The Solitude of Passion

by Addison Moore

  “Nice wears off after five years.” I butt my shoulder into his as I pass him.

  He doesn’t bother with a response, just stalks through the living room and up the stairs to the bedroom he shares with my wife.

  It’s quiet down here—downright eerie. If I wanted, I could convince myself that not a moment went by, that I never boarded that plane, that Colton went instead, and he was really dead.

  Poor bastard.

  I pull a soda out of the fridge and take a seat in my favorite spot on the couch.

  Sorry Colt. I almost miss you.

  The blue numbers on the microwave read two o’ five when Stella catches me in the kitchen getting a glass of milk. It’s pitch black in the house save for the light emanating from the open door of the fridge.

  “Picture Daddy!” She throws her arms around my waist and rocks me into a hug.

  “Stella,” I whisper her name like a dream before catching her little hands in mine.

  “I’m thirsty.” She pulls back and looks up at me with those lawn green eyes.

  My heart nearly combusts in my chest at the sight of her. I’m thrilled she didn’t freak out and scream her head off. I’ll pour her twelve glasses of milk if she wants.

  “Why are you up so late?” I ask, digging a smile into my cheek. She has Lee’s tiny nose, eyes the exact shade as mine, and my heart soars just taking her in.

  “Couldn’t sleep. I thought I heard a burglar.”

  “Burglar, huh?” I get down on one knee as if I were about to propose. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Good. You need to be strong and brave. No matter what you might be afraid of, God is bigger. Just remember that.” She blinks up at me over the rim of her glass and hands it back when she’s through.

  “Tuck me,” she says, digging her fists in her eyes.

  I hesitate for a second as I envision Max storming out of his bedroom in a blind rage and beating the shit out of me. Not that I believe for a minute he’d be stupid enough to scar Stella like that. And, if he did, I’d throw him over the railing—eliminate a lot of problems in the process.

  Her miniature gown glows like a paper lantern as I follow her all the way up to her room. She looks like a ghost, and for a moment I wonder if I’m back in detention having one hell of a realistic hallucination—that I’ll wake up in a bed of paper roses, squeezing the life out of a pen like I have so many times before.

  Stella turns on the light in her room, and I snap it back off again. There’s a nightlight on, giving off a gentle glow. She hops into bed, and I tuck the covers around her before dropping a kiss on her forehead.

  “I love you, Stella.”

  “I love you, too, Picture Daddy.”

  I bless her cheek with a tear-filled kiss, and my eyes snag on a picture set on the nightstand. It’s of me on the beach, posing with my surfboard. My insides twist at the sight. That’s what I was reduced to, paper and ink.

  I head out into the hall and walk over to the master bedroom, stealth as a ninja. When I left all those sunrises ago, I never dreamed it wouldn’t be until this night I would be back. I place the pads of my fingers soft against the wood—feel the magnetism of Lee wanting to pull me in. But she can’t. There’s an intruder in the bed, and his name is Max Shepherd.

  It takes everything in me to peel my hand from the door. There is definitely an energy here. I fight the pulsating desire to burst in and toss Max down the stairs, headfirst. Instead, I float back down to the family room, fall asleep on the couch—get lost in a vat of strange dreams that make me believe I’ve made my way back to Lee again. But deep down inside I know I couldn’t have.

  Could I?

  Max

  I head downstairs early, trying to push the acid-tongued argument I had with Lee last night out of my mind. It happened. Lee confessed to my worst nightmare, and now, forever, I’ll have a visual of their bodies locked together in heat. She didn’t tell me how far they went, but I didn’t need a roadmap. And here, after I saw him, a part of me was glad that Mitch was back—happy—and now I see it for the horror it is. He’s out to stomp my marriage out like a kitchen fire. I’ve got two choices, fight or quit, and I can’t quit Lee.

  It feels like shit knowing she succumbed to him—worse than shit.

  Lee swore she was insane, that she wasn’t thinking clearly, she couldn’t even pin the year let alone understand what was happening, and tragically I believe her. I want to anyway.

  Eli giggles from the family room so I head over. His laughter filters through the air mingled with Stella’s more discerning laugh. I find the two of them on the couch, cozy as peas in a pod, with Mitch in the middle reading them a book.

  “Morning!” Stella sings before dipping her nose back down to where Mitch has his finger. “Picture Daddy is reading to us.”

  Just fucking, “Great.” For Stella and Eli’s sake I’ll fake sanity. “Anyone want breakfast?”

  “Sure.” Mitch is quick to answer.

  “Stell? Eli?” I bet he’d like breakfast. I bet he’d like a lot of things, but I’ll be damned if he gets them.

  “Picture Daddy made us cereal.” Stella doesn’t bother looking up this time. “What would you like?” I hear her ask while looking up at Mitch.

  He gives a sly smile in my direction before leaning into her ear and whispering something indistinguishable.

  “Pancakes!” she shouts. “Picture Daddy wants pancakes!”

  “Coming right up,” I say with mock enthusiasm. I open and close the pantry without bothering to inventory for Mitch’s needs. “Would you look at that? We’re all out. Sorry.” The last thing I’m doing today is playing short order cook for Mitch.

  Stella pulls him down by the neck to discuss his next selection, no doubt. His lips twist in the same way hers do when she’s deep in thought, and for the first time the family resemblance knifes me in the gut. I’ve never minded Stella looking like Mitch while I thought he was tucked safely in the great beyond, but something about seeing her face reflect his, weighs me down like lead.

  I get to the business of making a pot of coffee instead of depressing the hell out of myself while inspecting my daughter for signs of her not-so-dead father. I should be happy—thrilled for Stella, and yet every cell in my body wishes he never resurfaced.

  Stella and Eli head upstairs in a screaming fit of giggles to get ready for school. Looks like the book club has adjourned.

  Mitch meanders into the kitchen and steals the light from the window as he blocks it with his frame. “Where’s Lee?”

  I shake my head in awe that he has the balls to ask. Who knew Townsend had a pair?

  “Sleeping in.” The coffeemaker gurgles to life. “You must have really wore her out yesterday.” I slit the air with the words. I want him to know I’m in on their little fuck-fest. I had it out with Lee for two hours straight before finally turning off the lights. She swore it would never happen again and blamed me for not going with her. Me. You’d think the wedding ring would have offered some sort of philandering barricade.

  Mitch holds back a smile. Makes me want to tear his head off for even thinking of touching Lee, let alone going through with it.

  “Sorry about that,” he says unmoved.

  Well, gee whiz, he sure sounds sincere. Maybe now is a good time to clarify the topic. “For fucking my wife? That’s big of you.”

  Lee’s perfume comes into the room before she does. She’s wet from the shower with her hair slicked back. She took one last night, and, now, she’s taken one again. I hope that means she’d like nothing more than to scrub Mitch Townsend off her flesh forever, but somehow I doubt that.

  She presses her lips together and looks up at me filled with sorrow.

  “I’m so sorry, Max,” the words bleed out of her. She’s apologizing for sleeping with Mitch right here in front of him, and somehow that solidifies her feelings for me.

  I wrap my arms around her and squeeze my eyes shut tigh
t in hopes that when I open them he’ll be gone, nothing more than some shared hallucination.

  Lee pulls back and takes a breath. “I’d better help Eli.” She motions toward the stairs. She blinks a quick smile over to Mitch before leaving the room.

  I pour myself a cup of coffee and raise it in his direction.

  “You know what today is?” I ask.

  He doesn’t say anything just offers a stone-cold stare.

  “It’s take your wife’s dead husband to work day,” I say.

  Maybe I’ll hide his body in that drainage ditch. That ought to fix the leak.

  In an effort to keep an eye on Mitch and his prone-to-wander shriveled testicles, I decide to take him to the helm of Townsend Shepherd Inc. and watch as his jaw hits the floor once he sees it for the well-oiled machine it is.

  “It’s all mine, Mitch,” I say, sitting on the desk while he drinks down the numbers. “Just like that woman you were with yesterday.” I wouldn’t have rubbed it in his face if he didn’t openly defy my marriage vows without blinking.

  He purses his lips, unimpressed, while looking over production records from the last six months.

  “You didn’t bring me here to show off your fiscal handiwork, did you?” He missiles a stack of papers clear across the desk.

  “Nope. I brought you here to keep some metric distance between you and my wife. She’s confused, and I see you have no problem taking advantage of the situation.”

  “That’s what you did, Max. I’m just taking a cue from the best.” Mitch leans forward, spearing me with all of his hatred. “Looks like my lack of imprisonment has placed you at a sudden spousal disadvantage.”

  “Believe me, there’s no spousal disadvantage, here. I’m the one who’s married to Lee.”

  “So you like to remind me.” He busies himself with the numbers again.

  “Lee and I did what you couldn’t. We bolstered Townsend to rival Shepherd. I’m not letting you turn it all to shit again. You can work out in the fields if you want, but that’s as close to the company you’ll ever get.”

  His features smooth out. “I’ll run Townsend again.” He doesn’t bat a lash. “You can save the drama for the legal team you’ll need to try to hold onto it.” He stands and digs a smile into the side of his cheek. “I’ll have Lee again and raise both Stella and Eli. In fact, let the record show, I’ll take Shepherd off your hands, too.”

  “And on what fictional planet does this take place?”

  “I just dreamed it up.” He looks past me, a moment. “Lately all my dreams have a way of coming true.” He heads out into the heat of the day.

  Mitch, who always keeps his word—the dreamer—the prophet.

  Sorry, not this time.

  11

  Murderous Affection

  Lee

  The dull roads of Mono stretch out like elastic as Kat and I head over to Dr. Banks, a top child psychologist recommended through my pediatrician. This is what life feels like with Mitch now, pulled out, over stretched, a waist band that’s been spent, and you can never get it back to the way it was again. How we’ll ever repair what we had seems impossible, improbable, and then there’s Max. It’s as if our world was locked safe in a water globe, and now we lay smashed on the ground, broken, exposed without the buffer of our fantasy to shield us from this new, strange universe we’ve entered.

  Up in the tall silver building, shrubbery lines the suite, frosted mirrors are laid out in long strips along the wall. All smoke and mirrors, literally. It looks confusing, disheartening. Definitely not child friendly, and it makes me reconsider the decision to come here in the first place.

  Dr. Banks is short and balding, with a soft, round face. He smiles peacefully while I recount the details of Mitch and his return, what the implications might be for Max and our family.

  “Tell me how Stella reacted.” He presses out a peaceable smile that could have just as easily inquired about a gift I gave her for Christmas.

  “Fine.” I glance to Kat for a moment. “She called him, ‘Picture Daddy.’ I kept a photo of Mitch by her nightstand, and she recognized him.”

  He takes in the remainder of his coffee and inspects the ceiling for answers.

  “Stella seems to be taking this reasonably well at the moment.” He slouches forward and points his chin at me. “I don’t mind seeing her, although I will tell you kids are more resilient than adults give them credit for. You mind if I give you a suggestion?”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “I think maybe it’s you who needs to see a psychologist.” He settles a gap of silence between us as I try to absorb his words. “There should be an outside source assisting you to wade through the minefield of emotions you’re feeling right now. It’s my recommendation that the three of you attend together—both your husbands and you.” And there it is. I can add polygamy to the long list of grievances I’ve walked into backward. “Unfortunately, one way or the other, you’ll have to figure this out. I take it this isn’t an ideal situation for any of you, but I’m sure a seasoned marriage counselor can equip you with the coping mechanisms you’ll need to get through it. Together the three of you will have to figure this out. However, I will warn you, this is a unique situation, there is no textbook cure-all.”

  “She slept with her ex.” Kat doesn’t hesitate getting down to the carnal brass tacks.

  Shit. I kick her in the shin before I remember she has a belly full of babies. Kat has never been perfect—for sure her vagina has never been a shrine to all that is holy and sacred. Not that I’m excusing my behavior, but still.

  She knocks me in the ankle. “I meant, her ex-dead husband. Ex doesn’t sound right because there wasn’t really a divorce.”

  “Thank you for clarifying,” I say. If I knew she would turn on me, I would have never brought her along for the ride. I shake my head into Dr. Banks. “I didn’t cheat.” It speeds out of me so quick even I think it sounds like a lie—like some dirty, illicit cover up that I’d like to forget about. God knows the last thing I’ll do is forget about that day.

  His dark brows furrow as he examines me. Who am I kidding? He can see my lust for Mitch pulsating out of my ears like steam. He pulls a card from his desk and slips it over to me.

  “That’s precisely what I’m talking about.” He clears his throat. “It doesn’t feel like cheating, but that is, in fact, the nature of what occurred.”

  My heart drops like a stone. Max doesn’t deserve this. If the shoe were on the other foot, if he slept with Viv, I would die a thousand deaths from a broken heart. Deep down inside I know Max would never do that to me, and so easily I did it to him. I’m a monster. It should have been me that burned in the car that day, but it wasn’t, and it wasn’t Mitch either.

  “I love Max,” it comes from me hoarse. “I love who we were—are.”

  Dr. Banks presses his hand down over the table and smooths the wood as if he were revealing the solution. “There are obviously very natural feelings that led you to intimacy, Lee. I don’t want you to be too hard on yourself.” He glances at Kat as if that went for her, too. “But know this, you’re staring down the barrel of a very loaded gun. You must proceed with caution.” He slides several business cards in my direction as if just the one weren’t enough to express his concern for me. They all read the same thing, Dr. Van Guard, Mono Bay Psychological Associates.

  “Thank you.” I gather them up like a deck of playing cards—run my finger over the razor-sharp edge and wonder how I ever got dealt such a strange hand.

  I wonder if I’ll be able to get Mitch and Max to come with me.

  I wonder if I’ll want to go.

  The sun beats down on the house through an illuminated haze as Kat and I pull into the driveway after our meeting with the doctor.

  The garage is open, and I see Mitch’s blond hair light up the shadows like a flame. My heart soars for a moment. For one brief second it all feels real as if the past five years never happened, and the only reality we liv
e in is the one we bought into on our wedding day.

  “Katrice?” Mitch flashes his brilliant smile as he makes his way over. My stomach bottoms out at the sight of him. Mitch still has the ability to make me feel like a teenager at prom.

  Kat attacks him full throttle, wrapping her arms around his waist. She gives into long, convulsive sobs and heaves into him as if this were our post death reunion. I fight the urge to join them, to pull into a tight circle, and crush Mitch with the weight of our relief.

  “Congratulations,” he says, pulling back. He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes still glittering like broken glass. “Lee tells me I’m going to be an uncle.”

  Kat looks uneasy, her lips disfiguring, uncertain which way to turn. “You are.” She gives one of her infectious belly laughs and adds some much needed levity to the situation.

  “Kat was just dropping me off,” I say, hugging her goodbye. I can feel the stress exuding from her like a furnace. I don’t want her babies to feel one vibration out of tune, so I usher her to the car and wave as she drives down the street.

  “Look what I found?” Mitch erects his old surfboard between us like a testament to the past.

  I run my fingers along the pocked wax. It still gives off the soft scent of its perfume, sweet bubblegum mixed with plumeria, as if a half a decade never blinked by. There’s a dent on the nose from the time he crashed into a reef.

  I step into him and cup the side of his face. It takes all of my effort to resist the urge to cover his mouth with mine.

  “Did you think I’d get rid of anything you owned?” The entire garage is chock full of his stuff. Mitch lingered like a ghost for so long, and now he’s here reclaiming his things, his family. And, oddly, it’s me who feels like the ghost now.

  “You’re gone, Lee.” It comes out sad, so low I could barely make out the words.