Breathe Again

by Bonnie R. Paulson

Seriously? Could my luck get any worse?

  I put my things down on the chair by the door to give the patient more time to cover anything he didn’t want seen.

  “Are you decent, Mr. Stewart?” Mortified, I refused to be run out of his room this time by anything short of a hurricane. Or an irate doctor. Or even maybe a nurse. But most certainly not bath time. Enough. I just needed to get my mission complete so I could clear my conscience.

  “Yes—” laughter filled his voice, “—if you can call these hospital gowns decent.” I turned moving to stand by his bed. He grinned. And yes, I had to agree with Sara, he was most definitely handsome in a boy-next-door-kid-brother way. This heretofore unnoticed detail chafed me.

  We’d been talking about clothes, I think. “I feel the same way about the scrubs.” I was there to make nice, and by darn, I would do it.

  “But at least your butt isn’t hanging out. Every time I turn around I feel a draft. If your scrubs are doing that, I’d like to see it.”

  “But then I’d feel the draft.” I smiled, the motion foreign—absent for over a year. Flirtatious patients I was used to, but not when they had dusty blond hair scruffy around the edges. I motioned to the seat beside his bed. “Do you mind if I sit for a second?”

  “Not at all. Forgive my manners, would you like a drink?” He watched me, obviously entertained. The show was just getting started.

  “No, thank you.” I took a seat, facing him. “I wanted to come by and apologize for last night. Well, not last night, but the night before. I don’t usually crash into patients’ rooms and cry like that. I’m sorry.” I folded my hands in my lap and waited for the judgment to begin. Hoping he was nicer than I deserved.

  “Don’t apologize. It’s fine. I wasn’t bothered by it.” His friendliness was captivating. Somehow the unguarded curiosity beguiled me. It was almost friendlike. “You left me worried about you, though. Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I—no.” How had he become the comforter? I had come to smooth away any lingering issues and he flipped the roles on me. Odd. How did he know I needed fixing? Besides the tears. “I mean, I’m fine, thank you.” I smiled. “I’m not the patient in the hospital.”

  “What, this?” He opened his hands in front of him and looked around the sterile entrapments of his room. “I happen to know my stay at the Hilton will end this afternoon.” He tilted his head to the side. “When are you free?”

  “Now, actually. Apparently, I have two weeks off.” Fatigue must have colored my judgment. I could have sworn disappointment flashed across his face. Too much information for a mere patient, but the chair cuddled me and his easy hospitality took the edge off. I covered a yawn and eyed his pillow, wondering if he’d miss it. I could probably take him.

  “On all night. Maggie, right?”

  Driving home would be a challenge. “Yes, and you’re Ryan. I just wanted to apologize for last night.” I stood. “I better go. I’m exhausted and you’ve been up awhile too.”

  “Yes, he has. No thanks to you.” The brother’s voice revived me. Sleepiness fled like cold from heat. The kind man in the cafeteria long gone—must have been a sleep-deprivation delusion.

  “Brodan. That’s no way to talk to a lady.”

  Brodan. The name Ryan had called me the first night I’d barged in on him. I liked Jerk better.

  “It’s okay, Ryan. I don’t think she deserves the title if she’s constantly trying to keep the sick from their rest…” His broad shoulders, outlined by the flannel shirt he wore, caught my attention. Dean’s shoulders. Momentarily distracted, I failed to acknowledge his words. My blank stare was the only response. His jaw tightened and the muscles jumped.

  Foggily, it dawned on me. The way to make him mad was ignore him—like second grade. I’d run the sheep insult into the ground. Dean had been the opposite. It balmed my wounds to realize there was at least one difference between the two.

  I looked back at Ryan. He worriedly searched my face. With a hand up, I joked with him. “No worries, kind sir. Everyone has their own impression.” My head wobbled on my shoulders in an attempt to agree. “Thank you for your chivalry.” Brodan would miss anything subtle, but I glanced at him anyway. “It seems to be a lost art these days.”

  My shoes waited for me on the floor where I had dropped them. I grabbed the white runners and smiled at Ryan when I straightened, adding, “It was nice to meet you. I hope you do get out of here soon. Have a great day.” Without looking at his brother, I walked to the door and left for home.

  The contrast between the brothers intrigued me enough to hold sleep at bay for the short fifteen-minute drive. Ryan had sandy-blond hair, shaggy but short. His angular features were masculine without screaming caveman. Lean and pale, despite the summer season, he was built more like a basketball player or a track runner would be. His eyes were excruciatingly blue and reminded me of Brodan…

  And I unwillingly focused on Brodan’s muscular stature, which, while not stocky, appeared very solid. He stood taller than me, but most men did. His forearms captivated my memory and I nearly drove past my driveway recalling the details of those rocklike muscles. They bulged under his elbow, dusted in black hair that curled toward his hands. A black-blue tattoo of an anchor wrapped by an American flag decorated his right lower arm on the smooth inner skin, the upper portion playing peek-a-boo under the roll of his pushed up sleeve.

  Parking the car, I struggled to get the image out of my head. Forearms, a definite weakness, hadn’t done me any good the last time. I refused to repeat the same mistake as before.

  I opened and closed my front door and the smell of bleach brought me back to reality. My personal telltale heart. I couldn’t think about another man’s body while my husband’s brains lingered on the walls and ceiling.

  My work stuff fell to the tiled floor beside the front door. I stood, staring in the direction of the living room. I wanted to go in there. I wanted to go into the master bedroom. I wanted to go anywhere but the three rooms I limited myself to—the bathroom with laundry appliances, the kitchen and the guest bedroom. Conveniently they clustered together in the center of the house, away from the crime scene. It’d be so nice to entertain on the cozy couch in the sitting room or read on the loveseat. But I couldn’t. Not wouldn’t—couldn’t.

  My mother had visited a few months back and had wrinkled her nose at the smell of cleaner. “I think you got it,” she’d said. But she didn’t understand. I knew I got the blood. Really. But I could still smell the copper on the air. I could taste the heavy salt. And if I allowed myself to open the door to one of the other rooms or even linger a moment in the doorways, I’d see the remains and I would get the bleach out once again and clean like mad until I felt faint with the fumes and couldn’t go on any longer.

  One day, I might be able to go into a room where he’d lived. But that day, so far, had called in sick and I feared it was on a leave of absence. Like me. Indeterminate in length.

  I kicked off my shoes, abandoning them on the front mat, and walked to the bedroom. Enough for one day. On my dresser, a bottle of sleep aids welcomed me. I downed two, dry-swallowing in my haste to get to bed.

  I probably didn’t need them, but I wanted to sleep for a while, not just until I had to pee.

  Fully clothed, I fell onto my duvet. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. I—

  The pressure in my pelvic region woke me in the darkness of the night. I pushed myself up from where I had landed face-first. Rolling over, I sat on the edge of my queen-sized bed and stared at the floor.

  A fallen tree in the forest collects beautiful green moss in its stillness. My tongue toured my mouth, finding nothing beautiful about fuzzy teeth and dry taste.

  I leaned my head back, hair falling around my shoulders. My neck and back hurt from the uncomfortable position I had slept in. The pills had worked wonders.

  Close to wetting my pants, I hobbled into the bathroom to relieve myself.

  Grogginess pulled m
e back to the bed for more sleep. I shed my clothes, leaving them scattered where they fell near the bed, and climbed between the sheets. Exhaustion took me under.

  Chapter Four

  As much as I loved to sleep, eighteen hours was a little ridiculous. But I didn’t fight it. I needed oblivion.

  I awoke close to five the next morning. The sun rose with me. In my underwear and T-shirt, I trundled down the hall into the kitchen, ignoring the emptiness of the house. Sleeping that long had left a hole in my stomach. I opened the fridge with grand expectations only to be disappointed by its meager offerings. An opened jar of mayonnaise, three containers of unknown substances, a block of moldy something or other and a jar of maraschino cherries.

  The store closest to my house didn’t open until eight.

  I pulled the small jar of red fruit from the door shelf. Hopefully they weren’t bad yet. The idea of an egg-salad sandwich had somehow become ambrosia. Anything would do. Well, anything identifiable.

  Discarding the lid by the sink, I leaned against the counter and fingered out a cherry and popped it into my mouth. The taste reminded me of virgin piña coladas from when I was growing up. The cherry juice had a strong bite with its preservatives and syrup. I opted for the solitary cherry and recapped the container.

  Maybe I could be at the store when the doors opened, looking like a sad fan waiting all night for tickets to some pop star’s show.

  A shower would help pass the time until then. Flipping on the bathroom light, I jumped at the reflection in the mirror.

  I gave the term “hot mess” a new name. My red strands, long and straight some days, curly on others, were everywhere in an odd mix resembling the wake of a hurricane.

  Rather than wavy, glossy hair like Kate Winslet, I have tendrils that glorify in keeping me guessing. Unbelievable how layered hair, shoulder length, still had the wherewithal to point heavenward and down at the same time. I shed my underwear, shaking my head. Truly unbelievable.

  The water washed the residual effects of the sleeping pills from my mind. An ache between my shoulders reminded me of the busy night before, which turned my thoughts toward the brothers.

  How could one man be sweet and genuine while the other lacked all sense of manners? Maybe the brute was raised on a farm where he never had the opportunity to see normal people and acted like a bull because he was raised among the cows. Maybe my sheep reference hadn’t been far off…Shampoo bubbles filled my hair and a chuckle escaped at the thought of Brodan in denim overalls slinging muck.

  Ryan, on the other hand, seemed smooth and courteous, fun even. He’d made me laugh and that hadn’t happened in a long time.

  But if I could put Ryan’s personality into Brodan’s body, it might have been just what I would be looking for, or not looking for, since the idea was strictly shower thinking. I’d gotten in trouble before, pursuing thoughts generated in the shower.

  I lathered my body, trying to push the images of the men from my head. Aided by my hunger, I switched easily to considering menu items, with thoughts of pancakes smothered in syrup and crisp sizzling bacon ruling my mind.

  By the time I finished washing, my stomach growled in earnest. I wouldn’t make it another two hours. Rather I left for the 24-hour one-stop shop ten minutes farther.

  Beside my adorable VW van, blue with a white top from the early 70s, I drew in a deep breath. I loved when the rest of the world slept and it felt like I was the only one awake. Opening my door, I tossed my purse onto the seat beside the driver’s side. Before I climbed in, the blue paint glinted, reminding me of Brodan….

  Dang. I’d have to retrain my attraction guide. The man’s similarities to Dean should have been the only repellent I needed. Add his rudeness and the fact we couldn’t be in the same room together, I should feel nauseated just thinking of him. Get him out of your head, Maggie.

  “Nope. Not you,” I sang to myself above the rumble of the well-maintained foreign engine. “You can’t stop thinking about his, well, anything about him.”

  It wasn’t like I’d ever see him again. Montana was a large state. As if I’d just escaped some type of torture device, I inhaled with less pressure on my chest.

  The van rolled into the empty parking lot and I claimed the closest non-handicapped spot.

  The breeze, whispering through the leaves of the trees lining the street, sneaked through the threads of my faded jeans and green long-sleeve t-shirt. A few of the cottony clouds floating in the sky pulled in front of the morning sun. My step increased with the slight chill and I all but jumped through the sliding doors.

  Maybe the next couple of weeks wouldn’t be so bad. I hadn’t been away from work for more than two days since Dean’s funeral. A break from life’s responsibilities? Could be just what the doctor ordered.

  The aisles stretched before me, colorful and varied, with more to offer than I remembered. Cooking had been my forte, but I’d abandoned the pleasure when I’d lost Dean and my appetite.

  I was going to start having fun immediately. I might only cook for one but that food was going to be good.

  I pushed a cart from the row shoved along the entryway wall, heading into the produce and bagged greens, reds, oranges, yellows and browns. In the bakery section, French bread loaves, bags of bagels, muffins and bread fell victim to my whim. Canned items didn’t stand a chance and once I reached the dairy aisle hunger controlled me. Cheese, yogurt, cottage cheese, ricotta and milk found their place among the other prisoners in my cart.

  Chocolate milk caught my attention, not the small single-serving bottles but the creamy kind in a gallon. I stood still, my hand clenching the plastic part of the cart handle. I couldn’t drag my eyes away.

  Dean’s favorite treat. I’d been able to avoid chocolate milk all this time, I have no idea how. My throat constricted. The tightness banded around my chest and the back of my throat burned. I tried to swallow the image of him laughing, drinking from the jug in the kitchen.

  “So, we meet again.”

  I spun to find the one person I didn’t need to see.

  “You!” Flustered at having been caught reminiscing, my accusation seemed the only real response.

  He stood only a few feet from me, yet my senses betrayed me. How did I keep missing him? My tingling body hadn’t missed a thing, but I blamed my flush on the memory of my dead husband.

  “Yep. Excuse me.” He reached around me to open the door and pull from the shelves the object of my previous fascination. The exact same one.

  Gallon in hand, he backed away to a safer distance. He stood there. Not speaking. My grip tightened on the cart. I cleared my throat, unsure if words were called for or what they would even be. My beautiful day marred by his presence. I should’ve stayed in bed.

  “Well…” I looked at the cream cheese to the right of him, and then at the tiled floor to his left.

  He continued his silence, leaving me more uncomfortable than his previous coarseness had.

  I sucked in a large breath. Without making eye contact, I blurted, “Okay. Bye.”

  Giving the cold shoulder to him and the damned milk, I pushed my burdened cart ahead of me. Sedately. With dignity. Why give him the satisfaction of running?

  Around the corner and headed to the registers, I picked up my pace. He hadn’t been tethered to a cart, but I failed to notice if he carried more than the gallon of Dean’s addiction.

  I scowled at the black conveyor belt then at my heaping basket. And suddenly wanted nothing more than to abandon the store and run screaming to my van. A trip to Denny’s would’ve been better.

  Get it done, Mag. I squared my shoulders. Brodan didn’t have the power to ruin my leave-of-absence shopping trip. True, it had been Brodan combined with a memory of Dean that had taken me by surprise. Surely I wouldn’t have noticed if the moment had contained Brodan by himself. I ignored the betrayal of my body’s awareness. I needed food, then I’d be invincible…ish.

  Slowly, I transferred the pile of items from my cart to the b
elt, wishing I could wiggle my nose and already be home.

  With a cucumber in hand and reaching for a yogurt, I froze. I straightened and stared in amazement as Brodan stood in line behind me.

  Dang! The only open register. I zeroed in on him and glared, the beeping of my items ringing up a soundtrack for the frozen moment.

  To my surprise, he didn’t look away, but rather met my glare openly, without rancor.

  The wind out of my sail, I tried to focus on what I was doing and finished emptying my cart. How odd. He only carried two items—chocolate milk and a package of chocolate cookies. With his build, he didn’t strike me as a junk-food addict, unless he’d fallen off the diet wagon.

  As the woman rang me up, piling food into plastic bags I transferred back into my cart, the scowl slid from my face. Maybe he’d always been a chunky person until recently when he started a really hard fad diet. He lost weight and got, well, to be blunt, built, but something I did shoved him over the edge of control and now he couldn’t stop eating.

  At least in that scenario, I wasn’t the only one affected by the other. I shook my head, giving myself too much credit to affect anyone in such a significant way.

  Particularly aware that he might be watching me, I tried not to speak too loud or do anything embarrassing like getting caught ogling his arms or jaw.

  I paid for the food before pushing my cart out the door toward the van. Each step marked my chant in my head. Almost there. Almost there.

  “Hey, Maggie! Over here!” To my right, in a large beast of a truck, Ryan waved enthusiastically, hanging half out the window. A blue handicap tag hung from the rearview mirror. How’d he swing that one?

  I smiled and waved. His brother still inside, I veered the cart off my linear path and rattled to a stop near the vehicle. The parking lot, empty but for our two rigs, held on to the cool of the night as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  Ryan leaned eagerly out the passenger side, smiling widely.

  “Hey, trouble. You sprung out, huh?” I slowed the cart down a few feet from the truck.