Don't Forget to Breathe

by Cathrina Constantine

  I surpassed a warren of rooms until a faint glow seeped beneath a six-panel door. It parted to reveal a canopy bed hosting two canoodling bodies. Pale-golden locks and a muscled back drew my eyes downward to a rumpled sheet draping Becket’s hips. Lustful giggles resounded, Marcy’s raven hair flowing on a white pillowcase. I gasped and Becket twisted to look at me. He offered a beguiling smile and extended his arm.

  My eyelids shuttered open and Henry’s words— “He’s a player.”— curdled my insides.

  Chapter 41

  I’d risen after Dad’s exodus for work. He did leave a squiggly note on the table. It read: Made an appointment with Dr. Mathias. With the anniversary coming up, it’s necessary. You’re not handing it well, kid.

  Miffed, I tore the paper into strips.

  While drinking my orange juice a text jingled. Nona was waiting in the driveway. Flying out the door and into the car, I said, “How’d you luck out with your mom’s car today?” Nona was readjusting the driver’s side seat.

  “I asked nicely and she said yes. And—” She held up a piece of paper. “A note from Mom to mollify Zweigler or piss her off.”

  “Aw-w-esome.” We clapped a high-five. “Now we won’t have to suffer with Marcy and Blair in the school van.”

  “You got that right. Is it alright if Grace comes with us?” She checked the rear view mirror, switching lanes to make the left hand turn toward the high school. “She’s had it with our exalted captain. We’ll all be happy to see them graduate.”

  “Definitely.”

  Nona grinned. “Mom left me with a full tank of gas. I promised to fill it up, though.”

  “You didn’t show her your purchases, did you?”

  Her attractive features contorted. “Are you kidding? She’d kill me.” In Nona fashion, she changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to getting spruced-up for the dance. What are you wearing?”

  “I scrounged though my closet last night and got depressed. I’m not that thrilled. Actually I wish I wasn’t going.”

  “I don’t blame you. You should’ve never told Henry you’d go with him. You’d be excited if it was Becket.”

  “Are you sure”—cagily broaching—“that Becket isn’t more involved with Marcy?”

  Her head shot in my direction, brow collected. “Not by what Reggie tells me. I think he’d know. Don’t you?”

  I wrinkled my nose, unconvinced after that disgusting dream. “Remember when you said Becket was one of those love ‘em and leave ‘em type of guys?”

  “You’re hedging at something,” she inferred. “Out with it. What’s tumbling around in that head of yours?”

  “Do you think I’m next on his list of conquests after he’s done playing with Marcy?” I would’ve preferred a rapid response, but she hesitated. “You do—don’t you!”

  She squirmed somewhat. “If I didn’t have Reggie, I’d shove you so fast you’d hit the pavement, and grab onto Becket for all it’s worth.”

  “For all it’s worth?” My fingers danced unevenly on the seat. “Like a one nighter.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” She banked into the school lot. “He’s dated mostly older girls that graduated and moved onto college.”

  My fingers stilled. “Yeah, more experienced girls.”

  “There were a few scandalous rumors.” She giggled. “Do you remember?”

  “Like getting wasted and waking up naked with Joyce Winters on the football field,” I said. “Or when he climbed to the top of the rollercoaster in the middle of the night to prove he wasn’t scared of heights, and then—”

  “Okay, okay, that was a long time ago,” Nona said. “So Becket’s not a perfect angel. Reggie says he’s a good guy and I believe him.”

  “So you asked Reggie for Becket’s credentials?”

  “Yes—for my best friend.” She looked earnest. “Leo, I basically did.”

  Hours later, I roamed from class to class always on the lookout for that tall head of sleek hair. Not Becket, but the obnoxious Marcy strutted into view. “Hey, Leo. I put a good word in for you. Mrs. Zweigler said you can participate in the pep rally today and we’re riding together in the school’s van to Kensington.”

  Like I really cared. “Thanks. But I’m hitching a ride with Nona.”

  “Mrs. Zwiegler won’t like that,” her tone caustic. “We’re supposed to go in the van. School rules.”

  “Nona will clear it with Zwiegler, I’m sure.”

  “Is it true?” she spouted, veering off the main path of discussion. “Are you and Henry really staying at the mansion tomorrow night? I’ve only been in there once and it kind of freaked me out.”

  Whether it was pure envy or downright stubbornness, I said, “Marcy, no matter what I say, you’ll twist my words to suit your goals.”

  “You’re a meany today.” She twiddled with a corner of a purple folder she was holding. “It really is a good idea.” Her eyes turned up at the borders. “All those bedrooms. We could each have our own room for the night.”

  “I thought you were staying at the Hyatt Regency?”

  “That’s the plan. But we could only afford two rooms, and there’s like eight of us going. We have to double up on the beds.” Acting pious didn’t bode well on her. “A little uncomfortable, if you know what I mean.” The end of school bell trilled.

  “Saved by the bell,” I said. “We’d better get ready for the rally.” My stomach turned to rot wondering about Becket and Marcy.

  Relief was infectious as Grace, Nona and I happily pranced to the car after an entertaining, kickass pep rally. What took us by surprise was a beefy, squat man decked in a tweed sports coat waddling from out of nowhere. “Are you Leocadia Nelson?”

  “Who wants to know?” I asked and kept walking.

  “I’m Carm Castellano. I’m a reporter for the Gazette.” He unleashed his reporters badge in my face like he was a FBI agent. “I have some questions for you.”

  “Like what?” Startling and reminiscent from a year ago.

  He huffed striving to keep up with me. “Detective Mark Dyl is concentrating on the David Galbraith and Skipper Townsend murder case. Does it upset you that your own mother’s murder has yet to be resolved?”

  Coming to an abrupt halt, I stared at the man with a bad comb-over. “That’s a no-brainer, Mister.” I watched Nona and Grace getting into the car without me.

  “And did you know there is a connection to your mother’s murder and these two?” Beady eyes stared from a plump, perspiring face.

  “How do you know that?” The detective had been adamant that I didn’t tell a soul, but I had snitched to one person.

  “So you are aware?” He was jotting words in a spiral notepad. “And were you also aware there is a possibility of two accomplices in both crimes? It’s been leaked to the press that two incongruent prints had been determined at the scenes.”

  Chapter 42

  My oversensitive pulse skyrocketed. “Why are you here, Mister? There’s nothing that I can tell you about either case. Leave me alone.” I managed a couple of strides on rickety legs.

  His feet scuttled in front of me, blocking my path.

  “Leocadia, how have you been coping now that the anniversary of your mother’s murder is right around the corner and no suspects?” He blathered like a sharp shooter. “In retrospect, in your opinion, do you think Detective Dyl should be pulled from the case? What will you do if the murderer isn’t apprehended? It came to our attention that you were recently questioned by the police. Are you a suspect in these investigations?”

  “It’s none of your business.” I glared filling with contempt. “We’re done.”

  “One last thing,” he said. “May I take your picture for the Gazette?” Prior to a rejection, he clicked using his phone.

  “Get the fuck out of here, buddy.” Nona’s cantankerous reproach moved the air. “Leave my friend alone.” Her arm rounded my back and saved me from the reporter. “I should’ve come sooner. You don’t have to
talk to those jerks.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” I glanced over my shoulder; he was stooped over his notebook writing.

  Once in the car Nona rummaged in her duffle bag, producing a pack of cigarettes. “Here, I think you need this.”

  I was thinking of something stronger. “Is this the same pack from a week ago?” I knocked out a smoke.

  “I’m trying to quit. Reggie doesn’t smoke. He said he hates kissing an ashtray.”

  I proffered the pack to Grace in the back seat. “You want one?”

  “I don’t smoke, but thanks.”

  “Good, girl. Don’t start,” Nona said. “Causes lung cancer.”

  “Thanks for the tidbit as I light up.” Striking the match to the cigarette, I blew out the match head with a gray stream. “That’s why weed should be legalized.”

  “I doubt that’s a solution,” Grace rebutted. “You’re still inhaling smoke, and it’ll cause cancer too.”

  “Alright—enough. You convinced me.” I closed my eyes, drawing deep on the cigarette like it was a high. Tipping my head, a cloud crawled from my mouth. “My last drag.” I rolled down the window and flicked the cigarette into the street. “Nona, if you’re quitting then so am I.”

  Nona’s head bobbed while upping the radio’s volume. Deviating from our assigned route for some unhealthy fast food, we sang tunelessly with our fave songs, then onto Kensington High School for the big game.

  I felt like an interloper on the opposing teams sidelines. The bleachers were jam-packed and the mob riotous. Kensington’s marching band orchestrated a rousing performance while the cheerleaders practiced on the sidelines. The weather held at a brisk forty-five degrees, and fortuitously dry. For the most part, I stayed clear of Marcy and Blair, though, the recipient of several venomous glances.

  “Let’s have fun,” Nona insisted I brush them off.

  Due to the officious reporter putting a thorn in my butt, I was revved and my routines were right-on. Executing a functional round-off and back flip, even Mrs. Zwielger nodded with a smug grin.

  After halftime, Star Hallow seemed to get their act together tying the game. Nona saddled next to me on the bench for a brief respite. “Did you tell anyone about Becket asking you out?” she whispered.

  “No—no one, why?”

  “Becket might’ve said something to Marcy. She’s spitting bullets.”

  Nona’s statement lifted my spirits, somewhat. Tilting frontward on the bench, I saw Marcy’s olive complexion morphing to beet-red. She looked totally pissed, talking, or more like scowling at Blair.

  “I see that teeny-weeny smile,” she teased. “Shout it out. Becket’s hot for you, girl. Your dreams are coming true.” Excited, she squeezed and wiggled my arm.

  “I certainly hope not.” And thought of my funky dream. Nona’a eyebrows knit in confusion, I explained, “I had a doosy of a dream before I woke up this morning. I caught Becket in bed with Marcy.”

  “That’s not the dream I’m talking about, hun.”

  “I know. But now you understand why I’m so messed up?”

  “You got to cleanse those thingamajigs from your brain.”

  “Did I tell you Dad’s making me see Dr. Mathias? She’ll put me back on those meds.”

  “It’s your body, Leo,” she said. “Nobody can make you take them. We can’t go through that again.”

  “Hey, we’re supposed to be having fun.” I hadn’t meant to bum out the evening. Hopping from the bench and cuffing my pom-poms in the air, I tried to sound cheery. “Let’s get into the game.”

  With sixty seconds left, we were losing by four points. It was Kensington’s ball, and it looked hopeless. Their offense coughed-up the ball and Star Hallow’s Rob Janko intercepted before being tackled. Our offense took the field and initiated one running play. Becket threw a completion to Reggie for the touchdown.

  Nona and I hugged, screaming, jumping up and down. We watched as Marcy galloped onto the field, leaping into Becket’s arms. She ripped off his helmet and kissed him feverishly.

  What added to my dismay, he was a passionate recipient.

  Chapter 43

  “Just take me home, Nona…please.”

  “But we’re all going out to celebrate. This is our night, Star Hallow’s on top. We haven’t beaten Kensington since we were in eighth grade.”

  “It’s not my night.” I was glad Grace had decided to return to school with the other cheerleaders in the van. She didn’t have to witness my theatrical demise. “I’d be a dud anyway.”

  “I have to pick Reggie up at school.”

  “No, I’m not going.” I clawed fingernails over my arms. “Drop me at home, and then go back for him. With all the hype and publicity they’ll be late coming back from Kensington.”

  She condescended with a grumble.

  We drove along Westgate and my house was completely black. Dad must not be home. Nona shot up the driveway, letting it idle.

  “I’m glad we won,” I said getting out of the car. “It was a good game.”

  “It was. Call me. I’m here for you. And I’ll see you at the dance tomorrow night, right?”

  “Yep, I’ll be there with Henry.”

  After unbolting the door, I called to make sure no one was home. “Dad, are you here?” I turned on the kitchen lights. The house phone was blinking with a message. “Leo, I’m going out after work. I’ll be late.” My teeth gnashed, wondering if he was with Regina or if he found a new lady friend. I was sinking lower by the minute.

  I tramped into my bedroom turning on lights as I went. A triangular edge of a composition notebook was sticking out from beneath my bed. Getting to my hands and knees, I looked at the disorganized mounds. “What should I do with these, Mom?”

  Scritch…scritch. Bending my ear, I listened for the noise to repeat itself. My footfalls deadened on the shabby carpet as I paced toward the living room. Scritch…scritch. I pivoted to the right. Dad’s bedroom. The door had always been shut. I’d never set foot in his room since moving to Westgate.

  There was the noise again, coming from in his room. Cracking the door, it was pure blackness inside. I swept fingers over the side wall, and clicked on the center dome light. My nose wrinkled breathing stale air.

  Dad’s bed was a bundle of coiled blankets and sheets. Shoes, ties, and clothes littered the room like we’d recently moved in and he’d thrown his belongings wherever. Making a passage through his garbage, I headed to the chest of drawers which used to be Mom’s.

  Drawer upon drawer I opened, only to see it overflowing with Dad’s junk. I’d been desperate to seek a piece of her, a remembrance that he might’ve cherished. Not even a photograph.

  Scritch…scritch. Glimpsing the baseboard I noticed a composition notebook tenting the furnace duct. Dad must’ve switched on the furnace to warm the house, and air sailing through the ducts rustled the pages.

  In my bones, I knew what it was. Mom’s journal. He’d had it the whole time. I looked at the notebook like it might be toxic, almost terrified to handle it. Squatting, I hugged it to my chest. I stood and spied corrugated boxes stationed on the ledge in his closet. If he was hiding her personal journal, what else had he kept secret? Like a delicate flower, I placed Mom’s journal on the dresser and headed for the boxes.

  The box resisted my attempts to heave it from its perch, caught on a nail or something. Mustering strength, I managed to lift the box. Its contents were chock-full of memories. Mom was the picture taker, the movie mongrel, the scrap-booker. In complete disarray were framed family photographs of happier times, DVD’s, and a treasure trove of her favorite books, and more personal journals.

  I savored the notion of unearthing every single item with loving care. But now was not the time, Dad would have a hissy fit if he knew I infringed on his privacy. There was a second box on the ledge. In red magic marker I recognized Mom’s artistry. A skull and crossbones.

  The box wasn’t as heavy, and carted it atop of the first. Dad’s army uniform. I
removed the uniform and stared: a worn pair of black combat boots and a knife.

  Chapter 44

  The incriminating knife and boots looked peaceful. A shaky wreck, I readjusted the uniform over them and replaced the box on the shelf.

  Revisiting the contents of Mom’s boxed memories I regrettably returned it to the ledge. Afterwards, my fingers claimed the journal. Would Dad notice it was missing? Hardly, considering his smashed nights. I’d leaf through it and replace it somewhere in his room.

  By reshuffling debris into its trashy state, I disguised my break-in. First things first, I didn’t let my mind wander off the deep end: instead scoured my desk for the detective’s business card. “Where’d I put it?” I said, and found it tucked under my desk lamp. My body was one nerve bundle as my fingers keyed in his number.

  “Leo, what’s wrong?” His voice came through loud and clear.

  “I-I found something.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At home.”

  “Where’s your father?”

  “He’s out.”

  “What’s going on?”

  My warbling voice soared an octave. “I found a pair of boots and…and a knife in his bedroom.”

  “We know your father was in the military.”

  “Did you check his stuff?” Breathe. “Like for prints or whatever you do?”

  “Yes.”

  “He…he was there.” I tried keeping my voice steady. “I know he’s lying.”

  “It was normal to find prints of you, your mom, and your father in the house. I’m coming over, we’ll discuss this.”

  “He might be home any minute. He’ll know I called you.”

  “I’m in my car. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  While waiting, I perfunctory fingered the pages in Mom’s journal. Then walked into the lighted kitchen for a closer look and read the date: October first. No one loves the man whom he fears. (Aristotle) Mom crossed out he and added she. The very next passage was dated October fifth, she wrote: What tangled webs we weave. (Sir Walter Scott) On October sixth she concluded the popular quote: When we practice to deceive. Her journal was a litany of literary quotes and one-liners.