by S. M. Shade
“You scared the tits off me! What are you doing, lurking out here?”
He doesn’t bother to answer until he’s loaded both of the other canvases into my car.
“I was just taking my trash out.” With that, he stalks off, back to his house.
The dude really might be unhinged. Every second he’s in my presence, he seems desperate to get away, as if being near me is torture, but then he does something nice like load my car.
The Lindon Way Art Gallery is housed in a moderate sized building downtown. Nerves set in when I park in their back lot, and I have to chuckle at myself. This was the world I lived in through most of my childhood. I was more comfortable among gallery owners and artists than I was with other teenagers at the time. I grew up with this. The only time I used to be a mass of nerves was during my shows. It’s been a long time with too much isolation, and I just need to pull the bandage off quickly.
A young man sits behind a small desk just inside the doors and barely glances up as he asks, “How can I help you?”
“I have an appointment with Penelope Vindel.”
“Miss Sanders.” A loud, cheerful voice calls. It’s connected to a tall, willowy woman who must be in her sixties. Her silver streaked hair is pulled back into a severe bun, and her lips thin to near nothing as she smiles at me. “I’ve been expecting you. Thank you so much for coming.”
“Hi, please call me Melissa.”
“And I’m Penelope. I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re considering displaying your work in the Lindon Gallery. It’s created quite a buzz around here.”
“Thank you for giving me the opportunity.” I glance around at the work on display. “Are you featuring Impressionist paintings?”
Penelope flashes her incredibly white teeth. “Yes, these were done by J. Kollan. Are you familiar with him?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve been away for a while, and I’m a little out of touch.”
The questions she knows not to ask blink across her forehead. They’re questions I know I’ll have to face, but I have no idea what I’ll say when the time comes. It’s fortunate that artists, by reputation, are often antisocial or even reclusive so it’s often overlooked. But a prodigy who just disappears for nearly four years is bound to raise some eyebrows and set curious tongues wagging.
“No matter! Did you bring some work with you today?”
She leads me back to a comfortable lounge, and I take a seat on a small sofa. “Yes, it’s in my car.”
“Parked in the back lot?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She picks up the phone on the end table and presses a button. “Finn, please bring in the paintings from Ms. Sanders car. We’re in the lounge.”
Penelope and I chat about my work and what I plan to create over the next few months. Of course, some of that is hard to know. I don’t know what will draw my eye and pull me to the canvas.
“Do you have a theme for your next exhibition?” I ask. Who knows if my work will even fit in her planned shows?
“We’re featuring abstract next month.”
“I’m afraid I don’t paint abstracts.”
Smiling at me, she nods. “We’re hoping to feature your work in January, as a separate exhibition. If it’s agreeable to you, we’d like to feature between eight and fifteen paintings.”
Wow. I used to have this kind of clout before, but I honestly thought I’d been forgotten. I expected her to pick one or maybe two pieces to display. That I might possibly sell a couple and feel like I’m really back to work was all I was hoping for. I didn’t expect my own exhibition.
“Fifteen may be out of my reach,” I confess. “I’ve been painting, but not to that extent.”
“No problem. We’ll have a look and decide together what will work.”
The young man from the front desk walks in, carrying my canvasses, and leans them against the wall. “Anything else, Ms. Vindel?”
“No, thank you, Finn.”
Penelope studies the hummingbird painting, then moves on to the lake scene. Her face remains inscrutable until she gets to the painting of Jeremy. I have to admit, with the natural light striking it from the skylight, it’s intense.
“This one. It’s very different from your other work,” she murmurs. “Both from your early days and now.”
I can’t tell if it’s criticism or what, so I remain silent as she studies it at length. “The emotion leaps and grabs you by the throat, but I can’t nail down what he’s feeling. Sadness, certainly, and anger, but there’s a wistful, lost element as well.”
Her gaze meets mine. “This is extraordinary. Your others are fantastic as well, and I’d be happy to feature them, but this, this is the spotlight. Do you have a title?”
“Mistake.” The word tumbles out before I can second guess myself.
“Perfect.”
My feet barely touch the ground when I leave the Lindon Gallery an hour later, three paintings lighter, my mind filled with plans for my next projects. I’ve been on my own for a few months now, living in my own place, making my own decisions, but this is the first time I’ve started to feel a tiny bit like the old me. I’ll never be the girl I was before True Life, but I can be a better version, for myself and my baby.
I’m still learning my way around town, so I use my navigator to point me toward a store with maternity clothes. It turns out to be a place called Mom and Baby Wear. I had no plans to buy anything for the baby yet, but who can resist the adorable little outfits and stuffed animals?
My impulse is to buy the whole damn place, when I don’t even have the nursery started yet, but I restrain myself and settle for starting a registry. I don’t have any friends other than Agnes, and she’s in Florida, so I’m only doing it to keep track of what I want when the appropriate time comes.
They give me a little scanner gun, and it makes it so real, choosing a crib and furniture, décor, and supplies. I don’t know the sex, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not a fan of pastels, and the bright blue and white color scheme will work equally well for either gender. Once I have everything on the registry, I choose a few pairs of maternity pants, each a little larger than the last. My shirts still fit fine, and I can probably find some large sweaters that I like better online, so I forgo those for the moment.
The only item other than the clothes that I actually leave with is a little moon shaped lamp. It was just too cute to pass up.
Right next to the Mom and Baby store is a donut shop, and if that isn’t a perfect place for such a business, I don’t know what is. The smell wafts over to me and the decision is made. The baby wants donuts.
So, maybe the baby doesn’t need two dozen donuts, but they all looked so good I couldn’t pass them up. When another lady with a protruding belly walks in, accompanied by a man, she looks at the bag in my hand, and we both chuckle. Yeah, great place for a donut shop.
While the girl behind the counter boxes up my donuts, I watch the couple. The man dotes on her, having her sit and making sure she’s comfortable. It sends a wave of sadness over me. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. Two people united in their joy over a new life.
Maybe it’s the hormones, but self-pity sinks in. I’m missing out on that experience. There’s no one who loves me to help me tie my shoes when I get too big to bend over, no one to send out for tacos and ice cream in the middle of the night when I’m overcome with a craving, no one to hold my hand and tell me everything will be okay.
All those special moments to come; the first time I feel a kick, finding out the gender, and seeing my baby for the first time will all be spent alone.
Stepping out into the sunshine, I try to shake off the gloomy feeling. After all, today has been a good day, and I’m far more fortunate than most. Like my sister, who is still under their control with no desire to be anywhere else.
When I pull into my drive, Jeremy is sitting on his porch, and I make a sudden decision to take him some of the donuts, since I really did go way over the top. After all, he did fix my stairs,
even though he was weird about the way he went about it. I don’t have a problem with strange people. They’re often the most interesting. As long as he doesn’t pull that drunk asshole act again, I can deal with him.
I pop the hatch on my car and pull out the bags of maternity clothes. When I turn around, he’s standing beside me again. I’m going to get the man a damned bell. “Would you stop sneaking up on me before you give me a stroke!”
“You can’t give someone a stroke.” His gaze falls on the Mom and Baby bag, and he takes it from me. “I’ve got it.”
“Thanks, but I can manage.”
His lips press together, but he doesn’t reply, just carries the bag to my door and waits on me. “You shouldn’t be lifting anything while you’re pregnant.” Damn, am I big enough he can tell? I have to laugh at myself. I’m carrying a bag from a maternity and infant shop. Not hard to figure out.
I dig my keys out of my pocket. “Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I wasn’t out here bench lifting. It’s a five-pound bag.”
He hands me the bag, and I set it just inside the door. Woody streaks out onto the porch, yapping and licking me as if I’ve been gone a month instead of a few hours. I fasten him onto the lead that’s tied to a tree in the front yard, so he can relieve himself and stay out from under our feet.
Jeremy starts back toward his place without a see you later or kiss my ass or anything. Talk about mood swings. My shower can’t go from hot to cold that quickly.
“I have donuts!” I call, once again showing off my stellar social skills.
He turns, and I swear for just a split second, his lip tilts up. Almost a smile. I lean in my car and pull out the top box of donuts. “My eyes were a little bigger than my stomach, and I got too many.”
He takes the box and opens it, stuffing a glazed ring in his mouth like a starving child, and a giggle spills out of me.
“Thanks,” he says, but his gaze is pointed behind me. “Your gutter is clogged. The water is running down the wall. It could cause water damage or flood your basement. I’ll clean them out tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to. I can hire someone.”
He shrugs. “Got nothing better to do.”
Okay then.
“Thank you. Maybe I can make you dinner in exchange,” I offer, trying to extend a delicate branch of friendship.
Swallowing the donut, he shakes his head and snaps that branch in half. “Not necessary.”
He turns and heads back to his house, leaving me standing in his yard wondering what the hell it is about this sullen, rude man that has me so fascinated.
Maybe I’m just a masochist.
Chapter Six
Jeremy
Making sure my child is well cared for and safe without getting involved with the mother is a line I’m struggling to tread successfully. There’s one realization I’ve come to over the past few weeks that I have to face; I can’t walk away from this.
I thought I could. That as long as I knew she had money for the baby, I could just return to my old life without a glance back. It’s not possible. All I’ve been able to think about is the baby and what kind of life my son or daughter will have.
I still think it’s best if I’m not in it, but I know I can’t just leave. He or she may not know me, but I can at least keep an eye and make sure they have everything they need. I’ll do my best to keep them safe.
My preoccupation with Melissa and the baby hasn’t distracted me from my main goal, though. The True Life bonfire get together is tonight, and I’ve spent the last few days researching as much as possible. I need to fit in if I’m going to infiltrate this group and figure out how to bring them down.
My last days have also been extremely busy since I’ve rented an apartment, and filled it with the normal, bachelor pad type of furniture. It has everything I’d need to stay a few days, and I do what I can to make the place look lived in. It’s just a backup, but I know it’s a necessary precaution. There’s no way I’m leading these cult crazies back to my real home, and I’m sure I won’t make it into their circle without them researching me a bit. If at any point I have to invite them over, that’s the place I’ll use.
The flyer I was given says to show up at eight, and it’s just a couple of minutes shy when I turn down the long, winding driveway. A sign announces I’m entering the property of the True Life Center, and I expect to roll up on a massive compound or at least a large building. The last thing I expect to see is a row of shabby trailers.
It’s seriously dark out here, but little solar lights line the drive, leading the way to a gravel area near the trailers where two four wheelers are parked. The whole place has a creepy post-apocalyptic vibe, mostly because the trailers are obviously occupied, but dark. There are no power lines leading to the area, so they’re totally off the grid.
A figure carrying a flashlight approaches my car, and when I get out, I recognize the girl who gave me the flyer. “Kelly?”
“Hi! Welcome to True Life! I’m so glad you could make it.”
Shrugging into my jacket, I ask, “Am I the only one?”
“Everyone is up by the fire. You’re just in time. The First Men are going to speak tonight.”
“First Men?”
“Anthony and Shaun. They started this community and they keep it thriving.”
If this is thriving, I’d hate to see what they consider suffering. Another car pulls in and a young woman climbs out, her expression cautious. “Hi, am I in the right place?”
“Are you looking for the True Life meeting?”
“Yes, I saw this ad that says you help the environment.”
Kelly smiles and nods. “You’re in the right place. We’re just headed to the bonfire. You’ll learn all about our community and what you can do to help. I’m Kelly. What’s your name?”
“Haddie.” She joins us with a relieved smile.
“Great, well, this is Jeremy. He’s new tonight as well. I’ll take you guys to the bonfire.”
Haddie doesn’t seem concerned when we walk down the path that separates the two rows of trailers, but I can’t understand why anyone would see how these people live and think it’s a good idea.
The trailers are small and run down. Most of them have damaged or no underpinning, so I’m sure wildlife is a problem. Clothes lines criss cross the spaces between them, lined with sheets and clothing that flap in the cool air. Lawn chairs and other broken furniture rests here and there. The most disturbing site is the scattered toys lying in front of the last trailer. There are kids here.
We reach a road that was invisible in the dark, and a large house comes into view in the distance. It’s well lit, and I assume it’s just a neighbor who doesn’t belong to this group until Kelly speaks up. “That’s where the First Men stay and work.”
“They have electricity,” I remark.
“Of course,” Kelly says, as if I’m the dense one here. “They have to have the power to communicate to keep this place running. It’s a necessary evil.”
We approach the top of the hill where about twenty people sit around the fire, laughing and talking. “Hey everyone! This is Jeremy and Haddie. They’re interested in finding out more about True Life.”
Everyone calls out a hello or welcome, and Kelly says, “Have a seat anywhere you like.”
Most of those present are women. There are a couple of young men, maybe not quite out of their teens yet, and two older guys who sit beside each other. Their demeanor and the way they look at me and Haddie makes it clear they’re the leaders. These are the men I’ve come after.
I have to restrain myself from just beating them to death on the spot. I’m here to see how everything works and try to get an inside look so I can shut this shit down for good.
I take a seat beside Haddie. A thin woman with pronounced circles around her eyes is on my other side and she gives me a reluctant smile. “Welcome to True Life.”
I’ve never heard a more insincere statement. “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”
One of the two leaders gets to his feet, and everyone falls quiet. “I’m happy to announce we have two newcomers tonight. Please, make them feel welcome.” He smiles at Haddie and me. “My name is Anthony. Please, feel free to ask any questions or speak with me afterward if you need more information.”
He rubs his palms together. “Now, we know why we’re here. It’s been a very hard year, and we’ve suffered losses that have devastated us, but it will not stop us from living a True Life and showing others how to do the same.”
His oily smile points toward a woman across from me, who stares at him, rapt. “Jillian, can you tell our new friends what our goal is?”
She jumps on the opportunity, her voice nearly manic with enthusiasm. “Our goal is to save Mother Earth from the damage being inflicted on her every day.”
“Exactly, dear. Well said.”
This woman looks like she’s ready to drop to her knees to kiss his feet, among other things, and it turns my stomach.
“Our landfills are bulging with garbage, our oceans are full of trash, much of it plastic which can be recycled, but doesn’t biodegrade. Corporations have poisoned our water, filled our air with cancer, and our food with harmful hormones. All in worship of the almighty dollar.”
He turns to another in the group, a young man this time. “Garth, can you tell our new friends what the root cause of all this destruction is? Can you name the cancer that’s eating society alive?”
For fuck’s sake. The hyperbole is through the roof.
“Consumerism,” Garth replies instantly.
“That’s right. Plastic wouldn’t be clogging our oceans if we weren’t buying it and eventually throwing it away. The factories wouldn’t be polluting the air if we weren’t buying the products they make, and funding their ability to continue. Humans need very few resources to survive. Water, food, and shelter.”
Everyone nods as he continues. “Do humans need to drink bottled water? Do we need to drive cars that add pollution to the environment? Is it imperative we carry around a personal phone, that must be replaced as soon as a new model is available?”