Storms of Passion

by Lori Power

  She didn’t love Mark. She knew that now. Realizing she didn’t love him was harder than the break up. Yes, she had feelings for him, enough to considering spending her life with him. But she didn’t love him? To her, love would include a burning need. Love would involve a deeper passion where the music of his soul would find an answering song in hers.

  “I already know the answer, Snicker,” she said, watching the dog follow her as she walked back to her brightly lit living room. She set her tea on the tray next to her favorite reading chair.

  I’m not faring too badly, all things considered. Vivian pulled her wooly socks on, shook the tea bag out to lay it on the saucer, and wiggled to get comfortable in her chair.

  After graduation, Vivian worked in the editorial department at a newspaper. Going as far as she could with the paper, Vivian grew bored. She thrived on literary excitement and the position had become mundane. The job became something she could do without much effort expended. It was time to move on, but she had become complacent. It wasn’t until reading through the local newspaper, she spotted an intriguing advertisement seeking someone with editorial skills to be a reader. She was glad she seized the chance to respond to the ad.

  Learning the ropes in this new medium was a competitive curve Vivian relished. The challenge was intriguing. Within the first year, she launched two very credible romance authors. In the last five years, she had added to her roster while her original two continued to flourish. These achievements added substantially to her pay cheque, allowing her to invest a little more into her tourist shop. Every time one of her authors wrote a new novel, their manuscripts came to her for first reading where Vivian’s notes went back to the author for revision before moving up the ladder to the main editorial department. Vivian hoped to eventually make it to the editorial staff, and she was sure that day would come if she kept recommending great stories to the publishing house.

  “When was the last time I took at chance?” Vivian stirred cream in her English Breakfast tea. “Buying this place was a chance. An investment. Certainly opening the Brick ‘n Brack Shop and Café with Marcy had been a chance.”

  The launch of her first two authors gave her the financial stability to take the chance as it were. Investing in the business and having Marcy as a partner gave Vivian the opportunity to build a nest egg for the future.

  “Then there’s the mundane. The ho-hum, no one ever writes about with any real enthusiasm. The insurance, the mortgage, the accounting, legal, and mountains of paperwork are no fun.” She picked up another manuscript, taking a sip of her now slightly cooled tea.

  Thinking of insurance brought her family to mind, her father the accountant and her two professional brothers. One brother was the life insurance agent she purchased her policies from. They all lived not far away and kept in touch, but weren’t on top of one another. Her family thought her hobby of treasure hunting as a bit of a blight on the family. Vivian loved when the long weekend of May approached so she could start garage sailing. All summer, Thursday and Friday evenings were spent browsing for her treasures to refinish and sell in her shop. She learned a lot about tinkering and mechanics of small appliances in her hobby. She loved bringing something back to life.

  “I’m like the cat lady no one admits to be to being related to. I can just hear my mother telling her society friends in her high pitched, nasal tones that her daughter has a job that pays, but…and here would be my mother’s near whisper…my daughter likes those garage sales thingies. You know where people sell their own junk. It’s as bad as eating left-overs. Imagine! Her father and I do all we can, but what can you do?” The what can you do would have to be repeated to emphasis the importance of the parental role in her life. Vivian ruffled Snickerdoodle’s head. “Bla, bla, bla, is what I say to that.”

  Snickerdoodle, who was sitting stoutly beside her chair, seemed to be hanging on to every word she said, staring up at her with big chocolate brown eyes. Vivian was not the brooding type. She moved forward and planned. She did not regret or regress. And with that motivated thought, she smiled and went back to work.

  ****

  “We should go to a psychic!” Marcy’s smile beamed with enthusiasm as they enjoyed a light lunch at Marcy’s house while the kids napped.

  “What? A psychic? Why?”

  “Oh, it would be fun. I listened to a documentary about psychics on the radio the other week, and I’ve been thinking about going ever since. Have you ever been?”

  “No, never.” Vivian smiled. She was intrigued, but nervous to learn more. “What if they tell us something we don’t want to hear?”

  “I’d just tell them, no bad news.” Marcy laughed and reached out to tap Vivian’s arm, her kind eyes encouraging. “Come on, we’ll have fun.”

  “Okay, I’m game,” Vivian said, fork poised before her lips, feeling a slow smile rise. Excited at the prospect of an adventure, she noticed how Marcy’s eyes dancing with wonder and curiosity. “Should we make it a girl’s night and invite Jess and Steph?”

  Marcy’s brown, bobbed hair bounced on her shoulders as she picked up the phone. “Oh, yeah, that would great.”

  Vivian Googled local psychics on her iPhone. “Marcy, have you seen how many psychics are listed. How will we choose the right one?”

  ****

  Vivian and her friends chose the Russian Tea House where they could combine a nice lunch along with the thrill of getting their fortunes read.

  Stephanie paused, poised to open the restaurant door. She turned to face her friends, a determined look on her face as she stopped them from entering the restaurant. “No one says anything at lunch. I heard they have microphones everywhere to pick up on what you say so they seem authentic. Not a word.” She mimed zippering her slips shut, locked the dead bolt, and threw away the key.

  “Not hard to tell who has kids in the gang.” Vivian laughed, miming the A-okay, thumbs up.

  Just being the fly in the ointment, as usual, the legal council that was Jessica’s personality stripe piped up. “But they could be listening right now,” she whispered.

  Vivian waved her hand at her giggling friends to enter the Tea House.

  They decided beforehand that after their lunch and the readings, they would head to Marcy’s house to review their fortunes. Marcy, the planner of the bunch, had scheduled the whole day and discussed her reading first.

  “Well, the fortune teller as much as called me a control freak.” Marcy laughed, her face contorted in a farce of mock anger. “George will be so pleased to hear that.”

  Jess, clad in fit-to-suit silk, dusty pink blouse, paired with beige slacks, crossed her slender legs in the over-sized chair. “Big surprise there,” she said. “Don’t waste time on what we already know, tell us something we don’t know.”

  “Well, I opted for the tea leaves and tarot cards. I never imagined I would get to choose two forms of reading. I thought they would just do their thing.” Marcy reached for her tea and sipped before continuing. “She said George and I were well matched and would live a long life together.”

  Stephanie, a whip-smart firecracker of the realty world, was never one to waste time or words. “Sigh,” she said, settling her petite form more comfortably on the coach. “Get on with it.”

  Vivian’s friends continued.

  Marcy said there was a baby girl in her future, Jessica said her law practice would be a success, and Stephanie confirmed she had celiac disease, which explained why she was ill after most meals.

  While Vivian’s friends hotly debated the accuracy of their readings, she reflected on not knowing what to expect from her fortune, or if she expected anything, but she was surprised at Madame Rose’s attire. Vivian assumed the psychic would be a Gypsy-looking woman with at least a crystal ball nearby, but Madame Rose resembled a modern day woman, wearing a black pencil skirt and white blouse.

  The only information Vivian had relayed to the woman was her name and date of birth at the beginning of the conversation. She contemplated the psyc
hic’s advice, recounting Madame Rose’s words. “Your number is a five with an undercurrent of four. You love the drama.” Her voice was hauntingly husky as though coming from the deepest reaches of Vivian’s own soul. “You want…no, crave adventure, but the four keeps you to home. You’re loyal, fiercely passionate, yet you are holding back. You must feel that craving deeply on the inside. That craving of adventure is here in your cards over and over. You want to be spontaneous yet you restrain. Why are you holding back? What are you waiting for? You have so much to give.” Madame Rose paused and nudged the glasses on her nose with her forefinger. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I?”

  The polished woman stared at Vivian with a question in her magnified eyes, but didn’t offer to discuss the question. She simply took Vivian’s hand, and then read her palm. Brushing her fingers lightly over Vivian’s right palm, the psychic smiled. “You will find what you seek. It is out there. The answer to the question you ask is, yes. Do you know what that means?”

  Vivian nodded. “I think so, yes.”

  “Be honest with yourself, and know it’s okay to seek your heart’s desire. Do you know what it is?”

  “Yes.” Vivian nodded again. She was completely mesmerized by the psychic sitting across the table. Madame Rose’s voice had a slight horse tenor of an active, indulgent smoker. She was a woman obvious use to commanding attention, and the theatrical delivery of her reading had Vivian riveted to every word. It was as though the psychic was in Vivian’s head reading her innermost reflections. Contemplations Vivian seldom even admitted to herself.

  Madame Rose continued. “Money is not your motivator and for that reason you will always have money. Adventure is the key to your success. You want it, you crave it, and it’s right out there waiting for you. Stop trying to be someone you are not.”

  Vivian grew scared of the brash lady with the hypnotic black eyes—the only psychic-like feature she owned.

  Squeezing Vivian’s hand, Madame Rose stared deep into Vivian’s soul. “If you do not set your heart free, you will wither and die unhappy, and unfulfilled.”

  “What a cow!” said Jess after Vivian relayed her fortune to her friends.

  “No way,” said Steph. “I didn’t believe a word the turban wearer told me. I thought I got the dud.”

  “No.” Marcy shook her head. “No, that will not happen. Don’t give that crazy psychic’s words any consideration. What a crock! Look at you! While we change diapers and attend house chores, you’re free to do whatever you want. That woman definitely read you wrong!”

  Chapter Two

  As weeks went by and winter thawed to spring, the psychic’s words danced like a mantra in Vivian’s head. Yes, a passionate love was possible. And yes, romance was worth searching—worth waiting for.

  “I think a vacation is what you need. How long has it been since you went somewhere nice?” Marcy turned to Vivian as they walked to the park with her children.

  “Well, Mark and I went to…”

  “In that case, too long, eh?” Marcy interrupted.

  “Too long,” Vivian agreed, cuddling Isaac, while Marcy’s oldest son, Jon, bolted like a shot toward the slide.

  Who would Vivian go away with? She had never gone on vacation alone. It’s not that she was afraid to travel alone. She just never contemplated going off by herself before. She did lots of things by herself obviously, she was a single woman. Being alone in your own back yard was distinctly different then being single while travelling. Women did it all the time, but could she? The prospect of travelling somewhere foreign just seemed lonely and, to be honest, a little needy, like she would be seeking something. But maybe she was?

  She still smarted from the last time she attended one of her mother’s society balls by herself. Vivian hadn’t imagined the stares and the whispered words behind pale manicured hands. Her mother’s upper class friends had treated Vivian as though she was diseased, or in mourning. They talked a little louder, leaning toward her with their head slightly bent in sympathy. She despised their watchful eyes looking upon her with pity at being alone.

  ****

  Mackenzie Blackwell stood at the helm of his full rigged ship, the Navigator, squinting at the setting sun. His large, black Labrador Retriever sat stoically at his side, also appearing to watch the horizon for land. Tiller, the watchman in the masthead, said he spotted land to the west.

  From his current position, Mackenzie could not see any sign of land, which they hoped to reach by nightfall. But if he had timed everything correctly, Tiller, the monkey-like youngster should be correct, as they had been pushing for Halifax harbour for the last week to off load their cargo of rum and other contraband.

  Mackenzie’s strong tanned features gave him every air of authority. He checked the sky and the tack of the wind. Reaching a slender fingered hand into the breast pocket of his oilskin, he retrieved his scope to get a better look at the horizon. The fingers grasping the instrument looked more suitable for playing the piano than running a ship. But that was another life. As his narrow wrist snapped the spyglass to its full extension, he commanded the master, the man trusted to know all the routes and the weather, better known as the ships keeper, to maintain the current course.

  “Aye, aye, capt’n,” Burke responded.

  Though no one would know by looking at him, his face a careful mask, Mackenzie always grew antsy as he approached land. Land was dangerous. Land meant patrols and possible conflict. In the open sea, he could best and outrun just about any ship of the line. But being close to land changed the odds. A careful gambler, Mackenzie didn’t favour when the odds were not on his side. The only time he chose to port was when he was in need of supplies and ready to make his drop, which meant his ship was weighted down with cargo and not as swift. This in turn meant there was always the chance that more than one frigate, be it English or French could corner, leaving no room to manoeuvre and escape.

  Ohhh, this was just the kind of book Vivian loved to sink her teeth into. I could get into the romance of this guy. The whole historical adventure of sailing away on the high seas. I can almost reach out and run my fingers through his too long hair, taste the salt of the sea on his lips. Her tongue poked out to moisten her lips.

  Reading the first three chapters easily, Vivian typed her report of recommendation for this submission to the publisher. Sending an email to the author, requesting the next three chapters for preview, was a delight in Vivian’s day. The author was an unknown, but if the story kept the momentum going, Vivian was sure they would have a winner. But she was getting ahead of the game. She would have to wait and see what the next chapters brought.

  As she sat at her computer composing the submission report, she had an urge so strong she acted on the impulse before she could second-guess what she was doing. She typed learn to sail in the search prompt. She wanted the adventure she always read about. Now was the time.

  What am I doing? I can’t just fly off somewhere to learn how to sail. Especially alone. Mother would have a hay day, saying my actions were foolish. Maybe if I were still a kid—still in my twenties. Maybe, hmmm, but I’m going anyway.

  She looked at the manuscript. A piece of the sea, the adventure of being in the open ocean, and a sexy man at the helm. This was the theme she loved in every romance. A theme that would make for an exciting and unusual vacation. Vivian grew more excited with the idea.

  Before she could think too much about a sailing cruise where she would learn how to sail, she went on Expedia booking her flights, hotel, and the boat charter.

  “You did what?” Vivian’s mother screeched in a most unladylike fashion during their family dinner. It was Sunday and her mother had just placed the turkey on the table. Her mother didn’t cook often, but when she did, the meal consisted of one of three dishes—turkey, pot roast, or ham.

  “What are you going on about?” Vivian’s father, Peter, chimed in with his resolute, accountant’s voice. He placed a turkey leg to the side of his plate.
“Didn’t you learn anything with Mark? Get your head out of the clouds. My gawd learning to sail, that’s crazy!”

  “Your father’s right. It’s simply not proper for a woman to go off alone. You don’t know what the crew members will be like. In fact, it’s complete foolishness. Cancel the trip.”

  Vivian explained how much she anticipated learning something new. “Geez, can’t you see what a great opportunity this is for me. I don’t want to be that person that grows old watching other people live their exciting lives on TV. I want to be the person having fun.” Vivian cut into her meat, stuffing a chunk in her mouth without tasting it. “As for the crew members, they’re a lovely maritime family who have built ships for generations. They now take tourists out and teach them the ancient art of sailing.”

  “Listen to you. What romantic rubbish,” Peter said in an all-knowing smug way, determined that he knew all and no one could tell him different. He mixed the turkey gravy with his mash potatoes, picking up a scoop-full of the creamy vegetable on his fork. He was poised, ready to place the blend in his mouth when he paused. Waving the heaping fork in gesture, his lips parted in a slight sneer. “You sound like you wrote the ad for them.”

  Vivian loved her family. She had to. Loving her family was a pre-requisite. No matter what, you have to love your family. Do other children feel like me? Like they were plucked from a stork, because I can’t imagine how I came from my parent’s loins. I’m different. Too different. They know and I know, but still try to change me. Why must everything be an argument? Some grand debate?

  “You’ve both made up your mind about this trip without actually listening to a word I say.” Vivian lowered her fork to the side of the china plate, finished with arguing with them and resolute in her decision to proceed whether her parents supported her choice or not.

  “We’re listening,” her mother said with an exaggerated strain in her nasal tones. She dabbed her over-lined lips with her snow-white napkin. Lowering the large cotton square back to her lap, and taking the time to fold the linen just right over her perfectly creased pants, she finally raised her green-melon coloured eyes to Vivian. The image of motherly concern etched her porcelain cheeks. “Rebecca’s daughter, Nancy, just got married. You remember her from summer camp?” When Vivian stared at her mother un-answering, her mother continued. “Rebecca thought for sure marriage was never going to happen for Nancy. Wild that one.” She paused and rolled her eyes, before focusing her attention back to Vivian. “Anyway, Rebecca encouraged her daughter to go on one of those on-line dating sites and now she’s married. No more foolishness.”