Contrary Passions

By Robbie White

Meet some of the characters in this collection of short stories by debut author Robbie White.

Feel the weight of loss as Joanne and Jack grieve through the darkest days of winter in “December Silence”.

Walk the scorching beach and sunny boardwalk wearing rhinestone sandals as a sister takes her little brother on the trip of his lifetime in “Sting of Summer”.

Tour with a country music star and his biographer who is battling her own demons in, “Choices”.

Follow the Deb’s tragic story in “Dead Woman’s Blog”.
Experience a young woman’s repeated summer ordeal in “Jan’s Fourth of July Nightmare”.

The stories in Contrary Passions overflow with the grace of compassion and, sometimes, hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781509222353

Robbie White

Robbie White is an award winning author of short stories and the poetry with longer works to come. She is a former elementary school teacher who has had a passion for writing since her first success in the third grade. Robbie lives in midtown Oklahoma City and sometimes in the mountains of Taos, New Mexico.

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December Silence

The hush of winter’s darkness was pushed back little by little as holiday lights twinkled into life all around them. Their house remained quiet and dark, exhausted with grief.

~*~

Dirt-Stained Tears

Hank shows me the plaque he is holding. I nod and smile. I shake his hand. We turn to face the audience. His right hand gently cups my elbow, steadying me. His left hand holds the heavy plaque effortlessly. I remember being that strong once upon a time.

~*~

The Sting of Summer

My mother arrived the next morning. He wasn’t doing any worse but there wasn’t much sign of improvement either. She stood by his bed and wept for almost a full minute. She shed more tears in that minute than she ever had in his whole life. She always chose the joy.

~*~

Jan’s Fourth of July Nightmare

From the first aid hut, I could hear everyone else playing games. Their patriotic energy filled the lake’s beach, rising in pitch until the music stopped for one suddenly dizzying moment, and the fireworks were announced.

~*~

Dead Woman’s Blog

I read a dead woman's blog. I don't normally read blogs but someone tweeted about this blogger's last post. Intrigued, I clicked on the link, and now I cannot stop reading her haunting story.

Contrary Passions

by

Robbie White

A Short Story Collection

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Contrary Passions

COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Robbie White

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Sweetheart Rose Edition, 2018

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2235-3

A Short Story Collection

Published in the United States of America

Dedications

To my husband, Ben,

with whom I am building this amazing life.

Thank you for letting me carve out the space

to write the stories that are inside of me.

~*~

To my three children,

my best editors—Catherine, Ben, and Will.

Being your mom is the best adventure

I could hope for in this life.

Contrary Passions

1 December Silence

12 Dirt-Stained Tears

21 The Sting of Summer

28 Jan’s Fourth of July Nightmare

37 Interview with Sam

43 Dead Woman’s Blog

58 Sarah Kate

68 Choices

78 An Unexpected Travel Companion

The very essence of literature is the war between emotion and intellect, between life and death. When literature becomes too intellectual—when it begins to ignore the passions, the emotions—it becomes sterile, silly, and actually without substance.

~Isaac Bashevis Singer

~*~

Hope is, in itself, an agreeable passion…

~David Hume

December Silence

The holiday pressed in on them like a coming storm. The waves of cheerful excitement were pushed closer to their small house by the anticipation, hope, and wonder of neighbors. One night a few weeks after Halloween, Jack stood at the front window watching his neighbor put Christmas lights on the eaves.

A heaviness settled low in his belly where a healthy band of muscle used to be his secret pride. His pants now hung loose on his hips, his belt tightened beyond its smallest setting. He knew there were shadows under his eyes. He saw them on his wife’s face, too. JoAnn was still lovely but thinner and haunted.

Seven months before, their only son had died. At fifteen, he had been lanky, tall, and good natured. They called him Jimmy, but his proper name was Walter James, after his grandfather. He was always a healthy and active child. The illness that took his life came on suddenly. What started as a cold, turned into a stiff neck and headache. It was meningitis. When his fever shot up and he began to vomit and speak erratically, his parents took him to the emergency room. Blood tests, a spinal tap, and other mysterious tests were performed while their son lay pale and restless amidst the stark white sheets of the emergency room. Even before the test results could be obtained, antibiotics flowed into Jimmy through the veins in his strong young arm. It was taped to a stiff board to keep the elbow extended to protect access to his blood vessels. A few frantic hours later, he was in the ICU of their local hospital fighting the deadly swelling of the tissues around his brain. Not even a day later, his brain was dead. The infection had inflamed the thin tissue surrounding his brain, cutting off the life-giving blood supply and strangling vital tissue. As their son’s body lay unusually still, Jack and JoAnn numbly signed papers to donate Jimmy’s organs.

Jack spoke to the doctor about the process while his wife quietly cried and clutched his hand. He asked questions about the transplants. Could the disease be transmitted through the cornea, liver, lungs, kidneys, heart? The doctor explained the procedures and the tests to prevent transmission. He described the dozen or so lives that could be saved. The tired eyes of the doctor met Jack’s. A sturdy hand reached out to firmly clasp Jack’s shaking shoulder. He thanked the shattered couple for the gifts they were giving.

Months later, Jack still could not meet his own eyes in the mirror when he shaved. That is where his memories lived. Countless times over the fifteen years of Jimmy’s life, he had burst with pride when someone said, Ah, he’s got your eyes, man. Tears threatened. It had been many weeks since he had shed a tear. As he stood at the window staring at the emerging lights, the heaviness in his belly became a burning anger. How is it that Christmas lights could have the power to bring him to weeping again, after all this time.

The evening newspaper lay unread on the coffee table. He smelled food, but it was not a meal, merely something to fuel their bodies. JoAnn had given up her practice of bustling around the kitchen with music playing while whipping up delicious and creative meals. Neither of them had any interest. He sighed heavily and turned away from the horrible twinkling lights and pulled the drapes closed.

The two of them spent a quiet Thanksgiving at home. She went to some trouble to serve a small turkey breast and pre-made side dishes. It looked and smelled like Thanksgiving. The taste was flat, though. It may as well have been plastic food, but he smiled a small smile at his wife for her effort. They ate together at the dining room table with tall white taper candles glowing. As they cleared the main course dishes to make room for coffee and pie, he noted with horror that a single place setting remained on the sideboard: one shiny plate, a set of silver flatware gleaming in the candle glow, a neatly folded dark green linen napkin, and