Hold Me Like a Breath (10 page)

Dr. Castillo's typical white coat was replaced by a black suit jacket. I looked at Father's back—suited. At Mother's black dress. At the jacket Garrett had left behind on his chair. He'd been wearing a tie.

“The funeral,” I said. “You were at the funeral.”

Mother nodded. Her lips pressed so tightly I didn't know if she'd ever speak again.

I'd missed it. I'd missed
days
. I'd missed my chance to say good-bye.

I could hear snatches of conversation through the door; I listened between Dr. Castillo's directions to sit up and raise my arms so he could unfasten my hospital gown and inspect my back and abdomen.
Vigilance. Threats. Security. Failure
.

“Does this hurt?” he asked as he examined my skin.

“No.” I could've told him that Garrett hadn't bruised me, but they needed to see for themselves. Right now I wouldn't argue. Especially since, once the sheets had been drawn down, I could see the damage I'd done. My knees and calves were buried beneath gauze. Wrinkling my forehead, I felt a bandage I hadn't noticed before and had a blurred recollection of banging my face against the fence.

I wished it were worse. Bad enough to obliterate the pain in my head, heart, stomach. An ache like I'd never experienced before—but Garrett had.

Garrett's brother died
.

I didn't know I'd spoken the words aloud until Mother stepped closer, straightened my blankets, and retied my gown with soft fingers. “Yes, he did.” She touched my hair and turned to Dr. Castillo. “She's okay?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “She's not in any danger. The cuts on her fingertips and knees, and the one on her forehead, have all clotted. The bruises have stopped expanding, and she's had an infusion, so her counts are well above a hundred thousand. I'll take
another blood sample tonight to see if she's maintaining that level or needs more.”

I flinched. While I'd been sedated and stabilized, she'd had to fear for one child while mourning her other.

“I hadn't eaten, Mother. Nothing the whole day—and the shock …” I shut my eyes and forced those images away. “That's why I fainted. Please don't worry about me. I'm okay.” I looked to Dr. Castillo for agreement.

He patted my pillow. “Rest up, Penelope, and you can sleep in your own bed tomorrow.” Then he left the room, letting in more of Father's lecture.

“How could you be so irresponsible
again
?”

“Dear, please stop.” Mother's voice was enough to make Father pause, put out a hand, and catch the door before it swung shut. He and Garrett were framed by the opening and backlit by the hall lights. “He didn't harm her. And before you say anything else you might regret, remember security on the clinic is four layers thick—that
I
counted—which means it's probably more. Personally, I'd rather Carter's best friend be in here comforting Penny than standing guard outside her room so she woke up grieving and alone.”

Father's posture changed in ways it hurt to watch, the muscles of his shoulders and neck rearranging from a tight line of threat to a slump of sorrow. “You're right. Garrett, my apologies. Thank you for being there for Penelope.”

“Always, sir.” His injured eye looked puffier. I couldn't tell if it was swelling or crying—and didn't know why no one was asking him how he'd gotten hurt. Protecting me?

No. If so, the red lights above all the rooms would be illuminated. Dr. Castillo would be commencing evacuation procedures if there was
any
hint of a security threat.

Mother placed a hand on Garrett's shoulder as she passed him his jacket and the bag of frozen corn. “You should go get some rest, and make sure to keep ice on that eye.”

“I can stay.” He wrapped his fingers around the metal side rail on my bed.

If I spoke up Father would consent. But did I want him to? Garrett told me he'd find Carter. He hadn't. I had. And I'd been too late.

I looked away from him.

“The service is over. Mick will be coming shortly. You can stay until he arrives, then go.” Father's voice was still stern but laced with exhaustion.

“Dear.” Mother's eyes skipped from me to my father to Garrett and back to me. “I think, since Garrett will need a new assignment now, I'd like him to be placed with Penny—as much as possible.”

“We can talk about this later, Abigail.”

“Yes, it's simply that … I know he'll look after her.” She turned impassioned eyes on Garrett. “You would look after my little girl, wouldn't you?”

His voice was thick with emotion when he answered, “Of course.”

“You've always protected Penelope—sometimes been more careful with her than … than
he
was.”

“Abigail, this is a Business decision—”

She ignored Father. No one ever ignored him. “And you've been through this before. Having lost Keith, you know what she's feeling. I think you'd be good for her.”

She finally turned back to Father, her voice and posture breaking. “I think he'd be good for her, and I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be there for her when I can't—”

Her voice muffled as he put his arms around her and she buried her head in his shoulder. He was holding her tightly—as tightly as I'd wished to be held. Patting her back, squeezing her shoulder. And looking haunted, like at any moment he might break down too.

“Garrett, for now we'll follow my wife's suggestion: you'll be assigned to Penelope. You and I will meet to discuss this further, but for the rest of the day,
go
.”

Garrett gave each of us a nod. His eyes lingering on me for an extended second before he nodded again.

I heard him exchange terse greetings with Mick in the hallway and then it was quiet. The quiet of my parents having no idea what to say to me. Or each other. The quiet of a grief so thick it was like a fog that settled and separated us, creating three people each suffering alone.

I wished I could do karate. Or wrestle. Work out with a punching bag. Something. Anything that involved taking all these too-large emotions inside of me and turning them into physical violence that left me too exhausted to feel. Too exhausted to hurt in any way but sore muscles.

My soreness was confined to the pinpricks of the daily CBCs Mother requested. My results were no longer posted on the clinic's whiteboards, and Dr. Castillo stopped smiling, joking, or letting Caroline handle my blood work.

Mother fussed over every bite I put in my mouth, every new shadow that ringed my eyes. Fussed and fretted—then abruptly excused herself to go break down in private.

Father holed up in his office surrounded by the Wards and Miles Banks. Nolan. Anyone. Everyone. His demands of “how” and “why” shook the house to its foundation. His anger scared
me. He was never around, except for the moments when I woke up at night to a soft kiss on my forehead or him readjusting my blankets, humming “Tomorrow” or “Any Dream Will Do” or other show tunes lullabies, whispering a quiet, “Go back to sleep, sweet pea, you're safe.”

Garrett was
always
around. I wondered if he slept outside my bedroom door because that's where I found him every morning and left him every night. He was constantly in some part of my peripheral vision, following me like a ghost. Both of us were silent and haunted.

We sat on different couches in the den and I turned the TV to C-Span. People were debating something, their names and credentials displayed below them on the split screen, but I couldn't be bothered to read them or listen. The television provided an excuse not to talk, an excuse to stare straight ahead and not look at the person who'd shared Carter's last night with me. The person who was supposed to protect him. The person I'd wanted to kiss—still wanted to kiss—and now wanted to punch. The person whose voice and eyes and company made me wistful, resentful, angry, and so, so lonely.

Our head gardener leaned in the doorway. “Penelope, there are two officers here to see you.” There were grass clippings in his hair and he had work gloves on, but I also knew he had a gun strapped under his jacket. Father insisted most everyone be armed these days. “Should I show them in?”

“I guess.” I looked to Garrett for confirmation, letting my eyes rest on him for a half second before I had to turn away. Father was off-estate this morning. He, Miles, and Al were at
Turtle Island Spa in Connecticut looking into a security breach. It was the first time he had left since the funeral three days ago, and nerves had driven Mother to a bottle of Xanax and her bedroom.

The officers looked like bookends; they were both around Father's age, both slightly bald and going soft around the belt. They had the same stride, the same direct eye contact, and they said in near unison, “We're sorry for your loss, Miss Landlow.”

They held out hands to shake, but Garrett intercepted these with a gruff “Hey.” He shut off the television. “We were about to head over to the clinic. Penelope needs some blood work. If you have to ask her questions, do it there.”

I raised my eyebrows but didn't say anything. Typically my blood work took place after a meal, and Mother had been too distraught to demand I have a CBC today. I'd been looking forward to giving my veins a break.

My brain may have been spinning with questions about Garrett's motives, but Mother's etiquette training was ingrained deeper than my confusion. “Welcome, officers. I'm sorry my parents are unavailable to meet with you today, but I'll be glad to answer your questions if you don't mind accompanying us to the clinic.”

The officers exchanged a look. Now that they were closer I could see they weren't quite mirror images. One was about three inches taller than the other. He spoke, “Mrs. Landlow had told us this would be a good time.”

“I apologize; she's indisposed at the moment.” I aimed my gaze over Garrett's shoulder. “Who did my father leave in charge?”

“Nolan.”

I made a face.

“Do you want to reschedule?” asked the shorter cop. “You're a difficult girl to question, Miss Landlow. This is our third trip out here.”

No one had mentioned this to me.

Garrett snarled. “It's hard to question someone when she's unconscious.”

“Now is fine,” I reassured them. “I want to help.” I held the door to the library so the two men could follow me through it to the clinic. Garrett had stridden ahead and emerged from Dr. Castillo's office with the doctor in tow.

“Make this fast,” Garrett demanded. His face was stone and anger. “You've said it's just a formality, and we've told you she doesn't know anything.”

I expected them to snap back, to threaten to drag me down to the station if I wouldn't cooperate—that's what always happened on TV when cops' actions were questioned.

But they didn't; they shuffled their feet and apologized again. “We'll try and make this as quick and painless as possible.”

They were on the Family payroll. They must be.

“In here, please.” Dr. Castillo put the materials for a CBC on a metal tray. I sat in my usual place, pulled up my sleeves, and tried to remember which arm I should offer today.

“Left,” the doctor prompted, and I held it out for the rubber tourniquet.

“Miss Landlow.” The officer's eyes were on the needle Dr. Castillo was assembling. “You were the one to find your brother, correct?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Around what time?”

“A little after noon. It was during lunch.”

“Why were you by the fence?”

“I was going for a walk. I called him, and I heard his phone—his ringtone for me. I followed it and found …”

I felt Garrett's eyes on me too—his anguished gaze heavier than the policemen's.

“When did you last see him alive?”

“Around midnight. He said he had to go somewhere.”

“Where?” The cops were taking turns asking the questions; it left me uneasy, not quite sure where to aim my answers.

“I don't know. Sorry. We made plans to meet for breakfast—I was going to ask him then—but he never showed up.”

The shorter cop steepled his fingers and pointed them at me. “Miss Landlow, it seems you were the last person to talk to him—we don't know what happened in the twelve hours before you found his body. I need you to think. Did he seem agitated at all? Worried?”

“I-I-I don't know,” I sputtered, shaking so much that Dr. Castillo paused and pulled the tip of the needle back from where he was about to plunge it through my skin. I hadn't been paying enough attention that night, hadn't known it would matter. Hadn't known it was the last time I'd see him, the last conversation we'd have.

Garrett took over. “Carter would never have willingly exposed his baby sister to any danger. Or to this either.” He paused to point slowly between the two men.

The cops swallowed and looked chastised, but it didn't stop them from asking, “What about the Zhu family—had he mentioned them to you recently? Said anything that would lead you to believe he perceived them as a threat?”

“The Zhus? No. What do they—”

Garrett put a hand on my chair, the backs of his fingers grazing my shirt. “Penelope Landlow is a very sick girl. She doesn't leave the estate. She has no contact with the Zhus or anyone outside these gates, and she doesn't know who killed her older brother. Finding those answers is your job. It's been six days; why don't you have any? You're not going to find them in here.”

I'd stilled enough for Dr. Castillo to insert the needle in my vein. Blood flowed into the test tube and everyone's eyes were on the red. Were they picturing the crimson of Carter's blood on the ground, the way it pooled around him, seeped into his shirt, and stained the ends of his blond hair, or was that just me?