Breathe Again

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  “Tib-fib pinning with plates? Does that sound right?” Hoarse, gravelly, the way he’d sound after a really good night’s sleep.

  “Yeah, that sounds like you were listening. How’re you feeling?” The couch on the far side of the wall between the closet and the TV stand had my name on it. I grabbed the charts on the wall before easing myself into the well-worn purple cushions.

  “Kind of groggy. I’m having a hard time remembering much of anything. What exactly happened and why is Ryan in here?” He glanced from me to the charts in my hands.

  My gaze flew to his brother and a picture of the helicopter with the crashing logs flashed in my memory. “Seriously, you don’t remember the trees coming down on you and creating a pancake? The chopper going down?”

  “Damn! The bird crashed? How’s the pilot?” He sat up, straining against the chain holding his injured leg, a wince twisting his face.

  “I’m not sure. Wouldn’t we have heard something by now, if it’s bad?” I stalled, opening the chart. Ryan’s stillness reached me on a subconscious level, my nerves aware of him. They tingled being near Brodan and cried with Ryan’s plight.

  “They don’t always tell you what’s going on when you’re ready to hear it.”

  Unable to fight the pull any longer, I allowed myself to study Ryan.

  From the way his face was drawn and tight, he appeared to sleep without peace. A crease between his eyebrows testified to his discomfort above the distinctly present oxygen tube in his nasal cavity. Wires, similar to the ones he’d been hooked to the first time I’d met him, traced secret routes across his chest and arms. Like staring at a bad car accident, I couldn’t turn away.

  A long drawn-out silence pervaded the room, adding to the charge between Brodan and me. He cleared his throat. “What does his chart say?”

  His file called my full attention. I flipped open the top cover, prepared to read about labs and radiology impressions. Instead, the first thing in his folder—

  “What does his white blood cell count look like? If it’s high, he probably has pneumonia again. It keeps coming back.”

  I glanced quickly at Brodan and shuffled the pages, searching for the most recent lab report. Hastily scribbled notes offered up information I could use. “It says his labs haven’t yet been received. Also, a read on his chest X-ray as well as a breathing treatment are all pending.” I closed the large notebook and picked up the other one, omitting the information I knew he’d go crazy upon hearing. “Want to hear what they said about you?”

  “Nah, that’s okay. I figure it’s broken and they operated. Anything more is just boring. I am tragically healthy.” He crooked a smile at me. I wanted to trace his bottom lip with my finger, but memories from the night before mocked me, reminding me he didn’t want the same things. So be it. I didn’t want him either.

  Brodan looked over my head to the TV, which flickered in mute activity. He looked again at me with serious intention. “Maggie, I think we sho—”

  A knock at the door interrupted the conversation I had no desire to explore.

  A man wearing a white lab coat entered the room distracted by his cell phone, two charts and a pager. Ending his conversation on the phone, he slid us into his busy schedule. “Hello. I’m Dr. Peat. I’m your internist for the next forty-eight hours. Let’s go over your charts and see if you have any questions.” He stopped talking and stared with blank wonder at the empty chart slots.

  Wondering how long he would stand in that spot looking for the missing charts, I snapped the books closed and held them out to the man I’d never seen in the hospital before. “Are you looking for these?”

  Oozing superiority, Dr. Peat deigned to retrieve the charts from my sitting position. He smirked as he asked, “Did you understand everything in there? Or do you have questions?” He flipped open Brodan’s chart.

  Jerk-off doctors are not on my list of people who deserve respect. “Brodan Steele underwent open reduction internal fixation this afternoon with a plate and screw setup for his tib/fib comminuted fracture he sustained while on a logging site. His vitals are stable and his labs are clear. Post-op X-rays show the fixation site to be well aligned and the plates are stable. The pin sites are clean and his cast is well molded.” I shot a smug smile at Dr. Peat. “Did I get it all?”

  “You did.” He chose to ignore me after my show-off moment. Men like him ticked me off. I’m a patient or a girl and therefore must be stupid. “And Mr. Steele, do you have any questions?”

  “Nope. I’ll ask Mag if I do, thanks.” Brodan smiled at our perturbed physician.

  I returned the smile, grateful to be there but wishing I had a different role than friend. Fate sure threw wrenches where they weren’t wanted.

  “Has Mr. Stewart been awake yet?”

  Brodan answered, being his brother and all, not to mention I’d just arrived. “No. I haven’t had a chance to check his chart or talk to a nurse about why he’s here. I’m the one who had the accident.”

  Dr. Peat approached me once again, raising his eyebrows in a silent request for the second chart.

  Handing it over, I too waited for the reason for Ryan’s admittance. I hadn’t gotten far enough into his file to figure that out.

  Perusing each page, humming and hawing, Dr. Peat crawled on my last nerve.

  “So, why’s he here?” Brodan had more patience than I did. I wanted to scream at him, not ask a polite question. But then again, Brodan hadn’t seen what I’d seen.

  Dr. Peat glanced up, a bit startled as if he’d forgotten about us. “Oh, excuse me. I can only share this information with the patient or his family. And you are…”

  “I’m his brother, I have limited power of attorney.”

  Dr. Peat shot a pointed glance my way and Brodan covered quickly. “She’s my fiancée.”

  He avoided looking at me, staring straight ahead at the over-pompous doctor. Friends and pretend engagement? Had to admit I loved it.

  “Fine. He has advanced stage cystic fibrosis, which I’m sure you already know. He has lived an extraordinary amount of time considering the illness and it looks like he has been admitted due to stress and fatigue. This disease can take a toll. His pulmonologist and nephrologist will be consulting him sometime tomorrow.” Dr. Peat snapped the file closed. “Well, if that’ll be all. Don’t hesitate to call the nurse.

  “Mr. Steele, you’ll be released sometime in the next couple of days. The nurses need to ensure you aren’t harboring any infections and you need to arrange for adequate care at your home.” Returning his attention to his cell phone and pager, Dr. Peat ducked out of the room on to bigger and better things.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nothing was more uncomfortable than a hospital couch. I opted to stay overnight two nights in a row. Worry over Ryan held our conversation in check and I couldn’t bring myself to go home without him awake and smiling.

  Brodan’s gaze hadn’t strayed far from my face. The first few times I’d asked him what he wanted he had said nothing. I’d stopped asking and found it satisfying to finally have his undivided attention. When he turned to the TV or slept, relief let me breathe easier, like I didn’t have to be careful how I looked or acted for a moment.

  “Do you want anything?” I motioned toward the door. Short sentences and grunts made up the most of our conversation.

  Looking at the TV, Brodan answered me. “No, thank you.”

  I stood up and walked to the sink to wash my hands. The germs in a hospital made me a germaphobe a few years back and my favorite thing to do was make sure I’d eviscerated them.

  Finished, I wandered toward his hanging cast. “Do you think you’ll get in-home care? Or will you go to a rehab?” It’s not like he couldn’t afford it. The money-man didn’t even act like he had any.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I have to get out of here pretty soon. I need to check on the ranch and I have an acquisitions conference in two days in Butte.”

  “Butte? That’s too far away for you to travel aft
er just having had surgery. Plus, you have open pin sites, Brodan. You can’t do that. Call it off.” I leaned against his bed. Perturbed enough to not care how disturbingly close I was, I placed my hand beside his.

  He looked down at our hands a half centimeter from each other. He moved his pinky finger until it touched mine and my skin sizzled. Like a fool in a romance novel, I jumped. No, I wasn’t overflowing with uncontainable desire…but I was getting there.

  Mesmerized, I became a statue, unsure of the significance or if I was, in fact, making electricity from static shock with my hormones.

  Brodan locked me in with his gaze. In a snare I could’ve prevented, should have wanted to prevent but had been trying to set up myself, I moved in like a fish on a hook. His magnetism drew me in, locked, target armed. Before even making contact, the skin of my lips tingled.

  He leaned into me as much as he could, the soft mattress sucking him in, thwarting me at yet another turn.

  “I thought of you when those trees fell on me.” His breath was hot against my face. We were inches apart.

  “You said you couldn’t remember what happened.” Nice comeback, Mag.

  “Things are coming back to me.” He kissed my cheek. “I saw you but couldn’t say hello.” Another kiss landed on my chin, my toes curling with the heat. “I can’t stop thinking about your nightgown from the other night and what was beneath it.” He slid his lips across mine, soft and deliberate.

  Intending to lean back and say something smart back, I opened my lips to breathe in—cool off—and he captured my mouth with his. My intentions flew out the—his tongue caressed my own and pliers twisted my insides. He didn’t act like a man laid low by an injury. Surprisingly strong, he shifted me so my breasts were pressed against his chest and his hands had freedom to roam. Fingers caressed the curve of my buttocks and I wanted to be closer to him. Have him deeper. Closer than last time.

  He didn’t want me then, so what changed? I turned my face and his lips caressed a moist blazing trail across my cheek and down my neck.

  Get away from him, Mag. He’s not that hot—what is he doing to my ear? Oh no you don’t. Open your eyes, open them! I took stock of the items in the room, trying to gain enough control I could drag myself from the heat moving to the hollow of my throat, oh, my…A hand on either side of his head only gave his lips more access and the heat traveled below the hollow of my throat. My head fell to the side, and I forgot for a moment my task to distract myself from what he was doing to my senses. The heat pooled and I gasped at the contradicting sensation of soft lips and bristly whiskers.

  My gaze fell on Ryan and a flash of guilt chilled a bit of the ardor boiling under my skin. Golden stubble shadowed pale skin along his jawline. I noted the bruise around the IV catheter when the neon-green wrist bracelet jumped out at me.

  My body stiffened in shock. I withdrew from Brodan, focused on the band.

  “What’s the matter?” His husky voice licked the inside of my ears.

  Crawling off his lap where I had come to half lie and half sit, I returned my curls to the rubber band they’d escaped from, all the while staring in disbelief at Ryan’s arm.

  “Mag, what is it?”

  “When did Ryan get a DNR?”

  “DNR? Ryan? He doesn’t have one. Why?” He spied the green bracelet. “What the hell is that?” Although Brodan shoved himself up as close to a sitting position as he could, his disbelief must have held him in check. “Maggie, can you hand me his chart, please?”

  The quiet should have warned me, acted as my cautionary light, but I didn’t think that far ahead. Sliding off the bed, I rescued the file from its slot and moved to hand it to Brodan. I paused. Brodan hadn’t known about the DNR, he most likely didn’t know about the other.

  Brodan cocked his eyebrow at me, holding his hand out for the file and smiling with encouragement.

  In slow motion, I passed it over to the older brother and held my breath.

  He opened the cover and stilled. In the middle of the storm, I waited for all hell to break loose. “What is this? It says ‘voluntary removal from transplant list against medical advice.’ What does that mean?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. There was always the truth, of course, but how did I tell him? “Um, which part?”

  “He means the whole thing, Mag.” Breathless and tired, Ryan was resigned.

  I shot a glance at Ryan. His eyes, bloodshot and swollen, watched for Brodan’s reaction.

  “Why? Ryan, why? Did you see your labs? Bro, they’re not good. You need a transplant. Dammit.” Brodan shook his head and lowered his gaze to hide his frustrated tears.

  Sensing the brothers needed time alone, I stepped toward the door, “Ryan, I’m so glad you’re awake. I’m gonna head home and take a shower, maybe watch a movie or something. Call me if you need anything, all right?” Brodan shot me a look of gratitude. He must not have known how to ask for privacy.

  Pulling hard on the steering wheel, I turned the van up close to the garage and parked. I sat behind the wheel, staring at the wood grain of the house. The lines blurred, my vision softening with tears.

  Obviously the blame for the tears was exhaustion. Brodan and Ryan were going to be fine. I would be fine. True I’d quit my job, a job I’d had almost as long as I’d owned my house. But the boys had helped me find the piece of me that was still young. Ryan and Brodan, my two new friends who’d stolen a large portion of my emotional attachment. I guess that’s what happens when you shut everyone else out for almost a year—you feel starved.

  Just when I thought things were looking up, I found out Ryan wouldn’t last. His youth and energy borrowed.

  I blinked furiously. My emotional rawness was due to lack of sleep and trauma, nothing else. I climbed from the cab. A few hours of “me” time—a hot bath, comfort food and that chick flick would be better than anything a doctor would order.

  I trudged up the steps, through the doors and into the kitchen. The bath would wait until later, when the heat of the day had slipped behind the mountains. With Brodan’s “superior” communication skills, I had plenty of time.

  A bag of animal cookies, a glass of milk and a tub of peanut butter filled my arms as I picked up the pace to my room.

  Dropping the food on my bed, I strode to the boxes I’d stacked in the corner. I’d prefer unpacking everything at once, but in all honesty, I could handle a box or two before I became overwhelmed. I found the box labeled “movies,” the second one from the top.

  A fingernail ripped through the clear tape sealing the box closed. Resting right on top, my favorite but neglected movie greeted me. Like seeing an old friend after a long absence, I smiled when I picked it up.

  “Let’s go, Mr. Darcy. I haven’t seen you in far too long.” I gathered the food and looked for a moment at the small TV I had set up on a side table. The boys weren’t home and wouldn’t care if I used their theater room. To see the romance between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy in life size held more temptation than I could withstand.

  In the room, among all the couches, chairs and screens, I had the sudden longing for Brodan’s company. Even if we antagonized each other the whole evening, I didn’t want to be alone.

  I chose the recliner directly in front of the TV and set my things on the tray-table next to it. Taking the movie, I walked to stand beside the DVD player and sound controller.

  I cracked open the plastic case and froze, staring at the small white envelope taped to the inside cover marked with my name. His handwriting unmistakable.

  Time stood still. I waded through the moments to the seat I’d claimed and sank to the cushion, the chair rocking with my weight. My hand held the DVD with a loose grip. Shaking, I forced myself to pull the paper free. The movie fell to the floor, a thud on the rug beneath my feet the only sound in the room.

  I breathed in and out, in and out, shallow and quick, aging in the space of a heartbeat, possibly a decade. The envelope, smooth and cold, pulsed in my hand, a telltale heart in p
aper form. I was guilty, yet I hadn’t done anything. Caught in my choices, blaming him for my losses when he was one of them.

  My chills broke and a fever overcame me. I tore into the envelope, a small paper cut on my middle finger’s pad testifying to my speed. The mangled paper joined the forgotten movie on the floor at my feet. I stared at the paper as it seemed to magically unfold in my sweating hands.

  Dear Mag,

  I haven’t been much to you since I got home. Hell, I haven’t been much to myself.

  I left my soul on the desert sand. I’m never gonna get it back.

  I thought if I married you, it’d make the pain go away, but it only made it worse.

  The truth is I met the love of my life in Iraq. She and I were stationed together. You don’t need to know her name, I don’t know if I could write it anyway.

  We met on the last tour. We got married over there, but she wanted to return and I didn’t think I could. But I did. You know that.

  We walked this road, traveling from camp to camp. I smiled at her. We flirted with our eyes. She’d just told me she was pregnant. Just found out.

  A mine went off behind her. It threw her body into mine and most of the group fell to the ground. Three lost their lives, four if you count my child’s. She died on top of me.

  I never thought of you.

  I hate to be cruel, Mag, but this is the way I need to be. You hung on to something that we didn’t have since my first round out. You need to move on. I married you and I never was here. I’ve been over there…with her.

  It hasn’t been you. This isn’t your fault.

  I’m so sorry. I wish I could give back the time I took. You deserved better.

  Goodbye,

  D.

  “You bastard!” I screamed at the man I’d loved, at the walls, the chairs, the world.

  I yelled, fighting the chair, hitting the soft material with my balled fists. I kicked the floor. When that didn’t release the tempest inside me, I stood and stomped my feet like a child. Tearing at my hair and scratching my skin, I fought to save the sanity in my heart from leaking out.