Don't Forget to Breathe Read online

  “Why?” His glum eyes were on the verge of watering. “I told you never to go there.” Dimness shadowed his face, looking old. Skin sagged beneath each eye, his cheeks sunken from lack of nourishment.

  “I didn’t go inside. But the side door was open.”

  “Open? It should’ve been locked.” His hands dropped from my shoulders and crammed them into his hair. “Maybe the realtor had been there. I’ll have to call and find out.” Jittery fingers then scraped at his neck looking agitated. “I better get ready for work. Are you sure you’re alright?”

  I nodded then twisted to read the clock, and groaned. Time to get up.

  ***

  We arrived at school with minutes to spare. “Want to do some Halloween planning after school?” Henry inquired.

  How should I break the news—just blurt it out. “Henry, I’m going for coffee with a friend after school. So don’t wait for me.”

  Removing his glasses, he squinted like what I’d said didn’t register. “You going with Nona?”

  Why did I feel this was complicated? “Er…no. A different friend.” We trudged into school with the rest of the herd, he frowned.

  “Who? Those cheer girl airheads? Marcy, Stephanie?”

  I knew why it was complicated, mainly because Henry liked me more than just a friend. I went for it, “Becket Kane asked me to go for coffee after school today.”

  His face screwed up. “Kane? That quarterback dude?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You’ve got to be joking?” Henry halted. His nose scrunched like he whiffed something foul.

  Guilt and anger roiled into my chest. “Why would I joke about it?” Students gaped at us as they stormed by.

  His head hung in dejection like he was walking to the gallows. “See ya…” He rounded the corner leaving me behind to feel—what?

  An arm encircled my lower back. “Hey, Leo.” Nona gifted me with a bubbly smile. “Did you tell your father about your phone yet? I didn’t want to upset him with a late night call, and I was dying to talk to you.”

  “I wanted to talk to you too.” Forgetting about Henry, all guilt and anger dissolved. “You’re never going to believe what happened—”

  “Wait, girl—me first.” Nona shed a strict eye and I buttoned my lips. She glimpsed the crowded hallway, then summoned me to the side lockers. “I finagled some information from Reggie. And guess what he told me?” Riding up on her toes like an excited child. “C’mon, guess?”

  “Reggie revealed—” putting fingers to my temples like I was reading her mind— “that Becket asked him for my cell phone number, because, he was going to ask me to go for coffee after school today.”

  Her entire face knotted. “How’d you know that? Reggie gave Becket your cell number before picking me up for the movies last night. But then I explained to Reg that you lost your cell. Reggie texted Becket your house phone num…” Her eyes lit up. “He called you at home?”

  “Nope. He never called me.” I grinned, liking this game.

  A heedful pucker to her lips, she said, “So, you’re not going for coffee, and, he never called?”

  “We’re definitely going for coffee.” I snickered at her look of befuddlement and alleviated her musing. “Becket came to my house.”

  From befuddlement to surprise, she yelped, “Really!”

  “Actually he came to my bedroom window.”

  “Tell me more, this is good stuff.”

  Nona wouldn’t be so psyched if she knew Henry had been clambering in my bedroom window. In her eyes, Becket was acceptable. “It was kind of awesome.” Depicting my late night visitor and my making him wait snub, Nona ate it up.

  “You are going to go?”

  “I’m still thinking about it.” I sounded sanctimonious.

  “Oh, you’ll go,” she said, certain, adding a positive nod. “You can’t pull the wool over these honey browns. I know you better than you know yourself, hun.”

  Her mothering splintered my smart-aleck bravado, turning somber. “I had another one of those dreams last night.” My best friend’s cheerful features faded.

  “I prayed you were over that hump.” She embraced me, patting my back. “Leo, I wish I could help. Maybe you need to see the psychiatrist again.”

  “Hell, no! Psychotherapy and the anti-depressants didn’t agree with me.” On the brink of tears, I countered, “You’re my psychiatrist.”

  After she pulled back, I played with a loose strand of hair. “Something changed this time. The dream didn’t end like it usually does.” I ran a finger under my nose. Don’t get emotional, keep your head together. “After I was grabbed from behind…I remember cutting into their arms with my fingernails trying to get away. And then…I thought I knew who it was.”

  Nona’s eyeballs popped out of their sockets. “Who…who was it?” she whispered.

  “I knew who it was in my dream. As soon my eyes opened, I forgot. It’s like I blacked it out all over again.”

  ***

  By lunchtime I was behind schedule and wondered if Becket had waited, or thought I stood him up. Turning the corner, I couldn’t miss him. Tall and imposing, his back leisurely fixed on the wall, a swarm of girls surrounded him. He’d been smiling at Marcy, the captain of the cheerleading squad.

  Then, as if he sensed my approach, his eyes flicked in my direction. Making up for my tawdry appearance from the previous night, I primped just for this reaction. I deemed he liked what he saw. Secure in a form fitting red-knit jumper and paisley print tights with my black ankle boots, I dressed to impress.

  Shrugging from the wall, the girls followed his gaze.

  “Hey,” I said. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem. I had company.” The girl’s dispersed with a glare of inquisitive glances. Becket was quick to say, “You don’t have cheerleading practice.”

  “I don’t?”

  “Marcy just informed me.”

  My eyes darted to Marcy in the cafeteria. She’d been keeping an intense eye on our conversation. “Okay, then I wouldn’t mind going for coffee.”

  “I’ll meet you at the gym.”

  “The gym?”

  “Yes, the gym.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I voiced with the pretense of social etiquette. He sauntered off. Wonderful?—I said wonderful, what a moron.

  Chapter 11

  Becket appeared confident and cool behind the wheel while butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Nibbling my bottom lip, I brooded over the multitude of girls that had been passengers in his car; my so-called etiquette plunged into the pit. My nervous hands plowed into my hair, unsettling the layers. Get a grip, stop being a wimp.

  Star Hallow was in full autumn regalia as we cruised along Terrace Circle. Haystacks, pumpkins, gourds, ghost, witches, goblins, and all sorts of paraphernalia bedecked homes and the main gazebo in the Circle. Prior to Mom’s murder the season had been my favorite, now it ranked lower than low.

  He parked at Earl’s, the local, homespun eatery. “You’ve misplaced your tongue.” A smile lifted his cheeks. “I’ve never bored a girl to death in the first ten minutes. I think it’s a new record.” He climbed out of the car and I followed suit.

  Ground water had evaporated from the previous storm, permeating the atmosphere with a sticky feeling. Unseasonably warm for the beginning of October, the bleachers would be packed on Saturday for the football game if the splendid weather remained.

  I confined an errant piece of hair over my ear and hoped it didn’t resemble a thicket of chaos. As we moseyed into Earl’s I wondered if Becket was staring at my scraggly hair or my butt which looked decent in this outfit.

  Earl’s is the hub for locals, and since Becket was widely known it felt like a procession. People heralded his name, he gestured hellos with a head nod. Countless eyes sized me up for their approval and I had to kill restless fingers from combing into my hair a second time. Nervous habit.

  His hand pressed on my lower back, the feeling quite pleasan
t as he ushered me into a booth made for two. The waitress, Molly Schriven a classmate, was beside us before he had a chance to sit. A broken smile showed off her braces. “What can I get you, Becket?” Her gaze tacked on him, oozing fascination.

  “Leo, what would you like?” He looked at me.

  “Just coffee.” How polite, and I was falling faster than a shooting star.

  “How about a doughnut or something to go with that?”

  “Um…” My best method was political. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  “Two cheeseburgers, fries, a coke and a coffee,” he said.

  “Change that coffee into a coke too,” I said, and observed Molly’s blatant eye roll.

  His set his arms on the table and sloped forward. “Leo, this isn’t an easy topic to broach.” He expressed with concern. “But I need to tell you something.”

  Oh, no. I tensed. Whatever possessed me to think he’d been attracted to me? He’s giving me the friend talk like I gave Henry.

  “I remember your mother. I had her for English as a sophomore, she was a cool teacher.” He gazed with serious eyes. “What I’m trying to say is—I’m sorry for your loss. Her murder devastated this village. She was beautiful. You look exactly like her.”

  Not what I expected. “Thank you…” I squeaked. “I think.” It hit me like a wrecking ball—why I latched onto Henry. He hadn’t an inkling about my mom. In fact he never mentioned or even asked if I had a mother.

  “I’ve been on a downer the past year.” I looked down at my fiddling fingers. “The anniversary of her death is coming up.”

  “I noticed you’re getting your head together.” His large hand covered mine. “I didn’t know if I should’ve mentioned it.”

  He noticed? When the heck did this happen? “No, that’s fine.” I forced a smile, striving for cool. I couldn’t look at him, and stared at his long fingers covering my hand.

  He whispered, “She was very nice.” His gentle, sober tone drew my eyes to his face. Genuine and sincere, no joke, no sarcasm, his mouth curved just right.

  Time lapsed, gazing into each other’s eyes. So perfect—like Mom was bringing us together. The magical ambiance interrupted with a sloshing coke colliding into our hands.

  “Your burgers will be up in a minute,” Molly said, giving Becket goo-goo eyes.

  He removed his warm hands and he pushed his spine into the booth. At the same time I wedged my fingers below my thighs and the cushioned seat.

  “Would you like to talk about your mom?”

  “I’ve kind of bottled things up and thrown away the bottle.”

  “Understandable.” He hit the two straws on the table, shedding their wrappers, sticking one in my coke and one into his. “Have a sip.”

  My throat felt dry, and like a child I sipped as told. He had reminded me of the prevalent dream from last night. In an instant it rushed my brain and a quiver chased through me. I wiped coke from my lips and started, “It happened October twenty-fifth, close to Halloween.” He angled forward crossing his arms on the table like what I had to say was beyond a doubt imperative. “I haven’t stepped foot in that house since…I slept at Nona’s until Dad rented the place we’re living in now.” I took another sip, wetting my tongue.

  Becket’s features appeared taut as a wisp of pale hair fell, censoring his brow.

  “I’m having a hard time living with the nightmares.” Chronicling the terror, I disconnected from reality around me. Every minute, facet of that day, even to the hearty odor, to the discovery of her torn body, the events unfolded. Opening up to him like a priest in a confessional, and didn’t know why or how, but suddenly I was in Becket’s arms. I blinked away the haze and felt scalding tears washing my face. “I really can’t remember”—hiccup—“what happened”—another hiccup—“after I found her.” ––breathe—“The doctors call it retrograde amnesia.”

  I concluded by burying my wet face into his chest. He held me and stroked my hair. His palm cupped my shoulder until I stopped trembling. Sniffling, attempting to rein in my imploding emotions I reached for a napkin. He already had one in his hand offering it to me. Becket was now alerted to my lunacy.

  My vision cleared to witness Molly gawking down her nose at me. Immediate and curt, Becket stood. He flipped open his wallet and thumbed dollar bills, letting them float to the table. “We’re leaving, hope this covers the check.”

  “But…but…” she said, “want your burgers and fries to go?”

  I slid from the booth. What surprised me, he nestled me beneath his arm like he was hiding me from the paparazzi with his hand over my face. Not blaming him for leaving without a bite to eat, I embarrassed the crap out of him. He hustled onto the sidewalk like his reputation depended on it, getting rid of the nut-job ASAP. I was crippled—in the head.

  Becket settled in the driver’s seat, but didn’t start the engine. His arm came forward and with a bent finger caught a lone tear on my cheek, then he tucked the hair veiling my face behind my ear. Why so empathic? He didn’t really know me—he must hate me and my complex nature.

  “I’m an ass.” His tone hushed.

  Through my puffy eyelids, I peered at him.

  “I hope you can forgive me?”

  Like a fool I stared and scrubbed the damp napkin under my leaky nose.

  Pretty much composed as he pulled into my driveway, I couldn’t wait to escape the car. When I opened the door, his fingers manacled my forearm holding me in place. “Do you feel better?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I obliged him with a tragic grin. “I…I don’t know why…sorry…um…that was…awkward.”

  “My fault.” Liberating my arm, the pressure of his fingers remained. Toned with regret, he repeated, “Totally my fault.” He shouldered the driver’s door and crossed over to my side of the car. I didn’t move, wondering what he was doing. He snapped open the rear door and grabbed my messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder. I’d completely forgotten about it. Together, we walked to the side entrance of my house.

  My first and last date with Becket Kane.

  What was strumming through his brain right now? Feeling humiliated and demure I sensed his nearness as my key slid into the lock. I hadn’t the foggiest idea what to say and turned, not meeting his eyes. “Thanks,” I muttered and chanced a peek into his face.

  Guarded eyes stared down at me. Slow, like he was worried of frightening a frenzied rabbit, his hands came up. Generating a surge of stirrings, he smoothed his fingertips on the sides of my neck. Becket perched his thumbs under my chin and raised my head. My breath held as he browsed over my face like he was bearing to mind every angle and curve.

  He leaned near. The coolness of his lips brushed my cheekbone. Every nerve ending in my body spluttered and sparked. The fullness of his mouth skimmed to the corner of my lips. He retreated a mere inch and our breaths mingled as he scrutinized my expression. He closed the short distance, molding his mouth perfectly to mine. An ambush of sensations detonated like the fourth of July.

  I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to, though I reminded myself to breathe. Becket withdrew registering a muted throat hum. Then unhooking the messenger bag from his shoulder, he handed it off. I discerned a faint tug on the rim of his mouth as he turned away.

  He accelerated down the driveway, never glancing back.

  Chapter 12

  “Nona, guess what I’m calling you on?”

  “Your father got you a new cell!” She guessed. “What’d you tell him?”

  “The truth, I was making a call and tripped, it fell out of my hands and didn’t realize it was missing until it was too late.”

  “And where did you trip and fall, hun? You’ve kind of left me out of the loop.”

  I didn’t want to get Nona involved with the murder of Skipper Townsend and David Galbraith, but she’d badger me until I broke. “On the railroad tracks a few of nights ago.”

  “The tracks? What were you doing over in that part of town? You usually don’t go th
ere anymore.”

  “Just went for a hike.”

  “With who—not yourself.”

  “I was with Henry.”

  “Oh, Lord, you weren’t doing the naughty with that boy were you?”

  “We were drinking beers…and stuff.”

  “Leo, you’re just getting clean. Don’t let that boy drag you back to hell. See, that’s why I don’t trust him.”

  “He’s not so…bad.” I’d been fooling myself and pretty sure Henry had a dark side.

  “Hmmm…” She hesitated. “I’ve been waiting for some mouth-watering information. What happened with Becket? Was it so-so? C’mon girl I’m waiting here.”

  “Are you going to let me speak?” I reflected on what to say. “The truth—it was dreadful.”

  “Oh, no.” She groaned. “Was he arrogant or something? Did he treat you bad? If he did, I’m going to beat him to a pulp.”

  A depressed chuckle rumbled in my chest. “No, Nona. It wasn’t him. It was me.” Ousting a breath into the phone, I rolled on the mattress from my stomach onto my back.

  “Leo, you’re a sweet thing. How’d you mess it up?”

  “You remember how everyone in the Hallow was freaked with…with Mom and all.”

  “My God,” she cut in. “He threw that in your face? I’m going to kill him.”

  “Please, Nona. Hear me out.” I paused until she stopped prattling. “He just said he was sorry about what happened a year ago, and he thought Mom was a cool. She was his English teacher.” I expounded on my bizarre desire to spill my guts at Earl’s, and how I developed into a blathering, weepy dope. “He probably thinks I’m insane.”

  “You’re beating yourself up for nothing.” Nona reasoned. “Your crippled condition, as you call it, is understandable. The threat and incertitude of what transpired last year needs to be solved. It’s that cold case that needs a solution so you can get on with your life. Don’t you agree?”

  “Ah-h…” I sounded unsure. “Yes, that’s it.” I sat up and glanced at my wrinkled jumper. “All I remember is waking up strapped to a gurney in the hospital. My throat was so swollen and sore from screaming. The killer was still in the house. What if I actually saw him?”