Heart Breaths (12 page)

“Made-up traumatic event?”

“That was my parent’s story for any time I mentioned Ravi and Devi. That I was hallucinating. Because apparently it wasn’t as bad to be hallucinating about a dead Indian boyfriend and daughter than it was to actually have had a dead Indian boyfriend and daughter.”

“Jesus,” Gabe whistled.

I sank back onto his pillows, exhausted. “I should go,” I whispered, drained.

“Stay here,” he said, pulling up the blanket to cover me again. “Stay.”

“I can’t.” I said, struggling to sit up, but the exhaustion making it near impossible. “I should go. You don’t want me here. You shouldn’t.”

Leaning over me, Gabe stroked a hand down my cheek. “Is this because I won’t sleep with you?” he asked softly.

I felt myself blush again, and moaned in embarrassment. “Forget I said anything,” I whispered. “Just let me go. You don’t have to see me again. I get it.”

Catching my face in his hands, he looked at me, serious. “Maddie,” he said, his breath tickling my cheek. “If it wasn’t for the fact that the anniversary of their deaths was yesterday, and the fact that I have a shitload of my own emotional baggage that I had to deal with,” he leaned down until our lips were nearly touching. “You wouldn’t be the only one naked in this bed right now.”

Brushing his lips against mine, he stood up. “I’m going to get my papers from the living room,” he said, as though he hadn’t just set all my hormones on fire. “If you want, I can come and work in here. No phone calls, just paperwork.”

I shrugged. “If you want,” I whispered.

Cracking a smile, he looked down at me. “What I want is to lick you from top to bottom,” he said, his voice growing husky. “But what you need is to get some rest.”

Turning, he walked out of the bedroom, leaving me lying there in his bed, naked, exhausted, turned on and completely and utterly befuddled.

I lay there in his bed, running my hands absently over the blanket. I had told someone what happened.

I told someone.

God, it still hurt so much. It still hurt. How did people do it? Keep going. Keep breathing.

How had I done it?

I looked down at my hand, down at where the engagement ring would have gone. Down where the wedding band would have been making a permanent tattoo into my finger. It was empty.

Jen was going to have a wedding ring.

She was going to have everything she ever wanted. Everything she ever said she wanted.

And me?

I didn’t even know if I knew what I wanted anymore.

I don’t know if I ever had.

Gabe walked back in, briefcase in one hand and a cup of coffee in another. He handed me the cup of coffee and headed to the rocking chair. “My mom won’t be back with Noie until around five,” he said, putting on a pair of reading glasses. “You have no reason to rush out.”

“Thanks.” My eyelids drifted close.

The only sound in the room was the faint sound of the ocean and the occasional click of a pen. “Gabe?” I asked sleepily, drifting closer and closer to sleep.

“Hmm?”

“Do you hate me now?”

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because all I am is regret.”

“You’re not,” he said softly. “You’re stronger than that, Maddie.”

My eyelids drooped close. “Only sometimes.”

Sleep came. Deep, dreamless slumber, the kind that I hadn’t had in years. The kind that I had ached for.

Gabe had moved at some point while I was sleeping—the rocking chair was a little closer to the bed, and his fingers were flying across the keyboard.

I yawned widely, snuggling into the blankets. Was it bad that I never wanted to get out of this bed? I didn’t care.

“Hey,” Gabe said, his voice deep and soft. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” I peeked at him, sitting there, so solid and sane. “Thanks for letting me steal your bed.”

He smiled. “Whenever you need it, Maddie.”

“How long was I sleeping for?” I asked.

He glanced at his watch. “Around four hours.”

“Four?”

“You were pretty tired.”

Emotional exhaustion will do that to you.

Gabe shut his laptop and stood up to stretch.

I wasn’t going to look at that golden swatch of skin that peeked out while he stretched. I wasn’t. I turned and stared at his bedside table, trying to look at anything but him.

A cordless phone sat on the table, on top of a pile of magazines.

“You have a house phone, too?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, it’s usually for emergencies. Or when I need to make a phone call and Noie is playing Angry Birds.”

He walked toward the bedroom door. “I’m going to make something for lunch. You in the mood for anything specific that’s not leftover pizza?”

“Actually…” I looked down at the phone. “Can I make a phone call to New York?”

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll save you a slice of pizza.”

“Thanks.”

The door closed softly behind him. Leaning over to the phone that was lying on the bedside table, I dialed a number that I hadn’t though I ever would dial again.

The phone rang. Once, twice. “Hello?”

You can do this, I told myself. You need to do this.

“Salena?” I whispered.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Maddie,” I said.

There was silence on the other end. “I just… I just wanted to call you. To see how you were.”

I could hear the sound of her breathing on the other end.

“I’m okay,” she said. “How are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I spent the day in meditation yesterday,” she said, the soft lilt of her accent flowing through the phone lines. “He is happy, Maddie. He wants you to be happy, too.”

I clutched the phone tighter. “I want to be happy, too.” I said. And then I told her the truth. “I don’t know if I know how to be.”

“The same way everyone else is,
priya
,” she said. “By breathing with your heart.”

“Breathing with my heart,” I repeated.

“You need to stop treating your heart like it is a safe box, Maddie,” she said. “You need to treat your heart like it is your lungs. It needs to breathe. It needs to keep on opening itself up, over and over and over. You can’t live without your heart breathing.”

“How do I get it to start breathing?”

“You find one person. One thing. Something. It doesn’t matter what. And you need to take a little breath of air, just for them. You have to love them enough to take a small little breath. And then you take another one. A little one, too. Just a small breath. One breath in, and one breath out. Love one person, for one moment. That is your breath in. And then, take one moment of hurt. One moment that made you put up your wall. And breathe it out. Let it out of your body, slowly. Tell it that it has done its job for you. It has served you well, and now it is time to breathe it out.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you before,” I whispered.

“Maddie, sometimes you need to give yourself space to heal,” she said, her voice calm and full of understanding. “Are you in a good place now?”

I looked around the room, sunshine pouring through the windows, the faint sound of the ocean blowing through. “I think so.”

“Good,” she said. “I think you are in a good place, also.”

“I love you,
Dādī
.” Grandmother.

“I love you too,
Pōtī
,” she replied. “Namaste.”

“Namaste,” I said, letting the phone drop to my lap.

Making sure the door was firmly closed, I picked up the clothing Gabe had left for me. Sam and I were not the same size in the slightest- Sam had the body of a pin-up girl, and I still had the body of a skeleton. But clean clothing that made me look even more pathetic was better than dirty clothing that fit. I got dressed slowly, and piled all my clothing into a neat stack.

“Do you have a plastic bag I can borrow?” I asked, standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

He looked up. “In the drawer. Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going to breathe,” I said.

Lifting a hand, he brushed his fingers down my cheek. “You’re going to be okay,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Because you have the eyes of a fighter,” he said, leaning down and planting a gentle kiss on my cheek. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Why are you being so nice?” I asked, watching his hand fall to his side. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m an emotional train wreck, who you don’t even know. I just cried all over you like some deranged person, then propositioned you, and then went on to tell you about how fucked up my life is.”

He looked at me, flabbergasted. “I’m not even going to answer that question,” he said. “But one thing.”

I looked up at him, silent. “You’re not the only one who had a fucked-up life.”

The crack in his voice broke my heart a little bit more.

Chapter · Thirteen

The museum was closed when I parked my car in the abandoned parking lot. Walking down the little path I had come to know so well, I thought about what Salena had said.

“Let your heart breathe.”

Finding a space in the middle of the field, I sat down, folding my legs into proper position. It had been years since I had done yoga, but some things just didn’t leave you. Focusing on the sound of my heart beating, I breathed. In and out. In. and out.

“Think of one thing you love. One person. Let yourself love them.”

Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift as I breathed. One thing that I could let myself love. One person.

I thought of the Lost Colony. Of Eleanor Dare’s little baby girl, Virginia. How thrilled they probably were when she was born. That Eleanor was okay. That she was okay. She was the next generation. As the first British child born on American land, she was hope.

I breathed in, thinking of a little baby girl. One who took her first breaths on the very island I was on. She was so little when Governor White left. So full of hope, and so helpless.

I breathed in, and let myself love her. Let myself love who she was. Who she could have been. What she was. What she meant.

I let my heart breathe her in. Breathe in her little gurgles of laughter that would pour out when her mother tickled her. Breathe in the coos of contentment when she lay nestled in blankets, safe from the world.

“Where were you?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

“I was out,” I answered evasively.

“With who?”

“Some kids from school,” I said.

“Which ones?”

“None that you know,” I answered. She wasn’t going to ruin this for me.

“And why don’t I know them?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet.

“They don’t really run in the same social circles as we do,” I said.

Her lips twisted in disgust. “Madeline, I told you not to fraternize with the scholarship kids.” She spit the words out like they were spoiled caviar.

“They’re also people, Mother!” I protested. “Just because they don’t have as much money as we do doesn’t make them bad people.”

“Of course they aren’t bad people,” she said. “But there are other people that it would be much more advantageous for you to associate with.”

“I can’t believe you just said that!” I exploded.

I was going to let it go.

I had to.

Sitting there, legs crossed, back straight, breathing in the smell of forest and beach, I realized something. She wasn’t going to change.

I didn’t know if she realized how horribly offensive she could be. How obnoxiously classist.

I didn’t know if she even meant well.

But her judging people based on the amount of money in their bank account didn’t mean that I had to. Didn’t mean that that was automatically the way people judged me. I took a deep breath in, and then let it out. Let out the look of horrified disgust on her face when I had told her who I had gone out with. Who I was becoming friends with. Let out the eye roll, the one that was accompanied by mutterings about what a failure I was to the family.

For that one evening, I breathed out.

It had served me well.

It had.

It taught me something that I had suspected. Something that I needed to know.

That my mother wasn’t always right.

And if she wasn’t right about the “scholarship kids” being only a little higher on the social scale than lepers, maybe she wasn’t right about me. About the way that I was a failure. An embarrassment. That nobody was ever going to want me.

Maybe she wasn’t always right.

I breathed out, and felt a piece from the wall around my heart crack off.

I felt my heart breathe a little.

“How was the birthday party?” Grandma Evelyn asked me the next day. It was the morning slump, after all the morning commuters had gotten their daily shot of caffeine and before the lunch rush began.

“It was really sweet,” I said, slicing tomatoes for the little salad bar.

“I’m glad you went,” she said.

“Went where?” It was Sam, here to pick up the order of coffee and pastries for the ladies at the salon.

“To Noie’s birthday party,” Grandma answered, leaning over and pinching her cheek. “Your hair looks different today, Samantha Jo.”

“It’s Maddie’s fault,” Sam said, turning her head to show off her new haircut.

“Whoa—why is your hair
my
fault?”

“Because of your pink, silly,” she said, laughing. “I decided that if you could do something crazy, than I should also. You know, live a little.”

I laughed in astonishment. Not since the accident had the thought that anyone would use me as an example of someone who was living a little even crossed my mind. I tilted my head to try to see what she had done. “Oh my God, you shaved off part of your hair, Sam!” I gasped, gaping at her newly shaved triangle at the side of her head.

“I know, isn’t it awesome?” she asked, running her hand over it proudly.

“I wasn’t expecting that at all,” I said, still trying to adjust to the new, more punked out Sam. “What does Chris think?”

She giggled. “He thinks it’s the sexiest thing ever,” she practically purred.

I burst into laughter. “He thinks it’s sexy, huh?”

She nodded, looking supremely smug. “I had no idea that shaving off a little bit of my hair would turn him into a sex-mad god, but it has.” She looked at me. “If he’s any indication of men, honey, you should take a razor to your hair as soon as you can.”

I had a sudden image of myself with a newly shaved triangle at the side of my head, showing Gabe. “Sam, I told you I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“Oh, please.” She scoffed. “Honey, you can’t hide behind yourself forever, you know. The pink was just the start of everything. Right, Grandma?”

Grandma Evelyn nodded. “I believe so, honey.”

I groaned. “Grandma, really? Do you have to encourage her?”

“It’s not her who needs the encouragement, it’s you,” she said, tapping me on the nose before going to ring up a customer.

“I don’t need encouragement,” I protested.

The lady waiting by the register laughed. “Honey, you need all the encouragement you can get.”

I turned to stare at her. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Charlene. I was at the salon when you did your hair. Don’t stop with just the pink, honey. I saw your face. You’ve been hiding behind someone else for far too long.” I gaped at her in astonishment. “Some advice for you, honey,” she said as she turned to leave the café. “Let yourself go and do something tacky for once.”

“Do something tacky. What kind of ridiculous thing is that for her to say,” I muttered to myself as I watched her helmet of permed white hair walk out of the café.

“It’s not ridiculous. It’s brilliant!” Sam crowed, reaching over to grab my hands and bounce excitedly.

“No, it’s not brilliant,” I said, trying to let go of my hands. “It’s stupid.”

“Oh my God, this is brilliant!” she repeated, pulling out her phone. “I could kiss her right now.”

“Now, that I’d like to see,” drawled Chris as he strolled up to the counter, wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Who are you making out with?”

“Oh, you,” Sam swatted his arm. “You’re such a
guy
.”

“I know,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “But you didn’t answer my question, sweetheart.”

“Chris, you’re off tonight, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She leaned to whisper something in his ear. His eyes widened, and he looked at me. “She’s gonna be okay with that?” he asked.

“No, she won’t be,” I said. “I don’t even know what she said, but the answer is still no.”

It was seven-thirty, and if I inhaled one more breath of hairspray, I was going to throw up. “Sam, I can’t breathe!” I choked.

“Almost done,” she said, inserting another bobby pin into my hair. “Oh mah gawd, Maddie, you will never recognize yourself.”

I groaned and closed my eyes. “And I hope to God nobody else does either,” I said. “Are you going to let me see what you’ve done to me or not?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I have to do your makeup first.”

“No, not makeup, too,” I moaned.

“Oh, hush,” Sam’s friend Hannah said, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs. “You know this is a great idea.”

I would have turned to glare at her, but Sam had my head in a tight grip. “No, it isn’t.” I said. “I think Grandma drugged the cheesecake in the café today, because I have no other explanation for why the hell I said yes to this.”

Hannah laughed. “Because it’s almost summer, you’re twenty-two, and apparently, nobody ever taught you how to have fun, and now we’re gonna fix that.”

“Going to a honky-tonk bar and singing Dolly Parton on the karaoke machine is going to teach me how to have fun?”

“Duh,” she said, pulling out a compact and checking her makeup. “Coming here was the best thing you ever did to your fun.”

“You can look now,” Sam said, spinning the chair. “Damn. I do good work.”

If I hadn’t known that there was a mirror there, I don’t think I would have recognized myself. “Sam, I look like I raided Dolly Parton’s closet,” I said, gaping at the gigantic poof of hair that was currently exploding out of the top of my head.

“Excellent,” she said. “That was the look I was going for.”

“I’m not going out in public like this,” I said, trying to reach for the makeup remover. “This is insane.”

Snatching the makeup remover out of my reach, she laughed. “Yes, you are. You’re going to come with us to Billy Bob’s Honky Tonk and Karaoke Bar, and you’re going to sing Dolly Parton, because girl, you’re practically her clone right now. And it’s going to be wonderful and tacky and fun, and we’re all going to drink a little too much and end up singing something stupid together like ‘I Will Survive’.”

I started to panic. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. Relax, Maddie. Nobody is gonna know you there except for us. And we’re your friends. Friends do stupid things with their friends.”

We’re your friends.

I didn’t know how or why Sam had decided that I was her friend. That she even wanted to be friends with me. I was emotionally screwed, was drowning in my own self-pity, and if I wanted to be honest, there was a stick permanently wedged up my butt.

But we were friends, and I wasn’t going to look that gift horse in the mouth.

“Fine,” I said. “One time, and that’s it. Even though there is no way this hair is going to fit in your car.”

“Then it’s a good thing there’s a sunroof, isn’t it?” she said, poking me as we walked out of the salon.

Walking into Billy Bob’s Honky-Tonk and Karaoke Bar was like walking into every Southern cowboy cliché. Ever. All in one building.

Taxidermied heads hung from the walls, there were rifles lined behind the bar, and every single man in the entire place as far as I could see was wearing a cowboy hat.

“Oh my dear Lord,” I whispered as I stared.

“I know,” Sam said, leading me in. “Sometimes, I think they’re all just acting. But no.”