Don't Leave Me Breathless

by A Kelly

  ‘Some say he was better than Napoleon,’ Joseph said recalling his favourite book Scipio Africanus: Greater than Napoleon.

  His statement wiped the smile off her face. The original sadness intensified.

  ‘I see,’ she said slowly, and bowed her head.

  Not the reaction he’d expected. Did she admire Napoleon so much that he’d offended her?

  ‘Napoleon Bonaparte,’ she said the name in a proper French accent, ‘he wasn’t that special, was he? He was defeated, after all.’

  ‘Well, one of the reasons why Scipio was better than him was because Scipio was never defeated.’

  ‘What else did this Scipio character do?’

  His standard response would’ve been: He saved Rome and showed the world what real diplomacy was. He was generous to his soldiers and protective of the people he conquered. He was a man of humanity, who possessed great insights into the psychology of men.

  But under the unyielding scrutiny of this young woman, whose sadness made him want to hug her, and whose lips were parted as if she was about to kiss him, he said, ‘He showed other men how to be a man.’

  He cringed as he heard his own voice overselling Scipio as a man of virtue, and he knew he was far from choosing his words carefully.

  ‘How?’ Summer asked.

  Losing his train of thought, he uttered what was in his head, unfiltered: ‘Well, he treated women with respect, his wife and even the slaves. It was rare in 200BC Rome when women were pretty much seen as tools for procreation.’

  And this time the word ‘procreation’ hurt his ears.

  Summer released a silent ‘oh’ and nodded. He was sure she wanted to say why, of any possible English words to describe women in ancient Rome, he’d chosen the word procreation. But she didn’t say anything – maybe out of politeness.

  A next, next-level stupid!

  Joseph was about to say sorry, but he left the conversation there as his passenger set her gaze back on the rosella.

  ‘Do you sell guinea pigs?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh no, I only sell supplies. I don’t sell animals,’ Joseph said. ‘From time to time I do take in small cats, birds or dogs if the shelter is struggling for space. And I help advertise them for adoption.’

  Summer put her finger on her lips. When he turned to her she flashed a tiny smile – a thinking smile. He clutched the steering wheel like it was a stress ball.

  Soon her eyes and hand were back on the bird.

  ‘Where are you from?’ he asked, looking at the road ahead.

  ‘Would you believe it if I said I was from here?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

  ‘My mother was born in Hobart, but she moved with her parents to the Hunter Valley when she was very young. She brought me for a holiday here when I was five. I had the best time and thought of this place as home. So… you can kinda say I’m from here.’

  ‘No, you can’t say you’re from here.’

  Summer smiled and shrugged.

  ‘Oh no… we’re too late,’ she said when she saw the gate to the shelter was closed. She sat upright as if trying to spot someone beyond the gate.

  ‘Wait here.’ Joseph stepped out and rolled the gate open. When he got back in, he said, ‘I assure you, someone will be able to help.’

  He drove to the back of the building and stopped in front of the staff entrance. Joseph ran to Summer’s side noticing she was struggling to get out. ‘Let me hold it,’ Joseph said. Summer handed the rosella over to him. The bird looked too exhausted to resist him this time. She pulled the bright green hood over herself, whispered thank you, and followed him.

  Caine Lawlor, the shelter’s resident vet, opened the door after Joseph’s relentless knocking. Dog barks soon competed with his voice, ‘Russo?’

  ‘Your new patient,’ Joseph said showing him the rosella cradled in his arm. ‘Summer found it near the railway.’

  Joseph knew there was a lot going on in Caine’s mind. The vet had been an advocate for Joseph remarrying and he had that matchmaking look on his face when he saw Summer. Caine was clearly about to ask her a question but seeing her sliding behind Joseph, he simply guided them to the exam room. Glancing back, Joseph watched her looking left and right as they passed the rows of dog cages.

  Joseph stopped when he noticed she was lagging behind. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He thought she probably just didn’t feel like talking to Caine. Besides, Caine’s stare could intimidate people, and this time it was likely she herself sensed the you-could-be-his-wife vibe.

  ‘She’s really sweet,’ Joseph remarked when Summer stopped at cage 8, a German shepherd called Kara.

  Summer nodded. She moved on and then stopped again. Marten, the Australian shepherd dog. She put her hands on the wire grill, then suddenly walked briskly away.

  He tentatively put his hand on her shoulder.

  She looked up. ‘I just wish I could adopt them all.’

  He smiled. ‘Come on, Caine’s waiting for us.’

  ‘A broken leg,’ Caine said, after examining the bird.

  This time Summer left the safety of Joseph’s frame and stepped closer to the exam table.

  ‘He’s still in shock but he’ll be all right,’ Caine added.

  Right then Joseph saw a wide smile from Summer – relief, joy, excitement. Those lips had lost any trace of lipstick but they were painted with happiness. He concluded her sad face had simply been triggered by her concerns over the bird.

  ‘He’s a beauty,’ Caine said, examining his wings.

  ‘Can I name him Pierre?’ she said.

  ‘Nice name,’ Caine replied. ‘Pierre it is. We’ll keep him here for a couple of days, then I’ll hand him over to you, Russo.’ The vet angled his head towards Joseph but his eyes were on Summer. He added, ‘That guy makes the best fruit and seed salads.’

  Summer giggled. ‘Bye, Pierre,’ she whispered. She was quick to hide her face, but Joseph caught her teary eyes.

  Summer walked quickly along the cages. She glanced at Kara the German shepherd again, but she didn’t stop.

  Outside, the rain was still persistent. Joseph could feel Summer hanging on to him with half a grip; her hand hovering on his arm, the side of her head brushing his shoulder as they headed to the car.

  The whole journey back she had her head down and her lips pressed tightly together. How quickly did she lose her shine? That sad face clearly wasn’t for the bird; it was for something that had happened before today, before yesterday, perhaps. And it broke his heart.

  Approaching his shop, Joseph asked, ‘Can I drive you somewhere?’

  ‘No, thanks. My car is just over there.’ Summer pointed at a blue Rav4 across the road.

  They could’ve driven that car instead of running in the rain for 200 metres! But she’d chosen to run with him, and travel in his car, and Joseph wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  ‘Very well,’ Joseph said, as Summer wriggled her head free from his green hood once again. She rolled it and handed it back to him. He considered asking if she would have dinner with him, but he thought being silly multiple times throughout the evening was enough. After saying goodbye, he drove off, praying that she’d come back in a couple of days to check on the bird.

  Approaching his house, Joseph realised the reflection of the blue Rav4 had never left his wing mirror. He stopped at the kerb in front of his house and got out. The Rav4 stopped too.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Joseph peered into Summer’s SUV.

  The window wound down. ‘I believe this is my house,’ Summer said, glancing at the Beam House.

  A jolt disturbed his chest. ‘We’re neighbours?’ he said nervously. ‘So, Tim is your—’

  ‘You met him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tim gave me a heads-up about my neighbours. I guess you’re the dog whisperer.’

  Joseph smiled. His instinct was to look away from her scrutinising eyes, but he stared back at her. The strands of her hair
hid her face, but he saw sparks in her eyes. Bright sparks that he couldn’t ignore. Had Tim told her something that made her happy this middle-aged pet supply owner was her neighbour? Surely it wasn’t just because he was good with dogs.

  ‘Tim is a good friend of mine,’ she said.

  Joseph noticed her examining his fingers that were resting on her car window. She quickly looked back at him. The sparks in her eyes shone brighter. And it could only be because of the man in front of her now – what else? He braced himself to ask, ‘Would you like to come over to my place? I make good coffee.’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘I don’t drink coffee.’

  ‘Beer?’

  ‘You’re funny,’ she said. He was transfixed by that gap between her teeth… ‘No, thanks. I’d better bring my things in and unpack. I haven’t even looked inside.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ Joseph said.

  She opened the hatch. Joseph scanned what was in the back of the SUV. A suitcase and a couple of duffel bags. He assumed she didn’t intend to stay for long.

  ‘Go inside, Summer,’ Joseph gently said. ‘I promise I won’t break anything.’

  He was drenched and so was she, but she kissed him on the cheek, then ran to the house, leaving him to deal with his soaring heart rate.

  ‘What do you think?’ Joseph said, joining Summer inside. He didn’t know the movers had come. But there it was, the Beam House was furnished with a sofa and a coffee table, a dining table with four steel, café style chairs and, when he glanced inside the bedroom, he found a queen bed and a bedside table. Sandra must’ve arranged all this.

  ‘So… woody. Beams everywhere.’ She looked up. ‘They’re all flush against the ceiling.’

  ‘Well, it’s called the Beam House for a reason.’

  Summer took off her jacket revealing a trim yet curvy figure. He quickly turned and discreetly closed his eyes, telling himself he was in trouble.

  ‘I believe I’ve got everything,’ Joseph said.

  But Summer was beside herself, still staring at the ceiling – this time her eyes were on the fans.

  ‘They’ll do the job. You don’t need an air conditioner here,’ Joseph said.

  ‘Oh, for sure,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your help.’

  Joseph made to leave, then stopped and turned around. ‘If you want to keep a guinea pig, I’m happy to ring around. Shelters in Tassie keep in contact with each other. You’ll be the first on the list if a guinea pig or two become available for adoption. If you’re willing to wait, that is, they don’t turn up very often. The cage will be on me. It comes with wheels and some rodent-friendly toys.’ He tried to describe the toy he had in mind with his left hand (dangling carrot-shaped chews) and the rodent with his right hand, with his thumb and index finger tapping against each other as if they were a guinea pig’s snout.

  For the first time Joseph heard her laugh – so hard she was almost crying.

  At least it was better than his remark about Scipio and procreation tools.

  Summer planted another kiss on his cheek, a longer one this time, then whispered good night in his ear.

  Summer smiled at the bright-eyed springer spaniel cartoon next to the name ‘Sergeant Scipio’. To her this place was hope, and warmth. Yesterday she’d been scared, surprised, glad and thankful, finding Scipio behind the counter. Penguin was a town that kept on giving.

  She pushed the door softly, careful not to slam it like she’d done previously.

  Scipio was crouching next to a pile of kitty litters. A warmer day today, he was in his T-shirt and cap. The man had muscles, and the hair on his arms—

  ‘Hey there!’ Scipio said.

  It could be the sun shining, or it could be her biggest fear, that she was falling – but she’d swear it was the sweetest smile she’d ever seen on a man. His blue eyes were almost as bright as the cartoon dog’s on the store sign.

  ‘Hey!’ She smiled back. ‘I can’t remember where that animal shelter was. Can you give me the address?’

  ‘I can drive you. You want to see…’ He paused. ‘Pierre! Pierre, wasn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘You’re working.’

  ‘That’s what an assistant is for,’ Scipio said, as a man carrying a stack of Royal Canin boxes came out of the back room.

  ‘What’s up, boss?’

  The guy still hadn’t seen her. When he put down the boxes, he jumped back. ‘Oh! Sorry! I thought he was talking to himself, which he does sometimes.’

  ‘Chris, this is Summer. She found an injured rosella yesterday. The bird’s with Caine and I’m going to take her back there.’

  ‘No worries. I’ll hold the fort.’

  ‘Cheers, man!’ Scipio said and grabbed his car keys. ‘Oh, wait! We can’t come empty-handed, can we?’

  Scipio invited Summer to the back room. He took three jars from the wall shelves; the labels said: sunflower seeds, canary seeds and mixed dried fruit. ‘Could you take that container for me?’

  Summer took a Lock ’n’ Lock square container behind her and handed it over to him.

  Scipio took a scoop from each jar and mixed them in the container. He pondered quickly then took another jar, smaller seeds. ‘Millets, rosellas love these.’

  Summer just smiled, keeping a close eye on his hands. He had graceful fingers. Ring-free fingers.

  Salad tossed and packed, they went out to the street.

  ‘Your car? My car?’ asked Summer.

  He smiled, nodding at her Rav4 across the road.

  That sweet smile again; she tried to suppress the ridiculous heat crawling all over her, which wasn’t from the sun. She played with her car keys, put on her sunglasses, put the keys in her pocket (for no reason), took them out, and repeated herself. As she stepped off the sidewalk to cross the road, she tripped.

  ‘Woo!’ Scipio caught her arm. He reached for her hand as she steadied herself. ‘You right?’

  ‘Uh huh.’ Had they ever shaken hands yesterday? She couldn’t recall. She was surprised how firmly he gripped her; she could feel the dust from the bird feed on his palm.

  ‘So, I just drive along the Penguin Road until we hit Ulverstone?’

  ‘Yeah, or you could take the highway.’

  She stuck to the Penguin Road.

  ‘I really hope he’s okay.’

  ‘Of course he’s okay. Caine is the best.’

  On the way to the shelter yesterday, they’d talked about Scipio the Roman general. He was better than Napoleon. He had never been defeated in battle. He respected women. He did sound better than Napoleon – who was once quoted as saying ‘women are nothing but machines for producing children’.

  ‘Summer, Summer!’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Left, here, Summer, left.’

  ‘Shoot…’ She spun the wheel in one move and they jolted as the car clipped an embankment. Luckily no other cars were around and there were only paddocks along the road.

  ‘Sorry, I should’ve given you more warning,’ said Scipio as she drove on.

  He’d probably called her several times before she’d finally heard him.

  This time the gate was wide open when they arrived at the shelter, and when they’d parked they went in through the front door. Summer was somewhat relieved that she didn’t have to go through those rows of dog cages again.

  ‘Heey, Russo, my man!’ Caine said. ‘Summer.’

  ‘How’s Pierre?’

  ‘He’s doing really well. Come on through.’

  Summer smiled when she found the bird looking alert, despite having to lie down with one of his legs bandaged.

  ‘The blue tape suits him, don’t you think?’ Caine said as he opened the cage. ‘I reckon you can pick him up the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Here, give him some.’ Scipio opened the feed container and put it out to Summer. She took a handful of the mix.

  ‘Your famous salad,’ Caine said. ‘Oh, Pierre’s going to love it.’

  Summer approached the bird. ‘Hey… remembe
r me?’ At first Pierre retreated by pushing himself with his good foot and flapping about, but she touched and stroke his chest. The handful of feed in her hand finally drew Pierre and he stopped resisting her. ‘You’re okay… oh… yes, you’re okay.’

  Pierre the Tasmanian rosella made it because she had found the right people to save him. Silently she said sorry to Jake the kookaburra who had been left to die on St Therese’s lawn – his body cold, his beak gaping, his eyes cloudy.

  ‘Summer?’ She felt a hold on both of her arms. Obviously she’d cried. But why was someone holding her so tightly? Had she been crying like a mad person?

  She turned to see who was holding her. Caine. He was crying too. She moved away from the vet and put Pierre back in the cage. ‘Sorry!’ she said and ran outside.

  Soon she found Scipio rushing towards her.

  ‘Summer, what is it?’ He held her arm gently.

  She wanted to tell everything about the real Pierre and the real Jake, and her mum who was left behind at St Therese.

  ‘I tried to rescue a kookaburra. But he died,’ she said as she wiped her tears.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sure you tried your best.’

  She shook her head. ‘I let him die.’ She could smell the suffocating air of St Therese as she started to cry again.

  But the suffocation didn’t linger as she found herself resting on Scipio, breathing through his T-shirt, which smelled of mild eucalyptus (was it the wash? Was it him?). She didn’t know if she’d let herself fall onto him, or if he had guided her there. His hand was on her back, so he could’ve; but he was barely touching her, so maybe she’d initiated it. She couldn’t decide what to feel, having him hovering over her scars. Before she could react, Scipio had let go.

  ‘You didn’t let him die,’ Scipio said as he looked into her eyes.

  ‘You must think I’m weird.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He smiled. ‘Do you want to go back inside?’

  She shook her head. ‘So you’ll get Pierre to Sergeant Scipio the day after tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s the plan. Actually, I’ll take him home.’