thought away. I really need to stop murdering Mitch in my spare time.

  “So you’re leaving me?” I twist my lips at the idea.

  “Nope. He left me—told him not to go. You’d never leave me, Max,” she whispers, running her fingers through my hair with a look of inescapable sorrow. “I can never desert you. I’m too far in. You’re the anchor in all this madness. You’ve always been my rock. I’m not going anywhere, ever.”

  She wraps her arms around me tight and lays her head over my chest.

  I swallow hard as I try to digest her words. Lee just said what I’ve been dying to hear from the beginning.

  “You’re just ticked,” I whisper into her ear as a dry laugh rumbles through me. “You’ll be back on the fence by the time he gets back.” I bow a kiss over her temple.

  “You think he’s coming back?”

  “He’d better.” I toss the shears into the field. “He’s got a hell of a lot of work to do.”

  We take a seat right there in the crimson-colored dirt and watch the sun slip behind the hillside. I snap off a small bunch of concords and feed them to Lee, one at a time, dripping them into her mouth like purple gold.

  “You really know how to love me.” She nuzzles into my chest.

  “As opposed to that fake stuff Mitch passes off as affection?” I tease.

  She makes a face. “Sour grapes?”

  “We are at Townsend.” I examine the meager offerings and pitch them back into the field. “They’re sweeter at my place.” True story.

  “I bet. And who’s pruning Shepherd? Hudson?”

  “Hudson’s pruning our banking account.” I tell her about Candi. “Looks like having him arrested will be doing him a favor. I should just let him run around scared for a while. It might knock some sense into him.”

  “You think those people he hired to kill Mitch will come back?”

  “Not unless they work for free. I’m pretty sure it was a onetime deal. They couldn’t care less that he’s not dead. Besides, it’s Hudson’s gambling debts that have him running for the hills. He’s got all the wrong vices.”

  “And you?”

  “You’re my vice, Lee.” I pull her in.

  “Ouch.” She doubles over slightly.

  “Is it the baby?”

  She doesn’t say anything just breathes her way through it.

  Please God, no.

  This week could not possibly get any worse.

  24

  Ghost Twin

  Lee

  Under the sterile illumination of florescent lights, a nameless ER doctor presses into my stomach while conducting an ultrasound. He breathes over me with his shock of grey hair and squints as he rolls the device over my abdomen.

  “You’re hurting me.” I hesitate before giving a generous squeeze to Max’s poor hand.

  “Sorry.” The doctor replaces his instrument with a mild sense of disappointment. “I’ll have to do this internal.” He pulls out a wand and throws a condom over it. I push my feet into the stirrups and wince as he slips it in. “That’s better.”

  “For you.” I spear him with a look.

  “Here’s what we got.” He points up to the screen. “See this?” A pulsating being—my baby. No bigger than a bean. I bite down a smile. “Everything looks great,” he confirms.

  “Thank God.” Max leans over, brings his cheek next to mine as we marvel at the monitor. It brings back all those memories of doing this with Eli. Max never missed an appointment. He never complained, he volunteered to come with me. We made a routine of going to lunch afterwards, built memories like any normal husband and wife. I bring his hand over my mouth and touch my lips to him.

  “But this one.” The doctor moves to a different location. “The sac is empty. It’s been reabsorbed.”

  “There were two?” I get up on my elbows. I’ve never had twins, never even knew I was capable.

  “Looks that way. Happens more often than you think. Sometimes the second baby vanishes without anyone noticing, especially when it takes place so early. I’m sorry.” He takes the chart off the table. “You can get dressed and come out when you’re ready.” He pulls the curtain shut on his way out.

  “Twins.” Max shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s still one healthy baby.” I reel him in, hugging the trunk of his arm.

  There were two, and now one is gone. Reminds me of Mitch and Max. But Mitch came home to me, the first time. I look up at Max. I wish I could tell him this was his baby without a shadow of a doubt. Max who is always there for me—here for me now—who would never, ever leave for China if I begged him to stay. I pull him down and kiss him full on the lips.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “For?”

  “Just being you.”

  Max and I go out to dinner before heading home, just the two of us with lobster and candlelight. By the time we get to the house Janice has the kids al
ready tucked in and sleeping. We don’t tell her about the phantom baby—probably Mitch’s, that one. Instead, I assure her the baby is fine, false alarm, and send her home happy knowing that the heart of her grandchild is beating strong.

  “Maybe Stella and Eli were twins,” I say as Max crawls under the covers. A thin seam of moonlight tacks over his body like an ethereal highlight.

  “We shouldn’t go there,” he whispers. “It’ll just mess with our heads. They’re here. That’s all that counts.” He pulls me into him and hooks his leg over mine, warm and inviting. Max is a balm as always. “We’re pretty lucky. Two healthy kids.”

  “Another on the way.” I place his hand over my stomach, and his eyes squint into a smile all their own.

  “Another on the way,” he parrots, kissing my eyelids in turn.

  The moon washes out his features, taking ten years off his age. They should bottle moonbeams, best anti-aging remedy yet.

  “What?” He slides in close before relaxing over his pillow.

  “Nothing,” I whisper. “Just looking at how handsome you are.”

  “Feel free to stare.” He closes his eyes with his arms securely wrapped around my waist.

  “You going to sleep?” I trace the outline of his lips with my finger, soft as a feather.

  His eyes spring open. “Not if my services are needed.” His lips curve into a devilish grin. “You’re worried about the baby, aren’t you?” He rubs slow circles in the small of my back.

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Oh.” It comes out measured like he knows. He doesn’t say his name, neither do I, but Mitch lingers on the bed with us like a phantom, like he always has, only I’m too much of a coward to admit it.

  I run the pad of my finger over his ear, tug at his lobe before tracing the outline of his brows, the bridge of his nose, his soft, full lips.