Shadowshift (4 page)

CHAPTER 6

Sunday morning. Two days have passed since Tina and Hannah moved into Kevin’s house. He sits across from her at a small table in the sunroom library. Bathed in slats of light, they smile at each other and sip coffee. The shared silence speaks louder than any conversation Kevin can remember. He loves Tina’s expressive eyes. Her smile. She’s still glowing from their lovemaking the night before.

From upstairs comes the clatter of Hannah unpacking boxes and organizing her new room. Kevin should be helping Tina do the same with her possessions, but he can’t bring himself to cloud such a pristine moment with work that can wait. This is why he took time off from his job, so they wouldn’t have to rush, so he could be there to ease Tina and Hannah into their new home.

“Do you think Hannah likes it here?” he asks.

Tina nods. “Of course she does. This is a beautiful home.”

“Now that I have special people to share it with, yes, it is.”

This is what it’s like when they talk. They say nice things, never linger on any subject for too long. He validates her. She validates him. Sip of coffee. Repeat.

But how long will it last? he wonders. He hopes forever, but it didn’t last with Meredith or Stephanie—each found happiness in the arms of other men. So what’s different now? Why will Tina
stay
when others haven’t? These are the questions he wants to ask, but he senses they would ruin the moment faster than chores. Maybe he doesn’t need to ask. Her eyes say she’ll stay.

He knows he’s romanticizing everything. Big deal. He also knows he’s never felt more certain about anything. He loves Tina, and he wants—needs—her to stay.

“Are you happy?” he asks.

“Yes…very.” Tina leans across the table and kisses him. She doesn’t even seem to mind he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet. Then she pulls her e-cigarette from the table and takes a long drag.

“I’m proud of you,” he says.

“Oh, why’s that?”

“You quit smoking. That’s not easy. A lot of my colleagues have spent years trying to quit. Can you imagine what it’s like for a pharmaceutical rep to walk into a doctor’s office smelling like cigarette smoke? Doesn’t exactly convey a message of health. Hell, it can be a real deal-breaker.”

“Oh, come on, Kev, you know as well as I do those deals are all about big money, for the pharmaceutical rep and the doctor. The patient is generally the sucker, and they don’t get any say in the deal. How could a little cigarette smoke possibly get in the way with prescription drugs killing millions?”

He can’t argue with that, because what she just said is truer than he cares to admit. He hates his job and wishes he could do what she does. He wishes he could create. But creation isn’t an easy thing. It requires a creative mind he doesn’t have. Still, he can worship her mind, and he does.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you quit,” he says.

She chuckles, taking another drag. “Yeah,” she says, a vapor trail billowing around her head, “but I still have my pacifier.”

“Hey, progress is progress.” Truth is, he hates her
pacifier
. To him, never a smoker, it still looks like she’s smoking, and now she’s got an excuse to do the dirty deed indoors. But her habit’s a small price for happiness, and he’s relieved her cough is gone. The deep, wet hacks in the early days of their courtship, particularly in bed, was terrifying. So she’s not perfect, he tells himself. So what.

“Sure you don’t want any breakfast?” he asks.

“No, sweetheart. I never eat in the morning. Just coffee, but don’t let me stop you.”

He gazes at his gut. He knows she hates his physique as much as he hates her nicotine needs. Like her, he’s far from perfect. He hopes she can’t hear his stomach grumbling in protest. “No,” he says, “I’m not hungry, either.”

She looks through the windows, into the well-manicured lawn he pays landscapers handsomely to maintain. “Beautiful day,” she says.

“It sure is. Anything special you’d like to do?”

“I don’t know. How about you? There must be something you like to do when you don’t have to work, or do you spend a lot of time at the go-cart track?”

He laughs. “No, that was for Hannah.”

“Thank you for that. She had a great time.”

“My pleasure.”

They press their purple and yellow BFF rings together, and, in unison, say, “Wonder Twin powers, activate.”

“Form of…an indecisive sloth,” he says, chuckling. “Sorry, hon, I don’t know what I want to do today. I just want to spend it with you.”

“Form of…Lou Reed,” she says, then starts singing “Perfect Day,” and he joins in. Each have tragic voices, but they finish the song with terrific laughs.

For the next few minutes, they return to a state of calm. However, Kevin feels less happy than before. He questions himself.
Why am I holding back? Why can’t I tell her what I like and don’t? Why can’t I admit I am starving right now?
On one level, the whole thing’s easy to rationalize. All relationships work this way.

No, he tells himself. This isn’t what he and Tina are supposed to be about. Hell, they both farted in bed the first night they slept together. They promised never to control each other or play petty games or hide behind bourgeois pretentions of any kind.

Fond memories of their first rendezvous in Chattanooga flutter though his mind, bringing a smile to his face.

He’s forty-two. She’s thirty-nine. Game time should be over. Or maybe his doubts are the real game, part of the age-old pageantry of courtship
he
needs to jettison.

Kevin sips his coffee and joins Tina in gazing through the sunroom windows. For a long while, he watches a robin build a nest in a tree. The bird’s meticulous nature amazes him—the way she carries each carefully selected piece back to her work in progress, then burrows into the shell she has built, pushing new material into place to strengthen the structure. Much the same way he envies Tina, he envies the creative nature of this bird. But unlike her, the bird doesn’t have a creative mind; rather, it’s driven by instinct.

When he turns to share this observation, he finds Tina scrolling through her FriendSpace newsfeed. This causes Kevin’s doubts to return, and a sharp protest hangs on the tip of his tongue. He stows his agitation, telling himself not to fall to jealousy. But that’s a tall order.

He and Tina met on FriendSpace, and she still spends a lot of time there. He doesn’t. As he sees it, he got what he wanted from social networking—he got her. He can’t help thinking she’s still out there looking for something, maybe an upgrade. A ridiculous notion, his rational side shouts, considering Tina didn’t date for five years after her husband disappeared.

Kevin was a fan of Tina’s books. He’d dabbled in writing himself, but never had the patience to finish anything. He’d always been a voracious reader of dark fiction, though, and when he’d discovered a new mass-market paperback while browsing Amazon—
Midnight Mourning
by Tina Mitchell—he’d immediately been hooked. A new voice on New York paper, particularly given the current decline of print media, was impossible for Kevin to resist. He finished her sharp-witted, beautifully rendered Southern Gothic in one sitting. Love at first read.

Now, he stares at her and can’t believe she’s here. More than that, she’s his. He also can’t believe he’s courting jealousy when he should be kissing her and carrying her back to bed. Of course, that will have to wait. Hannah’s awake.

He asks, “What made you start writing?”

She puts down her phone and hoists her eyebrows. “You know, I can’t believe you’ve never asked that question before.”

He hopes he hasn’t said the wrong thing. “If the question is too personal, I’m sorry.”

“Kevin, I get the feeling you sometimes hold back with me.”

“I’m not keeping any secrets, I—”

“No, no, dear, it’s not that. I sometimes think you’re scared of…well, of
breaking
me.”

He nods. It’s true. He’s a nice man, and he knows it, but he can’t deny that he considers all women fragile. And that’s not fair, particularly when he considers how fragile he is.

“Well, don’t do that,” she says. “I’m not made of glass.”

“Okay, then answer my question. What made you start writing?”

She puts a thoughtful hand on her chin, narrows her eyes, and seems to consider his question. Finally, she says, “Anger.”

“Anger made you write?”

“Yes,” she says flatly. “That’s the perfect way to put it. It
made
me write. There was nothing else I could do. It was either write or do something horrible.”

He gives her a moment to explain, but she doesn’t. And, although she’s given him license to push, he can’t. Not yet.

“Why me?” he asks.

“I don’t understand,” she says.

“I mean, why did you pick me? Of all the people you could have been with. It’s just…well, you’re a beautiful woman, and you’re talented, and—”

“Because you’re nice. You’re real. You didn’t want anything from me.” She picks up her phone and pops open her personal messages on FriendSpace, then hands him the phone. “Look, everyone wants something—a blurb, a free copy, free beta-reading services—and worse, some send naked selfies.”

He groans. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“Count yourself lucky that I’m not showing them to you. They mostly come from other writers who think our professional bond as
artists
gives them license to bare a hell of a lot more than their soul.”

“I’m…I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Now look, I’m hardly a celebrity. I’ve never earned more than fifteen thousand a year as a writer.”

He’s shocked, and more than a little ashamed of how routinely he complains about his six-figure salary. “That’s fucked up.”

“Woe is me, but that’s hardly the point. Look, I’m no one, and yet I get more than a dozen messages from strangers every day, acting like they’re my best friend and asking me to give them my time for free. Can you imagine how that would make you feel?”

“Yeah, I get pissed when my boss dumps work on me…and, shit, he pays me well for it.”

“So when you reached out to me, telling me how much you loved my work, intelligently articulating your thoughts, asking for nothing in return, not even a reply, I was…well, I was thrilled. I never get messages like that, Kevin. Never.”

“So you jumped into bed with me because I validated you?” He laughs at this, but she doesn’t appear amused.

“No, I replied and you answered, and we kept chatting, and soon we were talking on the phone, and…there was nothing calculated about it. It just happened.”

“Isn’t that what people say on Jerry Springer? ‘It just happened.’”

“Ugh, my ex liked shows like that. Don’t tell me you watch that shit.”

“I’ve seen a few episodes, but I promise I didn’t enjoy them.”

“Good!”

“But how did you know I wasn’t crazy?”

“No, I
know
crazy. You aren’t crazy, Kevin. You’re perfect.”

Again, he looks down at his bulging midsection. “I’m hardly perfect.”

She laughs. “Perfect for me, as long as I don’t catch you watching daytime talk shows.”

Filled with warmth, he kisses her, and she kisses back. And soon they’re on the floor, making out like teenagers. His hands find passage beneath her silk pajamas, causing her to sit up and slap him on the chest. “Don’t,” she whispers, “Hannah will come down and catch us.”

He caresses her face and says, “Okay, I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

She puts her head on his chest, and he wraps his arm around her back. The chaos of Hannah’s organizing continues from upstairs. The air conditioner hums, and the sun peeks around the edge of the skylight above, noon fast approaching.

Kevin skipped breakfast; he doesn’t feel like missing lunch.

He means to ask where she wants to eat, but it comes out: “Do you think you’ll still be able to write?” He bites his lower lip the moment those words are airborne.

“What do you mean?” Her voice sounds dry, hollow.

“Well, I mean, if anger drove you to write, what will replace that old muse?”

She lifts her head and glares at him. “Who says I’m not still angry?”

“Come on,” he says, forcing a grin. He hopes she’s putting him on, but he can tell she isn’t. “Aren’t you happy now? You were happy in Chattanooga, all those times we met at the hotel. And you seemed happy the three times I came to see you and Hannah in Savannah, and when you came here. You’re happy now, aren’t you? You said you were.”

She shrugs, her mouth turns down, and she closes her eyes. “I’m trying, Kevin. I swear I am. But no matter how good you are, no matter how much you love me, it doesn’t erase the past. You’re good medicine, don’t get me wrong, but even the best medicine doesn’t heal overnight.”

As his body goes numb, he pushes himself up and sits back in his chair. Cross-legged on the floor, she stares up at him. And it becomes clear he isn’t the only one in this relationship who has been holding back.

“Does that hurt you?” she asks.

He looks away and nods.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s not my intent.”

“Maybe this is why I don’t push,” he says. “I’m not afraid of breaking you. I’m afraid of you breaking me. I don’t know. Why does everything have to become complicated? It hasn’t been up to this point.”

“I guess complications are inevitable, but you shouldn’t be afraid of honesty, Kev. The truth isn’t going to break either of us, unless we let it. Unless we’re weak. You don’t own my anger, I do. And none of it is directed at you. Please understand that.”

“I know. I just want to be enough for you.”

She stands and puts her arms around him, easing into his lap. “You
are
enough.”

“I love you,” he says. “And that means I want to make all your pain go away.”

“I love you, too,” she replies, “but it’s not that easy. It just isn’t, no matter how hard you try…but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep trying.”

“Okay,” he says, “but can we please go to lunch. I’m fucking starving.”

She pulls away slowly, smiling. “That sounds nice.”

“I know the perfect place.”

“Ah,” she says, “now there’s the take-charge man I love. So much for that indecisive sloth.”