by Allie Gail
“Melanie, look at me. Look at me.” I grasp her by the shoulders and force her to face me. “You can breathe just fine. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just a panic attack, baby, that’s all. I know it’s scary but it’ll pass, I promise. Now I want you to take a deep breath for me and let it out slowly while counting to five, all right? Slowly. Can you do that for me?”
Hugging the lantern against her belly, she inhales and then gives me a strange look. “Oh, God. I think I’m gonna pass out.”
“No, you won’t. Trust me. You aren’t going to pass out. Let’s try again, okay? I’ll count with you. Are you ready?”
“No. I can’t. I have to…have to…go outside...” Her breathing is becoming more erratic, and I figure at this point there’s nothing to do but give in. She isn’t going to listen to reason. “I can’t breathe…”
“All right.” Holding out a hand, I gently remove the lantern from her grasp. “All right. We’ll go outside. Let’s walk out to the garage, okay? You can get some fresh air out there.”
Clearly relieved, she nods and comes along with me, through the kitchen and into the laundry room leading out to the garage. When I open the door, the noise from the storm doubles in intensity. It sounds like a freight train is roaring past the house, while the garage door rattles and makes weird metallic pings as the rain pelts it from the other side. At the bottom of the brick step-down, the concrete foundation is covered with about three inches of water.
Undeterred, Melanie steps down and sloshes past the cars so I have no choice but to follow. I don’t know why I expected the water to be cold, but it isn’t – it’s strangely warm. I’m hoping she won’t get the bright idea to suggest that I raise the garage door. Guess I could always tell her it’s not possible with the power being out and all. She probably wouldn’t know about the manual override.
She stops in front of the window, the only full-sized one in the entire house that isn’t protected with shutters, before taking a few steps back and peering out from a sideways angle. At least she’s smart enough not to stand directly in front of it. Still, it makes me uneasy. I’m afraid she will insist on opening it.
But she doesn’t. She just stands there.
I wait quietly behind her, watching over her shoulder as the howling rain-soaked wind bends the palm trees bordering the property, forcing them to bow down in a row of swaying arcs. She seems fascinated by the sight, which I have to admit is pretty cool. I can’t even begin to imagine what a category five must be like. Kind of a sobering thought. We’re lucky we got off so easy with Elliott. He’s an amateur compared to Opal and Ivan.
I’m beginning to realize how silly I must look, standing in the garage in nothing but my underwear. At least Melanie seems to have calmed down. Still, I allow her a little more time before reaching up to rest a hand on her shoulder.
“Probably not a good day to go fishing, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s unreal.” There is reverent awe in her voice.
“I know. I keep expecting the wicked witch of the west to go flying past.”
“Look. There’s a tree snapped right in two back there. See it?”
“I see it.” Someone else’s property – not mine. I had all the pine trees around this house removed. Their towering, spindly trunks don’t hold up well in high winds. Besides, they’re messy as hell. Pine straw, pine cones, pollen, sap that would rival Super Glue – I’ll admit they make beautiful trees for a forest setting but I don’t want them in my yard. Give me a good sturdy date palm any day.
She leans closer to the glass and I instinctively pull her back, not trusting that the wind won’t send someone’s mailbox hurtling through it.
“Feeling better?” I ask.
Tearing her gaze away from the window, she takes a deep breath and releases it with a sigh. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh.” She looks down at her submerged toes with a wry smile. “The water helps. Don’t ask me why.”
“The sensation probably helps to distract you. Like watching the weather outside. Takes your mind off your fear.”
“Maybe.” She doesn’t seem convinced.
“Ready to go back in?” When she hesitates, I try to reassure her with, “We can come back out here anytime you want to. Okay?”
Looking a little sheepish, she nods. “Okay.”
“I can leave the door to the garage open if it makes you feel better.”
“No. No, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine now.”
I snag a couple of clean towels from the laundry room as we head back through the house, and hand her one before setting the lantern down on an end table. Without a word, she sits down on the couch and starts rubbing her feet dry. I notice she’s shivering, but this time it appears to be from a chill rather than nerves.
“Cold?” I drape the throw blanket from the back of the couch around her shoulders. It doesn’t feel cold in here to me. Maybe she has issues with low blood sugar.
“A little.”
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“Not right now. Thank you.”
Dropping down beside her, I lean forward to wipe my own wet feet before straightening to ask, “Does this happen a lot?”
“Not that often.” She seems to be going out of her way to avoid looking directly at me. “Actually it hasn’t happened in a long time. I thought I was over it.”
“Have you ever talked to a doctor about this?”
“No.” Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, as if she’s insulted that I would suggest such a thing. “What for? There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“I didn’t mean to insinuate that there was. But anxiety disorders are something that can be treated if you know the–”
“I told you, it doesn’t happen all that often. Just…sometimes.” Pulling the blanket around herself more snugly, she finally looks at me with a sigh. “Every once in a while, in certain situations, I just kinda...I don’t know, freak out a little. I guess. I’m sorry, I don't really know how to explain it.”
“In certain situations.” Well, one apt scenario comes to mind. “Have you ever suffered from claustrophobia? Even as a child?”
“No. That’s not it. I mean, enclosed spaces don’t bother me as long as I know there’s a way out. For instance, you could shut me up in a closet and I’d be fine as long as I knew I could open the door at any point. But if it was locked and I couldn’t get out – well, that would be a different story.”
“So it’s the feeling of being trapped that brings this on?”
“Yes, that’s it! That's it exactly. Feeling trapped.”
“I see. Can you tell me…do you remember when these panic attacks first started?”
“I don’t know. Um…a while back. Years ago. Look, it’s not a big deal. Like I said, it hardly ever happens anymore.”
“You were talking in your sleep,” I suddenly recall.
“I was? What did I say?”
“I couldn’t tell. Have you ever experienced night terrors?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Were you having a bad dream?”
“Not…not that I remember.” Looking away, she squirms uncomfortably. “Could we please just drop this? I feel stupid enough already.”
“There’s no reason to feel stupid, Melanie. Lots of people have this problem at some point in their lives. It’s a lot more common than you think. My own mother used to have panic attacks.”
“She did?”
“Yes. For a while, after she divorced my sorry excuse for a father. The whole situation kind of overwhelmed her at first. The thought of being on your own can be a little scary for someone who’s been married since the age of seventeen.”
“But then she got over it?”
“She sure did. It didn’t take her long to find out that she was a lot stronger than she realized.” My mom has come a long way since the dark days of that miserable marriage. Whether she knows it or not, she was always the st
rong one. Louise Becker-Whitfield has always been the one person I could look up to and be proud of.
For trying so hard to make up for years of my father’s neglect.
For working overtime waiting tables and washing dishes, not only to make each month’s mortgage, but to pay for the eye exam and glasses that Parnell would never allow. Since according to him, there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with me – I was just lazy and stupid. Therefore, the money was better spent on booze and cigarettes.
For going to night school to learn medical billing and coding so she could make a better life for us both.
For making damn sure I would be able to go to college.
How could she have ever doubted her own strength? She’s the strongest person I know.
Patting Melanie on the knee, I tell her, “I’m gonna go get the radio. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t you need the light?”
“No, I can see well enough.” As dark and nasty as it is outside, there are still faint beams of light sneaking their way in through the cracks where the shutters meet.
I dress in a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt before returning with the radio, and we both snuggle under the blanket to listen to the local station. The news is encouraging. Elliott is in the process of making landfall as a slightly weakened category one, and the damage is not forecast to be extensive. Some downed power lines and trees, naturally, but only minimal beach erosion is expected and most homes won’t suffer any major structural damage.
“They’re acting like this storm is no big deal,” Melanie comments. “But it sounds like the end of the world out there.”
“It could have been a lot worse.”
“I can’t imagine worse. Listen to that wind, it just won’t let up! I’ve never been in the direct path of a hurricane before. I mean, I knew it would be rough and all, but I had no idea it would be this bad.”
“It is a little nerve-racking to listen to, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. As long as you stay indoors, that is.”
“That’s good, because it sounds like the roof’s about to be ripped off any minute now.”
“The roof’s not going anywhere,” I assure her with a grin.
Who’d have thought? Today I appear to be getting a full dose of something I never expected to see – a vulnerable and subdued Melanie Lane. God, but seeing her like this brings out the craziest possessiveness in me. I have to remind myself that she doesn’t need me to protect her. She got by just fine before I came along and she’ll continue to be just fine after I leave.
What does it say about me that I secretly don’t want her to be just fine without me?
“Shane?” Linking her arm in mine, she laces our fingers together. “I’m glad you stayed. I wouldn’t want to be here alone for this. I’d be scared out of my mind.”
“I wouldn’t have left you here by yourself, kiddo.”
“And…thank you for not making fun of me. Or treating me like I’m crazy.”
“Well now, I never said you weren’t crazy, Felony.” Nudging her playfully, I pretend not to notice the face she makes at me. “We both know you’re crazy as a loon. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
~ Chapter Twenty-One ~
I still feel like a complete idiot.
Seriously, why did I have to have an all-out panic attack right in front of Shane? Must I constantly humiliate myself at every turn? Going all bonkers and telling him I had to go outside in the middle of a freaking hurricane – Jesus, if he didn’t think I was a fruitcake before, he sure as hell does now. How the devil did I expect that it was going to be better out there than in here?
I can picture the whole ridiculous scenario in my head. Shall we go outdoors for a breath of fresh air? My, but isn’t it blustery this morning! What did you say, dear? Why yes, there does appear to be a fencepost stuck through my middle. Oh, this dreadful wind! It’s quite ruined a perfectly good physique. Fancy having such a thing happen on a day like today. But don’t fret, the rain will wash that nasty old blood away.
Not sure why I’m envisioning it with a British accent. Somehow it just seems to fit with the absurdity of the situation.
Stupid nightmare. I know that’s what brought it on. I started panicking in my dream, and by the time I woke up it was too late to stop the progression. Dammit, I haven’t dreamed about him in over a year. Haven’t had a panic attack in at least six months. Why now? After all this time, I thought I was over it. Will there ever come a day when the memory isn’t hanging over my head like a dark, ugly cloud?
Will I ever stop feeling guilty for something that everyone swears wasn’t my fault?
Yeah, maybe.
If I can ever fully convince myself that it wasn’t.
“Don’t forget to roll for exposure first,” Shane is saying.
“What?”
“You're supposed to roll before you change locations. Remember?”
“Oh. That's right, I forgot.” I’ve never even heard of Dead of Winter before, much less played it. I’m guessing the game isn’t one of Leah’s. Somehow I can’t picture her getting into a board game that revolves around a zombie apocalypse.
Dropping the die, I lean over to peer at it. “It came up blank. That's good, right?”
“Yep. Blank means no effect. Go ahead and make your move.”
“All right. I’m going to use my special ability for one additional card.” Selecting two cards, I decide, “I think I’ll rummage.”
“Good deal. I’m using my soldier to insta-kill two zombies, and I’m setting up a barricade over by the–”
“What was that?” Distracted by a noise, I scan the room in search of the source.
“What was what?”
“You didn't hear that?” I tilt my head, still trying to listen. “It sounded like music or something. Coming from – oh, wait a second. I'm so stupid, that's my phone. Be right back.” Hopping up from the floor, I scurry into the kitchen to find it on the counter next to the fridge, right where I left it.
Oh, great. It's Leah.
For a second I'm tempted not to answer, but then I figure she might get worried if I don't.
“Hello?” Leaving the dark kitchen, I point to the phone and mouth the word Leah to Shane. I don't know if he'll want her to know he's here, so I figure I should give him a heads up.
He merely grins at me. Sprawled out on the floor in front of the board game, he looks like the most adorable overgrown kid in the world.
“Hey, hoochie mama!” Her voice trills with its usual exuberance. “What's up? Where are you?”
I roll my eyes with a snort. “Surfing. The waves are totally gnarly, dude. Where the heck do you think I am?”
“Oh, no way! You mean you stayed? Seriously? I figured you would’ve gotten the heck outta dodge. Holy crap – so what’s it like there?”
“Let's put it this way. You know that big sign in front of the Zippy Mart that says ‘Eat Here and Get Gas’? I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I think I just saw it go flying by.”
“Really?” She sounds both dubious and impressed.
“No. Not really.” And she called me gullible!
“Oh. Good. ’Cause that sign is awesome. But for real, what’s it like there right now? Is it bad? Did you close the window cover thingies like I told you?”
“Yep. The window cover thingies have officially been secured.”
“Where are you?” Shane calls out in a loud voice. “Did you go to Mom and Hank's?”
Shaking my head, I press my lips together to keep from laughing at the ensuing pause.
After a good ten seconds of awkward silence, I hear an incredulous, “Who was that? Is that Butthead?”
“Um, that depends. Butthead who?”
“Oh my God, are you kidding me? What’s he doing there? Is he – no, wait, lemme talk to him. Hand that idiot the phone.”
Shrugging, I tell her to hang on before passing it to him.
“What do you want, Pita?” With a mischievous wink, he pres
ses the speaker button so I can hear Leah's shrill voice.
“What the hell, Shane! I told you someone was staying there! Did I not tell you I’d rented it out? Are you stupid or what? Why would you drive all the freaking way down when you already knew that?”
I arch my eyebrows. I wouldn’t mind hearing the answer to that one myself.
“Hey, someone has to try and take care of this place, don’t they? I don’t see you worrying about it.”
“Duh! It was covered, you noxious fart cloud. I already told Melanie about the doohickeys on the windows.”
“The what?”
“You know what I mean! Those stupid screens or whatever they are.”
“Storm shutters, Einstein. And you’ll thank me when the windows survive this storm intact.”
“Whatever. I still say you paid way too much for them. See, if you’d listened to me, we could've gone to my friend Soapy and got them for half the price. He would have even installed them, I bet. But no, you had to go and pay full price like a total sucker!”
“I’m supposed to trust a guy named Soapy? Excuse the fuck out of me if I don’t want some recycled junk from Slick Soapy’s Salvage Yard!”
“Just like a dumbass man! You don't know the first thing about bargain shopping. You’re not bothering Melanie, are you? You better not be.”
“Every chance I get.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“Don’t worry about it. She’s an old school friend of mine.”
“You went to school together?”
“Wow. Figured that one out all by yourself, did you?”
“Shut up, butt spelunker! You be nice to her. I mean it.”
“When have you ever known me not to be nice?”
Shane winks at me when I give him a look reminding him that I could fill a notebook with all the moments when nice wasn't anywhere on the map.
“Waaaiit a minute...” Leah appears to be having a light-bulb-over-the-head moment. “Oh. My. God! Are you guys hooking up? Holy fudge balls! You are, aren’t you?”
“Mind your business. And you never answered my question – are you at your apartment or did you go to Mom and Hank's?”