“Want a lick?”

Leonard smiled broadly as he strolled up to Baldwin.  He was holding the Book of Ash in one hand, a lemon wedge in the other.  For a moment, Baldwin saw something attractive in his stepfather’s face, not a traditional masculine beauty, although he did have a firm jaw line, solid cheekbone structure, and symmetrical nose and eyes, but more the type of aesthetic pleasantry that comes from natural erosion, like a rock face chiseled by eons of wind and rain.  Then the moment faded, and a familiar dread and panic crept in.

Leonard held out the lemon.

“It’s tart but refreshing.  The picker told me it was the only one the tree produced this season.”

“No thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Your loss then.”

Leonard tossed the lemon aside.  He wiped his hand on his shorts as he spoke.

“If you care to know, I just came from reading some encouragements over a nearby patch of reclaimed soil.  Nasty smelling dirt, but it has a nice airy look to it.  Of course, the Mentor of Cultivation chose the wrong seed.  Only plants with deep roots can thrive in such a loose structure, but he’s determined to sow lettuce anyway.  I swear that man loses his head when it comes to greens.  The first hard rain and every sprout will wash away.  But what do I know – I’m just responsible for people feeling good about themselves, even if they don’t have anything to eat.”

“I’m sure it will grow if given the chance.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Leonard peered over Baldwin’s shoulder.

“Isn’t that the building your life counselor lives?  Herbert, correct?”

“Harold.”

“Yes, Harold.  Now I remember him. He has a humorous bent, does he not?”

“I suppose.”

“Let’s hope he’s serious when it comes to helping you.  If not, I can speak to the Mentor of Empathy about getting you a new life counselor.  Perhaps this time a woman.  There is something to be said about working through problems with the gender that gives you the most problems.”

“I don’t want anyone else.  I’m happy with Harold.”

Leonard’s lips spread into a tight smile.

“Then I won’t give it another thought.  I’m actually pleased to hear you praise his work.  You can’t imagine how many people come to me with complaints about their life counselors.  Most times the fault lies in the person doing the complaining.  Ash has it right, ‘To want more from a relationship is to want less from yourself.’ It’s probably why I’m always grateful to the people closest to me in life:  I don’t expect much from them.”

Baldwin wanted to move, to get going, but he did not want to go the way Leonard might be going, did not want to extend their connection any longer than possible.  Better, he thought, to wait for Leonard to make a move, or indicate where he was going, then head in the opposite direction.

“Anyway, it’s good I ran into you,” Leonard continued.  “There’s more to what I told you yesterday, about the person who wants to kill you.  I’m afraid it’s not pleasant, perhaps even shocking.”

Baldwin’s stomach clutched. 

“It’s Nadine.”

“Nadine?”

“Yes, your wife.  She’s the one who wants you dead.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish it were so,” Leonard said with an exhale.  “The fact of the matter is I’m somehow connected to this desire.  What I’m saying is she’s in love with me.  Perhaps infatuated is a better description.” Leonard tapped the book’s cover with his index finger.  “Chapter five, paragraph three, line four:  ‘Lust is nothing but imagination meeting desperation.’ Nadine, to be truthful, is filled with both.”

“You two are having an affair?”

“Just listen,” Leonard snapped.  “I would no more penetrate Nadine than you.  The only guilt on my part is not telling you sooner about her obsession.  I’ve felt her ardor for me grow over the years, but even more so after your accident with the deer.  I’m sure she was moved by my nurturing nature.  Women are never more vulnerable to love when they see it being provided by another.  I suspect that’s when she could no longer control her desires.  As you know, I’m astute at perceiving human intention through nonverbal cues.  It was clear by her protracted nipples, the angle of her hips, the purse of her lips, even the dab of saliva atop them, that the sight of me caused within her an acute erotic tension.  I won’t lie to you and say it wasn’t flattering to have such a young and attractive woman addled with arousal on my account.  And perhaps I would have just let her continue on this path of sexual admiration, if not for her telling me about wanting to kill you.  I guess she thought with you gone we can form a union.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I’m afraid you have to.  But don’t worry.  I told Nadine this was lunacy, and encouraged her strongly not to harm you in any way.  Basically, I gave her a good scolding.” Leonard paused a moment.  “It’s the real reason I was going to your unit yesterday,” he continued.  “I was worried my words to her were too harsh.  I wanted to make sure she was okay, that she accepted the reality of the situation.”

“You should have told me this yesterday.”

The delicate wrinkles under Leonard’s eyes twitched. 

“Your mother, dead as she is, agrees with you,” he said, softly.  “She came to me last night in a dream – gave me quite a dressing down for not telling you all about Nadine.”

“Don’t talk about my mother.”

“You mean my wife.”

“She was my mother first.”

Leonard’s derisive laugh lingered in the warm air.

“And so we fall to the same conclusion,” he said, shaking his head to stillness.  “You think I stole your mother from you, and you hate me forever for it.  Or despise me, or dislike, or whatever word you want to use to shade your animosity.  But the truth is your mother chose me.  You, she merely had.”

Baldwin felt the urge to strike, to kick Leonard, to pummel him with punches, bite at his flesh, and gouge out his eyes.  Instead, he looked down at his palm.  It was bleeding again. He squeezed the hand into a fist to stop the flow, looked hard at his stepfather.

“I loved her more than you.  I’ll always love her more than you.”

Leonard sighed.  His eyes glinted with compassion. 

“I wish you wouldn’t waste your time trying to feel something you’ve already felt.  It’s the same as putting good seed into bad soil.  Trust me, the best thing for your mind is to put your mother out of it.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Then so is Ash.” Leonard tapped the book’s cover.  “Encouragement 80 –‘Find What You Have, Lose What You Lost.”

He smiled benignly. 

“All I’m saying is you should concentrate on the present – on Nadine.”

“After what you told me, I don’t care about her anymore.  She can do whatever she wants.”

“Even kill you?”

“Let her try.”

“You sound a lot less fearful than you did yesterday.”

“Yesterday I didn’t know it was Nadine.”

“And you’re not scared of her?”

Baldwin smiled.  It did not come out lopsided.

“Of course I am,” he said.  “She’s my wife.”

Then he turned and walked away.

***

Blood.  Baldwin stopped walking. He unleashed his fist.  The palm was smeared red, a pretty, heart-shaped stain, a reminder there was still someone to love in the Circle, someone who did not want him dead.  It was hard for him to believe what Leonard had just told him.  Despite their troubles, he did not think Nadine was desperate enough to escape their union by killing him.  And while he could imagine her possibly being reckless enough to have a dalliance with Leonard, he could not imagine her falling in love with his stepfather to the point of irrationality.  If anything, Nadine became more clear-headed, more responsible, more grounded and resolute when in the throes of passion – at least that was how she was with him leading up to their union.  And, perhaps, that was how he felt at the moment – not for Nadine, but for Hetta. 

He continued in the direction of the warm wash.  It was early – Hetta had asked him to come at sunset – but he could think of nowhere else to go, certainly not home.  Each step brought him deeper into thought, analyzing the validity of Leonard’s words, of Nadine’s capacity for infidelity, to do him mortal harm.  His doubts in her defense were based more on compassion than confidence, a feeling honed during their union, when he downplayed her brusque slights, manic fits, and melancholic moods as the rightful anger of an abandoned child.  Neglected, ignored, and often forced to stay with neighbors while her parents drank impure water and explored love relationships outside their union, Nadine grew hard, petulant and unpredictable, the type of girl who punched boys in the teeth if they made a pass at her, and then invited their hands down her pants while they bled.  There was a cloak of dangerous contradiction about her, a hood either hedonistic or heartfelt, which she raised and lifted without logic or worry of consequence.  When they met, this capriciousness spoke to Baldwin’s rebellious desires, feelings fermented in the lidded cauldron of Leonard’s trailer.  But he soon realized he could never match her torment, her temper, her zeal for irrationality. Despite his hope that he had found in Nadine a kindred spirit, really, all he had found was a wild one. 

There was no one outside the warm wash when he approached.  The sun was falling, but not enough to cool the air, and his skin, from the hard walk and hard thinking, was coated in a fine sweat.  He hesitated to head inside, not wanting to disturb Hetta if she was with a client, but he was hungry to see her, desperate to distract himself from the thought of Nadine and Leonard, to hold someone who wanted to hold him back.  This desire for her built as he rushed through the pipe, stumbled out into the ring.  He was alone. All the doors were closed, except the one to the room Hetta had taken him the day before.  He headed toward it, excitement crawling over him, his penis stiffening. 

“Hetta.”

His stepped into the room.  It was lit with candles.  The pink scarf, which he had forgotten the last time, was laid neatly on the slab.  He took in a deep breath, took in Hetta’s scent, grit his teeth as desire burned through him.  She was near, perhaps waiting behind another door, merely testing to see what he would do once inside – to see if he would welcome this invitation into her heart.  He needed no more encouragement.  He removed his clothes, his sneakers, picked up the scarf and looped it around his neck, and climbed onto the slab. He closed his eyes, content to wait.  Hetta would come soon.  He was almost certain of it.