Breathe Again

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  I had figured I’d learned my lesson with Dean. What else needed to happen to point out how worthless I was for guys?

  “Do you feel that way about him?” Amusement slid from his face, leaving behind suspicion.

  “No.” I shook my head, shrugging. “He’s a sweetheart but he’s a little young. Not to mention, I apparently like having complications with the guys I like, such as you.”

  “You like me?”

  The neutral expression on his face distracted me. Dang it, Maggie. “I…I don’t like-like you, I, well, it’s like, um. We can be friends, right? I was speaking metaphorically. ’Cause it seems I prefer to torture myself with men who are—”

  “Arrogant and self-assuming?”

  “Right.” I blushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “Yeah, you did. No worries. I’ve been called worse. Plus, to finish telling you what I started a minute ago, I can’t date anyone or have a serious relationship. I have to be there for my brother.” Serious weight fell between us.

  To lighten the moment, he chuckled, the sound new and one I found I liked—a lot. “So, Ryan likes you—as a friend—and that is hard for him to do…make friends.”

  “But why?”

  “The commitment factor is difficult for him and it closes a lot of doors. He had a friend over once—he must have been about eight years old and his friend wanted to go play a game of basketball at another friend’s house. Ryan wasn’t able to go and the kid made fun of him and left. Broke my heart. He sat on the step and played in the dirt all alone. I sent my buddies home that day and it’s been just us ever since.” Brodan avoided my gaze, changing the subject before I could pursue it any further. “Do you know my mom wants him to move in with her?”

  “Really? What for?” Interesting. Why would a son move back in with his mother? Better yet, why would two brothers live together when there’s obviously money in the family?

  “She needs to feel needed.” He laughed. “And it’s all about Mom.”

  “You don’t like her?” An awful lot of information was exchanging hands, but I couldn’t stop. He fascinated me and I needed to understand him, his dynamics.

  “No, it’s not that. She’s my mother. It’s just rather than worry about what’s best for Ryan—or me—she’s concerned with how she feels, how people think of her. It’s complicated.” He shrugged.

  I smiled. “It’s not that complicated. She’s a parent but that doesn’t mean she can’t be annoying, right? Mine suffocated me after Dean died. My mom’s favorite saying was ‘I understand how you feel’ all while she was holding Dad’s hand. She didn’t understand anything.” A shrug to match his. “I’ve had to cool things with them for a bit. I can only handle so much understanding, you know?”

  Brodan nodded and offered a sigh. We’d found another thread of commonality in the weird tapestry between us.

  I relaxed my shoulders. The tension tapped into my energy and depleted it like water in the desert sun. “But it’d be nice. To be needed.” The sunlight dimmed outside the blinds. Darkening shadows captured the change in the atmosphere between us.

  I had no idea where it came from, but the palpable stillness permeating the air caressed my skin and cooled the ire always just under the surface when he was around.

  “Do you have to go back soon?” I licked my lips and reached up to tug on my hair, trying to be nonchalant, and afraid I failed miserably. Like I was begging for a date or companionship. His strong male presence made for great company, particularly in the sense I hadn’t had any in nearly a year. Crap, that made me sound like I cared about something besides…who knows what? But with his arms built the way they were, there was more than a bucket full of temptation enticing me, pulling at me with a magnetism I’d never known before. Even with Dean.

  “No. I’m betting Ryan is too mad at me for you leaving.” His lips twisted with bittersweet emotion. A sensation I’d had plenty experience with.

  “Would you like to stay for a little bit?” I pointed toward the fridge in the kitchen behind me. “I have plenty of food and drinks and my neighbors throw a heckuva fireworks display. We could sit on the patio furniture and relax? If you want to, I mean.”

  He shifted in his chair. “I’d like that, thanks.”

  Burgers built inches and inches high, dripping in ketchup, mustard, and barbecue sauce, dressed with lettuce, pickles, tomatoes, cheese, onions and bacon strips smiled at Brodan and me from paper plates bending under their weight. We carried them out to the patio table where we’d already set up chips, pop and utensils. I ran back inside to grab napkins, lots and lots of napkins.

  We sat kitty-corner to each other, our elbows longing to rub against each other. At least mine longed, if elbows can crave.

  Laughing at ourselves and the mess made, we wiped the condiments from our chins and cheeks. A slice of intimacy had joined our party and we avoided jumping down each other’s throats easily.

  “Do you know what it’s like to be in combat?” I asked after a comfortable silence filled with chewing.

  At his questioning glance, I nodded toward his bared forearm inked with a symbol from his past.

  He swallowed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Combat? I took a short tour at the end.” He picked up a chip and looked at it before putting it back on his plate. “The majority of my four years was up before the fighting started. I had a lot of issues to deal with here at home. After I was discharged they started deploying in large numbers.” He studied his tattoo.

  I studied him. “Do you think you would have reenlisted if you had the chance?”

  “Mag, is there something in particular you’re searching for?” He ignored the last third of his burger and leaned toward me, resting his elbows on the table. He perused me, scrutinizing my agenda.

  I had no perfunctory answer. I hadn’t expected the question and the truth seemed too inconsiderate to voice.

  “Mag? You can ask me, if you have a question…” His voice hung in the air, patience mixed with curiosity.

  I reacted, having had no shoulder to lean on or ear to bend with this type of conversation. “Well, Dean was in the service and he went to combat a few times in a row. Each time he came back more sullen, less like himself.” I swallowed against the tightening in my throat. “When he came back the last time, we got married. I always thought it was the smart thing to do, marry your high school sweetheart, but, he…well, he seemed apathetic to it. I think he married me out of obligation, you know?”

  “I can’t imagine anyone marrying you because they felt some sense of duty, especially someone who loved you.”

  “But did he? What did he go through over there? I wonder if what he experienced had any impact on what happened here.” I looked away from his distracting lips.

  “I’m sure it did. He never let on he had thoughts about suicide?”

  I winced at the word. It’s one thing for me to think it, say it, acknowledge it, but when pushed through the air, the truth of the situation slammed in to spite me. “No. He had signs of depression, but I thought it would pass.” The first boom from fireworks shattered the peaceful night, lights sparkling above the pine trees before falling from view. I whispered into the subsequent stillness, “He didn’t leave me a note. No ‘sorry,’ ‘I love you,’ or ‘catch you later.’ He didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye. I had to find him, spread out for all to see. I called 911 and then sat there. I couldn’t do anything else. I stared at him for almost thirty minutes before help showed up.”

  Skeletal amusement mixed with the screams of the whistling flyer released next in the queue. “His brains weren’t in his body. They weren’t coming to help. They were coming to clean up.”

  A breeze common to the northern Montana clime swirled through the air, inducing a sprinkling of goose bumps to run along my skin. Brodan’s warm fingers brushed against my upper arm, the difference significant, hot and cold. I shivered, less from the cold than from the heat radiating through his fingertips.

/>   “Don’t worry, Mag. I can’t read his mind, but there is no way you could have been the main cause.” He sighed. “It isn’t like going to the movies or playing paintball. Battle, whether preparing for it, seeking it, or living it, drives pieces of you into the dirt. I’ve been missing parts of myself for years I doubt I’ll ever rediscover and I never had the chance to be a part of the ‘official’ war.

  “Sometimes I wonder if I ever came back, it seems so surreal.” He pressed his fingers onto his arm where the tattoo hid under his sleeve. “More and more, though, those four years are the dream, popping up to mark me with memories.”

  We continued to stare at each other. The colorful show staging an intensely powerful moment.

  I leaned forward into something I sought. He met my pull, moving to greet me. Inches separated our lips. Centimeters. Millimeters.

  An intense buzzing separated us. I looked into my lap, spinning my gaze into the sky to watch the fireworks when my jeans didn’t offer any distraction from my embarrassment.

  “Hello? Yeah. Okay, I’ll be right there…No. Don’t call them. I’ll drive him. Mom, I won’t be more than ten minutes. Yes, I get it. Leaving now. ’K. Bye.” Brodan stood and folded his small cell phone into his pocket.

  I turned to face him. “Is everything all right?”

  Standing, he offered a tight smile. “I’m sorry, Mag. I have to leave. Ryan needs to go back to the hospital. I—” He ran his hand through his hair.

  “Don’t worry about it. I hope everything is okay. Let me know, all right?” I would love a call, text, anything from you.

  “Sure thing.” He retrieved his hat from the seat next to where he’d been sitting and stuffed it on his head. Brodan looked at me, distracted, and said, “Thanks, again.”

  In less than a second he was gone. The only evidence he’d been there the flush on my skin, the slicked-up plate and the longing to have him back.

  Was it terrible that I had more worry over how abruptly the night ended than how Ryan was? He didn’t seem that sick to me, a little more tired than he should be, maybe, but nothing more than that.

  I leaned back in my chair and watched the fireworks alone, the grand finale falling in an anticlimactic clash from the sky.

  The evening, sour in the beginning, had fermented to sweet, culminating in a slightly salty flavor tinged with spice creating an interesting bouquet. Brodan would be my port.

  I wished then and there I’d never married. Maybe I’d be more open to finding happiness. Maybe I’d expect it or better yet, maybe I’d seek it.

  Brodan could have made me happy. He was different, even with all the similarities to Dean I thought I recognized.

  I longed for the chance to discover if the chemistry existed. Maybe with Brodan…Oh, well. Maybe.

  The neighbors ended the display. Sounds of their party drifted across the distance separating our yards. I smiled at the laughter. Ignoring the remnants of our meal, I entered the house.

  A picture flashed through my head with Dean, no, Brodan standing beside the chair in the living room. An adrenaline boost spurred my fatigue into the night. I’d be up for hours cleaning spotless walls and steaming untouched carpet before I’d be able to sleep again.

  Life had no rhyme or reason.

  Hopefully, Ryan was okay.

  Chapter Six

  Sleep evaded me. After I scrubbed the walls, steam-vac’d the carpet and furniture and wiped every smooth surface with a bleach-water mixture, I took a hot bath to scrape the lingering scent of his death from my skin.

  The ceiling refused to acknowledge the washing down I’d just delivered to the house. It flashed the pictures from that night, more clear than if I’d been there again. Reliving the nightmare to share the small amount that I had with Brodan had just dredged up things I had worked so hard to forget.

  Brodan. The man had almost kissed me. Or maybe my desperate yearning for human contact came off in waves. A woman craving intimacy would be the ultimate turn-on for any man looking for a place to park it. Yet Brodan didn’t strike me as the type of guy who’d enjoy a girl and move on without a by-your-leave.

  No, he was the man who’d ditched an almost guaranteed make-out session to take his brother to the hospital.

  Poor Ryan. I pulled my head out of the gutter. Ryan, back in the hospital, hadn’t recovered enough to be discharged the first time. I needed a reality check. He’d been there for me and here I was worried more about getting into Brodan’s pants than about how he was doing. Maybe I needed to focus on a friendship with the brothers plural versus conjuring up a relationship with one who might or might not be the guy for me. In all seriousness, I had wish-washed between what I thought I wanted and what I didn’t need.

  I rolled over onto my stomach. How many times did I have to do this to myself?

  Did I want to chase this into the ground? Why couldn’t I just move on? I punched the mattress next to me, sick of wondering what to do, who I should be.

  The weakness I could see in myself made me sick. Every time I ran or flip-flopped in my dealings with Brodan, I honored Dean’s escape.

  I glanced at the clock on my night stand. The red numbers glowed 7:46 a.m.

  I sat up. The night had passed without my knowledge. Blinds drawn to block out the morning light. The house smothered all summer sounds from penetrating the cave I dwelled in.

  A hot shower later, I decided to do what I’d been putting off since his death. Ugh, I hated that word—death. It sounded too nice for what he had done. He ran and left me the mess to clean up.

  The house, already spotless, received no more than a cursory inspection before I called the Realtor who lived down the street. He arrived fifteen minutes later.

  I opened the door. Dan Diggens. Another graduate from my high school. Same class as Dean and me. The desire to run and hide swamped me from head to heel.

  “Hello, Dan. Thanks for coming down so fast.” I opened the door wider, welcoming him inside.

  “Hey, Mag. Thanks for thinking of me.” His Realtor persona inventoried every trim, every nick and profitable feature he could scope out without asking. In his hands he carried a three-ring binder filled with paper while two colored pens poked from his shirt pocket. “How is everything?”

  “Great, thanks.” The last thing I wanted to pursue with a high school peer involved how things were going. I moved it along with as many manners as possible. “So, where do we start? I’d like to have it posted by this afternoon and a sign up by this evening, if that’s doable.

  “Would you like to start in the kitchen? We can go over any questions you might have…” I led the way to the dining table, something I’d probably have to store or sell. Sell, definitely sell.

  Dan followed behind me, categorizing in silence. I didn’t want a friend who knew Dean. I just wanted someone to get my house sold. He must be trying to see where the suicide had taken place, the only detail left out of the papers.

  We sat across from each other in the sparsely decorated room. I’d torn all the pictures and the cutesy decorations from the walls while everyone else had been at Dean’s memorial. Anything that had been markedly his had been thrown into boxes and stored in our bedroom. I’d moved into the guest room. The house remained bare, bleached in patches.

  At least it smelled clean, which should help it sell faster.

  “Here’s a list of amenities I’d like you to check out. Put a mark next to the ones you know you have for sure and circle the ones you aren’t sure about. I’m going to read through the assessor’s report I ran off before I came over.” Stapled pages and a pen slid toward me across the table.

  In the silence, I read through the list, excited to check more than I had to circle.

  When I finished the six pages, which didn’t take the time I thought it would, I pushed the bunch toward Dan.

  Head bent close to the papers in front of him, engrossed in the details of my property, Dan pulled my stack toward him without looking up.

  “So, is this a
third acre or more a half?”

  Unsure if his mumbled question had been meant for me, I didn’t answer. He found what he’d been looking for a moment later. After another long pause—by this time I had developed a good case of impatience—Dan looked up and placed the report on the table.

  “How does it look?” Never the best at staying quiet, especially when uncomfortable, I tried to smile. I’d never done this before—sold a house. Bought one, sure. Sold one, nope.

  “It looks great. Actually, I need to take a few pictures of the interior and exterior and then make some calls. It might take a while, do you need to go anywhere?” He shoved the collective paper pile into his binder.

  “Do you need me here?” I wanted to be there almost as much as I wanted a barium enema.

  He shook his head. “Not at all. Before I go, though, let’s talk asking price and contingencies.”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  He withdrew a pencil from his binder and a blank notebook. “Okay, how much are we talking?”

  Yep, I’d know that answer, because I work undercover as an appraiser, right? My second job and all. “What do you think we should do?”

  He did a poor job of hiding his delight when I asked for advice. He pulled another paper from his binder, a pamphlet, and showed me other properties similar to mine on the market in the area. “I think yours will sell faster, it has a cleaned-up look and there don’t appear to be any major problems. Not to mention, it feels like you could be moved out in an afternoon.” He chuckled.

  Not sure I shared his glee, I leaned on my elbow. “What are you thinking pricewise, then?”

  “I think add five thousand to that price there and we’ll have a fair shot at being competitive while still making a large profit.” He scribbled a list on the lines on his paper. “Do you have an extra front door key?”

  I nodded. He checked a dark slash next to his top line.

  “It says you bought it new. Does it still have permits for septic, etc.?”

  “Yep.”