Ten Tiny Breaths (4 page)

She frowns. “Have you met him? How do you
know it’s a guy?”

“Because no chick blasts that shit at six in
the morning, Livie.”

“Oh. I guess I can’t hear it in my room.” Her
brow puckers as she studies the adjoining wall. “That’s
dreadful.”

I give her a quirked brow. “Ya think?
Especially when I worked until eleven last night!” I started my
first shift at a Starbucks in a nearby neighborhood. They were
desperate and I have a stellar reference letter thanks to my old
manager, a twenty-four year old mama’s boy named Jake with a crush
on the bad ass redhead. I was smart enough to play nice with him.
It paid off.

With a pause and then a shrug, Livie shouts,
“Dance party!” and cranks up the volume.

The two of us jump around my room in a
giggling fit until we hear the pounding on our front door.

Livie’s face drains of all color. She’s like
that—all bark, no bite. Me? I’m not worried. I throw on my ratty
purple house coat and proudly strut over.
Let’s see what he has
to say about that.

My hand is on the lock, about to throw the
door open, when Livie whispers harshly, “Wait!”

I pause and turn back to find Livie’s
waggling index finger, like my mother used to do when she was
scolding. “Remember, you promised! That was the deal. We’re
starting fresh here, right? New life? New Kacey?”

“Yeah. And?”

“And, can you please try not to be an ice
queen? Try to be more like the Before Kacey? You know, the one who
doesn’t stone-wall everyone who comes close? Who knows, maybe we
can make some friends here. Just try.”

“You want to make friends with old men,
Livie? If that’s the case, we could have stayed home,” I say
coolly. But her words sting like a long needle inserted straight
into my heart. From anyone else, they would slide off my tough
Teflon exterior. The problem is I don’t know who Before Kacey is. I
don’t remember her. I hear her irises shined when she laughed, her
rendition of “Stairway to Heaven” on the piano made her dad tear
up. She had hordes of friends, and she snuck in hugs and kisses and
handholding with her boyfriend whenever she could.

Before Kacey died four years ago and all
that’s left is a mess. A mess who spent a year in physical
rehabilitation to repair her shattered body, only to be released
with a shattered soul. A mess whose grades did a nose dive into the
bottom of the class. Who sunk into a world of drugs and alcohol for
a year as a way of coping. After Kacey doesn’t cry, not a single
tear. I’m not sure she knows how. She doesn’t open up about
anything; she can’t stand the feel of hands because they remind her
of death. She doesn’t let people in, because pain trails closely.
The sight of a piano sends her into a dizzying haze. Her only
solace is to beat the crap out of giant sand bags until her
knuckles are red and her feet are raw and her body—held together
with countless metal rods and pins—feels like it’s going to
crumble. I know After Kacey well. For better or for worse, I’m sure
I’m stuck with her.

But Livie remembers Before Kacey and for
Livie, I’ll try anything. I push the corners of my mouth out to
form a smile. It feels awkward and foreign and, by the wince on
Livie’s face, probably looks a little bit menacing. “Okay.” I go to
turn the handle.

“Wait!”

“God, Livie! What now?” I sigh with
exasperation.

“Here.” She hands me her pink and black
polka-dot umbrella. “He could be a serial killer.”

Now I tip my head back and laugh. Such an
odd, rare sound because I don’t do it often but it’s genuine. “And
what should I do with this? Poke him?”

She shrugs. “Better than beating the snot out
of him like you’ll want to do.”

“Okay, okay, let’s see what we’re dealing
with here.” I lean over to the window beside the door and push back
the gossamer curtain, looking for a graying man with a faded
too-small t-shirt and black socks. A tiny part of me sparks at the
idea that it’s that Trent guy from the laundromat. Those smoldering
eyes invaded my thoughts several times without invitation over the
past few days, and I’ve had a hard time kicking him out when he’s
there. I’ve even caught myself staring at the adjoining wall
between our apartments like a creeper, wondering what he’s doing.
But the music is coming from the other side so it can’t be him.

A corn silk blonde ponytail wags back and
forth outside our door instead. “Seriously?” I snort, fumbling with
the lock.

Barbie’s standing outside. No joke. A real
life five-foot-nine, highly toned, blonde bombshell with plump lips
and giant periwinkle blue irises. I find myself speechless, taking
in her tiny cotton shorts and the way the “
Play Boy
” logo
distorts as it stretches across the front of her tank top.
Those
are so not real. They’re the size of hot air balloons.

A soft drawl breaks my trance. “Hi, I’m Nora
Matthews, from next door. Everyone calls me Storm.”

Storm? Storm from next door with giant
balloons sewn on to her chest?

A throat clears and I realize I’m still
staring at them. I quickly avert my gaze back to her face.

“It’s okay. The doctor gave me a free upsize
while I was asleep,” she jokes with a nervous giggle, earning a
choking cough of shock from Livie.

Our new neighbor, Nora, a.k.a 'Storm,’ with
giant, fake boobs. I wonder if Tanner gave her a “no orgies, keep
thy peace” speech when he handed her the keys.

She extends a toned arm and I immediately
tense up, fighting not to visibly recoil. This is why I hate
meeting new people. In this diseased day and age, can’t we all just
wave at each other and move along?

A raven black head pops into my view as Livie
dives to grab Storm’s outstretched hand. “Hi, I’m Livie.” I
silently thank my sister for saving me yet again. “This is my
sister, Kacey. We’re new to Miami.”

Storm offers Livie a perfect smile and turns
back to me. “Look, I’m so sorry about the music.”
So she can
tell I’m the instigator
. “I had no idea someone moved in next
door. I work nights and my five year old has me up early in the
morning. It’s all I can do to stay awake.”

It’s then that I notice the whites of her
eyes are bloodshot. Guilt stabs me, knowing there’s a kid involved.
Dammit
. I hate feeling guilt, especially for strangers.

Livie clears her throat and settles a
“remember not to be a bitch,” gaze on me.

“No big deal. Just maybe, not quite so loud?
Or so 1980’s?” I suggest.

“My dad got me hooked on AC/DC. I know, not
cool.” She grins. “I’m taking requests. Anything but Hannah
Montana, please!” She holds her hands in front of her in sign of
surrender, earning a giggle from Livie.

“Mommy!” A tiny version of Storm in striped
pajamas appears, tucking herself behind her mother’s shapely long
legs as she peers up to examine us with her thumb in her mouth.
She’s about the most gorgeous little kid I’ve ever seen.

“These are our new neighbors, Kacey and
Livie. This is Mia,” Storm introduces, her hand stroking the little
girl’s dark blonde waves.

“Hi!” Livie hollers with that tone reserved
for little kids. “Pleased to meet you.”

No matter what kind of mess I’ve turned into,
little kids have the power to temporarily melt the layer of
protective ice coating my heart. Them and pot-bellied puppies.
“Hello, Mia,” I offer softly.

Mia ducks back with hesitation, glancing up
at Storm.

“She’s shy around strangers,” Storm
apologizes then looks down to address Mia. “It’s okay. Maybe these
girls will be your new friends.”

The words ‘new friends’ is all it takes. Mia
steps out from behind her mother’s legs and wanders into our
apartment, dragging a faded yellow fleece blanket behind her. At
first she simply takes in our place, likely investigating for hints
about her new ‘friends.’ When her eyes finally rest on Livie, they
don’t shift again.

Livie drops to her knees to meet Mia face to
face, a giant grin stretching her lips. “I’m Livie.”

Mia holds up her blanket, her face serious.
“This is Mr. Magoo. He’s my friend.” Now that she’s talking, I can
see a giant gap where she’s lost her two front teeth. She’s
instantly that much cuter.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Magoo.” Livie squeezes
the fabric between her thumb and index finger, mock-shaking its
hand. Livie must have passed the Mr. Magoo test because Mia grabs
her arm and tugs her out the door. “Come meet my other friends.”
They disappear into Storm’s apartment, leaving Storm and I
alone.

“You guys aren’t from around these parts.”
It’s a statement, not a question. I hope she leaves it at that.
“Have you been here long?” Storm’s evaluating eyes float over our
sparse living room, much like her daughter’s had, hanging over a
framed picture of us with my parents on the living room wall. Livie
pulled it off Aunt Darla’s family room wall as we ran out the
door.

I silently admonish Livie for hanging it up
there for all to see, to ask questions, even though I have no right
to. There are a few times when Livie digs her heels in. That’s one
of them. If it were up to me, it’d be in Livie’s room where I can
work up to visiting it occasionally.

It’s just too hard for me to look at their
faces.

“Just a few days. Isn’t it homey?”

Storm’s mouth curves into a smirk at my
attempt at humor. Livie and I ransacked the local Dollarama for
some basic necessities. Aside from that and the family picture, the
only thing we’ve added is the scent of bleach in place of
mothballs.

Storm nods, folding her arms over her chest
as if to ward off a chill. There is no chill. Miami is hot, even at
six a.m. “It’s what works for now, right? That’s all we can ask
for,” she says softly. Somehow I get the feeling she’s talking
about more than the apartment.

There’s a squeal of delight next door and
Storm laughs. “Your sister’s good with kids.”

“Yeah, Livie has some sort of magnetic power
over them. No kid can resist her. Back home she volunteered at our
local daycare a lot. I’m sure she’ll have at least twelve of her
own.” I lean in for a mock whisper behind my hand. “Wait ’til she
learns what she needs to do with boys for that to happen.”

Storm chuckles softly. “I’m sure she’ll learn
soon enough. She’s striking. How old is she?”

“Fifteen.”

She nods slowly. “And you? You in
college?”

“Me?” I heave a sigh, fighting the urge to
clam up. She’s asking a lot of personal questions about us. I hear
Livie's voice inside my head.
Try …
“No, I’m working right
now. School will come later. Maybe in another year or two.”
Or
ten
. I’ll make sure Livie’s set up before me, that’s for sure.
She’s the one with a bright future ahead of her.

There’s a long pause as we’re both lost in
our own thoughts. “It’s what works for now, right?” I echo her
earlier words and I see an understanding in those blue eyes, thinly
veiling her own dark closet of skeletons.

I wander half-asleep into the kitchen to find Livie
and Mia at the little dining table, playing
Go Fish
.

“Good morning!” Livie sings.

“Good morning!” Mia mimics.

“It’s like
eight
a.m.” I mutter as I
grab the cheap jug of OJ I splurged on the other day from the
fridge.

“How was work?” Livie asked.

I take a giant gulp right from the jug.
“Shit.”

There’s a sharp gasp and I find Mia’s short
finger stabbing the air in my direction. “Kacey just said a naughty
word!” she whispers.

I cringe as I catch Livie’s unimpressed
glare. “I get one, okay?” I say, looking for a way to excuse
myself. I’ll have to watch my language if Mia’s going to be hanging
around.

Mia’s head cocks to one side, likely
considering my logic. Then, like any good five year old’s limited
attention span, my heinous infraction is quickly forgotten. She
smiles and announces, “You guys are coming over for brunch. Not
breakfast and not lunch.”

Now it’s my turn to glare at Livie. “Are we
now?”

Lowering her brow, Livie gets up and comes to
my side. “You said you’d try,” she reminds me in a low whisper so
Mia doesn’t overhear.

“I said I’d be nice. I didn’t say I’d swap
muffin recipes with the neighbors,” I respond, trying hard not to
growl.

I get an eye roll. “Stop being dramatic.
Storm’s cool. I think you’ll like her if you’d stop avoiding her.
And all other living creatures.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve graciously served
over a thousand cups of coffee this week to living creatures. Some
questionable ones too.”

Crossing her arms, Livie’s glare flattens,
but she doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not avoiding people.”
Yes, I am.
Everyone, including Barbie. And Dimples next door. Definitely him.
I’m sure I’ve spotted his lean frame watching out the window as I
came home at night a few times, but I ducked my head and sped past,
my insides constricting at the thought of seeing him face to face
again.

“Really? ’Cause Storm sure thinks you are.
She came out to talk to you the other day, and you rushed into the
apartment like lightning before she could say ‘hi.’”

I hide behind another sip of juice. Busted. I
totally
did that. I heard her door unlock and the beginnings
of a “Hello, Kacey,” and I hurried to shut our apartment door.

“I
am
like lightning. Lightning Girl
has a nice ring to it,” I say.

Livie watches as I scan the meager contents
of our fridge and my stomach protests with a perfectly-timed growl.
We agreed to spend as little as possible until I had a pay check or
two in the bank so we’ve been living off no-name Cheerios and
bologna sandwiches for more than a week. Given I need more calories
than the average twenty year old to function, it’s left me
sluggish. I guess offering to feed us earns Storm at least five
points in the potential friend bank.