The Last Exhale (24 page)

“Why aren't you stretching? Your legs'll cramp up.”

I look down at my loafers.

“Wait, you're not running?”

I don't answer the obvious.

She goes back to stretching, tells me with her body language that she's not going to let me keep her from releasing what needs to be released.

I walk over to a lone bench by the beginning of the trail. I sit and wait for her to finish giving her muscles the attention they need before she tries to strangle them to death. I don't know how she can even think about running after the damage she just put on her legs less than twenty-four hours ago.

A lot has happened in twenty-four hours. A lot has changed.

She walks over to me, sits down. A second later she slides from the bench, grabs my hand, pulls me off with her. “Walk with me for a few.”

I oblige.

Our hands are still intertwined as people run past us on the trail. Neither one of us say anything. We just walk holding hands. I'm sure we look out of place, awkward. I know I probably feel as out of place as I look.

Sydney stops in front of the restrooms when she lets go of my hand. “Be right back.”

I debate running away from here while she's out of sight. I want to run away and not look back. When she walks out of the restroom with an extended index finger calling me to follow her, I realize my mind didn't send the memo to my feet.

She locks us in the stall.

“What are we doing?”

Her voice a whisper. “You followed me in here. Don't you think it's a little late for questions?”

I let her lips touch mine, let mine touch hers back.

“I. Need. This.” Desperation in her breath.

A few hours ago I needed her, but she left me in a hotel room. Naked. Hurt. Disoriented. It didn't matter to her what I needed because at that time she had other things on her mind. Priorities that didn't include me. I should've walked away from day one. I can't make up for what I didn't do back then. All I can do now is walk away.

I reach my hand behind her, unlatch the lock, and do just that. I walk away.

EJ nearly tackles me the moment I walk through the door. “Mommy.”

I pick him up, give him a big hug. Feeling his little arms around me touches my soul in the best way right now.

“Is Daddy coming home?”

I put him down. “Not today.”

“Can we go see him?”

Mom brought the kids home this morning so they could be around their own stuff since everything else in their life had become out of order. I look to her for some relief. I just can't do this right now.

On cue, she summons him back in the kitchen. “Help me finish making these cookies.”

“Cookies,” he yells and beats her back in the kitchen.

Kennedy's sitting in the middle of the living room floor. Her full attention devoted to the coloring book in front of her. Either she's working on a masterpiece or she's still pissed off at the world for hurting her favorite teacher, and in return, hurting her father.

“You still not talking?”

She digs out another crayon from the box.

I let her be. This just doesn't seem to be my day. Everyone has gone for blood today. My mother-in-law. Sgt. Lee. Brandon. My daughter. And in his silence, even my husband.

Brandon left me in the restroom horny and pissed. As much as I wanted to run, actually needed to run, I had no intentions of doing such. I needed to do wrong again to make me feel right. For just one moment I needed a temporary fix. Sex was going to be that. Sex with another woman's husband. Yep, that's what I needed to release all of this stress. I should feel bad about it, but I don't.

In my bathroom, I fill the tub up with heat. Since I didn't get the release I was going for, a hot bath will have to do. The moment my feet hit the water, something in me explodes. A wail crawls from my soul and crawls through my lips. I cry so hard I shake. Feel like I'm seizing.

All of this began with a lie, a lie Eric and I told each other, and ourselves, since our first date. Either one of us could've easily walked away. He could've gone back to the woman who kept his heart and I could've held on to my singleness until I met someone to give my heart to. Instead, we both tried to make something work that would eventually reveal our lies and fears. I made him responsible for my happiness and he failed. Failed because that wasn't his responsibility. Had I realized that way back when, life would be so very different.

Again, hindsight is everything.

•  •  •

A loud vibration rumbles next to my head. Feels like a woodpecker on crack is trying to drill a hole through my brain.

It takes me a minute to realize where I am. I'm still in the tub. Been in here so long, the water feels like ice. All of the crying I did must've sent me into a deep sleep. I unplug the tub, let the water drain. Wrap myself up in an oversized towel. Try to bring some warmth to my body.

Two short vibrations reminds me why I'm freezing. I grab the phone from the back end of the tub, see two missed calls; two new voicemails. Both are from my mother-in-law. I call her back.

“Is everything all right?”

“Well, hello to you too, Sydney.”

“It's been a long day. Sorry if I seem short.”

“If you say so.”

“And what does that mean?” I put the lid down on the toilet, sit on top of it with the towel still wrapped around me. Don't know why, but it feels like a draft has blown through all of a sudden. Makes me shiver.

“I haven't forgotten what you said at the hospital.”

Here we go again. “Maybe not, but you seem to have forgotten I also said it was nothing.”

“Look, Sydney, I'm trying my best to get along with you for the sake of my son. You don't make it easy.”

I lean my head against the wall, slightly bang it a couple of times hoping to bang out this conversation taking place. It doesn't work.

She continues. “I don't know why my son married you.”

As much as I've tried through the years to be respectful, this woman has made it hard. A daughter-in-law can only take so much abuse before keeping the peace in the relationship between mother and son is no longer a concern. I've never wanted to cross the line of respect, never wanted to go off on my husband's mother like my mother didn't raise me any better. Today, she's caught me on the wrong day and at the wrong time. “Your son chose to marry me. He made that choice even after knowing how you felt about me. That says more about you than anything. So tell me, what's really the problem?”

After a deadening silence, Elaine says, “Eric is awake and is asking for you.”

N
erves do a number on me as I walk through the doors to ICU. Feels like any minute I should be sitting on somebody's toilet. The last time my husband's eyes were on mine, they held more contempt than a judge toward an out-of-order attorney in court.

I stand in front of the window to his room. The blinds are open. I see him, see him looking at me. It's almost as if he felt my energy, felt me coming before I even arrived.

I nod.

He blinks slowly.

“It's a blessing,” an approaching voice says.

I grab the familiar hand of my father-in-law as it wraps around my waist. Lean my head on his shoulder. “It is.”

“Your name was the first thing he said. Called you before his eyes even opened.”

Mr. Holmes' words make me raise up my head. I give him a kiss on the cheek, squeeze his hand.

He rubs his other hand on top of mine. “You know my wife means no harm. Eric is our only child and she can be overprotective.”

“That's putting it mildly.”

He sighs. “She just… We both want what's best for him.”

I squeeze his hand again and move toward the door. As I walk
into the room, Mrs. Holmes walks out. She says nothing, neither do I.

Eric studies the tension between our nonverbal exchange. Watches her walk out, watches me walk in. Takes notice of the space between us. His eyes close.

I shut the door once my husband's mother leaves. I nod at my in-laws through the blinds, then close them. Keep all outsiders outside of this room. My eyes focus in on the man I married. He's still bandaged up, face still puffy from the blow. I walk over slowly. As I approach, his eyes reopen. I sit in the chair his mother was sitting in by his side; place my hand on top of his. “You scared me.”

“Thought you'd be here when I woke up.”

“I wanted to be.”

His hand moves underneath mine. “Where were you?”

“Went home to check on the kids. Had to make sure EJ wasn't driving my mom crazy. You know how he can get.” I chuckle, both at our rambunctious son and to help calm my nerves some.

Eric looks through me, penetrates my thoughts. Searches for answers to questions I have yet to be asked. Questions I'm not sure I want to be asked or that he would want to hear the answers to. He slides his hand away from mine, reaches for his mouth.

“Wait, don't touch. Is it itching?”

“Yeah.”

On the cart on the other side of the bed is some ointment and gauze. “Let me put some of this on to help.” A piece of glass from the accident cut the side of his mouth; had to get stitches. I dab lightly at it. “That better?”

His fingers wrap around my wrist, pulls my hand down. Looks deep inside me again. “We're not okay, are we?”

I use my other hand to remove his from mine, place it on his lap. Take the gauze and throw it in the trash by the door. A shallow
breath barely fills my lungs. Feel tears on the surface, but I exhale them away, turn back toward the bed. I look at my husband, press my lips together, and shake my head.

He says, “I can feel it.”

My legs grow weak. I sit back down by his side. “Do you remember what happened before the accident?”

He doesn't look at me, he closes his eyes instead. “I remember more than I want to.”

The door opens. A woman in blue scrubs enters the room. A clear bag in her hand. “How are you feeling, Mr. Holmes?”

“I'm alive. Guess that counts for something.”

“Of course it does.” She nods my way while checking his temperature. “You must be his wife.”

“I am.”

“Met his parents earlier. Such sweet folks. Good to see someone cared for. Sometimes people are in here for weeks without anyone coming to see them.” She removes an empty bag and replaces it with fresh meds. Lowers his bed a little.

“Can't imagine what that feels like,” I say just so she won't feel like she's talking to herself.

She writes a few things down on a piece of paper. “You think you're ready to eat, Mr. Holmes?”

“Not right now.”

“Okay,” she says. “I'll leave the menu with your wife, and maybe you'll be ready by the time I come back.”

The moment she walks out, I tell Eric, “Why don't you try to get some rest.”

“I've been resting for a couple of days now.”

“I know, I know.” I reach for the remote hanging off the back of the bed. “Want me to put on the news?”

“We can't keep skipping around our marriage, Syd.”

He's called me Syd for years, but all of a sudden hearing it makes me think of Brandon. Damn these thoughts. “I'm not trying to. Just don't think right now is the time to go there.”

A heavy gust of air bursts from his nostrils. Settles him for a bit.

“The kids want to come see you. When I told them you were awake, EJ was so happy he ran circles around the dining room table.”

“How's Kennedy?”

“Confused. Hurt. Doesn't understand why her dad hates her teacher.”

“That wasn't supposed to happen.”

I hang the remote back up. “What were you thinking, Eric?”

He shakes his head, shakes it like he's trying to keep a bad thought from entering his mind.

I'm concerned about his head injury. “Are you hurting?” I reach for the button on his bed to call the nurse.

“It was Michael.”

I pull my hand back. “That's what the reports from some of the people at the school said.”

“I was standing with Kennedy and her teacher talking about how good she's doing with her math. I didn't know Michael had gotten out of the car until he started asking Mr. Carter all these questions. He mentioned you and the teacher being at Riverpoint holding hands and seeing you two riding in your car together.”

“He had no right,” I interrupt.

Eric reaches for his mouth again. This time I let him. He touches the stitches, touches around them. Feels around the rest of his face. Then plops his arm back in his lap. “Was it true?”

“No.”

“Don't lie to me, Sydney.”

I think about what I said. It was the truth. I wasn't at the park
with our daughter's teacher. He's never been in my car. It was a case of mistaken identity, but Eric doesn't need to know all of that. I get up from the chair, give my butt some relief. Walk over to the window and look outside. I watch as the sun makes its descent.

My mind reminds me how Eric and I began with a lie. How we couldn't face our own insecurities enough to tell the truth of what we wanted. He denied himself of being with the woman he really wanted. I denied myself of loving me enough to know he wasn't the one for me. I couldn't love him out of his love for another woman just as much as he couldn't love me out of my fear of ending up lonely like my mother. These years have proven that. We've wasted all this time running from the truth and ended up running right into it.

“I don't want to live this lie anymore, Eric.”

L
ife as I know it changes the moment I walk through my apartment and see my mom bent over my wife. Mom's sniffles could be heard and her tears could be seen ten states over.

I came home to think, to have a moment to process everything that's happened over the past few days. Coming here was a far stretch for peace, I know, but I wasn't expecting this.