Don't Forget to Breathe

by Cathrina Constantine

  His account didn’t make sense. “Mr. James, I mean Ethan.” He seemed to be recovering from his emotional condition. “My mother’s been deceased…it’ll be a year in a few days.”

  “It was like yesterday.” Water winked from his eyes. “You and I talked at the funeral, don’t you remember?”

  I had no recollection. “I…I wasn’t in the best frame of mind.”

  “Perfectly understandable.” Martha emphasized amid limited compassion. She linked her fingers onto her lap. “Ethan, let it rest. You’re upsetting the poor thing.”

  I wasn’t upset, and wondered why Henry didn’t provide all the facts.

  “Would you like a beverage?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You are lovely, like Lily.” Ethan’s mouth twisted, inspecting me from my hair to the tips of my stilettos. I felt on display and uncomfortable. “Doesn’t she, Martha?”

  Her angular cheekbones sharpened, grinning. She parroted, “Yes. Lovely.” A ghost of a shadow crossed Martha’s eyes. She looked like a skeleton with flaccid skin. “You’re just like your mother, dear.”

  I didn’t like the way she said that, almost like she was accusing me of something.

  “May I take your coat?” Ethan said, and I felt the warmth of his hands on the collar of my raincoat.

  “I’m still cold. I think I’ll leave it on.”

  Rather than disengaging his hands, Ethan palmed the nape of my neck. His touch warranted a ping of barbed wire to my nerves. “Your skin is cold.”

  “Is Henry ready?” I gushed. Striving for poise was difficult with his fingers on my neck.

  “He’s a dilly-dallier,” Martha said. “Go up to his room.”

  When I turned to look at the staircase leading to the second story, Ethan detached his fingers. “I’ll show you the way.”

  “Ethan,” Martha said in a spanking pitch. “I think the young lady is capable of handling the stairs on her own.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Come, Leo, this way.”

  Again he fastened his hand to my lower back like I might tumble. What a creepster. Ethan had no choice but to remove his encroaching hold as I raced up the stairs.

  “Henry,” Ethan called. “I have a pretty surprise for you.”

  The explicit clank of a lock, then Henry stepped into the hallway. Lacking his hipster glasses he looked rather cute. Coppery hair feathered nicely over his ears, and complete in a white button-down shirt overlaid with a V-neck burgundy sweater. “You’re early.”

  “I know, sorry.”

  He twitched his head, and I took that as an invitation. As elegant as possible in stiletto’s I entered his room. Just prior to crossing the threshold, a look of repulsion passed from Henry to his father. He worked on relocking the door, not one but three locks.

  “Wow.” I watched him dead bolting the door. “Are those really necessary in your own home?”

  “They are if you live here.”

  “Is something wrong?” I asked, and wondered if the locks were to keep his dad at bay or for another reason.

  “No,” he remarked. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  “I dunno.” My eyes coasted over his room. If I didn’t count Jimmy Gautier when I was in kindergarten, then this was my first time in a boy’s bedroom. It looked ten times worse than mine ever did. Henry was in the process of booting clothes creating a channel for me to walk.

  “Sorry ‘bout the mess, I didn’t expect you up here.”

  “No prob.” He tossed clothes into his closet. “Stop that, Henry, it’s okay.”

  “Isn’t my dad a tool?”

  I didn’t disagree, merely shrugged. A computer and papers lay disorganized on a desk, a decent sized television and an attached game system, and even a compact fridge sitting kitty-corner. “You have a refrigerator in your bedroom?”

  “Doesn’t everybody?” He looked brash. “Want a soda?”

  “Sure, what do you have?”

  “I’ll surprise you.”

  “I redistributed a pile of books from his bed to the desk and stared at morose posters decorating the walls. “Did you paint these?”

  “Years ago.” He handed me a paper cup with fizzing soda. “Cool, huh?”

  “Bloody and sinister, kind of vile.” The soda bubbled tickling my nose as I gulped. Then I became aware of Henry’s fixated gaze. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

  “My parents are getting on my nerves.”

  “Are they fighting a lot?” I realized too late that it was none of my business.

  “Have been for years, but that’s not it.” He strode to his dresser and picked up his glasses.

  “You never told me that your mom’s in a wheelchair.”

  “She’s a frigging hypochondriac. She was fine until three months ago, having luncheons with her hoity-toity friends in the city. I think it’s a play to rein Dad in. Besides, she’s not my mom.”

  “She’s not?”

  “I don’t remember my real mother. My father married Martha when I was six. She’s a rich bitch. I believe Dad married for money, she’s like ancient.”

  “She seemed kind of…okay.” Though, the sound of her voice when she said, ‘You’re just like your mother, dear,’ was peculiar.

  “An act. And my dad’s more of a scumbag than she is.” Using the hem of his V-neck sweater, he obsessively cleaned the lenses of his glasses. “If I had some cash, I’d take you to the city to live.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. In the midst of a nervous chuckle I said, “You’re going to break those glasses if you keep rubbing so hard.”

  His fingers ceased and his eyes clicked to meet my face. “Since you’re early let’s have a pre-game warm-up.” He had the joint in his lips before I had a chance to protest.

  “Your parents can probably smell that.”

  “I couldn’t care less.” He offered me the joint. “I do what I want.”

  “I really don’t want to smoke anything tonight.”

  “Why not?” He looked stricken. “I plan on getting wasted and having a riot.”

  “Then maybe I should drive if you’re getting wasted.” The paper cup balanced in my right hand, I swirled the soda. “I’ll go home and get my dad’s car.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll be good.” The tip of the joint turned to ash. He then exhaled a lungful of smoke. “Hey, drink up. We have to leave.”

  Tipping the cup to my mouth, I swigged the last of the soda and licked my lips. Again, I discerned him watching me with interest. “Okay,”—finally figuring it out— “what’d you put in it?”

  “I guaranteed you a good time, didn’t I?” A crooked grin spread his mouth.

  “You drugged me?” I squashed the cup in my hand. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Chill, Leo, it’s a mild ride. Just enough ecstasy to make you giddy.” He placed the butt of the joint into a convenient ash tray. “You’ve been so anxious thinking of your Mom chaperoning the dance last year and all.”

  “I told you that?”

  He faltered, looking sheepish. “Yes, don’t you remember? That night in the cemetery you were practically crying on my shoulder. That’s when I made up my mind to take you to the dance. I understand what’s eating your brain. I want to help.”

  I didn’t recollect the circumstances, but in my brain state, it wasn’t unusual. “We should call this dance thing off.”

  “I paid for the tickets. We’ll leave when you say the word.” Conflict surged over his face as he tugged on his sweater.

  Wretched and appearing legit, Henry was messed, like me. And, I was a sap. “Then let’s go before I get too loopy.”

  “Wait here.” His fingers unbolted the locks. “I’ll be right back.” He made a point of clunking the door behind him.

  Infuriated at the setback, I’d been coping without indulging in drugs, even during the recurring dreams. Henry believes he’s helping the only way he knows how. I can handle a little ecstasy, right? Maybe it’s just t
he ticket to make it through this night. Incessant reflections of Mom laughing and dancing had been foreshadowing the event. Exactly a year ago, mom volunteered as a teacher chaperone for the Homecoming Dance, I remember ragging to Nona about not having any fun with Mom standing guard, but it was just the opposite. We had a great time.

  I wandered to a shelving unit to examine Henry’s books, DVD’s and CD’s. My stiletto struck a hard object. I crouched into a disarray of garments and grasped the tongue of a black boot.

  Chapter 48

  When Henry returned, my legs felt rickety. Holding the boot like a noxious murder weapon, I said, “You—you were wearing these— that night— in the graveyard?”

  “What the frig, Leo. Practically every guy in school has a pair of those.” Pacing fast, he knocked the boot from my hand. “You’re losing it. Do you really think I gutted Dave and Skipper? Don’t forget I didn’t live here when your mom bit the bullet.”

  My tongue clicked free from the roof of my mouth. “Your father did.” His brow pulled together, narrowing his eyes and his lips slimmed.

  “How come you didn’t tell me your dad knew my mom?” I accused.

  “Because—” His fingers gnarled, he seemed to stifle his exponential temper. “My Dad knows lots of women.”

  Henry turned away. He was battling demons, too.

  His shoulders de-tensed and flapped an indifferent hand like nothing really mattered. He tucked his shirt tail into the waistband of his trousers. “Martha and I liked the city,” he went on to explain. “She had her acquaintances and I had freedom. Dad made me move here after….” He paused, sliding his closet open searching for something.

  I finished his statement. “After you got into some kind of trouble?”

  “I suck at this…this soul healing junk.” He rifled through a layer of hangers.

  “I want to know.”

  “No—you don’t.” He pulled out a jacket and put it on. “Let’s go.”

  As we bid Henry’s parents goodbye, I looked at Martha. She didn’t appear as frail as I’d originally ascertained. In fact, she’d transferred from the wheelchair to the couch.

  “Son,” Ethan said, “can we speak. In private?”

  Henry expressed sheer hatred, though relented and tracked after his dad. Vicious undertones soaked into the living room and I shifted from foot to foot, awkward.

  “Henry causes my Ethan such misery.” Martha’s voice unraveled like a thinning thread. “Always a problem child. We’d hoped Star Hallow would calm him.”

  I turned to the emaciated woman.

  “Henry is temperamental,” she said. “A bane to my existence.” She seemed to gain strength with each word. “Prone to violent episodes.” Then, as if playing a major Hollywood role, she clutched her chest and panted.

  “Do you need help?”

  Two hands covered her chest, her eyes closed for a moment and reopened. “I’m fine.” It sounded rehearsed. “I paid your mom a visit once. Did she ever tell you about that?”

  Talk about a punch below the belt. “No.”

  “It was—unpleasant and undignified. And I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.” She dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “Don’t tell Henry I’d been spilling secrets. I’d hate for him to lose his temper.”

  When she attempted a smile, I averted my eyes from her trampled face. I didn’t know how to judge Martha James, and why the hell did it matter what impression I had of her?

  Henry charged out from wherever they’d been arguing and grabbed my hand. “Ready?” He towed me like a deadweight.

  As we passed the hallway Ethan was leaning on the wall. His body resembled that of a broken man, his glasses dangled from his fingertips. At least that’s what it looked like, until his eyes flicked to me. Dark and pernicious.

  Once in the car, Henry completely transformed, almost buoyant. He amped up the radio and sung, “Let’s get this party started.”

  We zoomed along Westgate like the previous hour never existed. His buoyancy filled me from the inside out. Knotted muscles and nerves loosened, and I knew why. Whatever Henry slipped into my soda had taken affect. I reveled in the sensation. Weeks of shitass anxiety eclipsed behind a masquerade of euphoria. “Have any more weed?” I asked on a whim.

  He manufactured a lopsided grin. “It’s about frickin’ time.” He produced a joint from his pocket, offering it to me. “Light up.”

  “Just what the doctor ordered.” The chill of the car evaporated and I unbuttoned my coat. I’d decided to go with the flow instead of against the current. “I’m feeling so much better.”

  Sooner than expected Henry said, “I’ve driven around the school three times, we’re late.”

  “So what?” I leaned my head on the seat, and then rubbed my eyes forgetting about my mascara. “Let’s not go.”

  “We’re going,” he said with determination.

  “Why’s this stupid dance so important to you?”

  He’d parked and swerved his shoulders to look at me. “For once, the hottest girl in school will be in my arms. And I want everyone to see it.”

  I disintegrated into a giggling fit. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Leo, you underestimate yourself.”

  Staggering from the car, the heel of my stiletto punctured a pothole. Prior to spanking asphalt Henry nailed me to his side. “Hey, straighten-up or the teachers will be suspicious.”

  “I’m fine.” I gobbled nighttime air like a famished kitten, defragging my brain.

  Perceiving Mr. Slepe guarding the dual doors of the gymnasium, I gave an inaudible growl. “Henry, I’m going to the restroom. I’ll meet you back here in a minute.” Grateful for the vacant room, I scanned my complexion in the mirror and groaned, smudged mascara and my hair a pathetic copse. Following a retouch I spied my phone and made a snap decision.

  I’d added him to my contacts and pressed his name. It rang three times before he answered. “Leo, what’s wrong?”

  “Why do you always think something’s wrong?”

  “It’s the only time you call.”

  I breathed in. “Henry has a pair of black boots in his bedroom.”

  “I can’t get a search warrant for every house in the village,” Detective Dyl mumbled into the phone.

  “You should check them out. His father knew my mother. Did you know that?”

  Silence.

  I thought I lost the signal and asked, “Are you there?”

  “Are you at the dance with Henry?” His voice came through with a strange flinty edge.

  “Yes, we just got here.”

  “Be careful. I’ll see what I can do.” Devoid of paraphrasing he hung up.

  I walked out of the restroom and collided with Henry.

  He suggested, “Let me hang up your coat.” Coat racks had been placed in the schools hallway and he located a free hangar and mashed our coats into the disorder. Together we wandered to Mr.Slepe and Henry handed him the tickets.

  “You kids are over a half-hour late.” Mr. Slepe stared into my eyes and then Henry’s. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Of course not, Mr. Slepe,” I said more astute than I felt. “Do you remember when my mom was chaperoning last year? It was the last time I’d seen her laughing and dancing before…” I sniffed, wiping a hand under my nose.

  A strip of pink materialized on his cheeks, he nodded. “Go on in, Leo.”

  We penetrated a throng of pandemonium. Music pumped into the gym overriding the bellowing laughter and loud talking. Rectangular tables and chairs lined the outskirts of the shellacked floor, leaving a wide center-space for dancing. The dance floor now clogged as students demonstrated their moves.

  A range of seconds passed before I zeroed in on Becket dancing with Marcy. Infallibly groomed and a total dreamboat, an indigo sweater adorned broad shoulders which complemented the color of his eyes.

  Henry linked his arm through mine, conducting me frontward. Circuiting chairs and tables like a pair of clinging snake
s, I tossed my purse on the nearest surface.

  “You’re taller than me in those high-heels,” he said while engulfing me with his arms.

  Finding his statement funny, I snickered and voiced like a vamp, “The better to see you with, my dear.”

  “You look great by the way.” He brushed the tip of his nose to mine.

  “Leo, where the heck have you been?” I heard during the final stanza of the song. “I’ve been calling and calling. Why are you ignoring me?”

  I turned to face an irate Nona.

  “We can talk later,” I said somewhat rueful and hugging Nona under his arm, a jaunty Reggie. “Hey, Reggie, how’s it going? Nona’s swanky tonight, isn’t she?”

  His eyes left mine and reversed to his date. “That’s my babe. One swanky lady.” He pressed Nona tighter. “I’ll be right back, babe.” He pecked a kiss on Nona’s cheek and in an amiable gesture tweaked my nose, wholly ignoring Henry.

  I shed a sidelong glance to Henry; he wasn’t fond of Reggie either.

  “C’mere I saved two chairs.” Nona gestured for us to follow.

  “Leo, I’m going to get us something to eat.” Henry’s thumb glided over my knuckles. “I have the munchies.”

  “Me too, bring some back.” As Henry walked toward the refreshment table I registered Nona’s analytic gaze.

  “You using again? See, that boy’s not good for you.”

  “No grief, Nona,” I said. “I’m trying hard to get through this night. Let it go for now.”

  Her bottom lip pouted.

  I bustled close to her ear. “We’re nowhere near Marcy and Becket are we?”

  “Girl, do you think I can keep those boys apart?” Frustrated, she shook her head. “You’re forgetting, Leo, this is my first dance with Reggie and I want it to be special. Reggie nixed the table by the dance floor to sit way the heck back here with Becket and Marcy. Do you think that makes me happy?”