Every Breath (16 page)

“Miss Madison!” Riley, who is normally quite standoffish, runs up to me with his backpack swishing back and forth across his back. “You’re back! That substitute wasn’t any fun yesterday.”

I already heard who took my place yesterday, so I’m not surprised. “Oh, yeah? What did you guys do?”

“Well,” he nearly growls and places his chubby hands on his hips. “She made us do worksheets
all
day. And when I told her I was tired of doing them, she took away ten whole minutes of my recess time. It was ridic-a-lous.”

I press my lips together as hard as I can to keep giggles from escaping them. The way he said “ridiculous” just about does me in. He’s so passionate about what he’s saying, so I can’t laugh right in the little guy’s face. I ruffle his white-blonde hair. “Ten whole minutes? Wow. I bet you are glad I’m back today, then. Guess what we’re doing this morning?”

“What?” His puppy dog brown eyes narrow with suspicion as he tries to read me.

I crook my finger at him until he steps closer, so I can whisper in his ear. “Worksheets.” He lets out a defeated sigh and starts to turn, but I catch him. “But only two.”

“Yes! I knew it!”

By that point, the rest of the class has filed in, and I’m already being subjected to their barrage of questions concerning yesterday’s absence. It takes me a while to ease everyone’s mind. No, I didn’t throw up yesterday. Yes, my car is working just fine. And no, I didn’t forget we had school. They’re inquisitive little boogers today.

After they do their morning work and finish center time, I anxiously send them to recess after talking one of the other teachers into covering my morning duty, so I can “catch up.” I just didn’t tell her what I was catching up on.

My classroom computer is pretty basic, but it will serve its purpose today. I log in to my personal email and watch eighty-six messages load, most of which turn out to be junk mail. But my heart skips a beat or two when I see the two messages from Sawyer; although, I thought there would be more. The first one is from Monday night, the first night I missed talking to him.

To: Makenna

From: Sawyer

Subject: Last Night…

Well, I’ve been waiting for a while to see if you log on, since it’s our usual time to talk, but I guess you’ve gone to bed. I’ve been worried about you ever since you logged off yesterday. I just hope that whoever came to visit you in the middle of the night had a good reason.

Today was better, thanks to you. I needed a good laugh after yesterday, anything to get my mind off of the gruesome scene that kept playing over and over in my head. I probably shouldn’t even be saying that much, but I just want you to know how much you being there last night meant to me. Aaaaand, now I sound totally lame, so I’m stopping the mushy girl talk now.

Please, just let me know everything is okay with you. Talk soon.

-S.H.

The next one is dated the same as the first, but it was sent a few hours later. There isn’t a subject line or a message. Just an attachment. At first, I’m a little concerned that someone hacked his account and sent me a virus, but my curiosity is a demanding beast. I know it would taunt me all day, and there’s no way I could convince myself
not
to open the file. Finally, I double-click the attachment, cringing, waiting for the computer to explode.

But it doesn’t.

A black window appears, and a grey circle swirls around and around as it downloads. An image I’ve seen so many times fills the window, but this time, there’s a play button hovering over Sawyer’s face. A video?

As soon as I click “play,” I realize that Sawyer isn’t the only one in the room. After beginning the recording, he steps back to reveal a group of five more men seated around the room, and he takes his seat in the middle of the obscure semi-circle. One of the guys carefully picks up a guitar off the bed behind him and hands it over to Sawyer. An eerie silence falls over the room as soon as he lightly strums across the strings.

Before he begins to play, he looks up at the webcam, right at me, and smiles. “Hi, Makenna.”

“Hi, Makenna!” The other guys practically sing in unison with high-pitched girly voices . . . just before Sawyer throws a towel at one of them, causing me to chuckle. The bond of camaraderie between them is clearly visible, all of them sharing unwavering pride in their country, the painful loss of their brothers, the lack of true rest, and the unrelenting desire to go home. It’s so moving, it gives me chills.

Bringing his focus back to me, he shakes his head. “Pay no attention to these knuckleheads around me. They’re just jealous that I have a pretty girl willing to talk to me.” He pauses and adjusts the strap across his shoulder. “We haven’t had much down time over the last few days, but tonight, we’re making time to celebrate. It’s been a good day, so we’ve chosen to sit back and chill with some music. I’m happy to say it will be our last chance for a very long time, if ever. So, I wanted you to be a part of this moment with me because, over these last several weeks, you’ve been the one who made it bearable.”

The lanky man next to him clears his throat and mumbles almost imperceptibly. “More like you’ve been the one to make
him
bearable.”

“Shove it, Sanders,” Sawyer laughs, a sound that is rare, even when he’s in a good mood. He really must have had a good day. I just wish I knew what happened today. “Anyway, so I wanted to record this for you to show you how much I appreciate you being here for me. I know you love Boyce Avenue, so I hope you like the song I picked out for you . . . and I hope I don’t butcher it.”

He takes a sip of water before stretching his fingers and placing them on the guitar strings. He effortlessly strums a series of familiar chords before the most perfect voice drifts from my speakers. From those first words, I know the song. He keeps his eyes closed as he sings, obviously deeply connected to every line and not afraid of exposing his vulnerability. I didn’t realize he knew me well enough to pick such a perfect song for me. It’s one of my absolute favorites.

For only a moment, my favorite pair of eyes looks into the camera as if I am sitting right there with him, and it’s just the two of us. “Even when it’s dark before the dawn, I will feel your grace and carry on. And with every breath of me, you’ll be the only light I see. . .”

Even when his eyes fall closed again, I feel such a strong link to him, like he’s looking into my soul instead. He sees me for who I am. The good and the bad. The broken parts that he’s helping me to mend. Even though the song isn’t particularly sad, Sawyer sings it with every ounce of his being, and it deeply moves me that he wanted to share this part of himself with me. No one has ever sung to me before.

I’m entranced by him until the last chord is strummed on his guitar and, of course, when the guys surrounding him erupt in cheers and accolades. He approaches the screen once again, and this time I notice that single dimple has made an appearance again. “Don’t go away just yet,” he says. “I’ll be back.”

The screen goes black, but he reappears a second later. This time, he’s alone in his room, the same as when we usually talk. “So, I hope you liked the song. I’ve been debating on whether to play it for you or not, but after today, I felt like I had to. It made me think of you and everything the both of us have been through. I wish I could talk to you right now. I’ve gotten so used to telling you everything going on around here—well, what I could—that you’re the first one I wanted to tell when I got some big news today. Okay, so you’re the
only
one I talk to back home, but you know what I mean.”

He pauses for just a moment before continuing, but he appears a little more somber now, almost concerned. “I just hope everything is okay with you. You’re probably just really busy, but just give me some peace of mind and let me know, alright? It will be a few days before I’m able to talk again, but I’m hoping to be able to check messages on occasion. In case I never get a chance to say it, thank you, Makenna.”

Even though the screen darkens again, I just stare at it, still trying to process what’s going on. He says he got good news today, but he never conveyed what that news was. And he’s going to be away for a few days, which tells me it’s likely he’s being sent on another mission. But he had
good
news? And why would he think that he may not have a chance to thank me? That, alone, worries me more than anything.

That’s okay. If he wants to be cryptic, two can play that game. And it’s a game I play well.

To: Sawyer

From: Makenna

Subject: Your Video

You play the guitar a little, huh? Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that? This isn’t exactly a manly compliment, but it was beautiful. Absolutely touching. And I hope you enjoy singing because that’s the only way you’re allowed to communicate with me from now on. Fine, not really, but I wouldn’t complain about it.

And, yes, I’m okay. I promise. There’s been a lot going on around here, and now my laptop is completely dead with no hope of reviving it. I’ll explain when we have the chance to video chat again, which will probably be this weekend after I go buy a new laptop. Then, after I explain my computer’s demise, I have something else to confess to you.

You may be wondering why I’m not giving you the details now, but I’m more than happy to divulge that bit of information. I’m not telling you everything now because I want to give you a reason to talk to me again later. I don’t know why you would think you won’t have a chance to thank me (although you really have no reason to), so I want to give you an incentive to make sure you do. I may be slow to respond over the next few days, but I will be checking messages as often as I can.

Stay safe, Sawyer, and know that I’m thinking of you and praying for you. Always.

Makenna

Three days.

Three long days since Sawyer has sent communication of any kind. He hasn’t responded to my email. I haven’t even gotten the read receipt showing that he’s opened it. I know he said he was only
hoping
to be able to check emails, but the fact that he hasn’t yet is worrisome.

Three long days since I’ve seen my cat. I’ve been over there every day, just hoping Darcy would be impatiently waiting on the porch for me, but I’m still the only one who’s impatiently waiting. I pray to God that whoever came in and destroyed my house didn’t do something to her, too.

Three long days of living with Drew. I can feel a building of tension between us; although, the type of tension greatly differs. That coming from Drew is purely sexual. From me? The impending doom of anything remotely sexual. It seems like now that I’ve kissed him back, he’s immediately ready for the next step, and it scares the hell out of me. I mean, it’s taken me half of forever just to be able to kiss him.

Needless to say, the last three days have been pure misery for me, and my class hasn’t helped at all. Tomorrow is Friday, the last day before we go on Christmas break, and I think their parents have been feeding them cupcakes for breakfast with an extra side of frosting. Their energy level has been through the roof, and it’s been all I could do to tame them even a little. But that’s okay, I’ll be sharing the fun. Tomorrow, we’re having our Christmas parties, so I’m going to fill them full of sugar and send them home with their parents. It’s kind of like poking a stick at a caged tiger and then opening the cage door. You’re welcome, moms and dads.

“Makenna?”

I turn around from my classroom computer to see Callie in the doorway, holding a wrapped package. She still hasn’t been speaking to me, so you can imagine my surprise to see her there. Her body is rigid and her lips are pursed into a tight, thin line. She’s clearly not here to make up.

“Hey, Cal.”

She takes a few steps toward my desk and places the package at the corner. “I got this gift for you a month ago, and since it’s personalized, I can’t exactly give it to someone else. So, I hope you like it, and I hope you have a nice holiday.”

Before she can turn to leave, I catch her elbow. “Please, don’t go, Callie. I really miss my best friend.”

“I miss mine, too.” Her face softens slightly, and she places her hand over mine . . . just before she pushes it off of her arm. “I’ve missed her for a couple of years now. Please, let me know when you see her.” She turns on her heel and almost jogs from my room.

Well, played, Cal. Very well played.

I’ve had some time over the last couple of weeks to think about everything she said about me, and it’s painful to admit that she’s absolutely right. As much as I hate to admit it, I
am
the sucky friend that she described. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself, wrapped up in things in my life that I can’t change, and wrapped up in loving a person that has no way of loving me back anymore. I’ve allowed myself to be sucked into the deepest depths of my depression, and I haven’t been fooling anyone. Not one time have I shown Callie how truly happy I am for her. I know she’s been able to see through my façade and right into the seething jealousy that wants so badly to show its ugly face.

Someday soon, I hope I can give her her friend back. I just have to find her first.

Avoiding the wrapped gift for now, I make my way around my classroom, making an attempt to transform the evidence of the day’s chaos into some semblance of order. The fact that my class used scissors today doesn’t make that easy, and I’m sure the custodial staff won’t appreciate the apparent confetti party on the floor. I’ll have to catch one of them on my way out to apologize for the mess.

My buzzing phone has me scrambling around the maze of desks, and by some miracle, I answer it in time after Jase’s abandoned backpack sneaks out from under his desk to grab at my ankle. Hey, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

“Hello?” I gasp an answer. I truly need to get more exercise if a sprint across a small classroom threatens to give me an asthma attack.

“Thank God you answered, Makenna.”

It takes me only a moment to recognize the frantic voice. “What’s going on Mrs. Georgia? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, honey, it’s Mr. Lincoln. The ambulance just left here with him. We suspect he’s had a stroke, and he’s on his way to the hospital. I’ve tried every number I have for Sawyer, but I can’t get him.”

Oh, no. This can’t be happening right now. Not before Sawyer can come home to see him one more time. “I’m heading out now. Which hospital?”

The sterile scent in the emergency room is overwhelming and almost nauseating. Well, I’m sure part of it is the fact that the staff won’t give me any information on William’s status or let me see him. Of course, since I’m not a relative or on any of his paperwork, they’re just doing their job, but damn it, I wish they’d do their job a little worse in that respect.

Another thing that has my stomach in knots is the fact that Drew has called me four times in the last hour. I would’ve normally been home long before now, so I understand his panic. My text telling him that I’ll be late getting home clearly only fueled his anxiety. I need to call and tell him what I’m doing, and I will, but I’m trying to come up with a way of explaining it that he’ll understand. An omission is just as bad as a lie, so I need to come clean. I just know he’s not going to like it after his reaction to seeing me talk to Sawyer earlier this week.

“Makenna Madison?” A young man in a white coat steps into the waiting room. He’s surely not old enough to be a doctor, but a quick glance at the name stitched on his coat tells me otherwise. Hello, Doogie Howser . . . er, I mean Dalton Hoover, M.D. “I’m Makenna.”

He looks at me hard for a moment before his mouths turns up into a forced, professional smile. “Follow me, please.” I only take a few steps before he continues. “Please know that this isn’t standard protocol, but since Mr. Lincoln has no family willing to speak to me about him, I’ve been given permission to give you limited information until I can make contact with the person in charge of his care. The nursing home has verified that you are one of his caregivers. Is that correct?”

“Well, I’ve really only known him for—”

“No explanation is necessary, Miss Madison,” he interrupts with a wink. “You
are
. . .” He pauses to slowly nod his head up and down. “. . . one of his caregivers, correct.”

“Yes.” It comes out as more of a question than an answer, but he just smiles and nods in the direction of the next room. He opens the door into a dimly lit room and closes the door behind us.

“Sorry. The protocol speech was mainly show for those nurses out in the hall.” Before he proceeds into the room, he grabs the chart off the wall and looks back at me, waiting for me to follow. I register the sound of a faint beep before I round the corner, a beep that takes me back to those long days I was in the hospital after the accident. Nausea overcomes me again, and I have to force down the sudden taste of bile in my throat. It’s seeing William that makes me forget all of that. If he looked frail and helpless before, he’s even more so now with the cords and tubes coming from all over his body. He lies perfectly still, only the slight rise and fall of his chest gives me any proof of life in that lifeless body.

“Is he . . . okay? Jeez, obviously he’s not. I mean,
will
he be? But you may not be able to tell me that either. So, what can you tell me? I just don’t know what to even say or think or ask.”

Dr. Hoover watches me, as if he’s making sure I’m finished speaking. He finally snickers, his smile revealing thousands of dollars spent on a perfect set of teeth. “Hospitals make you nervous?”

“Very.”

“You’re fine. And he’s fine. We’re running some tests to be sure everything’s okay, but we’re keeping him lightly sedated for the time being. He was getting a little rowdy, which was keeping his blood pressure up. I had to calm him down a little, so he could get some rest.”

“What happened? The nursing home called and said they thought he had a stroke.” I have to make a conscious effort to stop wringing my hands.

“If he did, it was mild. Believe me, he’s fully cognitive and has plenty of dexterity. He proved that when he manhandled three of my nurses earlier and used every curse word in the book. This wouldn’t be his first one. He’s had several over the last few years, but don’t worry, he’ll be back to being a royal pain in the butt by tomorrow, I’m sure.” He chuckles at his last statement, hanging his head and shaking it.

“I’m guessing you know him well, then. Is he one of your regular patients?” I hope that’s the case because I can’t think of any reason why else he’d be joking about him that way.

“Yeah, he’s a regular, and I’ve known him for many years.”

“Oh. So, he’s going to be okay?”

He reaches over to pat my shoulder. “The old man’s going to be just fine. Well, he will be until I tell him he’s on a strict diet for a few days. No chocolate tends to make him a little pissy.”

“I’ve noticed,” I laugh.

A sly smile tugs up one side of his mouth. “So . . . you and Sawyer must be . . .”

“Friends.”

“Oh, yeah? Sawyer’s never been much for having friends, much less with women.” He pauses to take the reading from a monitor and scribble the results on the chart. “When did you hear from him last?”

“A few days.” Thanks for reminding me. “How do you know him?”

“We’ve been buddies since about ninth grade. I was a slow grower. I was around 75 pounds and maybe 5 feet tall back then, and I was the nerdy kid, so I got picked on a lot. One afternoon, some football players decided to put some fairy wings on me, tie me up, and suspend me from a goal post—only wearing underwear—right before a pep rally. They were all standing around me, admiring their work, when this other guy walks up with a baseball bat. I thought I was about to become the first ever human fairy piñata, that is until I recognized the kid walking up.”

“Sawyer?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. I’ll never forget it. He was always quiet, never had much to say to anyone, and everyone left him alone. There was something about him that seemed ominous, dangerous. He worked out every single day, without fail, in the school’s weight room, so he was a pretty big dude for his age. So that, paired with his silence, kinda freaked people out. When, in reality, he just liked to keep to himself, and he worked out daily because it was therapeutic to him. Anyway, so when the other guys saw him stalking up with a baseball bat, they freaked and ran. He never had to swing it, and he never had intentions of swinging it. He helped me down, gave me his shirt—which came to my knees—and we’ve been friends since. And the next day, those guys apologized and never screwed with me again. I never knew why.”

“I bet I could guess.” How is it possible for someone, who’s been mistreated his whole life, to still have any humanity and compassion for other people? It’s like he couldn’t save himself, so he made it his personal mission to help everyone else around him. “Well, Dr. Hoover, I really need to go, so can you give me a call when you get his test results back? And I’ll probably come back tomorrow after work to check on him.”

He pulls a notepad and pen from his pocket and hands them to me. “Sure. Just write down your contact info, and I’ll call you when I know something. And, please, call me Dalton. The whole “doctor” title is still a little weird to me.”

After I write down my name and number, I walk over to William, who is still sleeping soundly, and I gently squeeze his hand, using my other hand to brush his hair back off his forehead. “Get some rest, William,” I whisper. “I’ll be bringing you chocolate before you know it.”

I thank Dalton and start down the hall, stopping at the coffee machine for a quick caffeine fix. I mean, who can go to the hospital without getting some of that delicious coffee machine brew? Okay, fine, it tastes like crap, and I’m stalling. So sue me.

I park myself in a quiet corner of the waiting room just down from William’s room to think for a minute before heading home. Remembering that I had to turn my phone off before I left the waiting room earlier, I slip it out of my pocket and bring it back to life. Three missed calls and five text messages. Gee, I wonder who they’re from . . .

Drew: ‘I have a meeting with the superintendent in a few, but u can txt me. I’ll be checking my phone.’

Drew: ‘Please just let me know everything’s ok. You’re freaking me out.’

Drew: ‘I’m out of my meeting and heading home. Where r u?’

Drew: ‘Seriously, Makenna. I know you’re not at my house or yours. Where r u? Please call me.’

Drew: ‘I’m calling the police in 10 mins if I don’t hear from u. Just let me know u r ok.’

Seeing how the last message was sent exactly eight minutes ago, I guess I’d better stop putting it off and call him. Damn it.

The phone barely rings once before he answers. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry, Drew. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m perfectly fine. There was just an emergency I had to deal with.” Well, here it goes.