The Air He Breathes

“Are we really going home?” asked sleepy Emma when morning came through the living room window, spilling light against her sweet face. I picked her up from the bed and placed her and Bubba—her teddy bear and all-time favorite companion—on the closest chair. Bubba wasn’t simply a teddy bear, he was a mummified teddy bear. See, my little girl was a little weird, and after she saw the movie Hotel Transylvania—which involved zombies, vampires, and mummies—she decided that maybe a little scary and maybe a little weird was perfect.

“We are.” I smiled toward her as I folded up the pullout. The night before I hadn’t slept a wink and I stayed up packing all of our belongings.

Emma had a goofy grin on her face that matched her father’s. She screamed, “YAY!” and told Bubba we were really going home.

Home.

That word stung a little in the back of my heart, but I kept smiling. I’d learned to always smile in front of Emma because she had a way of growing sad whenever she thought I was sad. Even though she gave me the best Eskimo kisses when I was feeling down, she didn’t need that kind of responsibility.

“We should make it back in time to see the fireworks on our rooftop. Remember how we used to watch the fireworks on the roof with Daddy? Do you remember that, babe?” I asked her.

She narrowed her eyes as if going deep into her mind, searching. If only our minds were like file cabinets and we could simply retrieve our favorite memories from a neatly organized system whenever we chose. “I don’t remember,” she said, hugging Bubba.

That breaks my heart.

I smiled anyway.

“Well, how about we stop at the store on the way and pick up some Bomb-Pops to eat on the roof?”

“And some Cheeto Puffs for Bubba!”

“Of course!”

She smiled and screamed once more. That time the grin I gave her was nothing but real.

I loved her more than she’d ever know. If it hadn’t been for her, I would’ve definitely lost myself to the grief. Emma saved my soul.

***

I didn’t say goodbye to Mama, because she never came home from her dinner date with Casanova. When I first moved in with her and she didn’t come home, I would call and call, worried about her whereabouts, but often she would yell at me, telling me she was a grown woman doing grown woman things.

So, I left her a note.

Going home.

We love you.

We’ll see you soon.

—E&E

We drove for hours in my broken-down car, listening to the Frozen soundtrack enough times for me to consider pulling out my eyelashes one at a time with a razorblade. Emma somehow listened to each song a million times, yet had a way of making up her own words to every line. To be honest, I liked her version of the songs the best.

When she fell asleep, Frozen slept with her, leaving me with a car full of silence. My hand reached out toward the passenger seat, palm up, waiting for another hand to lock my fingers with theirs, but the touch never found me.

I’m doing good, I told myself, over and over again. I’m so good.

One day, it would be true.

One day, I’d be good.

As we merged onto the I-64 freeway, my gut tightened. I wished I could take back roads to get to Meadows Creek, but this was the only way into town. It was quite busy for the holiday, but the new smooth pavement of the once broken roadway made for easy travels. Tears formed in my eyes as I remembered watching the news.

Pileup on I-64!

Chaos!

Mayhem!

Injuries!

Casualties!

Steven.

One breath.

I kept driving and the tears that tried to escape failed. I forced my body to go numb, because if I wasn’t numb, I’d feel everything. If I felt everything, I’d fall apart, and I couldn’t fall apart. The rearview mirror showed me my small bit of strength as I stared at my baby. We made it across the freeway, and I took another breath. Each day was one breath at a time. I couldn’t think much further than that, otherwise I’d choke on the air.

On a polished white piece of wood was a sign that read ‘Welcome to Meadows Creek’.

Emma was awake now, staring out the window. “Hey, Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Do you think Daddy will know that we moved? Do you think he’ll know where to leave the feathers?”

When Steven passed away and we moved to stay with Mama, there were white bird feathers scattered around the front yard. When Emma asked about them, Mama said they were small signs from the angels, letting us know they were always close by, watching over us.

Emma had loved the idea, and whenever she would find a feather, she would look up to the sky, smile, and whisper, “I love you too, Daddy.” Then she would take a picture with the feather to add to her collection of ‘Daddy and Me’ photos.

“I’m sure he’ll know where to find us, sweetie.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Yeah, he’ll know where to find us.”

The trees were greener than I remembered, and the little shops in downtown Meadows Creek were decked out with reds, whites, and blues for the festivities. It was so familiar yet foreign all at once. Mrs. Fredrick’s American flag flapped in the wind as she fixed the patriotically dyed roses in her flowerpot. Pride bloomed from her entire existence as she stepped back to admire her home.

We got stuck behind the one traffic light in town for ten minutes. The wait made no sense at all, but it did give me time to take in everything that reminded me of Steven. Of us. Once the light switched over, I placed my foot on the gas pedal, wanting nothing more than to get home and ignore the shadows of the past. As the car took off down the street, from the corner of my eye I saw a dog dashing toward me. My foot moved quickly to the brake, but my old, beat-up car hiccupped and hesitated to stop. By the time it finally did, I heard the loud yelp.

My heart leaped into my throat and stayed there, blocking the ability for me to inhale my next breath. I slammed the car into park. Emma asked what was happening, but I didn’t have time to reply. I swung my door open, reaching the poor dog right as a man raced up to me. His wide-eyed stare locked with mine, almost forcing me to train in on the intensity of his stormy grayish-blue eyes. Most blue eyes came with a warm, welcoming feeling attached to them, but not his. His were intense, just as his stance was. Icy and private. Around the rims of his irises were profound blues, but silver and black strands of coloring were woven in and out, which added to the shrouded look in his stare. His eyes matched the shadows of the sky right before a thunderstorm was about to pass through.

Those eyes were so familiar to me. Did I know him? I could’ve sworn I’d seen his stare somewhere before. He looked both terrified and livid as he moved his eyes to what I was assuming was his dog, which was lying still. Around the stranger’s neck were huge headphones that were attached to something resting in his back pocket.

He was decked out in workout clothes. His long-sleeved white shirt hugged his muscular arms, his black shorts showed his built legs, and sweat was brewing along his forehead. I assumed he’d been taking his dog for a run when he lost hold of his leash, but the man wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Why wasn’t he wearing shoes?

That didn’t matter. Was his dog okay?

I should’ve been paying closer attention.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see…” I started to say, but the man grunted harshly at my words, almost as if they offended him.

“What the hell?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” he shouted, his voice making me jump a bit. He lifted his dog into his arms, cradling the pet as if it were his own child. As he stood, I stood. As he searched around, I searched around.

“Let me drive you to the vet,” I said, my body shaking from seeing the dog trembling in the stranger’s arms. I knew I should’ve been annoyed with the tone he’d taken with me, but when someone was in panic mode, you couldn’t really blame them for their behavior. He didn’t speak back, but I watched the hesitation in his eyes. His face was framed with a very thick, dark, untamed beard. His mouth was hidden somewhere in the wildness resting against his face, so all I had to rely on was the story he told with his eyes. “Please,” I begged. “It’s too far to walk.”

He nodded once and only once. When he opened the passenger seat, he and his pet sat inside, closing the door behind them.

Hopping into the car, I started driving.

“What’s going on?” Emma asked.

“We are just going to take the pup to get checked out, honey. Everything’s fine.” I really hoped I wasn’t lying to her.

It was a twenty-minute drive to the closest 24-hour animal hospital, and the car ride didn’t exactly go the way I’d thought it would.

“Take a left on Cobbler Street,” he ordered.

“Harper Avenue will be faster,” I disagreed.

He grunted, his annoyance shining through. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, take Cobbler!”

I took a breath. “I know how to drive.”

“Do you? Because I think your driving is the reason we’re sitting here.”

I was five seconds from kicking the rude jerk out of my car, but his whimpering dog was the only reason I didn’t. “I already apologized.”

“That doesn’t help my dog.”

Asshole.

“Cobbler is the next right,” he said.

“Harper is the next, next right.”

“Don’t take Harper.”

Oh, I’m taking Harper just to annoy the living shit out of this guy. Who does he think he is?

I turned right onto Harper.

“I can’t believe you just fucking took Harper,” he groaned. His infuriation made me smile a little, until I hit the construction zone and ‘closed street’ signs. “Are you always so ignorant?”

“Are you always…always…always…” I started stuttering, because unlike some, I wasn’t great at arguing with people. I actually sucked at it and normally ended up crying like a child because words didn’t form in my head at the speed that fights normally functioned. I was the awkward person who thought of the best comebacks three days after the argument took place. “Are you always…always…”

“Always what? Spit it out! Use words!” he ordered.

I swung my steering wheel around, making a U-turn, and headed for Cobbler Street. “Are you always a…”

“Come on, Sherlock, you can do it,” he said, mockingly.

“A DICK!” I screamed, turning on Cobbler.

The car went silent. My cheeks heated up, and my fingers gripped tightly around the wheel.

When I pulled into the driveway, he opened the door and, without any words my way, lifted his dog and rushed into the emergency room. I debated if that was where we should part ways, but I knew my mind wouldn’t be able to calm down until I knew the dog was okay.

“Mommy?” Emma asked.

“Yes, baby?”

“What’s a dick?”

Parenting fail number five-hundred-and-eighty-two of today. “Nothing, babe. I said tick. A tick is a bug.”

“So you called that person a bug?”

“Yup. A big bug.”

“Is his puppy going to die?” she asked next.

I really hope not.

After unbuckling Emma, we headed into the emergency hospital. Stranger was slamming his hands against the receptionist’s desk. His lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear anything he was saying.

The receptionist grew more and more uncomfortable. “Sir, I’m just saying I need you to fill out the forms and provide us with a reliable credit card, or we cannot proceed with looking into your pet’s injuries. Furthermore, you cannot just walk in here with no shoes. Also, your attitude isn’t needed.”

Stranger banged his fists against the desk once more before pacing back and forth, his hands running through his long black hair and landing against his neck. His breaths were heavy and uneven, his chest rising and falling quite hard. “Does it fucking look like I am currently traveling with credit cards? I was on a run, you idiot! And if you aren’t going to do anything, then get me someone else to talk to.”

The woman flinched at his words and anger, as did I.

“They’re with me,” I said, walking over to the receptionist. Emma clung to my arm and Bubba clung to hers. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out my wallet and handed the woman my card.

She narrowed her eyes, unsure. “You’re with him?” she asked, almost insultingly, as if Stranger was someone who deserved to be alone.

No one deserved to be alone.

I looked at him and saw perplexity in his eyes, along with the anger, which still remained. I wanted to break our stare, but the misery swimming in his irises seemed way too familiar to pull away from. “Yes.” I nodded. “I’m with him.” She hesitated some more, and I stood up straight. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no. I just need you to fill out this form.”

I took the clipboard from her grip and walked over to the sitting area.

The overhead television was tuned to Animal Planet, and there was a train set in the far corner, which Emma and Bubba quickly occupied. Stranger kept staring at me, his stance hard and distant. “I need some information,” I said. He approached slowly, sat down beside me, and rested his hands in his lap.

“What’s his name? Your pet?” I asked.

He parted his lips and paused before saying, “Zeus.”

I smiled at the name. Such a perfect name for a large golden retriever.

“And your name?”

“Tristan Cole.”

After finishing the paperwork, I handed it back to the receptionist. “Anything Zeus needs, just put the charges on my card.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“It could add up quickly,” she warned.

“Then add it up quickly.”

I sat back down beside Tristan. His hands started tapping against his shorts and I observed the nerves rushing through him. When I looked at him, he was staring with the same confusion that’d been there since we’d crossed paths.

His lips started muttering something as his fingers rubbed against each other quickly before he put his headphones against his ears and hit play on his cassette tape.

Emma walked over to me every now and then, asking when we could go home, and I’d tell her a little longer. On her way back to the train set, she stared at Tristan, taking in all of his features. “Hey, mister.” He ignored her. She placed her hands on her hips. “Hey, mister!” she said, raising her voice. A year staying with Mama had made my mini-me a sassy-monster. “Hey, Mister! I’m talking to you!” she said, tapping her feet. Stranger looked down at her. “You’re a big, fat, giant TICK!”

Oh my gosh.

I shouldn’t have been allowed to parent. I sucked at the parent thing.

I went to scold her, but for a second I saw a tiny smile creep behind Tristan’s thick beard. It was almost nonexistent, but I swore I saw his bottom lip twitch. Emma had a way of making even the darkest souls smile; I was living proof.

Another thirty minutes passed before the vet came out to inform us that Zeus would be fine, just a few bruises and a fractured front leg. I thanked the vet, and as he walked away, Tristan’s hands loosened and his body stood still. Every inch of him began to shake. With one deep inhale, the angry asshole disappeared and was replaced with despair. He lost himself in his emotions, and when he exhaled, he began to sob uncontrollably. He wailed, his tears harsh, raw, and painful. My eyes watered over, and I swore a part of my heart broke right along with his.

“Hey, Tick! Hey, Tick! Don’t cry, Tick,” Emma said, tugging on Tristan’s T-shirt. “It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” I said, echoing my sweet girl’s words. I placed a comforting hand against his shoulder. “Zeus is okay. He’s good. You’re good.”

He tilted his head toward me and nodded as if he kind of believed me. A few deep breaths were taken, and he pinched his fingers over his eyes, shaking his head back and forth. He tried his best to hide his embarrassment, his shame.

His throat cleared, and he moved away from me. We stayed at a distance until the vet brought Zeus out to leave. Tristan wrapped his hands around his dog, who was tired but still managed to wag his tail and give his owner puppy kisses. Tristan smiled, and it was almost impossible to miss this time. It was a big smile of relief. If love was a moment, this would be where it existed.

I didn’t invade their space. Emma took my hand, and we walked a few steps behind Tristan and Zeus as they exited the hospital.

Tristan began to walk away with Zeus in his arms, uninterested in a ride back into town. I wanted to stop him, but I had no real reason to ask him to turn back. I buckled Emma into her seat and as I closed her door, I jumped out of my skin when I saw Tristan standing a few inches from me. His eyes locked in with mine. My eyes wouldn’t look away. My breathing became jagged, and I tried my best to remember the last time I’d stood that close to a man.

He stepped in closer.

I stayed still.

He took a breath.

I took one too.

One breath.

That’s all I could manage.

Our proximity made my stomach knot, and I was already prepared to say ‘you’re welcome’ for the ‘thank you’ I was certain he was going to give me.

“Learn how to drive a fucking car,” he hissed before he walked off.

Not a ‘thank you for picking up the bill’, not a ‘thank you for driving me’, but a ‘learn how to drive a fucking car.’

Well then.

With a small whisper, I responded into the wind that swept against my chilled skin. “You’re welcome, Tick.”