Don't Leave Me Breathless

by A Kelly

  ‘Because she had you,’ said Cornelia.

  Father and daughter had hugged and right then Scipio knew Cornelia would be all right. Before she’d gone back to Melbourne, he’d made her promise she would talk to him if something ever bothered her.

  Today Scipio was back at the shelter; a quiet morning so far. He’d felt Summer would be okay on her own, meaning, he wouldn’t have to (secretly) check on her throughout the day. But he couldn’t help wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking, if she was contemplating another suicide attempt. There were whispers he and Summer were an item, maybe that was why she had limited her interaction with him. And whatever she did or said, it was as if the suicide attempt had never happened. She’d never told him why she was in Penguin or why she’d used the name Samantha – or whether that was her real name. A good thing or a bad thing, he had no idea. Sometimes he thought it would be good for her to talk about her troubles and ease her burden, but he didn’t want to open her wounds and drive her to try to kill herself again.

  A mystery… that was Summer. Sometimes Scipio was convinced she wanted him, sometimes she just turned away and hid. He wished she would just tell him straight: Scipio, let’s just be friends, or Scipio, I love you. Perhaps he was the one who needed to ask her? But he wasn’t sure he could face the answer.

  ‘G’day, Russo!’ Daz, a junk-yard owner from two blocks away, approached Scipio with an ash-grey Staffordshire in his arms.

  Daz was a regular. Over time, his yard had become a haven for stray dogs. But he always handed over the problematic ones to the shelter.

  ‘Oh, poor guy!’ Scipio said and took the mutt. The dog stretched his neck trying to sniff Scipio, then whined.

  ‘Found him howlin' in pain near the gate, then he choked, couldn’t stop wheezin' and gaspin'. Looks like someone beat him up good.’

  Scipio looked at the staffy and named him Roo for his colour and unusually narrow snout that made him look like a kangaroo. Roo was crying in Scipio’s arms, but he could see belief in the dog’s eyes that the human holding him would save him.

  ‘Good luck, mate!’ Daz said, and left.

  Caine Lawlor immediately examined Roo. By this stage the staffy was nothing more than a wheezing blob on the exam table.

  ‘Bastard, whoever did this to him!’ Caine said angrily. ‘But we’ll get the son of the bitch.’

  The vet disappeared into the X-ray room with a nurse. When he came back to the exam room, Scipio helped him put Roo back on the table.

  Caine said, ‘Animal cruelty will stop. It will stop here! You know, we’ve got a lot of plans with the two hundred twenty grand.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Scipio.

  ‘Oh, haven’t you heard? Someone donated two hundred twenty grand to us. If only everyone was so generous, we could fight this kind of cruelty in force, not in trickles, you know. All the time! Not just once a week, once a month.’

  ‘Wow!’ Scipio said.

  ‘And I heard Parks and Wildlife got some, too, for their wombat and Tassie devil research. All with the same note: “For all creatures great and small”.’

  ‘Someone’s spreading a lot of love. The sooner they find a cure for the wombat mange and devil tumour, the better.’

  ‘Deffo! I wish I could thank whoever it was personally, but Mary said—’

  ‘What did Mary say?’ a woman’s voice pierced the air. It was the boss, Mary Bellamy, the shelter’s finance director and co-founder.

  ‘Geez, Mary! You just love doing that!’ Caine said of her ambushing way. ‘I was telling Russo about the donation.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Mary said. ‘It was from a trust, and their lawyer wouldn’t reveal the identity of the donor.’ And just like that she left the exam room.

  ‘What the hell did she come in here for?’ The vet shook his head.

  ‘You should be able to track the donor down, shouldn’t you?’

  ‘No idea, Russo. I’m not a sleuth,’ Caine said, petting Roo’s head. Then he sighed and stared at the dog with that look.

  ‘He’s in really bad shape, mate,’ Caine said. ‘Broken ribs, punctured lungs, too severe.’

  Facing a dog being put down never got easier, even after two decades of working at the shelter. And Scipio had to deal with it on his first day back?

  He kissed Roo on the head and went home feeling numb. He thought about dropping by Summer’s place, but Roo’s trusting face kept popping into his head, so he decided not to spread the sorrow. As soon as he got home, he took a couple of paracetamols before his headache turned to a migraine and slumped on the sofa.

  Roo’s face reminded Scipio of the last hours he’d had with Piper. Loss always hurt. He sobbed thinking of Roo’s face… Piper’s face…

  Lost in his grief, the last thing he expected was Summer, all smiles, presenting herself at his door with a tray of apple pie.

  She had never come to his place.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sorry... of course.’

  It could be the smell of the pie, it could be her baby pink T-shirt but she seemed fresh, in a way that was unfamiliar; she gleamed, as if ready to face the world. She headed to the kitchen and served the pie for the both of them while Scipio made tea.

  ‘You seemed upset when you came home this afternoon,’ she said.

  Scipio cocked his head. She must’ve seen him crying on his way home.

  ‘I spy on you, too, you know.’ She smirked.

  He chuckled. ‘Just a headache.’

  ‘You caught me trying to take my own life. I think you can give me the benefit of the doubt that I could handle a crying man.’

  Summer the mystery. Who was she today – the Summer who wanted him as Scipio the neighbour, or the one who wanted more from him?

  Scipio explained, ‘Well... this morning we had to put down a dog, a staffy. Someone had bashed him. I really thought he would make it, but his lungs gave up.’

  She looked at him regretfully. In a split second he saw her blink and shudder. She turned her head away. It looked like she was about to retch, but she took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. She smiled at Scipio, ‘You liked the pie?’

  ‘Ah, yeah, very delicious.’

  ‘I thought you needed some cheering up,’ she said, taking a bite herself.

  ‘You need cheering up, too,’ he said as she sniffled away.

  ‘Animal cruelty… the most terrible thing.’

  ‘I did have a headache, too, by the way,’ Scipio said.

  ‘I know,’ Summer said, indicating she’d noticed the empty box of Nurofen on the table.

  She scanned the living room and, just like Tim had, she asked about his swimming medals.

  ‘You still swim?’

  ‘Yes, although I don’t compete anymore,’ he said, and thought for a moment. ‘It’s a nice afternoon. Fancy going to the beach?’ He imagined her in a bikini, walking with him along the sandy shore…

  ‘Oh no, no.’ Summer said, distressed. She reached for her back as if about to scratch an itch, but she withdrew. ‘I need to go to Burnie.’

  Next, she was drawn to the photos in the display cabinet. She stood up and took a closer look.

  ‘So, this is your family,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, that’s Emily, my wife. And that’s my daughter, Cornelia, whom you met…’

  ‘Yeah, I remember her.’ She smiled. ‘She really looks like her mother. Oh… who’s this pretty…’

  ‘That’s Piper.’

  ‘She looks so much like the dog on your logo. So pretty,’ she said. Her index finger touched the glass panel covering the photo, right on top of Piper’s nose.

  ‘She was the most beautiful dog,’ Scipio recalled. ‘I found her shivering in the gutter one day in Devonport. She was only a small puppy then. It was windy, hailing, floods everywhere. She had no collar, no chip. She was so timid, but we bonded quickly. And she was a life-saver, in every sense of the word.’

  He swallowed.

  ‘Tell m
e about her,’ she said, showing understanding, rather than a desire to pry into his past.

  ‘She was always the clown that made me smile. She was actually a weird mix of English springer spaniel, pit bull, and collie. I reckon the pit bull was her illegal parent, and it got amorous with a springy. I don’t even want to think about what happened to her siblings. Piper was a canine angel. Whether I was broke or on a payroll, happy or sad, she was always with me. She knew when I needed her. That was what she did.’

  Summer cocked her head and stared at Piper. She smiled. ‘I can see that.’

  ‘She saved Cornelia when she was three.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Emily… was a troubled woman.’ He paused to gauge how Summer reacted to the opening line of his dead wife’s story. She still had that understanding gaze, so he continued. ‘She became addicted to prescription drugs following a surgery. Painkillers mainly.’ He paused. ‘One day she took Cornelia out to play near the river with Piper. Emily passed out from taking too much codeine. She didn’t know Cornelia had wandered off too far and was struggling to swim back. Piper came to her rescue and virtually dragged Cornelia to the bank. Both Cornelia and Piper could’ve died.’

  ‘That’s why dogs are called man’s best friend.’

  ‘I was so lucky, so lucky. Piper died of stomach cancer shortly after Emily died.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Scipio,’ she said, holding his hand.

  He squeezed her delicate palm back. ‘It feels odd that I miss my dog more than my wife.’

  ‘You never thought of adopting another dog?’ she asked, slowly sliding her hand out of his grip.

  ‘Several times, but… I just… nah… it’s not the right time.’

  ‘Someday, eh?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah… someday.’

  The pounding in his head had restarted and this time it almost tore his skull open. He’d never had migraine in front of anyone; usually he would scrunch his face and bang his head against the sofa cushion or his pillow to make the pain worse, so that when he stopped the pain would not feel so bad. With Summer next to him, he simply closed his eyes and took short breaths.

  The next thing he knew, Summer was behind him, sitting on the sofa’s backrest. Her legs apart, she asked Scipio to lean back against her. Her hair smelled like apple pie and made him smile, and he felt he could breathe easy. But when her hands started kneading at his head, he tensed up. Her touch aroused him.

  ‘Relax,’ she said, stroking his neck and shoulders.

  Every now and then her chin rested on his head. And there… was it her lips hovering over his crown? He fidgeted to hide his hardness. Where would this massage lead to? It terrified him. The night he’d sworn to be Summer’s Scipio after her suicide attempt, he had vowed to take a risk so he could become a man who pleased her. Now that the possibility of making love to her was looming, he desperately wanted an escape. If her touching him led to sex today, what could he say to refuse without offending her or shooting dead a future chance?

  She wrapped her hands around his neck, massaging softly, then rigorously. He tried to imagine something that would turn him off, but it had been more than a decade since he’d been this close to a woman. How could he hide his growing bulge? Putting his hands on his lap would direct her attention there. All he could do was hope his crotch was the last thing on her mind.

  He heard a soft hum and felt a faint burst of air on his crown. Was that a kiss? Then she let go and slid herself down. Sitting next to him, she reached for her plate of apple pie.

  ‘That was great, thank you,’ Scipio said, exhaling long. He leaned back and crossed his legs.

  She chewed her apple pie and flashed a half smile that he could only translate as knowing. Summer finished her mouthful, then got up and wandered to the kitchen to serve herself more tea. On the way back, she casually walked past the bookcase. ‘French Revolution?’ she said.

  ‘I bought it when I was auditioning for Les Miserables.’

  ‘You sing?’

  ‘I used to.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve never been so wrong about a man!’

  Scipio laughed. ‘I didn’t get the part.’

  ‘Was it because of your voice or because of your looks?’

  Scipio looked away. ‘Creative disagreement.’

  She shook her head but soon moved on to another book. ‘For the Love of a Dog… cute,’ she said and flicked through the dog-training book. As soon as she put it back on the shelf: ‘Oh!’ Summer said, musing over the cover of Scipio Africanus – Greater Than Napoleon. ‘I remember you mentioned Scipio was better than Napoleon when we were in the car that afternoon. So, you didn’t make it up,’

  In that conversation Scipio had tried to sell Publius Scipio as a man of virtue; the hardened Roman general treated women with respect, his wife and even the slaves, in a time when women were pretty much seen as tools for procreation.

  Tools for procreation – he’d used those exact words and they still hurt his ears.

  ‘I’m not smart enough to come up with such an argument,’ he said.

  ‘BH Liddell Hart.’

  ‘Yep. He’s pro-Scipio, unlike most historians who tend to glorify Hannibal.’

  ‘He’s not a fan of Napoleon either, I take it?’

  ‘Well, he didn’t slam him, he simply put Scipio above Napoleon when ranking his picks of the world’s greatest generals.’

  ‘You said Scipio treated women with respect,’ Summer said. ‘Napoleon had two wives. He saw women as machines to produce children. He saw them as things that you could buy, use, then chuck. Did BH Liddell Hart mention that in this book? As part of his argument why Scipio was better?’

  Scipio rose from his seat to pull the book away from her hand and tell her not to take the argument so seriously. But Summer cowered, just slightly, so he refrained from approaching. She put the book back and said, ‘I need to go.’

  What had just happened?

  Outside the Beam House, Summer stood still. She wished she’d let Scipio come to her when he’d got up from the sofa. Instead she’d run away to Burnie to get a new mobile phone, which really could’ve waited. The whole Napoleon vs Scipio thing had got out of hand. Napoleon would always remind her of Pierre and she resented it, and right there she’d realised how much she admired Scipio the neighbour, Joseph Russo, her Scipio, to the point that hope sprung in her: he might just be the man who saved her. Why was she scared? Wasn’t Bobby out of her life for now? And at least for the next five years (seven, Bernard had said, but she had to assume the worst).

  Wasn’t Scipio the shore she had been sailing to? Maybe she wasn’t looking for a shore after all; maybe she had been in a storm too long, the sailboat drifting in the open sea was the only home she knew. Now the storm was gone, she was lost.

  But there was something about Scipio. She’d seen a few grown men cry, but when Scipio cried, she hurt too. Migraine or not. The way he talked about the staffy at the shelter and Piper – there was something deep, not just for the animals, but towards her too. When he called her name, when he saw her smile, his eyes lit up. When she’d slapped and punched him, he replied with a soft gaze. When she cried, he cried with her. He’d never uttered words of a fairy-tale lover, but as her mum had told her, a man’s eyes would reveal more than what he said.

  He’d been aroused when she sat behind him on the sofa (extremely, judging by the size of his bulge). And she had been too. But her fear of Bobby still lingered. How could she make love to a man if she was worried she was going to get him killed?

  Besides, she knew very little about Scipio. He and Emily had not been like Tim and Sylvia, Summer established. What had he said? He missed his dog more than his wife. Summer smiled. Not a particularly common thing to say, but she understood. Admittedly, Scipio and Emily would’ve looked good as a couple, but there was no photo of them together she could see at his house. She’d noticed a few of Scipio and Cornelia, and a lot of photos of him an
d Piper, but Emily was always alone.

  How important was his past? All he had done for Summer up to now was nothing short of gentlemanly – and amazing.

  Wasn’t she free? Wasn’t he free?

  Summer was barely a metre away from her front door. Perhaps Scipio had been watching her and wondering why she was standing on the stone step, holding her new mobile phone, staring at the glass pane he’d fixed the morning after her suicide attempt. Slowly she turned around.

  It took a minute or two for Scipio to open the door. She could only imagine he was as perplexed as she was.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Summer sat down. The two plates, speckled with pie crumbs, were still on the coffee table.

  ‘I had another slice,’ said Scipio. ‘Oh, well, half a slice.’

  ‘Can I have more tea?’

  ‘Uh… sure, of course,’ said Scipio. He stood up, looked around as if he’d forgotten what he was going to do, then headed to the kitchen.

  She followed him. He’d just flicked the jug on when she stood next to him and placed her hand on his chest.

  She could start at Scipio’s lips... But she curbed her desire. Leaving him was still on the cards, so she couldn’t afford any form of attachment. He might give her amazing sex and she could still run away without guilt. But a kiss on the lips – she would release pheromones, she would bond with him, she would unlock the door to love. No. She couldn’t crumble or hurt him that much if, in the end, she had to leave. So, she rolled up his T-shirt and kissed his lightly-shaven chest instead. He had a tantalising six-pack with slightly thicker hair towards the bottom, teasing her to his crotch. She threw his T-shirt to the kitchen floor. She undid his pants and his cock sprang out. She tried not to react, but her eyes widened involuntarily and at the same time her mouth might’ve formed an ‘o’ of surprise.

  It was huge.

  Scipio took a step back, trying to pull his briefs up, but he didn’t have a chance as Summer placed her hand on his shaft.

  Why did he want to hide it? It was striking in a gentle way; too beautiful to be called a cock, she thought, a phallus would be more appropriate. She dropped to her knees and licked the moist head while thinking how she was going to take him in. Scipio mumbled something, and so she sucked his phallus to shut him up.