Don't Forget to Breathe (16 page)

Once alone with Dad in the car, I made a prompt recovery. “I can’t believe what you said. Thanks for throwing me to the wolves.”

“If we would’ve uncovered your mother’s picture and flowers, then I’d be in your corner.” He glanced at me from behind the steering wheel. “After Lily died—”

“Murdered,” I voiced between scissored teeth. “She didn’t just
die
. She was
murdered
, in our home.”

“May I continue?” He wiped a hand over his mouth. “After your mother
was murdered
, I thought you’d have to be placed in a sanatorium. Your delusional nightmares were relentless. Then when you were well enough to go to school, you started taking those mind altering drugs.”

“But—”

He threw his arm in the air, palm up. “I know what you were doing, trying to break away from reality. I do the same thing with my drinking. But whatever drove you back into the old house…to…to relive that day is beyond me.”

“I confronted my fears. And it worked, I did remember something new.” Dad grumbled under his breath. He wasn’t interested in my escapade, nor equipped to handle anything I had to say. Simulating a belligerent attitude, I also grumbled and crossed my arms over my chest. The Westgate sign smeared past my vision. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to school,” Dad said.

“I don’t want to go to school.”

“You skipped yesterday and all that did was cause problems.”

“My messenger bag is still at home. My books and homework are in there.”

He made a ham-fisted U-turn. “I’ll stop at the house. Run in and get your things.”

“But I look terrible. I can’t go to school looking like this.” I gaped at my mismatched clothes.

“Tough. You already had your mental health day.” He pulled into the driveway leaving the engine running.

I charged into the house while simultaneously whisking out of my grody T-shirt. I felt like a quick change artist, dressed in a jiffy, wolfed down a piece of bread, and grabbed a handful of cookies.

I dumped the messenger bag on the floor of the car and hopped in. After stuffing a cookie into my mouth, my fingers worked on detangling my hair.

“Healthy breakfast.” Dad drummed the wheel before putting the car in gear.

“I’m starved,” I said, spitting crumbs from my mouth.

“I was thinking about that wormy new kid. Ever since he moved here trouble started. I don’t like him. I don’t want you near him. I don’t want you to talk to him. Do you understand?” he declared.

We motored through Star Hallow. The quaint village was in motion; people were already walking into Earl’s for their morning brew. I couldn’t set foot in the village without people feeling sorry for me; I’d seen a year of melancholy eyes. Residents of the Hallow were coming to terms with Mom’s unsolved murder, whereas I was just getting started.

“That’ll be kind of hard since I’m going to the Homecoming Dance with him on Saturday.” Dad’s blaming Henry for our problems, the one person who can verify my story.

His bottom lip lumped and his nostrils flared. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“The dance is no big deal. Henry needs a friend.” On the horizon, Star Hallow High and I gathered the strap of the messenger bag over my shoulder. “I don’t understand why you dislike him.” Dad decelerated into the school’s main roadway.

“It’s not just Henry,” his tone simmered. “His father is a slimy weasel.”

“You know his father?” This was news to me. Dad stalled the car near the school’s main entrance.

“We need to sit down and hash this out. I might be late again. And Leo—” He waited until I made eye contact. “In light of this morning’s incident, think about revisiting Dr. Mathias. I’ll make an appointment for you today.”

It’d be hopeless to bicker with him. The shrink route helped to an extent. The side effects of the anti-depressants caused havoc, the tremors increased instead of decreased, insomnia had escalated my headaches and the nauseous stomach, it wasn’t worth it. That’s when I acquired Dave Galbraith, hooking me on a prodigious rollercoaster ride.

Star Hallow High frowned upon tardiness, though for me, the girl whose mother was murdered, I was given a reprieve from castigation and detention. The bell clanged for change of classes, and the amassing bodies sped through the corridors in clamoring mayhem. I rambled to my locker on the second level. Next year when I gained senior status a convenient locker would be my privilege on the main floor.

Prior to hightailing upward, it had been my custom to pinpoint Becket’s senior locker in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. Sure enough, I couldn’t miss that head of pale hair languishing over to his shoulders as he reached into the locker.

Then Marcy came waltzing around the corner. Her knit shirt should’ve been outlawed in school, boosting mounds of boobage. It looked like comedy central, girls and boys craned their necks to view her impressive rack.

It panged me to witness Marcy outstretch her arm and ring a piece of his satiny hair behind his ear. Her mouth moved, reading lips wasn’t my forte. Her smile faded into a frown; apparently not thrilled with his return. Unanticipated, her gaze shot right to me and the planes of her face hardened, a jagged smirk sketched her face. Becket must’ve noted her sharp expression because he began to turn.

Marcy hampered his round-about by cinching his neck, drawing him to her mouth. My heart fractured as his hands settled on her shoulders. I didn’t linger and whooshed up the stairs bumping through kids.
This day couldn’t get any worse
.

That’s when I noticed Nona advancing toward me. Her mocha glow waned with buckling lips. “Where have you been? You don’t return my calls. I even stopped by your house yesterday and no one was home. I don’t know what’s going on with you.”

Wading through curious onlookers, I rounded an arm over her petite shoulders, shepherding her to the side wall. “I’m sorry, Nona. I have so much to tell you, but it’ll have to wait until later.”

“When then?” she said not being put off.

“Can you manage a night without Reggie? Dad’s been working late, and you can help me go through some things of my mother’s.”

Her expression distorted like she sucked a lemon. “No offense, Leo. But sounds kind of creepy. And I mean that in only the nicest of terms.”

“No offense taken.” I managed a polite nod. “I’ll explain tonight. Can you come over right after school? We’ll order a pizza.”

“We have cheerleading practice tonight. Didn’t you get my text?”

“Oh cripes—” I angled my head back onto the wall, closing my eyes. “My uniform’s at home. And then there’s Marcy.” I pictured her kissing Becket.

“I have news about Becket and Marcy that’ll interest you.” Nona squeezed my arm. “And I wouldn’t beat yourself up. Mrs. Zweigler surprised us with this practice during yesterday’s announcements, you weren’t in school. I did text you.”

“Yeah, I read your text last night, but still forgot. You’ll understand why, when I tell you what happened.”

Her eyebrows hiked up to her forehead. “You’re going to make me wait all day. I’ll explode.”

***

Delving into Mom’s treasure trove of boxes pissed off Dad to no end. So prior to investing energy into carting the composition notebooks from the basement, I dialed his cell to double-check on his imminent arrival. When it went straight to voice mail, I keyed his office number. “Mr. Nelson’s office,” answered an unfamiliar voice.

“Is Mr. Nelson in?”

“May I ask whose calling?”

“This is his daughter, Leo.”

“Hello, Leo. We’re done for today. He just left. You can try him on his cell.”

“Is this Regina?”

“My name is Ellen.”

“Dad didn’t tell me he had a new secretary. What happened to Regina, did she get a promotion?”

“Er-r…” she sounded tentative, “You should ask your father.”

Four minutes later my cell rang. Dad. “Leo. I missed your call.”

“Just wondering when you were coming home.”

“It might be a late one. I’m getting something to eat and then back to work. Are you home?”

His remark struck a nerve, especially since his new secretary mentioned they were done for the day. “Yes, I’m home. Nona’s coming over.”

“I like Nona. I don’t want that James’s boy in my house, understand?”

His comment left a sour taste in my mouth. “Yep, see you later.”

Nona promised she’d be here by six and I ordered the pizza to be delivered. I’d finished transporting the last of the composition notebooks onto the kitchen table when my cell phone buzzed. “Hey, Henry,” my tone chipper, “we need to talk.”

“Yes we do.” He sounded tense. “Want to go out?”

“I can’t right now. Nona’s coming over for pizza.” Dead silence. “Henry, are you there?”

“Detective Dyl just left. He paid my family a little visit.”

“I think I know why.”

“Duh—you could’ve warned me.”

“I searched for you in school. You weren’t at my cheerleading practice.”

“Upset that I wasn’t there to chauffeur you home?”

Whoa, he was grouchy. “I took the late bus home.”

“You played hooky yesterday,” he said, “and I stayed home today.”

“Are you sick or just loafing?”

“Loafing, and I went to the mansion and guess what I found?”

“I already know,” I cut him to the quick. “Isn’t that what the detective came to talk to you about?”

“Yep. And my father tore into me, big time. You really should’ve given me a heads up.”

“Oh, no—” picturing a bloody face—“Did he beat you up again?”

I endured a temporary silence. Then he said, “He wasn’t happy. I’ll live.”

“Henry, Nona just walked in.” I felt terrible at having to cut him off. “We need to talk more, can I call you later?”

He grumped into the phone and hung up.

Nona stood in the middle of the kitchen looking like a beautiful drill sergeant, knuckling her hips. “I still can’t believe you blew Becket off to go with that boy.”

“C’mon, you know what happened.”

“Yeah.” She flapped her hands, commiserating. “Marcy is a sleazeball.”

“Did you hear what she was saying at practice?” I opened the fridge and doled out cans of soda.

“I heard.” Nona’s tongue spiked from her mouth. Mimicking Marcy’s voice, she said, “We’re planning an all-nighter.” She overstated a lolling head roll.

“I wanted to pluck the black roots out of her head,” I said. “And then she tries to be buddy-buddy asking me how I’m feeling today. Arrr—”

“She thinks she has Becket by the curlicues.”

“That’s a visual I didn’t need.”

Expressing a mischievous wink, she waved me into the living room. “C’mere, girl. I’ve been dying to tell you something.” She bounced on the couch, patting the spot next to her. Like what she had to say was strictly for my ears alone and the house had detectable eavesdroppers. “We both know that Marcy basically lied to get Becket to go to the dance, right? Well, it seems that he’s having second thoughts. He’s been trying to renege, and Marcy won’t hear of it. She’s like a clinging vine.”

“Marcy was kissing him in school today.”

Nona cursed while I tipped the cold can of soda to my mouth.

“Reggie said he’s not into her as much as she’s into him,” she enlightened. “Becket’s been down lately.”

“So Reggie’s filling you in on Becket’s love life?”

“Only when I ask
real sweet
like.” She grinned, curving a manicured eyebrow.

Following the arrival of cheesy pizza, Nona and I parked at the kitchen table and began sorting through the avalanche notebooks.

“What am I looking for?” she said while chewing on pizza, fingering through pages.

“Anything that mentions my mom.” I crumpled a paper napkin, cleaning grease from my hands. “What I’m really searching for is Mom’s personal journal. I’ll know her hand writing when I see it.”

“Why would she keep her personal journal with her students?”

“I don’t know. I’m looking for a needle in a haystack,
okay
?”

“You got that right.” Her head waggled. “When did you become Nancy Drew? It’ll be impossible to uncover something the police overlooked. I can only imagine what’s eating your brain.”

I updated her on the comprehensive events of the past two days, comprising of Henry’s recent call and the detective’s surprise visit to his family. Her face bloomed with a reddish hue; it looked like she was ready to vomit, and her eyes blistered. “You could be dead right now, girl. Do you know that?”

“I could’ve been killed with my mother, and sometimes I wish I was.”

“Stop talking like that. They’ll put you away in a strait jacket.”

“Do they still use strait jackets?”

“Why—you wanna to find out?”

“Not really,” I said abstracted, picking at the crusty pizza. “C’mon, let’s try to put a dent in these.”

“Leo, some of them are old. Why would your mom keep these? Why not trash ‘em?”

“Just go through the ones from the last two years. Mom was really sentimental. Maybe she thought if one of her students became a well-known author or politician or even an actor, she’d have something of theirs when they were young.”

Forty-five minutes ticked by. Tedious riffling pages and reading became annoying. I slammed my back into the chair and scrubbed my eyes. “Arrgh…this isn’t getting us anywhere. What was I thinking?”

“I’m thinking we need some music,” Nona said. She stood and stretched.

“You’re right. I wish I had one of those wireless speakers.” I rushed into my bedroom and returned with my iPod and dock. “Anything special you want to listen to?”

“Something that’ll keep me awake.”

A popular tune slipped through the speakers and Nona began to move. “Good one, hun.” She splayed arms over her head, swaying limber and agile like a lock of hair in a breeze. “Girl, loosen up.”

Dancing carefree, we gabbed through three songs, then Nona yanked her head toward the table. “Let’s get back to work, I have to leave soon.”

The prolonged drudgery concluded when Nona whooped. “It’s Becket Kane’s.” She held up the composition notebook, pointing to his scribbled name. “His journal when he was a sophomore in your mom’s class.”

Taking my chair with me I darted over to her side of the table. Together we thumbed through the pages. We read a few essays and poetry. “These aren’t too bad. I’d never guess him for a prolific writer.”

“Listen to this one.” In an overdramatic voice, she read, “
Her moon-spun locks glisten in the rays of day/ eyes like blue sapphires turn to me/ I shudder/ Feasting upon her lusciousness/ She has bewitched me with her beauty/ I am but a boy/ Her maturity is titillating/ She wiled her way into my heart/ My teacher in body and soul/ I will love her until the end of days/ She laughs and jest and pierces me through.
’ Wow, this is so corny.”

Nona and I giggled putting our heads together.

She added, “And look what your mother wrote on the page.” She indicated Mom’s legible cursive.
Nice poem. You’re selling yourself short, Becket. Tell the girl how you feel
. And she drew a smiley face in the shape of a heart.

“It doesn’t sound like him, does it?” I said.

“It sounds like he’s writing about your mom. Moon-spun locks, eyes like blue sapphires. Then this line, my teacher in body and soul. Freaky shit. Your mom had blue eyes, right?”

“Yes, she was beautiful.”

“It’s evident she bewitched Becket.”

“That day at Earl’s he said I looked exactly like her, but I don’t. My natural hair color is reddish-blonde, and I have green eyes.”

“He meant not an exact replica, but
beautiful
like your mom.”

“You don’t think—no—its not possible—is it?” Nona’s brown eyes ringed with white, clear and chilling.

“What do you think?” I whispered.

“Becket and—your mom?”

“That’s a definite
no
.” I didn’t like the sound of that. “Oh my gosh, Nona. You make me wanna barf.”

“It’s on the news all the time. A teacher falling for their student. Or student falling for their teacher.”

“No way, not my mother,” I uttered, adamant, with a negative head shake. “She—No—Never.”

“You’re probably right. That kind of heat would’ve hotwired gossip channels in less than a second.”

I breathed a vast sigh.

“I’m not writing Becket off, hun. This poem makes him look guilty as sin.” She gave me one of her eyebrow tweaks. “And I remember the police were merciless in cross-examining your Dad. They always blame the husband first.”

“Nona—you’re killing me here. First you have Becket as Mom’s young lover, and now my dad.”

She hitched up both shoulders. “I’m just saying.”

“Dad had an iron-clad alibi. His secretary attested that he was in his office all day. He never left except to go to the men’s room. You see how he’s become unglued, drinking himself into oblivion.”

“Yeah, he’s a mess. Well.” She sighed. “I guess my job here is done.” She pushed back the chair.

“Do you have to leave?” I whined tracking her. “Can’t you stay for another hour?”

“I have to finish a lab for Mr. Denton’s class. It’ll take me the rest of the night.”

“Thanks for your help.” I hugged her.

“See you tomorrow.” Nona walked into the night and I heard her car motoring away.

Henry must’ve been spying on the house because the side door squealed open. “Man, I thought she’d never leave,” he said encroaching into the kitchen.

“Henry, you shouldn’t walk in like that, what if my Dad was home?”

“I knew he wasn’t home.”

“It still isn’t right. What if I was taking a shower or something?” I frowned at his expressive lewd grin.

Making himself at home, he unzipped his jacket and filched a bottle of beer from the fridge. In doing so I checked out his face for any signs of abuse, but none showed, at least not on the outside of his clothes.

Following a vigorous glug, he swiped his hand over his mouth. “So what gives? I want to hear it from you.” He settled onto a chair and teetered on the back two legs.

Taking the seat opposite of him and for the hundredth time, I detailed the previous day.

“What do we think—some low-life setting up a home in the Lucien attic or what?”

“I don’t know,” I said and collected my mouth to the side. “We don’t see many homeless guys loitering around the Hallow.”

“Could’ve hopped off one of the train cars, passing through,” Henry tried to justify, “needing a place to cozy-up for a while.”

“If that was the case, then he’s probably long gone after the police were in there searching around.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. The mansion’s huge. The dude could’ve been there hiding some place.”

“It still doesn’t answer why my mother’s picture was hanging there or the flowers or the bed with blood stains.” I jiggled my can of soda, fluid sloshed at the bottom.

“Kind of being far-fetched, aren’t you?” he said. “You don’t know for sure if it’s blood.”

“Maybe. Where did the picture, bed and flowers disappear to?” I peered at him wanting an answer. “The guy who attacked me must’ve removed everything and replaced it with your dummy.”

“Pretty clever of the dude.”

“Everything’s still in the mansion. I know it,” I said with conviction, narrowing my eyes. “And Detective Dyl must’ve figured that out, now that you confirmed I’m not a total basket case.” Henry was intent on peeling the label on the bottle of beer. Not responding or corroborating my statement, I felt a sudden qualm. “You did tell him right? About seeing the bed and my mother’s picture, didn’t you?”

His chest swelled and his eyelids winked behind his glasses. “Not precisely.”