Breathe Again

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  “Ryan, have you seen your brother? I don’t think a girl would be turned off just because he’s ‘old-fashioned.’ It’s kind of a nice trait to have. Not to mention all the money he’s rolling in.”

  “Well, that may be, but something you don’t know is he takes care of me. Always has.” Ryan swallowed.

  “I know that. He seems very dedicated.” I glanced around the kitchen, trying to find a sign of Brodan’s presence earlier. Empty sink and cleared countertops greeted me. The absent clues only fed into the growing obsession I’d been harboring. We would be better off as just friends. Last night had scared the crap out of me. I hadn’t been prepared to complete the act I offered. Thank goodness Brodan had put a stop to it. As far as I was concerned, “old-fashioned” had a lot going for it.

  “No. You don’t understand. I have cystic fibrosis. I won’t make it past thirty or thirty-five without a lung transplant, sooner if another sickness takes me down. Brodan takes care of me.”

  Shocked, what else could I be? I stared at him, wondering how it could be true. Cystic fibrosis had fatal consequences. The lack of contagious components made it easier to stick around, but the inevitable early death had harder consequences than catching it oneself. The genetic disease “froze” up the lungs, making it difficult to breathe, unless a lung transplant could be performed.

  “But…You’re so young. How can you be so sick?” I sounded idiotic, but how could my new friendship begin with an ending in sight? Shaking my head at the selfishness I couldn’t hide from myself, I tried to focus on Ryan’s answer.

  “Maggie, I’ve been sick since I was little. Brodan’s taken care of me for as long as I can remember. He’s never dated much, because he didn’t think it was fair that he could have a normal life and I was ‘doomed’ to a short one.” Ryan smiled in sadness. “What he doesn’t understand, though, is he’s robbing me of nieces and nephews, being in a wedding, having large family gatherings. I can still be a part of it, for a few years anyway. I hope.”

  “But Ryan, aren’t you on the transplant list? There’s still that, right?” Hopelessness dropped into my stomach. I’d known about the disease for a few seconds and I couldn’t think around it. Brodan and Ryan had dealt with it for twenty years or so, comprehension must be much harder.

  “I am. But—” he shrugged, “—if I get one it adds about ten years to my life expectancy and that’s not guaranteed. And someone else has to die in order for me to live for those ten. It seems unfair to wish for something like that.”

  The logic I understood. It didn’t matter I didn’t like it, the way he made it sound he wanted off the list. But I knew where he came from. Ryan didn’t have a selfish particle in his body.

  “Did you discuss this with Brodan?” I had a sneaking suspicion Brodan’s protective side would rear up and become more fanatical were he to hear what his brother considered. He’d probably discuss purchasing a pair of lungs off the black market.

  “I mentioned it, briefly. We didn’t talk for about three days afterward.” With a sad expression, Ryan shook his head. “He doesn’t understand. In fact, I think he blames himself.”

  More mysterious than ever, Brodan’s softer side gave his masculine side a new flavor. I didn’t need any more temptations. “So, what do you guys do all day? Neither of you date, I take it.”

  “Nope. We don’t. I would, but what’s the point? I’m dying…One way or another, I’ll be dead soon and I don’t think that’s a fair thing to do to someone who might be looking for a long-term thing. Brodan acts like he’s the one that’s dying and refuses to date because I can’t. It’s ridiculous.” Ryan pushed his bowl toward the sink.

  “Ryan, that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Everyone is dying and nobody knows when their time is. When you’re supposed to go, you go. Don’t waste your life not dating. You’re missing out on a lot of fun.” I sounded like an advertisement for a dating service. I could see how it’d be a waste for me. Through the conversation with Ryan, discovering his disease and the odds I faced regarding Brodan, I’d finally been convinced Brodan and I shouldn’t date.

  I always had the option of moving back to Washington and live with my parents. Mom would like that and I could escape Dean, Brodan and Ryan’s disease. I didn’t want to face the loss and heartache his young death would bring.

  Ryan studied me with speculation. I arched my brow and returned the favor.

  “Maybe we should run lunch out to Brodan and the crew today. I know Brodan left without anything to eat. They’re too far out for their thirty-minute break to provide a place to buy lunch.”

  I glanced around the kitchen. “How many are there? I’m sure we have enough food to make them.”

  Ryan shook his head and smiled. “I’m not making forty-five sandwiches or packing that many pickles. I’m sick, remember?”

  “Forty-five?” The number far exceeded my expectations. I’d never seen a crew in the mountains higher than ten. “How does he maintain that many?”

  “Actually, it’s quite ingenious. When Brodan chooses a site to log, he makes sure it’s in the center of good lumber. He refuses to clear cut and moves in a circumferential pattern. He purchased four helicopters for his first site immediately after taking control of the company. So, while you may drive by a site and see five or six people working, there are a many more minicrews working out at portable sites around the base.

  “He hates ruining the forest. With one base for each large section he reduces the amount of damage to the forest and its floors. The locals love him for that and for the higher traffic he brings through each town. If you figure forty-five guys, give or take, at each place, they need a place to stay if they don’t live there and food. That’s a lot in these small towns.” Ryan tapped the counter to make his point.

  “Sounds like you pay attention.” I hadn’t expected to be impressed, both by the knowledge Ryan had of the industry or the role Brodan played in it.

  “I designed Brodan’s training program as well as his websites. When I’m having a really good day, I take food out to them and watch for a while. The little boy in me loves the large tractors and flying toys.” He laughed at himself, but his view was extraordinarily perceptive.

  “What did you have in mind?” I glanced at the clock on the stove. “When were you thinking?” The chance to spy on Brodan in a work environment intrigued me.

  “Last time I brought pizza, but it was cold outside and they had coffee and huddled into the trailer. Since it’s so hot out, maybe sandwiches or something. Any ideas?” He stood with slow movements. I’d heard somewhere cystic fibrosis could cause joint pain.

  “I’ll follow you. This is your thing.” I stood with him. “Do you want to take my van? I have a lot of carrying space.”

  “That’d be great. I’d drive but my rig is just a small pickup.”

  In the van, he studied the insides I’d cherried out with interest. “Wow, did you redo this? It’s in great condition.”

  Pleased, I drove toward town. “Yeah. I love this car. It does so much. I invested a ton of money into refurbishing it in the original condition. When I bought it, it had only twenty thousand miles on it.” I patted the dashboard. “I love her.”

  Ryan laughed. “Brodan talks about his truck like that. You’d think he slept with it or something. It’s a bit older, not old, but with all his money he could definitely afford a newer model. But does he even look? Nope, he’s so in love with the machine, it makes me sick.” Under his lashes, he glanced at me. “I’m telling you, Maggie, he needs a girlfriend.” He pointed to the local Subway and I pulled in.

  Smiling, I said, “Ryan, you can’t force a horse to drink, no matter how enticing you make the water hole look.”

  “Nice, Maggie. Now you’re a watering hole? Freudian slip or what?” Ryan climbed from his seat, laughing his head off.

  I followed him inside the store. Ryan ordered seven of each type of sandwich on Subway’s menu. The lady behind the counter didn’t look surprised to
see him. Another worker joined her from the back, saw Ryan and disappeared. He returned a few moments later with boxes he piled at the end of the counter. A few trips like that and he soon had a sizable stack ready to fill. With the completion of each sandwich, Ryan ticked them off on a napkin and counted out how many chips and drinks he would need.

  Turning to me with an absentminded air, he pointed toward the condiment station, asking, “Mag, could you grab fifty straws and at least double that in napkins, please?”

  I smiled. It had been forever since I’d planned a surprise for someone. Ryan had been kind enough to include me in his venture and it reminded me how exciting it could be to do things for friends.

  The way to make friends with a man is through his stomach. Friends was a good thing—I could cultivate a friendship with Brodan.

  I borrowed a bag for the items I’d been ordered to collect. When I’d finished doing my task, I stood back and watched in amazement at the organizational skills Ryan used to command the room.

  In no time, the employees built the sandwiches, wrapped, packed and loaded them into the van’s backseat.

  “That was amazing.” I drove out of the parking lot, Ryan directing me north of town.

  “What was?” Ryan glanced at me, his eyebrow arched.

  I shrugged. “You know, the whole thing you just did. How many sandwiches did they make under your direction? Perfectly organized. Even the drinks are steady back there. The one girl seemed really eager to please, if you know what I mean.” I winked and shook my head. “It was pretty cool.”

  Ryan blushed. I thought I was the only one who did that. “Nah. Their manager had to still be in high school. Did you see her piercings?”

  The constant desire to laugh around him was addicting. “Where are we going? Does Brodan know we’re coming?” I loved saying his name. It rolled off my tongue, smooth like his lips.

  “Man, you have a thing for my brother. Can’t stop talking about him.”

  On the defense, I swiveled my head to glare at Ryan, laughing instead at his teasing expression. “I probably wouldn’t like him if he didn’t make it such a challenge. I always was competitive.”

  We laughed and joked about Brodan’s indifference the rest of the way to the site.

  I’d never been so far north and I’d lived in the area for close to eight years. We turned onto a dirt road shortly after leaving the highway. In reality, “dirt” generalized the look of tamped-down plants ground into rocky paths made by large vehicles leading the way into the dense trees on either side.

  We crawled up the slight incline slowly. The overcast sky lent little light to the shrouded trail through the heavy tree canopy. The higher we climbed, the wilder the shrubs grew.

  When I thought we’d crept to the top of Canada, a break in the trees opened onto a plateau. We crested. Spread out before us stood a magnificent site containing two cranes, three or four semi-trucks with logging beds and piled, stripped trees.

  Just to the right of the drive a doublewide mobile home, nicer than one might expect, sat like a mother hen watching her chicks.

  More than a handful of men controlled the roaring machines. One of the cranes picked up bared wood and loaded it onto a flatbed trailer equipped with vertical poles to prevent the large logs from falling off.

  Ryan pointed toward a small cluster of vehicles behind the meeting house and I parked the van on the side closest to the front door. With the heat, the men would most likely opt to take a break inside out of the sun.

  Following Ryan, I climbed from the van. I didn’t see Brodan anywhere in sight after a quick, discreet survey of the monstrous clearing. I rolled my eyes when Ryan cleared his throat and pointed to the western line of trees.

  I shrugged and made a point to ignore the area he’d indicated. What was I? A book? He read me easily.

  We gathered four boxes each and carried them into the trailer. Stashing the first load on the nearest table, we returned to the van to retrieve the rest. With Ryan’s head in the van while he pulled boxes from inside where they’d slid, I sneaked a peak toward the tree line he’d motioned toward.

  Brodan’s broad shoulders stood out among the men standing near a fallen tree. He waved his hands to the driver in the truck before yelling into the radio he yanked from his belt.

  Loud claps from helicopter rotors grabbed everyone’s attention. Brodan snatched an orange flag from a pocket in his jacket and waved it vigorously in the air. Stepping farther into the clearing, he craned his neck back and showed the helicopter pilot where he wanted the log being lowered into the area.

  The collection of trucks along the side of the driveway finally made sense. After the chopper delivered the limbed tree to the pile stacked on the dirt floor, a large crane plucked one like pick-up sticks and added them to the pack on the back of the semi’s trailer. Once a truck had a full load, the driver pulled out. The loggers moved on to fill the next truck.

  Brodan stood near the logs, motioning the helicopter pilot toward the east side of the log stack.

  A groaning creak rent the air. The men began to run in chaotic circles. Brodan dropped the orange flag and rushed at another worker. Grabbing the back of the man’s jacket, Brodan threw his weight to the side as if he were a bag of bread, removing him from harm. Making sure the worker was safe, looking heavenward, Brodan ran to the semi nearest the logs, yelling and waving his arms.

  Dragging my gaze from Brodan’s frantic form, I watched the helicopter spin in the air, the log dangling in a frenzied dance at the end of the cable. Swaying to and fro, the tree suspended at each peak in the pendulous swing. I held my breath the closer it got to Brodan and the truck.

  He reached the driver’s side and yanked the door open. Yelling something inaudible to the man inside, he motioned into the air toward the rebellious timber fighting the cord. The driver poked his head from the open space and panic replaced his disbelief. Ducking back inside, he grasped the door and pulled it from Brodan’s control.

  Under the high clapping tones from the chopper, the guttural diesel’s engine started with haste. Brodan jumped back from the cab just before the driver shifted into first and chugged away from the scene.

  Brodan stood to the side. Distracted by the escaping vehicle, his gaze strayed from the activity in the air.

  In a second that dragged forever, I gasped with the snap of the thick cable holding the tree in the air. Stressed by the movement and large amount of weight, it gave way and ricocheted back to the helicopter. A zinging sound echoed across the clearing when the large metal string struck the side of the machine.

  While the chopper slipped from view behind tree cover, the tree slid from the sky, falling from the wrong pendulum point, crashing onto the bed of the escaping trailer. Like in a bad Japanese action flick, the resounding crash buffeted our ears moments after the actual fall.

  Trees flew in all directions when the fallen log broke the bonds of the load stabilizers railing in the loaded lumber. Dust, needles and busted bark blacked out the air.

  I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands to block the dust and debris flying our direction from the heat-free volcanic explosion.

  From the side of my shields I peaked at Ryan to see his reaction and make sure he stood beside me. He hadn’t shown any real weakness since telling me the truth about his condition, but healthy lungs have difficulty fighting off particulates in the air, let alone a set of damaged and worn lungs.

  His hands fell from his face and his jaw dropped in horror.

  Confused, I turned slowly. The dust and dirt settled in a slow chase to the ground. The men Brodan had scattered crept toward the reorganized pile on and partially off the trailer’s bed. Nobody seemed to be injured. I searched for Brodan’s form, looking around the truck and among the men who were scrambling at the bottom of the tree pile.

  The truth evaded me for another moment until it slammed up through the air struggling in my throat.

  I couldn’t see Brodan in my search of the cleari
ng because his dark black boot stuck up out of the wooden wreckage.

  Ryan walked toward his brother, swinging his arms like he wanted to run. Breaking from my spell, I caught him in a few steps. His breathing was labored and wheezing. I placed my hand on his arm and motioned him to wait. We had one sibling down, no need to add the other.

  Jogging the rest of the way, I joined the men as they struggled to remove Brodan’s inert form from the mess. Dirt covered the portion of the leg we could see. No movement increased our panicked attempts to pull him out.

  Fortunately, the logs had created a slight overhang and didn’t crush Brodan entirely. His leg, anchored between the large wooden poles, oozed blood when we worked him free and pulled him loose. Sliding with our tugs, Brodan’s upper body came into view, his arms above his head, his other leg bent at an absurd angle below the knee. The red stain spreading around the oddly shaped lump under his jeans proved the fracture to be displaced and open. A blood trail snaked its way from the corner of his mouth, through the dirt coating his face, down his jawline and behind his ear.

  Laying him flat on the ground, the men moved without much struggle when I pushed my way through them to kneel by his side. Checking his pulse with two fingers against his carotid, I watched his chest for breathing movements. His neck seemed straight and when I peeked at the pupils under his lids, they seemed normal, except he was out cold.

  I continued checking his vitals. After verifying his breathing and heart rate, I yelled at the man nearest me, “Go get my van, the keys are in the ignition. Bring it over here and we can load him in the back.” When that man took off running, I turned to the next man. “Find me a straight piece of wood, not a log, but an actual flat one and find me some rope or light weight cable.” He, too, left in a hurry.

  Glancing in the direction of the mobile home, I barely had a moment to register Ryan’s pale face and shaking hands. We were about a hundred feet apart, but his sweaty pallor seemed magnified.