Don't Forget to Breathe (21 page)

Since it was Saturday and considering his late night, Dad would probably sleep ‘til noon. Cozy in my sweats, I sat in bed poring over Mom’s journal. Reading the months prior to her death, her heart came through on each turned page.

Mom must’ve known that Dad would conspire to read her journals, jotting cryptic messages through quotes and essays. I flipped to the first few entries:
It was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul
. (Judy Garland) Then I found an entry about me, and many more:
Each time I look into my daughter’s eyes, I witness unconditional love
.
Leo is my greatest gift to the world
.
My heart and soul lies alone with my daughter
.

She was mad or irritated by the hard slant and indentations in the paper as she wrote:
Beware of the copper headed snake. It slithers and tempts you into submission until its fangs sink deep into your throat, ejecting venomous seduction. It twists and turns, strangles, and suffocates—
Here, she left off and days later began to write on the next page like she’d been meaning to go back to finish the paragraph.

Page after page of internal strife. In neat handwriting she wrote:
My love lies—bleeding
(Thomas Campbell). On October twenty-fourth, the day before she was murdered, boldly printed:
Part of loving you is learning to let go
. I flipped the page, her very last entry, October, Twenty-Fifth—I’ll never know the time it was written:
The copper-headed snake threatens to strike. I’m scared.

“Mom, you led me into Dad’s room. I thought it was to find the boots and knife, but it must be here. I’m missing something in your journal,” I whispered into the pages. “What happened? What am I looking for?” Wet droplets splashed the ledger paper, smearing blue ink. My long sleeve soaked up the wetness before my tears caused unreadable damage. I angled my spine on the headboard and closed my eyes.

Since October twenty-fifth, and to my detriment, I’d periodically recreated the murder. To be in her shoes. To experience her terror. Like a horror movie where you watch between fingers, only this time it was the real deal. Over and over replaying it in my head, no wonder I needed drugs to forget.

My ribcage ached, choking down bile. I had to stop. The psychiatrist had said it wasn’t healthy. Hah—really? I pressed the thermal blanket to my face repressing the urge to bawl.

A bad juju day was enfolding.

Drained, like a languorous invalid I poured out of bed and moaned. Tonight was the Homecoming dance. Reading Henry’s last text, I assumed he had things organized. My first Homecoming Dance with a boy, and a real bummer. Hassling through my closet, I unhooked an olive-green dress. It would do.

Wholly alert now, I needed to get out of the house. Dad didn’t have work which meant the car was available. Snotty snores reverberated from his room making life easier, no begging. Peppering corn flakes into a bowl and adding milk, I angled against the kitchen sink. I tried not to think as I spooned cereal into my mouth.

It was a frosty day as I drove along Westgate, bypassing Henry’s place which appeared quiet. When my cell vibrated, I knew it was Nona because I’d been ignoring her calls, and she’d be ticked-off. Answering devoid of checking the caller, I said, “Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s up with you?”

Positively not Nona. “
Becket
?”

“I’m coming to your house,” he stated point-blank. “Just thought I’d warn you, just in case you’re still in your pj’s.”

“I’m not home.” I couldn’t control my lip from peaking.

“Where are you?”

“Cruising.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I don’t have a destination in mind. I’m just riding around.”

He hemmed into the cell. “Meet me at Earl’s.”

“I’m sick of Earl’s.”

“Where then? You pick the place.”

I loved the cadence of his voice; it made me feel all gooey inside. Then the image Marcy swapping spit with him hardened the goo. “We really don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Why would I be afraid of you?”

“Afraid of my charming personality, that is.”

“You’re head couldn’t get any bigger.” I thought of his flashing eyes. “It won’t fit into your football helmet.”

He snickered softly generating a superb tingle in my ear.

“Leo, I’m parked in front of your house, and Henry’s perched on his car looking shifty eyed. I’m not leaving. You have to come home sooner or later.”

“Are you really at my house?”

“Come home and find out.”

I bargained with him. “Meet me at Earl’s.”

***

I was seated and sipping a cup of coffee when Becket sauntered into Earl’s. My heart fluttered gazing at a succulent piece of candy.

He disposed of the jacket and straddled the chair next to me. The tips of his hair appeared damp and he smelled terrific like an ocean breeze. He made me feel like a grunge with my unmanageable tresses, and I didn’t recall putting a brush to the mess. I speared fingers into my head, optimistic in sedating their disobedient nature.

“You look great, Red,” he said.

“Liar.” I found myself reflected in his astral blue eyes.

“I never lie.” He had a roguish grin. “Your boyfriend followed me.”

“Henry?” I looked around Earl’s. “He’s not here.”

“He will be. Give him a minute to stew. So you admit that Henry’s your boyfriend?”

“Those words never came out of my mouth.” I outlined the top of my mug with my fingertip, thinking how Henry called Becket my boyfriend and vice versa. “And I could say the same to you, with Marcy.”

“That needs straightening. I’d planned on asking you to the dance, and then Henry—”

I raised my hand cutting him off. “My tongue wasn’t lashing Henry’s tonsils last night.”

Becket snorted. “I would’ve tongued the Coach at that point. We weren’t picked to beat Kensington. I was psyched.”

“She latched on like a damn blood sucker,” I said.

He inclined into the chair, satisfied looking with an upward quirk to his mouth.

Riled, I said, “
What
?”

“So you do like me—
a little
?”

Peddling the mug to my mouth, my smug smile betrayed me. I gazed at Becket over the rim, sparks ignited.

“What’s going on?” Henry’s voice yanked me away from Becket’s eyes.

“Hi, Henry,” I said. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“Nope.” His hands rooted into his jean pockets, shoulders hunched. “Why are you here with Kane?”

“Having a cup of coffee with a friend.”

“I warned you about him,” Henry said, grinding his teeth.

From his laxed position, Becket straightened, and induced with a satirical tone, “Henry, you have a problem with me?”

Henry’s face reddened. It appeared as if his temper hit a critical level.

My legs scuffed back the chair. “I’m leaving.” Drawing his rage from Becket, Henry turned to me.

Becket also stood, towering over both of us. “Well then.” He sounded defeated, thumbing his jacket pocket. “We’ll see each other tonight, at the dance.”

Henry glowered. “Not if I can help it.”

I pirouetted in place and marched from Earl’s with Henry acting the lap dog at my ankles. Striding past the eatery’s windowpane I captured Becket’s blazing eyes.

“Are you mad?” Henry said, pursuing after me.

“What time should I be at your house tonight?” Aiming for a social tenor, I wasn’t prepared for a confrontation—yet.

“Don’t you want me to pick you up?”

I thought of Dad’s latest comments about staying clear of Henry. “I’d rather just walk to your house. The dance starts at seven, so how about I come by at six-thirty. Is that alright with you?”

“Sure, fine,” he said, dispirited. “I better tip you off. My Dad’s…different.”

“What’d you mean?”

“I never wanted to dump my problems on you.” He stubbed the toe of his sneakers into the pebbly stones. “My Dad’s…he’s…well…kinda—”

“You don’t have to explain.” I already despised his dad for hitting him and who knows what else. “I’ll see you later.”

Driving along Westgate, I immediately spotted Detective Dyl’s sedan parked in front of my house. “Oh, no. What else could possibly go wrong today?”

I rushed into the side door and sensed the strain. Dad and the detective were standing by the table. “What’s going on?”

“Leo, this is your fault,” Dad thundered. “Why can’t you let it go? It’s over. You can’t bring her back.”

A splash of anguish crossed the detective’s face, did I imagine it?

Butting into Dad’s outburst, Detective Dyl said, “I went to the Baskerville place this morning and found Lily’s picture in another room just like you said. I’ve been informing your father that everything you’d experienced in the attic was evidently true. I also found a burr hole in the attic where the picture once hung, and there was evidence of something like the legs of a bed abrading the wooden floor. Someone was in a hurry to clean it out.”

“So I’m not delusional,” I said feeling vindicated. Dad’s previous flushed complexion turned pasty as he sank to the chair.

“I was driving by and thought you might want to know.” The detective swerved to leave. “And Leo, have a good time at the dance and stay clear of the Baskerville place, understand?”

I shimmied into the olive-green dress and slipped my feet into my stilettos, then a last minute touch up in the mirror. For once my hair didn’t retaliate, razored layers artlessly tousled. For the occasion, I selected my knee-length raincoat and walked into the living room to say goodbye to Dad.

High on a bender, weary-eyed and stinking of booze I kissed him on the cheek.

“Are you coming home tonight?” he inquired with a thick tongue.

“I don’t know what the post plans are, so don’t wait up for me.”

His body wobbled, attempting to sit. “You look stunning, honey. Just like Lily.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Water welled in his eyes as he outspread his arms. I moved into his embrace.

“I don’t like that kid. Be careful.” He added a last minute caveat.

“It’s just a dance.” Hedging from his arms I said, “Make sure you eat something.” It was barely six o’clock, too early to knock on Henry’s door, yet, the dance couldn’t pass quick enough as far as I was concerned.

A crescent moon hung in the sky; it would’ve been a perfect Halloween night. As I click-clacked to the end of the driveway a squall nearly knocked me off my feet. Cinching my winging coat I leaned into the wind and managed to make it to Henry’s in one piece.

Like Henry’s dad had been waiting for my arrival, the door opened.

“Come in, come in,” Ethan James said. “I saw you crossing the street.” He held the door while I stepped into the miniscule foyer. I felt intimidated as Mr. James boarded up to my back radiating heat. “Go on in, Leo.”

His hand smoothed the back of my coat as he guided me into the kitchen. I squared my shoulders with twanging thoughts of those hands beating Henry.

“Keep going, into the living room,” he said.

I hesitated at the border of plush carpet. “I should take off my shoes.”

“Oh, no dear, come on in,” a docile voice heralded from the living room.

“Look who we get to meet again, Lily’s daughter,” Mr. James said with eloquence, and his hand still glued to my back.

“Come closer,” a female voice. “Let me see you.”

Mr. James urged me into the living room. A skeletal woman seated in a wheelchair had a grin plastered on her face.

“Hello, Leo.” She held aloft a welcoming hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. James.” I took hold of her cold hand.

“Call me Martha and this is Ethan, dear,” she greeted, letting loose my hand. “Lily was instrumental in acquiring a position for my Ethan at Star Hallow Elementary. Did she tell you?”

“You met my mother?”

“On one occasion.” Her chin dipped, lowering her gaze. “Ethan talks about Lily quite a bit.”

“Lily never mentioned me?” Ethan asked, sounding intrusive and astonished.

“No, I’m sorry. Not that I remember.” The resemblance between father and son was uncanny. Ethan shed his glasses to blot his eyes with his fingers.

“The administration at my school had to lay-off dozens of teachers. My position was tenuous. Lily implored me to pull up stakes and come to Star Hallow. It was the summer before…” His voice thinned as he paused. “Lily emailed me concerning a teacher retiring at the elementary school, said the position had yet to be filled.” Hooking the glasses over his ears, his disturbing words were perceptible. “So dreadful…so dreadful. Poor Lily.”

His account didn’t make sense. “Mr. James, I mean Ethan.” He seemed to be recovering from his emotional condition. “My mother’s been deceased…it’ll be a year in a few days.”

“It was like yesterday.” Water winked from his eyes. “You and I talked at the funeral, don’t you remember?”

I had no recollection. “I…I wasn’t in the best frame of mind.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Martha emphasized amid limited compassion. She linked her fingers onto her lap. “Ethan, let it rest. You’re upsetting the poor thing.”

I wasn’t upset, and wondered why Henry didn’t provide all the facts.

“Would you like a beverage?”

“No, thank you.”

“You are lovely, like Lily.” Ethan’s mouth twisted, inspecting me from my hair to the tips of my stilettos. I felt on display and uncomfortable. “Doesn’t she, Martha?”

Her angular cheekbones sharpened, grinning. She parroted, “Yes. Lovely.” A ghost of a shadow crossed Martha’s eyes. She looked like a skeleton with flaccid skin. “You’re
just
like your mother, dear.”

I didn’t like the way she said that, almost like she was accusing me of something.

“May I take your coat?” Ethan said, and I felt the warmth of his hands on the collar of my raincoat.

“I’m still cold. I think I’ll leave it on.”

Rather than disengaging his hands, Ethan palmed the nape of my neck. His touch warranted a ping of barbed wire to my nerves. “Your skin
is
cold.”

“Is Henry ready?” I gushed. Striving for poise was difficult with his fingers on my neck.

“He’s a dilly-dallier,” Martha said. “Go up to his room.”

When I turned to look at the staircase leading to the second story, Ethan detached his fingers. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Ethan,” Martha said in a spanking pitch. “I think the young lady is capable of handling the stairs on her own.”

“It’s my pleasure. Come, Leo, this way.”

Again he fastened his hand to my lower back like I might tumble.
What a creepster
. Ethan had no choice but to remove his encroaching hold as I raced up the stairs.

“Henry,” Ethan called. “I have a pretty surprise for you.”

The explicit clank of a lock, then Henry stepped into the hallway. Lacking his hipster glasses he looked rather cute. Coppery hair feathered nicely over his ears, and complete in a white button-down shirt overlaid with a V-neck burgundy sweater. “You’re early.”

“I know, sorry.”

He twitched his head, and I took that as an invitation. As elegant as possible in stiletto’s I entered his room. Just prior to crossing the threshold, a look of repulsion passed from Henry to his father. He worked on relocking the door, not one but three locks.

“Wow.” I watched him dead bolting the door. “Are those really necessary in your own home?”

“They are if you live here.”

“Is something wrong?” I asked, and wondered if the locks were to keep his dad at bay or for another reason.

“No,” he remarked. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“I dunno.” My eyes coasted over his room. If I didn’t count Jimmy Gautier when I was in kindergarten, then this was my first time in a boy’s bedroom. It looked ten times worse than mine ever did. Henry was in the process of booting clothes creating a channel for me to walk.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess, I didn’t expect you up here.”

“No prob.” He tossed clothes into his closet. “Stop that, Henry, it’s okay.”

“Isn’t my dad a tool?”

I didn’t disagree, merely shrugged. A computer and papers lay disorganized on a desk, a decent sized television and an attached game system, and even a compact fridge sitting kitty-corner. “You have a refrigerator in your bedroom?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” He looked brash. “Want a soda?”

“Sure, what do you have?”

“I’ll surprise you.”

“I redistributed a pile of books from his bed to the desk and stared at morose posters decorating the walls. “Did you paint these?”

“Years ago.” He handed me a paper cup with fizzing soda. “Cool, huh?”

“Bloody and sinister, kind of vile.” The soda bubbled tickling my nose as I gulped. Then I became aware of Henry’s fixated gaze. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“My parents are getting on my nerves.”

“Are they fighting a lot?” I realized too late that it was none of my business.

“Have been for years, but that’s not it.” He strode to his dresser and picked up his glasses.

“You never told me that your mom’s in a wheelchair.”

“She’s a frigging hypochondriac. She was fine until three months ago, having luncheons with her hoity-toity friends in the city. I think it’s a play to rein Dad in. Besides, she’s not my mom.”

“She’s not?”

“I don’t remember my real mother. My father married Martha when I was six. She’s a rich bitch. I believe Dad married for money, she’s like ancient.”

“She seemed kind of…
okay
.” Though, the sound of her voice when she said, ‘
You’re just like your mother, dear
,’ was peculiar.

“An act. And my dad’s more of a scumbag than she is.” Using the hem of his V-neck sweater, he obsessively cleaned the lenses of his glasses. “If I had some cash, I’d take you to the city to live.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. In the midst of a nervous chuckle I said, “You’re going to break those glasses if you keep rubbing so hard.”

His fingers ceased and his eyes clicked to meet my face. “Since you’re early let’s have a pre-game warm-up.” He had the joint in his lips before I had a chance to protest.

“Your parents can probably smell that.”

“I couldn’t care less.” He offered me the joint. “I do what I want.”

“I really don’t want to smoke anything tonight.”

“Why not?” He looked stricken. “I plan on getting wasted and having a riot.”

“Then maybe I should drive if you’re getting wasted.” The paper cup balanced in my right hand, I swirled the soda. “I’ll go home and get my dad’s car.”

“No, don’t do that. I’ll be good.” The tip of the joint turned to ash. He then exhaled a lungful of smoke. “Hey, drink up. We have to leave.”

Tipping the cup to my mouth, I swigged the last of the soda and licked my lips. Again, I discerned him watching me with interest. “Okay,”—finally figuring it out— “what’d you put in it?”

“I guaranteed you a good time, didn’t I?” A crooked grin spread his mouth.

“You drugged me?” I squashed the cup in my hand. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Chill, Leo, it’s a mild ride. Just enough ecstasy to make you giddy.” He placed the butt of the joint into a convenient ash tray. “You’ve been so anxious thinking of your Mom chaperoning the dance last year and all.”

“I told you that?”

He faltered, looking sheepish. “Yes, don’t you remember? That night in the cemetery you were practically crying on my shoulder. That’s when I made up my mind to take you to the dance. I understand what’s eating your brain. I want to help.”

I didn’t recollect the circumstances, but in my brain state, it wasn’t unusual. “We should call this dance thing off.”

“I paid for the tickets. We’ll leave when you say the word.” Conflict surged over his face as he tugged on his sweater.

Wretched and appearing legit, Henry was messed, like me. And, I was a sap. “Then let’s go before I get too loopy.”

“Wait here.” His fingers unbolted the locks. “I’ll be right back.” He made a point of clunking the door behind him.

Infuriated at the setback, I’d been coping without indulging in drugs, even during the recurring dreams. Henry believes he’s helping the only way he knows how. I can handle a little ecstasy, right? Maybe it’s just the ticket to make it through this night. Incessant reflections of Mom laughing and dancing had been foreshadowing the event. Exactly a year ago, mom volunteered as a teacher chaperone for the Homecoming Dance, I remember ragging to Nona about not having any fun with Mom standing guard, but it was just the opposite. We had a great time.

I wandered to a shelving unit to examine Henry’s books, DVD’s and CD’s. My stiletto struck a hard object. I crouched into a disarray of garments and grasped the tongue of a black boot.