The Last Breath

by Kimberly Belle

  There’s the slightest of curves to his lips, an infinitesimal lift of his shoulders, the tiniest puff of breath.

  Deadlock.

  And then I have a thought. I look into his eyes for a moment, letting the idea sink into my brain, feeling it float around my skin and flutter at my heart, spinning around and around me until I’m dizzy with something I can’t deny feels a lot like hope.

  “What if you came with me?” I blurt, at the same time my heart takes off running. I ask people for favors all the time. Presidents, politicians, deep-pocketed donors, they don’t intimidate me. When it comes to feeding starving people, to saving someone’s life, I’ll ask anybody for anything. But I can’t remember the last time I asked someone for something for me.

  Jake blinks, three staccato flickers. “Wow. I didn’t see that one coming.” His expression is solemn, unreadable.

  “It doesn’t have to be Kenya if that’s too far. Just any place where people need help.” Jake doesn’t smile or nod or respond in any way, so I keep going, a bit frantically, trying to ignore the pitchy sound of my voice as it backpedals. “You don’t have to answer me now. You can think about it for a bit.”

  “I’d have to sell my restaurant.”

  “Well, yeah. But you could open another one. The where is up to you. Big city, small town, middle of nowhere, it doesn’t matter to me. I could live just about anywhere on the planet but here.”

  “And my house.” His expression is so serious that my heart thuds to a stop. “I doubt I could get much for either.”

  My gaze drops to his chest, and my eyes blink back tears. Now I know how he felt earlier. Jake won’t leave either, not even for me. “I understand,” I whisper. How could I not?

  He traces a thumb down my cheek, hooks a knuckle under my chin and nudges my gaze up to his. “I wasn’t done yet. What I wanted to say is, I’ll do whatever it takes, because my heart is with you. Africa or Asia or the moon, I don’t give a shit. My home is wherever you are.”

  Up until this very second, I thought those singular moments of clarity—when angels sing and bells sound and lightbulbs pop to life—were the stuff of cartoons and comic books. But not anymore.

  Home isn’t a place. It’s not found behind the door the killer broke through or at the top of the staircase Ella Mae was dragged down or in the foyer where she took her last breath. Home is this man lying next to me, and this feeling beating through my veins whenever I’m with him, like my whole body just took its first breath. It’s whispered conversations under comforters and midnight rides in his truck and takeout dinners for two in his bed. Jake is my home.

  “I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid,” I say. “All these years I’ve spent traipsing around the globe, never staying long enough for whatever place I was in to feel like home, because in my mind, home was where disasters occurred. And I chase disasters for a living! Omigod, I’m a walking cliché.”

  Jake starts to object, but I press a finger to his lips.

  “But that’s not my point. My point is I was too busy running to notice that no one was behind me. The only person chasing me was myself. And now that I’ve gotten nowhere but exhausted, I refuse to run any longer. My home is wherever you are, too.”

  “Even if that’s right here in Rogersville?”

  I swallow a lump the size of Bays Mountain.

  He sees my hesitation and clarifies, “It wouldn’t be forever. Just until I can sell this place, get things settled. After that, I don’t care where we go. We’ll figure it out.”

  “But...but what if I can’t?” My voice breaks on the last word, not from sorrow but from terror. A bone-chilling, breath-choking terror at the thought of staying in Rogersville long enough to put down roots, even temporary ones.

  “We’ll take road trips,” Jake says, and his voice is so hopeful my heart wants to settle, if only for him. “Lots of them. Together. Just you and me and the truck, going wherever. We’ll see every town and tree and blade of grass in a two-hundred-mile radius. And we’ll take things one day at a time. I’ll check in with you every night before we fall asleep. If you say you’re done here, we’ll leave the next morning, no questions asked.”

  Even through my panic, I can see the flaw in his plan. “But you can’t just up and leave.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you need to recoup what you put into this building. You must have spent a fortune in renovations alone. And then there’s the goodwill you’ve built up in the restaurant. How much is all this worth?”

  He brushes off the question with a quick shrug. “You’re more important to me than money. I’ll go whenever you say it’s time.”

  Jake’s proffered sacrifice stuns me silent. I’ve spent my entire adult years drifting wherever the road led, whenever the impulse hit. Now Jake is offering to do the same, not because he’s consumed by the same wanderlust, but for me. In order to be with me. My heart races with joy at the same time it twists with something less pleasant. I can’t let him walk away from his restaurant, his friends, everything he’s worked so hard for to become like me—a person with a life small enough to fit in a single duffel bag.

  But more important, I don’t want to be that person anymore. I want life with Jake to be big and wide and filled with possibilities, not limitations. Even if that means staying, just a little longer, in the one place I vowed never to return to.

  “You have to stay, Jake. At least until you’ve found a buyer.” I draw a deep breath, tug up a shaky smile. “And I’ll stay here, too, with you. For however long it takes.”

  But the relief I hoped to see on Jake’s face doesn’t come. The smile I love so much doesn’t show. Instead, I see something that looks very much like remorse.

  “Gia, I...I have something I need to tell you before you make that promise.”

  My stomach does a slow flip-flop that’s not entirely pleasant. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re married, or that you used to be a woman?”

  “This is the part where I tell you why I came here...to Rogersville. I...” He falls silent.

  Lexi’s message—Jake doesn’t let anybody in, ever—combines in my mind with his obvious struggle for words and forms an answer. I think I know where this confession is headed, and I decide to help him out a little.

  “Did you come here chasing after a woman?”

  He nods, once.

  “Did she break your heart?”

  A sharp puff of astonishment. “You could say that.”

  “And has your heart recovered?”

  “Yes, but it’s not what you think. She—”

  I stop him with a shake of my head, soften the gesture with a smile. “The only thing I need to know is, has your heart recovered?”

  My question takes the edge off his expression. He picks up one of my curls, twists it around a finger. “It has now.”

  Relief mingles with his answer to coil a tight spiral around my heart. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his body closer to mine.

  “Then that’s all I need to know. As long as you can assure me you’re not still harboring feelings for this woman, I don’t feel threatened by her. At all.”

  “But—”

  I silence him with a kiss, long and sweet and tender, putting everything I have into it. I want him to feel my heart pounding in my chest, breaking open and spilling out everywhere, but I am also not above admitting I want him to forget about her, whoever this woman was, as long as he’s holding me in his arms. And by the way Jake kisses me back, I think I might have succeeded on both counts.

  And then his hand is on the move—skimming my waist, cupping a breast, traveling back to the spot between my legs—and I can’t think anything but more, more, oh, God yes, more. I throw back my head and moan, and my stomach and thighs start to clench.

  “Jake.” I arch my back, pu
sh up against his hand. My body is on fire, my senses humming like they’re electrically charged. I’m so close. So goddamn close. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Please...” Please what? I can barely think, I’m so dizzy with arousal. “Please hurry.”

  He smiles against my mouth but he obeys, his fingers pushing me within only a few more strokes to the brink. I call out his name as my body lights up from within, and then after that, as the orgasm spirals up and out and everywhere, I can’t say anything at all.

  Jake says it for me, so quietly I think I haven’t heard him. That I dreamed it.

  “I love you,” he says.

  “I love you, too.”

  It’s a long time before either of us falls asleep.

  29

  “OH, GOOD GOD. Would y’all please cover that thing up?”

  I open my eyes, but all I see is the morning light and Jake’s chest and arms, clutching me to him. I twist my head around and focus in on Lexi. She’s standing in the doorway to the hall, one hand shielding her eyes.

  “Cover what thing up?” I say.

  As Jake and I are both stark naked, our bodies twined around each other on the couch, Lexi could be talking about one of many things, mine or Jake’s. But judging by her bit-back grin and the way her fingers are spread just wide enough to peek through, I assume she’s not offended by his. He stirs beside me, and the last remaining corner of the blanket covering us drops to the floor.

  Lexi waves her hand in our direction, giving up all pretense of not peeking and taking a healthy look at Jake’s goods. “All of that. And here.” She thrusts out my iPhone. “This thing won’t shut up.”

  Shit. Wide-awake now, I spring off the couch, hop over the blanket and coffee table and sprint across the room to Lexi and my phone.

  I snatch my phone from her fingers and check the messages and missed calls. Seventeen total, all of them from our brother.

  “It’s Bo,” I say, flicking through the texts. “Looks like he heard about last night.”

  “Figures.” Lexi peeks around my bare shoulder. “Mornin’, Jakey. Hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed your toothbrush.”

  There’s a long pause, then Jake’s controlled voice. “Now why would I mind you using my toothbrush?”

  “I didn’t think so.” She points a finger toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “Help yourself.”

  Lexi shuffles off to the kitchen, and I switch to the voice mails, listening to them one by one. For someone who’s learned to rein in his emotions tighter than Lexi’s favorite pair of jeans, Bo’s messages are downright histrionic—on a scale of one to ten, clocking in at somewhere around forty-seven. His mood ping-pongs from shocked to furious to despaired to elated and back to shocked. In some of them, the only sound I hear is his sobbing.

  Even through all the blubbering, it doesn’t take me long to figure out that for Bo, Dean’s adultery is equivalent to Dad’s redemption. Unlike Lexi, Bo sees the affair as indisputable proof of Dad’s innocence. Dean slept with Ella Mae means Dean lied means Dad didn’t commit murder. It’s as simple as that. Maybe I should get him to explain his theory to Lexi.

  I call him back, and he picks up on the first ring. “Is it true? Was Ella Mae sleeping with Dean?”

  Jake comes up behind me and cocoons us both in the blanket, and I lean into his warm chest. “Yes.”

  A loud thump booms down the line, then, “Fuck!”

  “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “No. I’m not okay, dammit. I’m about as far away from okay as you can get. I believed the motherfucking next-door neighbor over my own father!” Another crash, followed by a good ten seconds of racking sobs. “How could I have been such a shit?”

  “I’m going to have to get back to you on that one, sweetie, because I did the same thing. Look, calm down, okay? I’ll come over there, and we’ll figure this out. Are you at home?”

  He sputters out something that sounds like yes.

  “Where’s Amy?”

  “At a medical conference in Florida.”

  I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad. Though Amy might be able to stop Bo from tearing up their house, she would probably not know what to do with all his new emotions. I look around for my clothes.

  “Stay put, okay? I’ll be there in thirty minutes, tops.”

  “Everything all right?” Jake says after I’ve hung up. His breath tickles the skin behind my ear.

  I think about the mess Bo is making of his house and puff out a dry laugh. “Depends on who you ask.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  The vulnerability in his tone slices into my skin, and I know what he’s asking. I twist around in his arms and snake my hands around his neck, pulling his warm body to mine. “I’m still staying. Even though right now I have to go.”

  “Let me know how it goes?”

  I’m about to nod when there’s a loud crash from the kitchen, then Lexi’s sugar-sweet voice. “Sorry, Jakey. I’ll buy you another one.”

  “Please,” Jake whispers into my hair, “take your sister with you.”

  * * *

  By the time Lexi and I make it all the way over to Church Hill, Bo has pretty much demolished his living room. Books and papers and magazines litter the carpet next to the overturned couch, its pillows flung clear across the room. Lamps and pictures lie in pieces on the floor next to a sniveling Bo, just as messy, just as broken, in a T-shirt and yesterday’s work pants. Lexi shoves him under the shower while I clean up as best I can, and then we load him in the backseat of the car and head off for home.

  As soon as we crest the hill on Maple Street, I notice two things are off.

  First of all, Cal’s here. On a Tuesday morning, when he’s supposed to be sweet-talking the judge and jury in a courtroom a hundred miles away. My heart hammers out a beat in triple time until I remember I just checked my phone, and then it thuds to an ominous stop. No get-home-now messages from Fannie means Cal’s not here because of my father. I mentally prepare myself for a tongue-lashing.

  The second thing is the street is empty. No cars, no media vans, no people. The protesters are gone. The only sign they were ever here is a patch of stomped-down grass, a few stray Starbucks cups scattered over the asphalt and a scarlet A spray painted across the front of Dean’s house.

  On the passenger seat beside me, Lexi snorts. “Do you think whatever idiot did that thought it stood for asshole?”

  I park behind Cal’s Buick and twist in my seat to face Lexi and Bo. “Okay, so a couple of things before we get in there. Dad looks awful. His skin’s orange and he’s really skinny, so don’t freak out when you see him. He sleeps a lot because he’s doped up on morphine, and when he’s awake, he’s not always lucid. If he gets confused, the best thing to do is just remind him where he is and who you are, okay?”

  Bo’s eyes go wide. “He’s not going to remember me?”

  “He remembers all of us, just not all the time. Now I need both of y’all to take a deep breath and put on your game faces, okay?” I reach for the handle on the door and swing it wide, not waiting for either of them to disagree. “Let’s go.”

  Bo and I climb out of the car, but Lexi doesn’t move. I lift both hands in an are-you-coming? gesture through the front windshield. She rolls her eyes and gets out, but she takes all the livelong day, lagging behind Bo and me with heavy steps as we make our way to the front door.

  And then on the porch, her feet grow roots.

  “Go on in,” I say to Bo. “We’ll be right there.”

  He nods, sucks in enough oxygen to pop a lung, then steps inside and breaks down. Through the door I hear him bawl something in loud, unintelligible bursts, but Dad must understand at least some of it because he says, “It’s all right, son. Come here.”

/>   “I liked our brother better when he was on emotional lock-down,” Lexi jokes, but her heart’s not in it. Her voice is off by a good octave, and her mouth is sloped in a way I recognize from last night, right before she threw up.

  “Lex, you can do this.”

  She looks at me, and her eyes are wide and wet. “I don’t think I can.”

  “I swear to you this is the hardest part. After you get that first hello out of the way, it’s all smooth sailing from there. I promise.” I offer her a hand. “Come on. We’ll go in together.”

  She doesn’t nod, but she clamps her fingers around mine. “Don’t let go.”

  I don’t tell my sister she has my hand in a death grip and I couldn’t let go even if I wanted to. Instead, I smile and squeeze back. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You and me, remember?”

  I give her arm a little tug and push open the door. Lexi makes a squeaking sound when she spots the fake Persian, but she doesn’t stop moving, mostly because I don’t give her the chance. I lead her into the living room, where Bo is weeping on the chair next to Dad’s bed. My brother’s back is hunched, his forehead pressed to the mattress, and Dad’s bony hand rests on top of Bo’s head. And judging from Dad’s expression, Bo’s sins have been...well, if not forgiven then at least forgotten.

  “See?” I whisper to Lexi. “Piece of cake.”

  In fact, if I were Lexi I’d be more afraid of Cal, glaring at us both from the armchair by the window. I swallow down my smile when he doesn’t return the gesture. Jeez. You’d think he’d at least thank us for the lack of protesters on the front lawn.

  Dad motions Lexi closer. Her viselike grip on my hand tightens, but she complies.

  “Law, if you aren’t the spittin’ image of your mother.”

  His speech is a little slurpy around the edges from the morphine, but he couldn’t have chosen better first words. Lexi’s mouth curves upward, just a teeny bit, but enough to let him know she sees them as a compliment, and that she’s pleased.

  “Sit down, girls. Now that you’re all here I have something to say.”