Breathe into Me (4 page)

“No, I bought it here.” He regarded the vehicle fondly, leaning one hip against the rear. “I like it; fits me better than what I have at home.” He opened the hatchback and watched me quickly unload the groceries. “You seem eager to get rid of me.”

“Maybe.” There was no conviction in the word. It had been a long time since I’d just talked to a boy like this, and it was nicer than I cared to admit. Most were after only one thing, which made the game old and depressing. Everett had come to my rescue in the bar, however, something that deserved more than the cold shoulder.

Unfortunately, old habits died hard.

“Why?” He lifted one arm and took a dramatic sniff. “Do I smell?”

The action brought out a surprised laugh from me. He grinned at my response, twin dimples creasing his cheeks again, and I couldn’t look away. He really was handsome; I totally understood why Ashley was ready to fight me for him.
Rugged
was probably the best word to describe him. His shoulders were broad like a football player, but he didn’t act like any jock I’d ever met. I remembered the cold look he’d given Ashley and the blank hardness when he’d stared down Macon, but I saw none of that now.

“So what’s your other job?”

“Why, so you can stalk me there, too?” The words came out almost flirty, and I blinked. Everett just kept smiling at me, and I rolled my eyes. “See you around,” I echoed, turning the cart around toward the store … and paused. My hands worked the handle of the cart nervously. Finally, I turned back around. “Fine, give me your number.”

Everett leaned inside an open window and pulled out a receipt and pen. He scrawled a few numbers, and then handed it back to me. “You’re a tough nut to crack.”

I gave him a bemused stare.
Pot, meet kettle
. I glanced at the writing, and then stuffed the paper into my pocket. “I gotta get back to work.”

Walking the cart back toward the supermarket, I resisted the urge to look back. I added a few more carts scattered through the empty spaces to my stack, resolutely refusing to peer in his direction. I wasn’t going to play this game, I wasn’t.

Then, just as I got to the door of the store, I hazarded a glance back just to see if he’d left yet.

He waved to me, still leaning back against that ratty hatchback.

Dammit
.

* * *

I used my mother’s car to pick up my little brother that afternoon before changing and riding my bike to the sandwich shop, my second job. It was already dark by the time I got home to find my grandmother in the middle of a shouting match with my mother. I almost walked back out the door, but the eagle eye of my grandmother singled me out before I could make my escape. “And where have you been?”

“Working.”

“You were supposed to watch your brother this afternoon.”

I glared at my grandmother. “I told you before, I was scheduled to work tonight …”

“Family should come first, family
always
comes first.”

“Oh that’s rich, coming from you.” I could count on one hand the number of times I’d either seen or spoken to my grandmother before I was fifteen. We’d lived on the opposite sides of the country, but my grandma Diana had not been a part of our lives. She’d never even come visit until one tragic accident had taken everything away from me.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

This time I kept my mouth shut, looking over at my mother and silently begging her to help me in this argument. She, however, simply looked relieved to no longer be the brunt of her mother’s ire.

Resentment built up inside my heart. I still remembered when Gretchen St. James had been one of the strongest women I knew, a great mother. Now, she got herself drunk at every opportunity so she wouldn’t have to deal with reality. She rolled with the punches life threw at her, not even bothering to try and fight for anything. When I was being honest with myself, we weren’t so dissimilar, she and I, and that part pissed me off.

“I’m going to bed,” I muttered, and ignoring my grandmother I moved around the couch and toward my room. She came after me, her strident voice bellowing, “Don’t you turn your back on me!” Her words fell on deaf ears. I beat her down the hall and managed to lock my bedroom door on her.

Despite being the type that criticized neighbors for vocally airing their dirty laundry around the park, my grandmother had no problem making a scene all on her own. She screeched and banged on my door, and I knew the thin walls and windows of the mobile home let all the neighbors know what was happening. It was humiliating living like this; there was no privacy except for those times when I didn’t bother to come home.

Those nights, though, depending on whose bed I slept in, were often worse in their own way.

My grandmother beat and hollered outside my room, eventually resorting to kicking the wood. The whole trailer shook under her wrath, but the cheap door held firm. Finally she left me alone, and as I slipped my earbuds into my ears I heard her take up again with my mother. Both women went back to yelling at the top of their lungs as Rammstein’s “Du Hast” drowned out their voices.

* * *

My mother woke up hung over the next morning and asked me if I could drive my little brother to school. I got him ready for classes and made breakfast for both him and my mother. My grandmother had left earlier for her own job so I didn’t have to face her barbs, which was a relief. Mornings like this, I could almost pretend we were a normal family again … almost.

But it was my baby brother’s innocent question in the car that turned my world upside down yet again: “Sissy, what’s a ‘whore’?”

I’d almost swerved off the road before gaining control of myself. Still, I waited a few breaths before answering his question. “Where’d you hear that word, Goober?”

“Gamma called you that a few times,” he answered in his high, piping voice. He met my eyes in the rearview mirror, and his face was perfectly solemn. “What is it?”

I didn’t know what to tell him at first. Finally, after several more breaths, I said, “Honey, it’s a word that grandmas and little brothers shouldn’t use.”

“Why?”

I couldn’t help the mirthless laugh that escaped. “Because it’s mean. Do you like to be called stupid?”

“No.”

“Exactly, because you’re not stupid. You’re smart, very smart.” And he was. Even at four years old, Davy St. James was arguably the smartest one in the entire house. He was also the kindest and most loving child I’d ever met, and I wanted to shelter him from the cruelties of the world for as long as I could.

Apparently, the rest of my family didn’t share the same inclination.

“But if Gamma said you were one, then it can’t be bad, right?”

Tears sprang to my eyes. God, how I loved my little brother. It tore at me that he was in this position. “I’m sorry, baby, but it’s a bad word. Not something I want you to repeat.”

He digested my answer silently. “So I shouldn’t tell anyone?”

I shook my head emphatically. “No, that’ll get your mouth washed out with soap and Mama would get called. Teachers don’t like that.”

He’d immediately switched the subject after that, but the conversation wouldn’t leave my mind all day. In only a few years he’d be old enough to know what the word meant, and I couldn’t bear it if he in any way connected the word to me. I felt as trapped in my situation as a bird in a cage; there had to be a way out, and I was desperate enough to consider all my options.

I did a quick Google search on my phone at lunch for places locally where I could take my GED test. I’d been thinking about doing that for a long time, but ever since the weekend’s fiasco it was foremost in my mind. Because I didn’t have my diploma, there were some things I couldn’t do, some jobs I would never qualify for. It wasn’t the perfect choice, but a GED would be a step in the right direction.

I hadn’t seen either Macon or Ashley since I’d left the bar, although both blew up my phone the last several days with texts. I tried to ignore them, but the flood had left me uneasy. I couldn’t remember if I’d told him where I worked, but he definitely knew where I lived. His messages alternated between cursing me out for not returning his calls, then saying he wanted me to move in with him.

It bothered me that, after what happened at the bar, he still thought it was a viable option.

Based on some of his messages, it would have been a good idea to stay somewhere with a friend. By separating myself from Ashley, however, I’d cut off the one tie to anyone I could have called “friend.” When I wouldn’t reply to requests for a ride or money, her texts had turned nasty. I didn’t listen to the voice-mail messages anymore, just deleting them as they arrived, but I couldn’t miss her texts. She called me every name under the sun and promised to make my life hell—like it wasn’t already.

I pulled out the crumpled receipt from my pocket and stared at the numbers Everett had given to me. Grabbing my phone, I brought up the Web browser and typed in the area code.

New York City.
Huh
. What was an East Coast boy doing down in Mississippi? I briefly toyed with saving the numbers on my phone, then erased them and pocketed the receipt again.

Heading back out to the front after break was over, I saw Clare didn’t have a bagger so I moved in to help her. The new checker was about my age and had transferred here only a couple weeks earlier. The redhead seemed nice, although we hadn’t had much chance to talk away from the line. We worked in amicable silence for the next few customers, and then when we had a free moment she sidled sideways toward me. “Lacey, watch out for Mrs. Holloway.”

I peered in confusion at the other girl. She had a concerned look on her face that worried me. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“I don’t know.” She looked around, and then leaned in toward me. “But she asked Rob about you, and didn’t seem happy when he said you were doing well.”

Rob Hines was the supervisor in charge of both the checkers and the baggers. We got along well enough; he left you alone for the most part unless you did something wrong. But Mrs. Holloway was a friend of my grandmother’s. My grandmother had once insinuated that she’d “pulled strings” to get me this job. I’d almost quit when she’d told me that, but I needed the work and nobody else was hiring. It was also something my grandmother would say just to prove I was indebted to her, but now it had me worried.

“Just be careful,” Clare murmured, then pasted on a smile as the next customer came through the line. Chills snaked through my body, my brain turning over what could possibly be the problem as I automatically loaded up the bags. I knew my grandmother and the store manager went to the same church; perhaps my grandmother had bent her ear on my reputation?

The remainder of my shift was difficult. I didn’t see Mrs. Holloway the rest of the day, but couldn’t shake Clare’s conversation from my head. It was silly to think there was some kind of conspiracy against me, yet that’s what it felt like. I needed this job; the sandwich shop had crappy hours, usually less than twenty a week, and barely paid minimum wage.

I was ready to get out of there when my shift was over, and punched out as soon as I could. Changing quickly out of my work clothes, I slung my purse over one shoulder and headed out of the Employee area. I’d barely gotten a few steps outside the marked door, only to stop up short when I saw Samantha walk into the store.

Her eyes widened in recognition when she saw me but otherwise there was little reaction as she walked past me. The chills from earlier spread through me as I realized that Samantha would probably tell Ashley, who might tell Macon I was working here. In fact, it occurred to me that the attacks had started simultaneously from both of them.

As desperately as I wanted to believe that we were over and I was finally moving on, I couldn’t shake the fear that my life was about to get much worse.

* * *

< So I’m taking the GED test. >

I stared at the text message for a long time before pressing Send. The receipt in my hand by now was ready to fall apart; it hadn’t left my pocket for the last week. The digits had almost completely disappeared; if I hadn’t already unconsciously memorized the number, I wouldn’t be able to read them anymore.

My hours at the sandwich shop had been cut again, so I was free for the entire afternoon. I definitely wasn’t ready to deal with home right now so, pocketing my phone, I unlocked my bike and headed south toward the beach. Of all the things in this town, the beaches were my favorite. If I could live there permanently, I would be happy. My grandmother’s trailer park wasn’t too far from the Gulf, and I visited the water as much as I could.

Summer was in full swing down along the water. Oyster Cove would never be as big as Daytona or Panama Beach in terms of drawing the crowds, but that didn’t mean the town didn’t try. The beaches were full of pale sand trucked in from elsewhere, and kept well groomed for local and visitors alike.

A volleyball tournament was being held by one of the piers, and I locked my bike back up around a nearby pole. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I saw I’d received a text message.

< I’m assuming this is the blonde who thinks I smell? >

I smiled but didn’t reply immediately, instead walking toward the water. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sand was hot around my sandals. Slipping my shoes off, I moved close to the water, then sat down on the damp sand. My shorts would be wet when I stood but I didn’t care.

Only then did I take out my phone and answer the text.

< It feels like forever since I’ve been in school. What happens if I fail the test? >

I wasn’t sure why I was telling him this. I guess texting seemed so much safer than seeing him in person, or even talking on the phone. This was like asking a stranger online a question, not a boy I’d met in real life. When you thought about it, he was still a stranger to me anyway.

My phone buzzed.

< So then you take it again until you pass. >

< Yeah. >

I glanced over toward the volleyball players, but they were ignoring me. I was alone on the beach, and that’s how I liked it.

< What are you up to? >