Free The Solitude of Passion by Addison Moore

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