Don't Leave Me Breathless

by A Kelly

  Summer nodded. ‘Hmm… hmm… yeah,’ she said, still munching. She was hungry after all. ‘You really shouldn’t do this.’ She wiped her mouth and fingers and came to Scipio. ‘I owe you so much.’

  ‘You don’t owe me anything,’ Scipio said.

  She wanted to feel the heaving of his chest again, but now that the sun was up, she was well rested and the man had a toolbox in his hands, so she simply stood still.

  ‘I make breakfast all the time; it was no big deal,’ he said.

  For some reason he looked so tall today, so tall she couldn’t avoid seeing the spot on the ceiling where the fan had been.

  Scipio glanced up. ‘The ceiling held up, only a few holes and cracks to patch. Then I’ll put up a new fan. It’ll be easy.’

  She had expected him to put forth all sorts of concerns about her wellbeing. Instead he’d made her breakfast, tidied up her mess and proposed how he was going to fixed the fan. To Summer, Scipio wanted her to move on. Perhaps he wanted them both to move on. Surprisingly she felt, just maybe, starting over wasn’t so farfetched.

  Summer opened her eyes and found herself sleeping on her face right at the edge of the bed. Her watch showed 9.30. Some noise had just woken her up.

  Someone was at the front door.

  ‘Morning,’ Scipio said.

  She could get used to seeing that sweet smile every morning. And what was that in his hands? A tray of fresh fruit, granola and yoghurt.

  ‘How are you?’ he said.

  ‘I’m not awake yet,’ Summer said.

  Why had she sent him home last night? She had assured him she wouldn’t do anything silly so he’d left her be. She’d regretted it, for she had been awake all night. She might’ve drifted off to sleep at dawn. Whatever time it was, a few hours of superficial snooze after a 13-hour sleep the previous night made her giddy now.

  She looked around the patio. She hadn’t gone near the front door since yesterday as she’d confined herself to the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. It was the first time Summer had seen the broken glass pane. The pieces were wrapped with rags and tied together with a rope.

  ‘I’ll get rid of those,’ Scipio said glancing at the bundle that was leaning against the patio wall. ‘Brett, the guy from three houses down, is renovating his kitchen, he’ll have a big skip today and he’s okay with me dumping them there. Oh, and the old fan, too.’

  She took the breakfast tray from Scipio and invited him in. She paused to look at the glass pane.

  ‘You broke the glass to get in?’ asked Summer.

  ‘Yeah.’

  But it now looked as if nothing had happened. Clearly Scipio could fix anything of hers that was broken.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ she said, nodding at his arms as she put the tray on the kitchen bench.

  He rolled up his sleeves and showed his hands and forearms.

  Smooth, unscarred. She touched his arms, feeling his hair, then tentatively she rolled up his right sleeve further and felt his elbow. A few cuts.

  ‘Just scratches,’ he said and quickly covered his arms. ‘Come on, have your brekkie.’

  ‘Is it all for me?’ Summer peeled off the cling wrap.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Summer took a teaspoon and started mixing the granola with the yoghurt. Every now and then she picked up the pieces of rock melon and honey dew with her fingers.

  ‘Do you need anything from the supermarket?’ Summer asked.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down and enjoy your breakfast? What’s the rush?’

  There was no rush. She always ate quickly. Just in case she needed to run.

  ‘Come on, sit down, I’ll join you,’ Scipio said.

  ‘No, I really need to go out. I’ve been cooped up in this house for a couple of days now.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No, Scipio, I’ll be fine. I need to be by myself.’

  Scipio tidied up her neckline. She’d thought her turtleneck would cover the bruises. Maybe the collar had just gone out of place. She rubbed her neck.

  ‘You’re going down the road?’ asked Scipio.

  ‘Um… no, I need to get a few things, so I’ll go to Ulverstone.’

  ‘Coles or Woolies?’

  ‘I’ll see you back soon.’

  As she drove, she couldn’t help looking in the mirror to see if her turtleneck was still covering everything. She hadn’t wanted to leave home, or Scipio. The road ahead looked distortedly narrow, like all lanes had merged into one. Cars coming from the opposite direction looked to be heading straight to her. The air inside the rental Rav4 engulfed her with weight, leaving her gasping. Where was Ulverstone? The Bass Highway felt like a never-ending road – yet it should only be a 10-minute journey.

  Woolworths Ulverstone was finally in front of her. She parked and looked at the clock. It really had only taken her ten minutes to get here – but it had felt like eternity.

  With trepidation Summer hopped out of the car. Every man with glasses looked like Bobby; young boys wolf-whistled at her, while some ladies stared at her. But Scipio’s words echoed in her head: ‘Just breathe, Summer.’ So she did, and she kept telling herself what an amazing man she had made friends with. If something happened to her, he’d be there. Even though right now he didn’t know if she’d gone to Coles or Woolies.

  A friend? Summer pondered as she navigated the aisles robotically. She had to tell herself Scipio was just a friend. Even though his eyes sparkled when he looked at her. Even though in his embrace the rocks and boulders that were Bobby, Pierre, Louise, Jake, Molly, Milo, Rory the kelpie – and even herself – avalanched off her shoulders. With him she felt alive. She couldn’t kill that beautiful feeling by believing she loved him or that he loved her. For love could hurt, and it could tear people apart. For now, he was simply a friend.

  ‘Forty-four ninety, thanks,’ the checkout girl said. ‘I like your top.’

  Instantly Summer rubbed her neck. No, the girl couldn’t have seen the bruises. She simply liked her top. ‘Thanks,’ she said and paid.

  In the parking lot a man greeted her.

  ‘I haven’t seen you around,’ he said.

  Summer could only imagine what kind of man greeted a woman in such manner. It wasn’t so much what he’d said, but the way he looked at her. He didn’t leave much personal space, his stare was intense, and his smile was intimidating. In addition, he drove a bright blue Alfa-Romeo with a personalised ‘C4R LTN’ number plate.

  She ignored him and quickly unloaded her trolley. As she left, she watched him through her rear-view mirror – if he followed her she would drive around and stop at a quiet place and teach him a lesson. But the man stayed put as a girl joined him.

  Summer arrived home to Scipio working in the kitchen, preparing tea and cookies.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Scipio as he laid the table.

  ‘I need to put these away,’ said Summer, placing the shopping bags on the kitchen counter.

  ‘Any perishables?’

  ‘Ham, cheese, tomatoes, frozen veggies, mince.’

  ‘Well, put those in the fridge and come and join me.’

  Summer slowly put away the groceries. Now all the bags were emptied, she stood about a metre from the dining area and stared at the chairs. She ran back to the kitchen and slumped forward against the benchtop.

  ‘Summer?’

  ‘I can’t sit there,’ she said.

  ‘Hey…’ Scipio came around to her side. He gently rubbed her shoulder. ‘Do you want me to get rid of those chairs?’

  ‘I can’t…’

  ‘Yes, you can. We’ll find new chairs, okay?’

  Tentatively she answered okay.

  Despite his brief grimace, and discreetly rubbing his back, Scipio took the four chairs outside. So this was what it would’ve been like to have a proper husband who understood her? Hard to fathom, and the man wasn’t her husband, but the safety and admiration she felt surprised her. There was nothing to compare it to. Tim wasn’t like Scipio. Had it be
en Tim who’d found her hanging, he would’ve called an ambulance (just as he’d forced her to see a psychologist following his discovery of her cutting habit, which had made her vomit and faint in every visit). He wouldn’t have held her the way Scipio had. Bobby had been, and still was, her husband. But he wasn’t a man; to her he was an addiction and a destroyer.

  ‘Joey, what the hell?’ A woman’s voice rose amid the sound of Scipio stacking the chairs on the patio.

  ‘Hey, welcome back! How was the Caribbean?’

  ‘Joe?’

  ‘Um… we’ve decided to use these chairs on the patio.’

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’

  ‘Um… too noisy inside, metal dragging against the floor, you know.’

  ‘Is Tim here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is Samantha here?’

  There was a pause before Scipio said yes.

  Summer walked out to meet Scipio and the woman. She opened the door slowly, knowing Scipio was standing in front of it, but she was quick to show herself. ‘You must be Sandra,’ Summer said.

  Sandra didn’t have a chance to put on her real estate agent face as her surprised look took over. Perhaps Summer hadn’t been what Sandra was expecting. Sandra asked, ‘Are you Samantha?’

  Summer glanced at Scipio, who had been frowning since she’d opened the door.

  ‘Sorry about our choice of dining chairs. We didn’t even think of the noise,’ Sandra said.

  ‘Oh, I’m just being picky. Sorry,’ said Summer.

  ‘Are you okay in sorting out the new dining chairs?’ Sandra said.

  ‘Of course!’ Summer said. ‘I might decide these are okay after all.’

  ‘How’s everything else?’

  ‘Fine,’ Summer said.

  ‘All right,’ Sandra said, trying to peep inside. ‘I just wanted to say hi and see if you needed anything. I’ll come back in three months to do the first inspection if that’s okay.’

  ‘Of course,’ Summer said. ‘You two seem to know each other?’

  ‘We’ve known each other too long!’ said Sandra.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Summer said as she stepped back inside. From the corner of her eye, she could see Sandra mouthing ‘shit, she’s hot’ to Scipio before she made a small talk about her holiday and left.

  ‘Who are you?’ Scipio soon followed Summer in. ‘Why are you here, Summer? Or Samantha?’

  Summer simply shook her head, but Scipio’s stare wouldn’t relent. So she hugged him, hoping he would soften and stop forcing her to explain. ‘Not now, please, not today,’ she begged.

  18

  Aberdare Street

  Meeting a man wasn’t part of Summer’s plan. Meeting a man who got to know her so quickly was a disaster. She’d broken her own rule to never involve another person and now she would have to somehow reverse the damage. Had coming to Penguin been a mistake?

  It had been an uneventful two weeks. She had hardly left the house. If she had, it was to the grocery shop in Penguin or to the local café. Scipio came by from time to time, asking how she was and if she needed anything from Ulverstone.

  It was late afternoon and there was a knock on the door. She waited. Another knock, and a couple more. It wasn’t Scipio’s knock. She tiptoed towards the front door, ready to send a kick to whoever it was on the other side.

  Another knock, this time with a voice: ‘Summer, it’s Bernard MacMillan.’

  ‘What the…’ she whispered to herself.

  She clutched the handle to control the door while leaning closely against its edge. When the door opened wide enough, she caught a glimpse of Bernard’s face.

  ‘What are you doing here!’ she said and motioned the lawyer to enter at once. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Your instructions for the donation? Ulverstone Animal Shelter. Very obscure, unless you actually live in the area.’

  ‘It’s in Ulverstone. How did you find me here?’

  ‘Mary Bellamy, the finance director, said she had a lot of plans for the shelter. She wanted to expand the volunteer program and she was telling me stories about people with good hearts – including a complete stranger from Penguin who rescued a bird in torrential rain.’

  ‘Could’ve been anyone.’

  Bernard sighed. ‘I’m all about inner beauty, but when you have both inner and outer beauty, people tend to notice and talk about it. There are under 4000 people living in Penguin and the median age is 45. It’s not hard to find you, Summer. Or Samantha.’

  Summer shook her head. ‘Does anyone else know?’

  ‘Mary and her business partner know the money came from “my client”, but they don’t know any name.’

  ‘Why are you here? Something happened to my mum?’

  ‘No. But something did happen to your husband.’

  She stared at Bernard.

  He stared back at her. ‘Tell me it’s not true.’

  ‘I am married, Bernard. What’s so shocking about that?’

  ‘To Bobby Swinburne?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Your old boss in DC. He set up a new firm and was desperate to have you back. When he couldn’t find you, he tried to reach out to your dad, and of course the next logical person was me,’ Bernard said. ‘He mentioned you’d changed your name to Summer Washington. Well, I figured you finally tied the knot with some Mr Washington. But of course, you’re not as simple.’

  ‘What happened to Bobby?’

  ‘He raped a woman.’

  That wasn’t Bobby. Or was that his thing now? Had he moved on? Or had he done it to get her attention?

  Bernard continued, ‘He was high. He broke into a house that he thought was yours. Well, no, he was sure it was your house. The woman was alone at the time, sleeping. He gagged her, tied her up, and assaulted her. Bobby was strangling her when her husband arrived after his night shift. The woman managed to open the window and scream for help. Bobby would’ve killed them both had it not been for their neighbour calling the police.’

  Even Bobby Swinburne’s brain could falter.

  ‘Does the woman look like me?’

  ‘I haven’t seen a photo of her. She might, she might not. But I can assure you, someone under the influence will see anything they choose to see.’

  ‘Where’s the house?’

  ‘The Hunter Valley.’

  Her heart stopped.

  Bobby’s mistake had been to drug himself that night and to rush in without proper reconnaissance. But he’d obviously picked that house because he had followed a clue. This confirmed that those glasses in her mum’s room were his. Perhaps he’d purposely left them there. How much did he know now?

  ‘Was it 45 Aberdare Street?’

  ‘You know the couple?’

  ‘No. But I know the house. It was where we grew up.’

  ‘I’ll be damned.’

  ‘Are the police looking for me?’

  ‘They’re looking for Summer Washington, but sooner or later they’ll find out they should really be looking for Summer Rideau. And they will probably come to me.’

  ‘They shouldn’t know where I am.’

  ‘Well, theoretically I shouldn’t either.’

  ‘Those detectives will lead Bobby to me.’

  ‘What did he do to you, Summer?’

  ‘He killed a dog, and he killed my guinea pigs!’

  He sighed. ‘I will hold the detectives up for as long as I can. Practically speaking, you aren’t connected to this case. Bobby admitted everything and you two have been separated for more than a year with no contact. As long as the police are convinced you’re okay – not murdered or kidnapped – and continue to have no contact with Bobby, I don’t think you’re a priority.’

  ‘So Bobby’s in jail?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes, I am. He’s awaiting sentencing. Minimum seven years I’d say,’ he said. ‘No parole. I’m sure.’

  Summer gave Bernard a lopsided
smile and said: ‘I know what you’re thinking. He doesn’t have my dad to defend him this time.’

  ‘No. What I’m thinking is what were you thinking marrying this man?’

  ‘Love is blind.’

  ‘Then why are you running away from him?’

  ‘Because now I see.’

  ‘Good God, Summer. Lucky you’re not my daughter.’

  ‘Do you have a daughter, Bernard?’

  ‘No. I have two sons.’ He pondered again. ‘How could I not know? You changed your name?’

  ‘No. I just created another identity.’

  ‘And married Bobby Swinburne?’

  ‘Everyone assumes, Bernard. When you searched for me, your assumptions didn’t include me becoming someone else and marrying an ex-prisoner. I kept in contact with you, although minimally, and you assumed I lived a busy life and couldn’t be bothered claiming my inheritance for the resentment I had towards my dad. So you couldn’t have known. Even when you think outside the box, you’re still thinking inside another box.’

  ‘Joseph would’ve known.’

  ‘Because he was my dad?’

  ‘No. Because he always assumed the worst.’

  19

  Is this love?

  Scipio usually volunteered every second weekend at the shelter. But with what had happened with Summer, he had taken a break. He couldn’t find a good enough lie for Caine to explain why; so he’d told his best friend about Summer’s suicide attempt. Understandably Caine had encouraged him to seek professional help, but perhaps looking at Scipio stressing out when trying to defend his action to take care of Summer himself, Caine had patted Scipio on the shoulder saying, ‘You know what’s best for her, Mate’.

  The suicide night hadn’t been how he would have liked Cornelia to meet Summer. His daughter was shaken and the morning after, while Summer was sleeping, he’d sat with Cornelia. When asked why Summer had tried to kill herself, Scipio simply said he hadn’t known the exact reasons. ‘What I can tell, is that Summer is feeling a lot of hurt,’ Scipio had told Cornelia.

  Inevitably Cornelia had asked if her mother had ever attempted suicide. Scipio replied, ‘No. She overdosed herself to numb her pain, but she never wanted to die.’